Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel

22

Mack

Sending Fiona off with Juan nearly killed me.

It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, but it was the right one.

I kept telling myself that, over and over again, as I got into position on the roof of the abandoned middle school. I camped out behind a large, ancient air conditioning unit, squeezed into the darkest shadows, and got myself set to wait.

I couldn’t be at both places, as much as I wanted to be. Juan and Fiona wouldn’t be able to pull off this part of the plan, which meant they had to go rescue Connor.

It would be the easier of the two things. I hoped, at least.

There were other men in the city that I knew would be able to pull off a raid on a lightly defended Lionetti safe house, men that I brought up in the Bratva and trained myself, but now that I was on the outside, they wouldn’t obey my orders and wouldn’t take bribes.

Juan was a decent guy. He was good with a gun and knew his way around a fight. But I couldn’t completely trust him.

Which was why Fiona had to go.

She had to make sure things went right. Juan needed to stay on course, or else everything would fall apart.

Still, I hated putting her out there. I hated sending her off into danger, even if the danger was minimal. She wasn’t a fighter, wasn’t a killer, wasn’t a trained assassin.

She was just a scared girl.

And the only person I’d ever loved in this world.

It ripped at me, gnawed at me. I wanted to scream and rage.

I held it all inside and prepared to channel it down at my enemies.

It was a long wait. I had a lot of time to think about my mistakes and to go over all the different ways this could go wrong. I spent plenty of time imagining all the ways that Fiona might get hurt, and how I’d rip Juan into tiny little pieces if he let me down.

I wasn’t cut out for love.

This was why Evgeni encouraged me to remain detached. A man without attachments could float through life like a balloon. I was adrift before Fiona and I could flit from one job to the next.

All the blood slid off me like paint down a canvas, leaving its marks but smearing away.

Fiona grounded me. Fiona, the only woman I’d ever love.

After this was over, I knew what I wanted. I’d give Juan his payment and disappear. I’d marry her, make her my wife, and make her the happiest woman in the world. Anything she wanted would be hers. Any whim, any desire.

I’d make it all happen.

I had the means. And the desire.

All I had to do was pull off one more job.

The day grew long and soon I heard another noise nearby. Just like I suspected, the Lionettis sent a sniper. The person set up on the far side of the building where I could hear him screwing together a tripod and talking softly into a microphone likely connected with whoever was running their operation.

I checked my watch: twenty minutes until shit went down.

I left the sniper alone. All was quiet again once the gun was put together. The Doyles were probably down there setting up a perimeter. I doubted they’d send someone up here, and if they did, the Lionettis would probably take care of them.

I had to focus on the task ahead. I couldn’t let possibilities distract me.

Fiona, goddamn Fiona. I wished I could send anyone else, but there was nobody in the world that could do this.

She could handle herself. I had to believe.

Five minutes slipped past, ten minutes. I heard more chatter from the sniper.

Time for me to get moving.

I crawled out of my hiding spot, a knife clutched between my teeth. I stood, gripped the knife in my right hand with the blade down, and crept across the roof.

The sniper was a man, dark hair covered with a black cap, wearing camo pants and a camo shirt though there wasn’t much foliage to blend in with on the top of a middle school roof. He sighted down his rifle, a decent-looking weapon. His gun case was open next to him, and a wire to an earpiece led down to a radio at his hip.

“Sniper in position,” he said, voice gravelly. “All quiet up here.”

If he got an answer, I didn’t hear.

I moved one small step at a time, crouching down low. I didn’t want anyone to spot what was about to happen.

Time stilled. I calmed my nerves, forced my heart to beat steadily. I tried to banish Fiona from my mind but couldn’t quite make it happen.

I’d never have that same emptiness again, and I wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

I reached the sniper and dropped on him. I jammed my right knee into the small of his back, pinning him into position, then grabbed him by the hair and ripped his head back. He gagged in shock, tried to scream, but I ripped the knife along his throat, cutting deep into his exposed arteries, his windpipe, and his voice box. That silenced him as the blood gushed out and he coughed, choking blood.

I pulled his ankles, dragged him from the edge, and grabbed his hat, shoving it down over my head. His eyes went glassy, then blank.

I stole the earpiece from his ear. It was bloody, but not much I could do about it. I put it in my own ear then took up his position.

The chatter started immediately.

“Team One in position, locked and loaded. Doyles brought heat.”

“Well armed. Six long rifles, more handguns.”

“Numbers down there, Sniper?”

I did a quick count. “Twelve,” I rasped into the walkie.

“Roger.” If anyone noticed the voice change, they didn’t comment. “Team Three, take flanking. Team One, prepare to push. Wait for the shipment and my command.”

