Vulture Book I: Soft Lies
Episode| I.
The door slammed shut, echoing through the warehouse.
Voices murmured both inside and out, but those inside were oblivious to the eyes watching from the shadows.
Block lay low in his black-on-black Mercedes Benz, watching, waiting.
People came and went from the building, but the number inside didn't matter to him. He only wanted the head of LTF.
Block lived by rules—rules he enforced with an iron fist, even if it meant threatening to shoot anyone who disobeyed. They were written in stone:
F.O.E Law
Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself. We are not a gang, but a FAMILY. We live for each other. Love one another.
Be proactive.
Protect the women.
Protect the children.
The Boss's woman is untouchable.
The Consigliere's woman is untouchable.
Associates are not Soldiers. Associates answer to Soldiers, Soldiers answer to the Consigliere, and everyone answers to the Boss.
Check in and pay homage.
No drugs.
We live for each other!
Last but not least: respect the Boss. Break any of these rules, and consequences will follow. Leaving may or may not be negotiable.
When the law is broken, Block won't hesitate—either someone saves you, or you die. He means every word. Betrayal is a final act. Once the trust is shattered, no apology will ever mend it.
Block opened the car door, exhaling heavily as though breathing out smoke.
He motioned to his men, and they emerged like shadows, closing the doors quietly behind them.
Masked, armored, and dressed in all black, they were invisible in the night.
Basket, always keeping an eye on his younger brother, flashed two fingers in the air and signaled the group.
Seventeen men veered right, fifteen to the left.
Basket stayed close behind Block, watching his back like a second pair of eyes.
Block turned to him and gestured toward the warehouse window. Basket leaped onto his brother's shoulder, silently climbing up to peer inside.
From the window, Basket scanned the scene below.
Men wandered, oblivious to the eyes tracking them.
A few women were scattered among them. Basket didn't bother to tell Block—he figured his brother knew.
But F.O.E. didn't involve women. Block had always refused to acknowledge women as equals in this world.
To him, masculinity belonged to men. Basket, on the other hand, had a different view.
He believed in the strength of women, though his own dominance was what mattered most. He wanted a woman who matched his arrogance.
Block, meanwhile, wanted one who knew her place.
Inside, the men scrambled. Basket, sensing trouble, tapped his man on the shoulder and whispered an order. The man left and returned ten minutes later, panic in his eyes.
"We've been spotted," he gasped. "A few of our men are down."
Basket jumped down to inform Block. "Now or never," he said, urgency thick in his voice.
Block gave a nod. The quiet before the storm shattered as they rushed in.
The doors flew open, and chaos erupted. Gunfire filled the air, brass shells clattering to the floor, ricocheting off metal.
A man next to Block took a shot to the face, crumpling beside him.
Block barely glanced down, rage flaring in his eyes.
He raised his AK-47 and unleashed a hail of bullets.
The LTF members fired back, but they were outnumbered, outgunned.
Basket's voice rang out over the gunfire: "Kill them all! No survivors. Headshots only!"
Through the haze of smoke and gunfire, Block locked eyes on the head of LTF.
He approached, Beretta aimed squarely at the man's chest. Just as Block squeezed the trigger, a kick to his back sent him stumbling forward.
He whipped around, only to find himself face-to-face with a woman—5'6", coiled hair falling to her chest, brown-skinned, with a gun pointed at him.
Block sneered. Before she could pull the trigger, Basket crept behind her and knocked her out with a blow to the head.
He grabbed her by the hair as she struggled, her screams muffled by the chaos.
Block looked away, already focused on his target.
With one hand, Block seized the LTF leader by the throat, pressing the barrel of his Beretta under his chin. He glanced at the woman, her eyes pleading.
"Please, don't kill my brother," she begged.
Block's lip curled. "Shut up."
Her words hung in the air—brother? She realized her mistake too late. The LTF leader's eyes closed, his last words barely a whisper: "I love you."
Block hesitated, a thought flickering through his mind: What if that was Basket? What if I were in his place?
The warehouse fell silent, with only a handful of LTF members left, kneeling, awaiting their fate. Block's law demanded blood, but something in him wavered. He clenched his jaw, pushing the feeling away.
"Shoot them all," Block commanded, his voice hardening.
It was a test of his authority. He couldn't afford hesitation. To show weakness now would invite rebellion. He knew what had to be done.
He shot the LTF leader dead. The woman screamed, her voice muffled as Basket covered her mouth. Block didn't flinch as she sobbed. The LTF leader's body slumped against her, the bullet having found its mark between his eyes.
"Let me hold her. One last time," the leader had asked. Block had given him that moment. Now, there would be no more.
As the men zipped the body into a black bag, Block turned to the woman.
She clawed at his face, drawing blood. He slapped her, harder than necessary, and would have done more if Basket hadn't intervened.
"What if that was me?" Basket reminded him.
Block wiped the blood from his cheek, teeth clenched.
Zip ties were produced. The woman thrashed, screaming for her brother as they stuffed a cloth in her mouth. The warehouse reeked of gasoline. She watched, powerless, as they set the building ablaze, her muffled cries drowned out by the crackling flames.
"Put her in the car," Block ordered, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned close to her ear, hissing, "Do anything stupid, and you'll end up buried under the floorboards. Got it?"
Defeated, she nodded, the fight drained from her body—for now.
.