Chapter 3

XANDER POV

“Ready to dispatch?”

I intoned softly with my eyes scanning the dark surrounding at the back of the harbor. Five different voices sang “CLEAR” into the truck’s radio, which was connected to my phone. I nodded to myself before powering the beast that roared to life as the engine engaged.

I yanked off the seatbelt that was like a damn restraint gluing me to the seat, then stepped on the gas and drove out of the parking lot.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I smirked to myself as I entered the busy, heavily congested route that left the LA Harbour and got lost in the city. For the 2nd of January, the roads were way too packed.

One of the many rules of the kind of life I led was:

NEVER GO ON MISSIONS IN A GROUP, UNLESS THE MISSION REQUIRES SO.

I understood that rule more than I understood the anatomy of life itself. It was a damn truth that many cooks spoil the broth, and I wasn’t going to have the trigger-happy motherfuckers destroy one of my best moments. And that is why we all collected the ‘shipments’ at different times, waited at our respective places for the nightfall, then proceeded together to the base to count our millions.

That wasn’t all though! The thrill that followed with the idea of driving a truck full of fuckin’ M&M on the highway congested with normal civilians that despised their lives so much that they would rather slave for 10 shitass hours in damn ironed suits and heels, with a son of a biscuit bitch barking orders to them all day was oddly satisfying. Anything could go wrong. A fuckin’ Karen could slam the brakes in front of my truck and bitch about it for not having a license plate, and then I would drill her skull with a bullet and watch as blood oozed and poured like a damn stream.

Fun right?

One would think I was a cold-blooded asshole that got off the idea of blood. But I wasn’t always like this, not that I complained. I loved my life so bad that I would rather chop off my dick and chow it like damn sugarcane, than going back to that sad sorry life.

Once upon a time, I was an awkward bubbly kid who was oddly satisfied with the life I lived and enjoyed the crumbs of bread I picked from the floor as my aunt and uncle dined at their expensive glass dinner table. It was all well; I had my best friend with me, my brother, one who could burn down the world for me. At 10, he was like a damn angel in white cloaks always protecting me against harsh weather and bullies.

Normal life they said. That all faded one night when our heartless relatives sold us for a fucking debt. My uncle was a fuckin drug addict who’d shit his damn pants without a shot of crack, and my aunt was a bitch who lived off sucking rich guys' dicks at whore houses. And when all their sins caught up with them, they sold us like a damn prized cow with red ribbons. Fun fact, they didn’t even show remorse about it.

I remember clutching my brother’s arm as those bulky men in black shoved us into the car, before stuffing us in cargos and sealing them with nails. The last thing I remember was screaming my lungs out as they shoved me in it, before sealing it shut. And when they opened it, we were off American lands, somewhere in the lands ruled by Hades where we met thousands of children like us.

For years later, we lived off like fuckin caged animals, whipped and killed like our lives were nothing but a waste on this earth. It took a dagger into Antonio’s life to understand that life wasn’t a damn turkey on the table on Thanksgiving. It sure as hell wasn’t presents wrapped in shiny wrappers by the fireplace on a Christmas morning, with the thought that fuckin Santa dumped them through the chimney.

Life was blood, war, greed, and all the malicious things of this world you can think of.

“Truck 3 is followed.” A voice boomed into the radio bringing me back to the present.

Just who in the fuckin’ fuck was asking to die on a Sunday evening?

“Route number?” I inquired glaring in the rearview mirror at the cars parading behind me, then abruptly swerved to the left without much of a warning or a signal and switched lanes, causing horns to honk and very colorful words to rain through the night. That only fuelled the adrenaline that was coursing in my blood like a shock of electricity. My hands gripped the steering wheel tight as I stepped onto the gas, all along while awaiting the answer. I fuckin’ hated the suspense. I was never the patient kind and they all knew it.

“Ferry Street.” The fucker who sounded like he was about to piss his pants answered after 30 heartbeats, causing me to sigh out audibly. That’s why I hated rookies; they panicked when they had to stay calm and always managed to fuck up everything at the very end,

“How many cars?”

“3. All of them black.”

“Meet me at VT Bridge. See if you can get rid of them.” I barked into the orders as I sped down the road that was going to take me to VT Bridge I was damn miles from it but I knew shit was going to go down, and I had to be there myself to make it even worse than shit. It didn’t take a second before the fucker began hissing like a damn snake into the phone, making me wish he was just within reach so that I could show him a thing or two.

“Boss, they’re catching up o…”

“Calm the fuck down before I help you by bashing your head so hard your mother would have a hard time recognizing you!” My roar filled the car as I stepped harder on the gas, feeling fuckin’ pissed with every passing second.

My head reeled with all sorts of thoughts of who had such thick and heavy balls to actually come to cause a ruckus on my turf. I may have lost the Perhe La Guerra to the Italians, but I was still fuckin’ king, especially in the streets of California and every street of the goddamn neighboring states.

A sudden sound of the gunshot followed by a scream had me speeding like a dang bat chased out of hell,

“All of you, head to the base as in right fuckin’ down. And you little Johnny, I swear if you lose even a single pack of my shit, you will pay with your blood and everyone whom you share DNA with. Man the fuck up and fight, that’s what I gave you a gun and a damn silencer for. And fuckin’ stop screaming like a damn bitch.”

The sound of tires screeching against tar road was all I could hear as I overworked the engine, turning abruptly to the left and driving down the bridge route. I overtook lazy asses frolicking in front of me in their cheap cheesy ass buckets, leading to a series of disturbing honks. I didn’t have to drive for long, because I spotted the 3 black SUVs, cocooning a white truck and bashing it from all the sides except the front. That explains the screaming.

“Motherfuckin fuck!” I cursed as I cradled the steering wheel with one hand and pulled my little girl from the dashboard, then rolled down the window and peeked through.

Aiming at the black SUV attacking from the back, I said my damn mantra, the one I always chanted before I caused the devil to sit beside himself;

“Uno, Dos, Tres...” That’s damn right, countdown in Spanish, and then pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to have frozen as the back window of the SUV smashed into million pieces, before a lovely shade of red spurted on the windscreen.

“Boo fuckin’ hoo!” I muttered to myself as my lips tugged up in a smirk,

What followed next had me screaming like a bitch. The SUV revved forward before halting abruptly, causing the rear wheels to lift to the sky. The whole 4,000-pound European metal flipped in the air before landing top-down with a loud crash, causing the very foundation of the bridge to shake.

Chaos. Complete and unmatched chaos. Music to my damn ears!

When realizing their very awaiting sweet end, the other two SUVs sped and took off, before disappearing into the night without much of a back glance, leaving my bashed truck alone.

Signaling the toy-boy to step down, he drove to the shoulder before killing the engine. As soon as my own truck came to stop, I was out in a split second already at his door. I pulled it open before yanking him out, only to find him wide-eyed and mad shit trembling. Before I could say anything, colorful flashing lights and sirens filled the air, and I found myself cursing in 10 different languages I never realized I knew.

I glanced down at the fucker and he started explaining even before I could open my mouth to give him a little piece of my mind, and maybe a bullet between his eyes,

“I called them. I didn’t know what to do and you weren’t…” I sealed his mouth shut with a fist that even bruised my knuckles, making him go limp in my arms.

Fuckin’ Classic.

Now he fainted.