Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
I don’t believe in luck.
In life, if something is going to happen, it will certainly happen.
People who sit around on their asses waiting for things like luck to interfere deserve whatever fucked up situation that way of thinking puts them in.
For someone who didn’t believe in luck—for a while, I’d been feeling quite lucky.
I’d met a girl who brightened my days, and for a suspiciously long time, life felt like a dream.
Lauren.
I was with her the night reality finally came knocking at my door. Reality, if nothing else, is ridiculously reliable. It always comes back. It always shows up, an ultimatum never too far behind.
My options were simple; it was do or die.
And in so many words, Lauren had practically asked me to leave my decision up to luck. I couldn’t say I was surprised that she was the type to hold out hope for divine intervention. Enough bad things hadn’t happened to her for her to realize that this—this was real life.
And in life, if something is going to happen, it will certainly happen. And the only thing that you can count on interfering is yourself.
“Lauren!” I didn’t like yelling at her, but she made it so hard not to in that moment. “I can’t do this with you right now.”
There was a short back and forth—a waste of time, really—before she ultimately swallowed hard, her eyes flooded with tears. As if it were the last thing she had left, she said the words.
“I love you. Please don’t go. I love you.”
I hated the fact that my heart responded to the confession.
In any other scenario, those words were something that I would’ve wanted to hear.
They would’ve meant something to me. However, they couldn’t right now.
Part of me was angry that she would weaponize love, of all things.
Was I supposed to change my mind and let Amir die because she loved me? Is that what she thought would happen?
***
With so much going on in my mind, I couldn’t afford to think about what I’d said to Lauren. Yes, I felt guilty, but I did what needed to be done. I couldn’t take back what I said, but I could sooner ask for Lauren forgiveness than bring Amir back from the dead.
So I made a decision and broke her heart.
I promised myself that I would apologize for it later.
It was raining that night, so of course, the Saturday night traffic was extra thick.
I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even have hope.
I just knew I had to try. All my sister had in her car’s glove compartment was a switchblade.
With no backup and no gun, I was, without a doubt, walking into a suicide mission.
But this was Amir we were talking about here. I didn’t have a choice.
I took the blade with me, leaving the car parked on the sidewalk in front of the club.
There was a sea of people rushing out of Poseidon when I arrived on the scene.
Amidst the screaming, I could very clearly make out the popping sound of gunshots.
Before that night, I had never ended anyone’s life.
It was actually kind of an accomplishment considering the world I’d grown up in.
The people in my life had stories for days about their very first kills.
I was once told that some people don’t find out that they’re not cut out for killing until after the deed is done.
They fire one bullet, see the damage caused, and just panic. They find it difficult to cope with the reality that they took a life. Some people are just not born to kill others.
I wondered if maybe that would be me.
Not gonna lie, part of me had already come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be.
As a crowd spilled out from inside the glass-walled club, I was running in the opposite direction, going towards the gunshots instead of away from them. No one was paying attention to me amidst the chaos, however, not while the inside of the club sounded like a Middle East war zone.
I was expecting five gunmen, but I only counted three. My eyes zeroed in on the one standing furthest from the other two, his eyes scanning the crowd for—me, probably.
That’s who they were here for.
Me.
I ducked my head in, looking for blind spots.
I needed to get my hands on his gun and to do that without getting shot, I needed to be discrete about it.
The other two gunmen shot sporadically into the panicking crowd.
It was with disgust that I noted that although they’d come to the club for me, they were still unleashing a rain of bullets unto an unsuspecting crowd—killing them because they could.
While the other two were occupied with their sick game of senseless murder, I pulled the blade out of its casing with my teeth, coming up behind the lone gunman, knife risen toward his neck.
In one swift motion, the cut was deep, sending a stream of blood cascading down his shirt, his hands coming up to his neck as if to stop himself from choking on his own blood.
When he fell, the gun fell with him. His eyes were still open.
I couldn’t tell if he died that way, or if I would be the last person this man ever saw.
I didn’t lean down to check his pulse. No, I only bent to pick up his gun.
I’d just killed a man with a switchblade and the only thing I could think about doing next was counting the bullets in this gun so I would know if I had enough to kill the next four.
Not a lick of remorse. To my disappointment, I was killing with ease.
I counted two bullets.
Shit.
Two bullets. Four gunmen. No backup.
I stepped around the mirrored tables surrounding me, careful not to step on any of the bodies on the ground.
The two gunmen at the opposite end of the club continued to fire rounds into a screaming crowd, nodding to one another as though they were on a successful hunting trip.
I crept in closer, closing one eye so I could get in a clear shot.
When I felt precise enough, I pulled the trigger, hitting one of the murderous duo right between the eyebrows.
One bullet. Three gunmen. No backup.
“I found him! He’s in here!” The second gunman fired erratically, half a dozen shots levied in my direction. A bullet narrowly missed my neck. I actually felt its heat as it passed a fraction of a centimeter away from my skin. “Yoooo, by the bar! It’s Ka—”
Two gunmen left. No backup. No bullets.
If I had moved a second slower when I jumped behind the bar, I would have caught at least four bullets.
The sounds of gunfire did not let up. The two remaining gunmen fully stepped out from the back and fired into the wood of the bar.
I could feel the shots vibrating the furniture against my back.
In front of me, bottles of liquor shattered, caught in the line of fire, splashing alcohol everywhere, soaking my clothes.
I looked around me for a weapon, an idea—something. The only thing my eyes fell on was the lifeless body of a Poseidon bartender, crouched behind the bar counter beside me. That would be me soon enough.
I’m fucked.
I focused on the sound of the approaching gunshots. At that moment, I didn’t think about myself, I didn’t think about Amir. I thought about the pain I’d left in her eyes, and how regretful it was that I wouldn’t get a chance to say I was sorry.
And then the gunfire ceased.
For a minute, I didn’t move, unsure if this was just some ploy to get me to step away from what was shielding me.
“Ayo, Youngblood! Ayo, Youngblood! That you behind the bar?”
With a shake of my head, my shoulders relaxed, the speed of my heartbeat slowing. Backup had finally arrived.
Youngblood.
No one had called me that in over twelve years.