Episode 16| Crying Skies

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Bryce's P.O.V.

A distinct flow of adrenaline pumped into my bloodstream. I shifted into the primal instinct of flight or fight. Someone was going to die today, and it wasn't going to be me.

I was buzzed, with acute vision and open eyes – mindful of my whereabouts and the lanky shadows that stretched across the ceilings like cloaked villains of the night. I let the mental high takeover. This wasn't the time to second guess. I lived on impulse in this mindset, detaching my conscious and feeding off the energy that was circulating through my veins.

Rocking back in my shoes, I cocked the gun to the side, popped it open and spun the cylinder that contained the bullets. I counted six inside of the chamber. Unless I got lucky and used one bullet on three guys, I had no other choice but to not miss and use this weapon sparingly.

If the opportunity presented itself, I had to steal a gun of theirs. We couldn't get out of here alive without doing that. The likelihood of me getting one of the guns off them was low. I was willing to try though. I was willing to try anything if it had a form of hope laced on it.

I had gotten myself into similar scenarios in the past, just with a little less pressure weighted down on me. They had 300,000 dollars' worth of merchandise on them. Depending how they cut it and if they would add a filler to maximize profit, it could double the amount.

Julio was behind this ambush. His piss-stain of a mark was written on it. I knew his cheapskate self would transform the high-quality coke into diluted stepped on coke, pricing it the same but losing the true value of it. His customers were too brainless to question him, agreeing to whatever ludicrous cost he had up.

I rewrapped Conner rope to appear like they were untampered with and reapplied the tape to his face.

Pretend I'm not here, I mouthed to him.

Hunched forward, I crawled to the table to the left of me with a black sheet on top. I snuck underneath, holding my breath at the sound of the voices growing louder. I was curious to see who had decided to die today by crossing me. Pressing my face to cold cement floor, I wiggled my finger under the fabric that draped over the table and pushed it up.

I was wrong.

Julio wasn't amongst the eight hoodlums that tied up Conner, Anthony, and the girls. They were strangers, geared up in camo and bandana's partly covering their faces.

With a partially shielded face, I could easily identify Julio from a mile away. He had a deep scar from his ear to the top of his forehead. All thanks to me.

Two men stayed halfway up the stairs, sweeping the room with their riffles pointed and their fingers on the trigger.

"I could've sworn I heard a voice." One of the two guys with the riffle said. "Maybe it came from outside. Check outside."

"I don't see anyone though. What do you think boss?" Someone else joined in.

A figure with a semi-automatic, standing at the bottom of the stairs, was given full attention from everywhere – that must've been the boss. They wore a large beanie, adding an extra layer of protection so I couldn't see who they were. Their identify was a mystery to me, but still, I knew it wasn't Julio. This person was thinner than he was, and had a slimmer physique.

After checking to see if the coast was clear, the boss handed their weapon to one of their men, and lowered the bandanna to showcase their ruby-red lips and took off the beanie. Silky brunette hair tumbled down her back.

Her.

I was getting robbed by a woman. She couldn't be older than twenty.

I'd heard rumors of female gang leaders, but a lot of us brushed it off as folklore. Not because we didn't think girls were capable, but because women really weren't interested in this line of work. Griselda Blanco was the first female cocaine drug lord I had heard of, and with knowing that, I never crossed paths with anyone like her. I stuck to my beliefs that girls didn't go for this lifestyle.

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