Hitting on the hitman

Fairytales made of sandpaper. (84)

That's when I saw it. Men in black padded uniforms showing FBI came storming in, they had thick helmets and heavy bulky guns. They flooded from the doors then above and I took this opportunity.

I swung myself around clutching onto Gray's kneck making myself dangle off him before letting go, and I started to run, but when I looked back, to my surprise he wasn't behind me.

He was gone, now in a crowd of FBI and his men punching and shouting.

My eyes darted around to find that the place looked like a warzone, I don't know how Gray's presence had managed to block it all out.

Hundreds of bullets flung through the air smashing into FBI and Mafia sending people flying back, The blood clustered in pools littering the floor and soaked in everyone's clothes, somehow even my clothes were drowned in crimson stains and none of it came from me.

The air smelled metallic, like a mix of lead and iron. Melting in a fear sturring pot. There was also a burning smell, dense and thick in the air, filling my senses, making my vision blur for a moment.

Then the noise cut in. Men yelled and screamed, somehow they reached my ears beyond the Hundreds of gunshots and bullets clacking against the floor, the splashing of blood and flesh as people's skin became torn and battered.

But somehow amongst the death-wrenched chaos, I recognised a familiar face. Leo stood there, amongst the men in uniform and helmets, he grabbed a man punching him and kicking him to the floor, Another man came flying at him and he bent over sending the man flying on his back hitting the harsh floor.

When he got back up his eyes flickered over to me and he plastered on a quick guilty smile before getting back into action, but that's enough for me.

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. If it weren't for him, I don't know if we would make this out alive.

One by one the mafia men started dropping, whether they were cuffed, tazed or shot, the fighting lessened. As the black padded men began engulfing the grounds, surrounding the mafia men slowly, my father's face grew bitter as the FBI began to circle him.

Then his gaze darted over to Lucas who was fist to fist in a fight with Angelo, Lucas kicked and beat Angelo, not realising of course that he meant anything to me or had any relation to me, only that he was an above-average fighter to the rest.

But when Angelo grabbed Lucas from behind, trying to choke him, Lucas reached for his best friend, the thing he knew better than anything in the world, and suddenly when I looked over to my father, the scribbling that framed his face, blurring his features was gone.

I finally saw my Dad's face, old and tattered with time. But it was my dad, only it was twisted with anger, It was one of those rare looks, far scarier than Gray or Raymond could ever pull. It was the type of look you'll only see once or twice in your life if you are so unfortunate. Seeing someone you once looked up to, seeing the change in their face, or maybe the hidden truth of how they've always been. Either way, it's a puncturing look. As if Cerberus or death itself would take one glance and go running.

While Lucas' focus was on pulling the gun from his pocket my father's focus was on him and it was only when my father's hand twitched with the gun in it that I knew his next desperate move.

My chest was heavy, but I swung down anyway reaching for the nearest gun, with nothing but a foggy mind to guide me. How had it come to this? Maybe that's something I've been stupid enough to deny this whole time. But even as the gun felt like a heavy chain weight, begging my arm to fall. I aimed the gun anyway, my lungs squeezed so tight inside of me I had to hold my breath as I looked glared my father down and he raised his gun, taking aim.