Beautiful Bastard

1.

Hey guys, this is our first co-authored fan fiction, hope you guys enjoy it😽

Beautiful Bastard

Harry's P.O.V-

"Eyes on the ball, you know what you wa-; scratch that, what we want!"

"Targets destroyed" we shout together.

Even though this is a practice, I am pumped and ready. The targets are easy. A few shots and we win. After the order for us to start, I run to my position, my weapon- an AN-94 assault rifle- strapped to my side. My best buddy and partner in crime, decides to follow silently behind me.

Even though we're a mafia and participate in violent criminal activity we are trained like the army, our guns mostly Russian even though they were our enemies, we learnt that to fight you might fight as the other team only stronger. We are the best mafia in the world but we are very different. We have a huge advantage- nobody knows we exist.

We train for the worst. Heavy artillery is our best defence. We don't train or fight the few police officers that will be around, we train to defend ourselves against 50 or more men.

All of us know, there is no guarantee we will survive each mission or even training because it's so easy to get killed. All it takes is two seconds to mistake a team mate (or brother as we call each other) for an enemy and firing a single bullet, taking away their lives.

There has already been some who thought that it just isn't worth it, risking your life for gambling, drugs, money and stealing. Well, the gambling part is hardly a risk. Still, as soon as you're recognised in a casino or whatever, you're dead.

We have the biggest drug dealing business- in what we know- the world so many FBI agents try to track us down, but most end up with a dead end or we kill them as soon as they find out. Killing doesn't sadden us; it hardens our hearts, making us more brutal and lethal.

I've watched over and over again as my brother's die, by mistake or on purpose. Not once did I ever worry about that being me. I have nothing to come home to; I don't have a wife waiting for me at home, no one waiting for my return. Who would love a cold, heartless killer? The most precious thing I have is my Austin Martin vanquish bought by my over load of money.

This job makes us filthy rich that's the deal anyway, take as much money and run. The man with the most gets the most. After you realise how much you have, you want more. I've seen men left behind, even boys because of their over power of greed.

We have to be so very careful with our job. Leave no trace behind, is what we're told, day in and day out. Of course everyone is careful; no one wants to be captured by the enemy. Most of our biggest fights are with the other mafia's who want our money. We kill them, of course, but not easily. The ones who are in the same dirty game as we are our enemies. The cops aren't the big picture; they are easy to take care of. Them not knowing that there is a group as big as ours makes it easier. We have almost enough people to be an army. But not the good kind. Half of our brothers are scattered about Europe, taking care of things there. So there are thirty of us here now, or more, preparing for the next big thing.

I focus on what I have to do now, dropping silently behind a huge crate.

"Our enemy should be coming out behind those shrubs over there," Luke tells me, pointing ahead of us.

"Got it," I reply.

As soon as I hear the sound of rustling bushes, I move to my right, still slightly hidden behind the crate, and I shoot the first three men. Luke does a risky move though- he does a James Bond jump over the crate and sprays the rest with his machine gun, getting down when he need to refill or change the barrel.