Stroke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Gabby Grace

  My motions are automatic, separating feeling from process. Reload, aim, squeeze trigger, bad guy goes down. Repeat. Flashes of blood through my scope tell me I’ve hit my mark. Move on to the next one.

  I feel nothing. No emotion and no remorse. I’m only doing what is necessary. To avenge my brother’s death. To further solidify the Denunzio family name in the annals of legend.

  One thought weighs on my mind. Where’s Sirico?

  59

  Frankie

  “Holy shit!” The shockwave throws me backwards onto my ass from my kneeling position about fifty yards away. Two supports are obliterated off their moorings, pieces of metal are flying into the dirt next to me, and I’m thankful they didn’t find my flesh.

  I question the amount of C-4 I used, but then after admiring my handiwork, I feel more impressed with myself than anything else. Add it to my resume now. Demolitions expert.

  Bella made it inside. I couldn’t blow the charge until then. I also couldn’t wait for them to take Vito inside. He looked like he’d have been out there on the deck for the long haul, while they worked him over and wore him down. He’d be no use to anyone after that.

  He’s a tough guy, but a guy can only take so much. When that fucker threw the third punch seemed like as good of a time as any. That fuck is down on the rocks now, and he won’t be throwing punches at my friend ever again.

  I couldn’t see what happened to Vito from my angle, with the smoke, debris, and mangled railings blocking my view. As the smoke is clearing, I see Valentino about twenty-five yards up the hill from me, the soft moonlight illuminating his shape, picking bad guys off like he’s playing a video game. He’s a Grade A badass, and I question the way I spoke to him earlier.

  It’s time to go in. I won’t leave Vito in there unarmed.

  Pulling a 9-mil out of my backpack, the cold steel feels good in my hands. Adding it to the 9-mil already in my right hand, and double checking that I have plenty of clips in my pocket, I feel like I can take on all comers.

  Up on my feet, arms extended in front of me, my head on a swivel, I move in low and fast, crouching amid the gunfire pummeling all around me. Valentino’s keeping it plenty hot, reloading that high-powered rifle as fast as any man I’ve seen. He’s a fucking machine. Calculated, focused, and without an ounce of hesitation.

  I’m covering his right now, crouching low, my legs and lower back are burning, but I’m keeping my head up and eyes alert. Pop. Pop. Ripping shots from my right trigger into an upper chest, the blurry face that came out of nowhere goes down in a heap right at my feet.

  A few more steps then I’m down on my right knee, jabbing into the brush, aiming over my left knee. Pop. Pop. Pop. Head and neck shots, dead in mid-fucking air, falling off to my left and out of my mind.

  My back is now up against the side of the house. No reload yet. The house is level over my right shoulder. Tilting way the fuck down, there is obvious straining on the remaining beams, and I hear loud cracks of wood snapping and metal warping and straining under the weight of the remaining house still standing over my left.

  That’s where Vito is. He’d fucking do it for me. Sprint over, head up. Pop. Pop. Eliminating a form lying flat on my right, holding onto a mangled rail to avoid sliding off into the fucking oblivion of my deadly deed.

  Listening, I hear some moaning, but then I hear something else. A voice. Should be right from over there. it’s off to my left, so I sidestep my way down the incline. Scanning.

  60

  Vito

  Ohhh fuck. I can’t hold on another fucking minute. Ahhhhhh. I vocalize how my body feels, tired yet strong, but just hanging on by a fucking thread.

  My legs are dangling over the side, the weight of the chair adding to my fucking agony in my left hand, and my forearm clutching onto the metal railing, holding back all of my weight from dragging me down into instant death on the rocks below. I saw that fucker go over the side just as he connected with a third right cross into my mug, his entire body flying over the collapsed rail. The look on his face will always fucking haunt me as he knew he was fucked in the worst way imaginable. The sound of his body hitting the rocks, I could hear his head split in two like a fucking watermelon on the concrete.

  Not fucking me. No fucking way am I dying that pussy’s death.

  Come on, Vito. Hold on, Vito. Help is fucking coming.

  My football training comes kicking in – never give a fucking inch and you’ll never give a yard. Digging my cleats into the turf, and knowing, just fucking knowing, that no one could best me. Double teams, chop blocks, hands to the face… nothing… I mean fucking nothing could stop me.

  Embrace the pain in your arm. Love that fucking feeling of your shoulder getting ripped out of its socket, dangling over inanimate objects that will sever my connection to this world. Love this fucking position, everything stacked against me, yet here I am. I’m still in the fucking fight.

  I want to fight. Get me out of this shit so I can fucking fight. Bella fucking needs me. I’m hanging onto this pole as much for her as I am for myself, and there’s no fucking way I’m not getting her out of this shit I buried her in.

  This is all my fucking fault, but all that shit aside, I will end any man that goes near here. Just get me on my feet, give me a fucking gun, and give me some bad guys to kill.

