Camden
I swing by and pick up Angelo and he whistles when I open the duffel bag and show him the contents.
“I’m keeping that automatic,” he says, and I snort out a laugh.
“I figured.”
“You don’t even have to pay me for this,” Angelo continues, hopping in the car as I shut the trunk. “I’ve been wanting to get rid of Marco Barone ever since he hit on my girlfriend.”
I raise an eyebrow as I get in the car. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Not anymore,” he says mysteriously, and I don’t ask questions because Angelo wouldn’t tell me anyway. He keeps his personal life to himself, and I don’t blame him. In this lifestyle, it’s better to keep your mouth shut.
We travel to the worst parts of the city, checking out the closest warehouse first. I’m pretty sure it’s not the one because it seems like a ghost town, and sure enough, there’s nothing but rats and mold in there.
“How many of these are there?” Angelo complains.
“Just three,” I answer.
“Three?” he whines, always impatient, and I chuckle.
“Listen, if we don’t find him, you can shoot the rats,” I joke.
“Promise?”
I laugh, loud and open, and I feel like I’ve been missing this part of my life ever since I went on the run with Kendall.
I’m the muscle, just a high-ranking thug, and it’s something that I like about my job. I don’t have to worry about a reputation or money or the hierarchy of wiseguys. I just get to beat and shoot, and it’s something that takes my mind off the shit going on in my life..
Maybe it’s weird, but I do love my job.
Angelo, on the other hand, is a different breed entirely. He lives and thrives off adrenaline and he’s as blue-blooded as Dante.
We hit the jackpot on the second warehouse, and we know it as soon as we pull up. There’s an Escalade parked on the corner of the street, too close to be anyone but Marco or one of his guys. No sane New Yorker would park such a nice car in this area.
“He’s got to be in there,” Angelo says, and I nod, parking in a sketchy parking garage and taking out the duffel bag. I pack a semi-automatic into my spine sheath and then bring the bag full of ammo and bigger weapons with me.
“Don’t shoot him,” I tell Angelo. “I want to do this bare-handed.”
“Love a bare-fisted fight,” he agrees. “Leave me some.”
“You can have everyone else, for all I care,” I tell him. “Marco is mine.”
I can’t wait to throw my fist into his face, feel the flesh give beneath my fists. I think about the scar on Kendall’s face, the nightmares that she had. I think about my baby in her belly and how he wants to off her, and my blood boils with rage.
But outwardly, I’m calm. Cool as a cucumber. It’s why I’m suited for this job.
“What’s your beef with him, anyway? You were never close to Bruno.”
“It’s about a girl,” I say, cocking the gun as I pull it. We’re approaching the warehouse and I don’t want to be caught unprepared.
Angelo’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t have time to ask more questions because a popping sound comes from the other side of the warehouse.
Angelo hefts the automatic in his hands, and a yell followed by a sickening thud tells me he’s hit his mark without me ever laying eyes on the man. Angelo is a sharp-shooter, and that’s why I need him in my corner.
I’m better with my hands, but he’s a better shot, and we’ll make a good team.
Another guy comes around the corner, stupidly yelling and giving away his position, and it’s clear that the men with Marco are ex-wiseguys or haven’t been wiseguys at all. And from the look of them, they’re too far into the drug life to ever climb out.
The one I shoot in the chest is skinny with barely any teeth, and he goes down easily with just the one shot.
Angelo and I have silencers, but since these men don’t, Marco will be on the move.
It takes me a moment to identify him because there’s a scattering of men like cockroaches when we kick down the warehouse door, but the glint of his gold watch tips me off.
Marco’s sprinting like he’s running track, climbing out the back window of the warehouse, but I make it over there and grab his foot, pulling him back in.
He hits the ground hard, letting out a grunt as his chest collides with the concrete. Marco thrashes like a wild animal, kicking me in the ribs as I try to get a firm grip. His gun comes out, but I’m faster, grabbing his wrist and slamming it down against the floor until the weapon clatters free.
He draws his gun, but I punch him right in the nose, and his aim goes wild, shooting up into the ceiling.
Marco lets out a roar of pain, blood streaming down his face as I grab his collar and slam him against the floor again. His hands flail, clawing at me, but I knock them away and drive my fist into his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs.
I see the flash of a knife in his other hand, and he swings wildly, nearly nicking my arm. I grab his wrist and twist it hard until I hear the bone snap. His scream echoes in the warehouse.
Marco looks the worse for wear, having lost weight, looking dirty, and I wonder if he’s taken up drugs as well. Elora wouldn’t like the look of him now.
Bullets are sounding all over the warehouse, but I ignore them.
The knife clatters to the floor as I drive my elbow into his face, shattering his cheekbone. Blood sprays across the concrete, and I flip him over, pinning his arms behind his back. He bucks underneath me, but I grab the back of his head and slam it down into the floor.
I black out as I beat him, feeling his facial bones crunch under my knuckles. I don’t stop, even as his groans turn into wheezes, and his body goes slack beneath me. My fists are slick with blood, and my vision blurs.
When I finally fall over, I’m not sure why.
Angelo runs over to me, his face pale.
“Shit, Camden. You’re hit,” he says, and I look down. I don’t see any bullet hole, but my back feels like it’s on fire all of a sudden, and something is trickling down my spine.
I look up at Angelo, and then I black out.