I wondered if that was Park’s voice.

Didn’t matter.

I tuned out the chatter as much as I could. Down in the parking lot, the Doyles were spread out, watching and waiting. The tension was thick like a forest fire blanketing the area with heavy, black smoke.

God, Fiona. She had to be okay.

* * *

Fiona

“Mack said this’ll be easy, and he knows his stuff, right?” Juan grinned at me. His nervous energy infected me and I couldn’t keep my knee from bouncing.

The gun shoved in the holster at my hip felt like a foreign invader.

“Yeah, totally.”

He ran a hand through his hair and nodded across the street. “Plan’s easy. We go in through that house. Mack said it’ll be empty. Then we go into the backyard, over the fence. The safe house is directly behind it. We’ll get in through the back door or we’ll climb to a second-story window if we can. From there, we head to the basement, free your brother, and get the fuck out. Meet back here at the car.”

I nodded once. Mack had gone over that with me a hundred times, step by step, like he had every single move choreographed. But I knew a thousand things could go wrong.

Like if the Lionettis didn’t take muscle from this safe house and it was completely guarded, or if the house we had to cross through wasn’t empty after all.

Or if Juan betrayed me to his family.

Too many variables. As much as Mack wanted to be in complete control, he couldn’t run everything.

The man was gorgeous but he wasn’t a god.

Close, though.

Juan checked his watch. “We have to move in a minute. Are you okay? You ready for this?”

“I’m ready.”

“Stay behind me. Don’t do anything without me, okay? Mack wasn’t kidding when he said he’d torture me if you got hurt and I really don’t want that to happen.”

“I appreciate your concern for my safety.”

He grinned and fluffed his hair. “Yeah, well, whatever. Just stay close and don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“You got it. Nothing stupid.”

Juan looked out at the house again, then down at his watch, and let out a long sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

He pushed open the car door and stepped out.

I followed him, glad to be out of that messy sedan. It smelled like leather and old fast food. Juan strode across the street, up to the stoop, and knocked on the door.

Nothing happened. That was good.

He pulled a lock pick set from his pocket and got to work. A nice older lady with a little white dog came ambling past and frowned at him.

“He’s a locksmith. Got myself locked out like an idiot.” I laughed nervously at her.

She only frowned and walked faster.

“There we go.” The door opened and Juan shoved the pick away.

In their place, he drew out his gun.

I didn’t draw mine. I’d probably shoot him by mistake.

We walked into the house. It was nice, a little upscale. Mirror on the wall, some paintings, painted muted colors. Clean, but not neat. We passed through a living room and a kitchen then out the back door. The yard was overgrown and an ashtray on a side table overflowed with cigarettes.

“Come on, this way.” He jogged to the fence and jumped, barely catching the top. His arms were lean and strong as he pulled himself up to the top and offered me a hand.

I let him help haul me over.

We dropped into the adjacent backyard.

For a second, I wasn’t sure if it was the right spot. Maybe it was the wrong house, or maybe—

But no, security cameras on the back, two of them. Definitely the right place.

Juan crept forward and hesitated at the back door. Beer bottles and cans were scattered all over, stacked in a corner, piled on a table. It looked like a damn frat house.

I stood next to Juan, straining to hear anything inside, but it was all quiet.

He pressed a finger to his lips then took out the lock picks again.

This time, it took him longer. He struggled on the top bolt, and each scratch of his pick sent a jolt through my legs and core. I reached to my hip to finger the butt of the gun Mack all but forced me to carry, and I tried not to bend over and retch onto the ground.

My nerves tingled like tiny thunderbolts.

Juan sucked in a sharp breath as the lock slid open. He turned it, put the picks away, then got his gun ready.

He nodded at me, then pulled open the door.

The kitchen was empty. Dishes were piled in the sink and trash was heaped on the can to the left. The vinyl flooring was scuffed, though in decent shape. Juan crept forward, moving toward the doorway that led out into the living room, being as quiet as he could.

I stayed just behind. The place smelled like cigarettes and fast food oil. It was heavy and pungent, like these people had lived on nothing but McDonald’s for the last few weeks. Wrappers were left on the table and fry boxes were piled on the counters.

I wanted to scream with terror. Connor was just below my feet, tied up to a chair.

The living room beyond the doorway was empty. Juan took a step forward, then another step, sweeping his gun around.

The TV was on, playing some soccer game on mute. I didn’t recognize the team—it looked like a foreign league.

A cigarette still burned in the ashtray and a half-finished beer stood pooling condensation beside it.

Juan moved forward again.

