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His father.
Then Jackson. And the man who was his older lookalike as well.
They all flew into the building, hugging the walls, and moving forward in unison.
Bullets continued to ring out outside, and I could have sworn I heard men hollering in pain before they were quiet again.
“Okay. You’re okay,” Junior said, coming up to me, reaching down, and hauling me up with one arm. “Behind me. Grab my shirt. Like when we went to your apartment,” he said, voice brooking no argument.
Not that I had one.
“You’re okay,” I said, hearing the hitch in my voice as I tried to look under Junior’s arm, and saw his father, uncle, and cousin disappear.
There were morepop pop pops.
Then the most eerie silence I’d ever heard in my life.
Broken only by the footsteps of Junior’s family walking back, guns still drawn.
Outside was quiet for once too.
In fact the only thing I heard was my own breathing, and the ragged breathing of the leader on the floor, clutching his hand.
Then, out of nowhere, clapping.
Slow, methodical clapping.
Like a villain in a movie.
“The fuck…” Junior started as I peeked out again and saw him.
Andrés “A” Alcazar.
Walking into the area like he owned the place, a smirk toying with his lips.
“Look who it is,” he said, addressing the man on the ground. “Shoulda been dead years ago,” he said, taking the chair I’d vacated, turning it, and sitting on it backward, arms folded over the backrest. Like he was having the most normal, casual conversation ever. “Know what they say, though,” A went on. “Fucking cockroaches never die. Do bleed, though,” he said, smirking at the man’s hand. “How you been, Jorge?” he asked.
“Fuck you,” Jorge spat out, gaze moving around the floor, likely looking for the gun that was in my hand.
“Lil’ mama over there got it,” A said, shocking me enough that I almost dropped the damn thing. “What you think? You wanna do the honors?” he asked, looking at me as I stepped more toward Junior’s side.
“Honors?” I asked, brows pinching.
“No,” Junior said at almost the same time.
“Fine by me,” A said, then in a move that was so casual, no one even flinched, he grabbed a gun, and fired into the man’s head, spraying blood and brain matter all over the place.
“Fucking Christ, A,” Junior snapped, pushing me behind his back again, but it was too late. I’d seen it. And I was pretty sure I’d never get that image out of my mind.
Yes, objectively, I knew that was what was happening with all the gunshots. Men were being hit, were being killed.
But knowing that and seeing it were very different things.
“So, we gonna get some dinner after this?” A asked, making Junior’s dad snort.
“This isn’t over, A,” Junior said.
A’s head was on a swivel, looking around.
