Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
***
The week before Thanksgiving, I come home after school with my kid brother and it’s only because Gina’s brother Trey stops Willie in the hallway to show him a new set of Yugioh cards he got that I get the chance to shield him from what’s inside the door. My mother dead on the kitchen floor, sink overflowing with the water running, her head caved in because of that fucker’s steel-toed boots.
***
A Month Later
I jog up to the industrial plaza with a line of storage units at the back. It’s eleven thirty, but I got the call to come from Dario a half hour ago.
And there’s been ice in my blood the whole walk here because I know why he summoned me.
“He’s here,” Dario says, getting out of his brother’s Corvette and shaking my hand.
I shake Tommy Ferrano’s hand as well, then I follow them inside, down a long hallway of orange garage doors until we stop at one. Dario lifts it up high enough for us to duck under.
Tommy pulls the door down behind us. The Rossi brothers are already inside and they’ve done me a solid. A solid I’ll surely have to pay back one day. Doesn’t matter that I might have to do something I don’t like; they’ve come through for me.
“I appreciate this, you guys,” I say, taking in the sight in front of me.
“It’s our pleasure,” Tino says, grinning.
Tino and his twin brother Nino are like half-Italian ginger-haired guys that look like they could be Hells Angels. And that was no typical happy grin. I’ve known this guy and his brother who are a few years older than me for about a year, and in that time I’ve gotten to see this grin enough to know it usually means he’s happily about to fuck someone up.
In this case, it’s me that’s going to do the fucking up, but he’ll get to watch.
My eyes hit the piece of shit that murdered my mother a month ago. He sits on a folding metal chair, hands bound with zip ties. He’s got tape over his mouth and wrapped around his torso holding him to the chair. There’s blood on his chin and over his eye.
And I stare coldly at the piece of shit. It’s been a month since I found her dead on the kitchen floor, her brains smeared on her caved-in face. It’s been a month and a day since I last saw his fuckin’ face. He was wise to hide out from the cops. But he wasn’t wise enough to go far away, because Nino and Tino found him.
His eyes widen when they land on me.
He’s been roughed up and he probably had the shock of his life when these guys grabbed him and brought him here.
The twins are making a name for themselves as muscle for hire that solve problems. Their rep just got elevated, too, because Nino popped the big question to Bianca Trulia, who’d be the mafia princess of Portland if her wise guy father hadn’t gotten killed in a car wreck.
While these guys are muscle-for-hire, when they told me they found him for me, they insisted that they didn’t want a dime for their efforts. They want me to have justice for my mother. I’d pay whatever the cost for the chance to end this motherfucker.
I hear the sound of a gun being cocked and look over my shoulder at Tommy who has it. He hands it over.
“Know what you’re doin’?” he asks me.
My stomach lurches at the weight of it in my hand. I shake my head, not about to bullshit like some guys would.
He gestures for it, so I hand it back.
“When you’re ready, point and shoot,” he says, pointing the gun at the wall and showing me. “Do whatever you wanna do first. You want help, we help. You want to make this fucker pay all on your own, that’s cool too. Using a piece is optional. You got other plans, no worries. Got a set of butcher knives here too if you prefer.”
“Or a container of gasoline and a box of matches. We got your back, brother,” Dario says from behind me.
Dario told me a while ago that his father’s best soldier taught his older brother to shoot. He also invited me to the shooting range next week; he’s about to get lessons, too.
Max’s eyes bounce between us, and they’re wide. He’s trying to talk. All I hear are muffled throat noises behind the tape along with him sniffling and snorting like a bull.
Tommy presses the gun into his left palm and holds it out for me. I take it again. I feel the weight of it in my hand and know I won’t forget this feeling. I slowly move, extending my arm and pointing it at Max, watching as his bloodshot eyes widen even more. I listen as he grunts harder, trying to plead his case. But only for a beat before I stride two paces forward. This puts the barrel of the gun to his forehead.