“I think someone’s here,” I whispered, heart beating rapidly. The cigarette, the drink, the game—

Juan turned to look back at me just as someone roared and threw himself forward, smashing into Juan and knocking him sideways against the wall.

The deafening report of a pistol ripped a scream from my throat.

* * *

Mack

They were just standing around talking.

I couldn’t believe it. I watched everything through the scope of the rifle, moving from target to target, making my plans.

They just kept talking.

The Doyle family stood around like they were waiting for pizza to show up. Meanwhile, the Lionetti family was in position, ready to strike, but they weren’t moving.

They just kept going over the plan, again and again.

I wanted to scream. How could these indecisive little children run a powerful mafia family? If I were in charge of this hit, I would’ve killed half the Doyle family already, and held the rest of them hostage. Once the goods arrived, I would’ve traded a life or two for control of the vehicle, then killed the rest.

Easy. Plenty of blood, but easy.

Instead, it was like these children didn’t want to hurt anybody, and it drove me crazy.

Five minutes dragged past and finally some action. Down below, the Doyles started getting excited. A big rental truck lumbered down the road toward them, the kind of vehicle that could fit a whole lot of drugs in the back. It pulled into the parking lot, turned around so its back faced the majority of the Doyle guys, and killed the engine.

The Doyle goons moved forward and opened the back.

It was packed with brick on top of brick of heroin.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“Holy shit,” someone said over the radio. “Team One, goods have landed, get moving. Sniper, eyes on the driver. Take him out when you get a chance.”

“Roger that.”

My finger brushed against the trigger like a lover’s thigh.

Like it was Fiona’s lips.

Below me, Team One came sprinting around the corner, guns out and ready. The Doyles started shouting and getting into cover, but nobody fired a shot, not yet at least. The Lionetti guys rushed the truck and were screaming at the Doyle guys, who were screaming right back.

What a pain in the ass. Still no fucking shooting.

So I took matters into my own hand.

One of the Doyle guys was crouched down toward the side of the truck. I lined up a shot, took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, I squeezed the trigger.

The rifle bucked against my shoulder and the Doyle guy’s head exploded.

I pulled the bolt and prepared another shot.

But that was enough to get the whole party started.

Lionetti and Doyle men began firing wildly. More Lionetti family guys flooded down from inside the school itself, which meant they were right below me the whole time—good thing they didn’t come up to the roof or I would’ve been fucked. As they approached the Doyles, flanking them, I started the slaughter.

One after the other, I aimed and killed.

Lionetti men fell under my rifle. The Doyles did a decent job and killed a fair number themselves, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. I was right at least—the Lionettis did bring most of their strength.

I cut them down like leaves on a tree.

One shot after another. I blew open a skull, splattered a man’s heart across the pavement, ripped open another’s guts. I left blood like paint on a canvas, killing and killing and killing, over and over with each shot.

I didn’t feel a fucking thing.

I was made for this moment, trained and hardened my whole damn life. Evgeni wanted to make me into a killing monster and now I served my purpose, squeezing the trigger again and again, taking a life with each shot. I paused to reload then began the slaughter again, wiping out all of Team Two, then Team Three, then half the Doyles, until my shoulder hurt from firing, my ears rang from the noise, and only corpses remained down in the parking lot.

I watched for a few minutes then stood up and headed downstairs.

The Lionettis left some gear behind. I helped myself to a new gun before I stepped out into the sunshine.

The smell of blood and shit and death was almost unpleasant.

I walked through the carnage. One Lionetti man groaned, but I finished him with a clean bullet to the skull. I was the last standing survivor of the massacre, and I wondered how many of them I was responsible for—at least half, maybe more. The Doyles did well enough, and the Lionettis did their part, but none of them expected a sniper to tear through their ranks.

I was an avenging angel.

The driver of the truck was huddled on the floor. He was young and he pissed himself. I opened the door and pressed the gun to his head.

“Get out.”

He got out and started running.

I let him go. It didn’t matter anymore.

I went around to the back and closed the door. I latched it, made sure it was solid, then got behind the wheel.

Just as a black SUV pulled up, blocking my way.

The front door opened and a single man stepped out. He surveyed the carnage and his eyes betrayed nothing—

Until Evgeni stared at me, and frowned.

* * *

Fiona

The Lionetti guy was like a little Pitbull: small and muscular, with a bald head, and shoulders the size of boulders. He rammed into Juan and knocked him sideways.

The gun went off, but the bullet smashed uselessly into the ceiling.

They struggled on the floor for control of the pistol. Juan grunted, smashed a knee up, but took a headbutt to the nose. He grunted, groaned, and the Lionetti guy nearly ripped the gun free.

But Juan held on. They struggled, Juan rolled, and managed to punch the guy in the gut with his free hand.

The Lionetti bastard grunted in pain but attacked twice as hard, raining blows down on Juan before grabbing Juan’s wrist again. They struggled for the weapon, both of them grunting and sweating and writhing in pain, locked in a life-or-death battle.

I pulled the gun from my holster with shaking hands.

Mack explained how to kill someone. He said it was easy. Aim at their chest—it was the biggest target. Don’t go for the head, since I’d probably miss. Don’t try to wound them, since they might still be able to fight and kill me.

If I had to shoot, then shoot to kill. Don’t hold back.

My hands shook and I couldn’t aim. I kept blinking sweat from my eyes. Juan screamed in rage and shoved the Lionetti guy back against the coffee table. The beer bottle spilled and the cigarette fell onto the floor. Juan tried to shoot him, but he missed as the Lionetti guy tackled him back into the TV.

A long time ago, I was a coward. I listened to my dad beat the shit out of my brother every night for years. I hid in my closet and cried until it was over, and then I went into his room and helped him clean up the cuts. After a while, he said it wasn’t so bad—it stopped hurting. His back was almost numb.

That felt worse.

I didn’t do anything for him then. I was a little girl and he was a little boy, but I still could’ve tried. Instead, I cried, and I hid, and he got beaten.

I took a step forward, planted my feet the way Mack showed me, and aimed at the Lionetti guy. He was a human with thoughts and feelings, maybe had a family, parents that loved him, all that stuff—

But right now, he was nothing more than the belt in my dad’s fist.

I squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked, just like I knew it would.

The Lionetti guy froze and looked at me.

I missed. He bared his teeth.

I pulled the trigger again.

That time, he staggered back. Bright red bloomed on his chest. His eyes went wide—

Until Juan shot him in the skull and he slumped to the floor.

My hands shook so hard, I had to shove the gun back into the holster. I stood there hugging myself, staring at the Lionetti guy. Juan’s face was bleeding freely and his right eye was puffy, but he walked over and made sure the man was dead before looking back at me with a smile.

“Nice shot. Well, the second one at least.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Don’t worry. I killed him. You don’t have to take that on yourself.”

I felt incredibly grateful to him in that moment.

“Come on.” He nodded toward the far door. “I think he was the only guard, but we’d better hurry.” Juan moved through the living room and took a right. I followed him into another hallway which ended with two doors.

The door straight ahead was a bathroom.

And the door on the right led down into the basement.

I turned on the lights and descended slowly. Juan came behind me, still breathing hard, favoring his left leg.

The basement smelled moldy and damp. Concrete floor, cinderblock walls.

Sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty room was Connor.

“Oh, god.” I ran to him, heart racing. His head lolled and his eyes were unfocused, and he frowned as I took off the gag then untied his hands.

“Fiona?” He sounded drugged or drunk. “I’m having another hallucination. Did I hear gunshots?”

“You’re okay, Connor. It’s me, I’ve got you now.”

“Fiona.” He laughed and groaned. “This is a good dream. I’ve only been having nightmares lately. I didn’t know I could have so many nightmares.”

I got him untied. Juan helped him get to his feet.

“This is real, kid,” Juan said. “I hope you’re worth it. You’ve got one hell of a sister here.”

“Let’s get out of here before someone comes back.” I touched Connor’s face and clamped down my jaw. “You’re okay. I’ve got you now.”

Connor smiled at me through his haze. “I knew you’d show up. You always showed up when I got hurt.”

I bit back the tears and turned away.

Juan helped Connor up the stairs. We backtracked through the house, but realized Connor would never get up over the fence, so we went to the front door. I unlocked it and pushed it open.

The neighborhood was quiet. It was a nice day out.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Connor sounded a little stronger as we got him down the stoop and began to limp fast to the end of the block. “I’m really getting away?”

“It’s real, kid, and this would go a lot easier if you took more of your own weight.” Juan grimaced with each step, but he didn’t slow down.

We reached the car without any problems. Juan pushed Connor into the back seat then got behind the wheel. I climbed into the passenger side and half turned to look back at my brother.

He grinned at me, eyes swollen and puffy and red.

But he was alive.

“You always showed up.” He rolled onto his back and laughed.

A stupid smile spread across my face as Juan pulled into traffic.

I killed a man tonight. I finally stepped up and did something to help my brother after so many years of staying hidden away. I pulled that trigger, and now I finally felt like I’d broken free.

And none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for Mack.

I owed him everything.

I only had to hope that he’d come back to me.