  “Fuck!… Fuck!”

  61

  Frankie

  “Fucking hang on, Vito.” I half yell as I scamper down the inclined section of decking and try to hold onto things that are either wedged in or anchored down.

  “It’s about fucking time, Frankie.” He’s fucking pissed.

  Vito’s hanging on by one arm, the veins and muscles shaking like he can’t hold on another second, but I know Vito. He’s a fucking bull, and there’s no way he’s going over the side.

  I need something to pull him up, but he only has one hand free with the other still duct taped to the chair. If he reaches for anything I throw him, he’ll have to let go.

  Then I see it. A table umbrella. If I can wedge it between some of the debris, I may be able to climb down it to get to him. With no time to waste, I lunge for the umbrella, grab hold of it, and as I slide toward the abyss, I twist it in my hands to make the pole wider. It abruptly catches, the impact of motion to stop testing my ability to hold on. From here, I reach over and grab Vito’s forearm, muscles straining and bathed in sweat.

  “Take my arm.” Vito looks at me and knows he must do this. He has to let go and grab my arm. “Pussy.”

  With that single word, he immediately let’s go of the railing and transfers his grip to my forearm. “That’s it, Vito.”

  What I need to do next defies all fucking logic. I need to swing Vito back and forth until I can release him into some debris that’s holding in place for now to get him away from this deadly opening.

  “I’m going to swing you, Vito.”

  “You’re going to what?”

  “Swing you… trust me.”

  I know I don’t have the strength to curl him up in a biceps curl, so reaching down, my right arm feeling like it’s coming out of its socket, I swing him back and forth, back and forth, the sleek side of the wooden chair gliding smoothly along the deck. “Now!” I yell out.

  I release him, and he slides the three or so feet down the deck right into a pocket of metal and wood debris.

  “Fuck.” Vito calls out, half losing it considering how many times he’s almost died today.

  I pull my left thigh up to me, grab the knife from my ankle sheath, and then call down to Vito who’s laying on his side now, the legs of the chair and his feet resting flat against the chunks of debris keeping him from sliding over the edge to the rocks below.

  62

  Vito

  “Here you go, Vito.” He slides the knife down the decking to me, and I catch it in my free hand. I cut my wrist free first, then quickly strip the tape off my legs, pulling them free. Shifting the knife to b
etween my teeth, I use the chair as leverage, pushing my legs off and exploding upwards toward Frankie, who’s still holding onto the umbrella.

  He reaches down, and with my two hands grasping his forearm, I pull myself up to his level, grabbing onto the strong wooden umbrella pole. I continue pulling myself past it, until I can use my legs to push myself off the pole and to another level of deck that’s not tilting as badly.

  I can see movement in the house, and off to my left, Valentino is fighting his way down the hill, handguns in each hand like something you’d see in an action movie. He’s getting pinned down behind a bench and a giant air conditioning unit that’s about eight feet off the edge of the house. He needs some help.

  I look down at Frankie, who is already climbing his way back up to me. We make our way, grabbing onto anything that won’t give way, until finally we reach a flat area of the deck. We regroup behind a built-in cooking area that houses a serious barbecue, the sound of bullets pinging off it now on the other side. Someone saw us move in here.

  Frankie hands me a 9-mil, along with a few extra clips, and I hang onto his knife, tucking it into my belt.

  “You go left and I’ll go right.” Frankie nods and we’re off, crouching out from behind the hulk of metal and firing before we turn the corner. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  I clip a guy who was hiding behind the couch off to my right, keeping Valentino at bay. He’s wounded but not dead, clutching his left arm. With my arm extended out in front, I move toward him swiftly. Pop. Pop. Head shots. Fucking dead now.

  Frankie’s pinned down off to my left, and instinctually I dive off to my right, my ribs getting caught with my elbow and knocking the wind out of me a bit as I hit the hard deck. Bullets are whizzing past me and lodging into the wood mantle behind me, and I know my instincts just saved my ass.

  Frankie and I are both pinned down as automatic weapons fire pelts into the couch that I’m hiding behind and on the side of the stone fireplace off to my side, expertly protecting Frankie from a hail of lead. I take the chance to reload, and what I see next impresses the shit out of me. Valentino moves from his hiding spot, cocked and loaded, blasting away with his two silver pearl-handled handguns. He’s walking right through a huge hole in the outside wall of the house created by the explosion, bullets pinging all around him but none finding their mark.

  Frankie nods to me smiling. Focusing back on the action, I know he’s admiring his explosive expert handiwork as much as I am.

  Valentino is fucking badass, no fucking question about it. When I was hung up by the rail, I could hear him blasting away at the bad guys, and considering the body count in here right now, he took out five or six guys at least.

  I pop up and start firing from where I was being assaulted a minute ago. Someone in the depths of the house is shitting a brick with guys moving in on two sides. Frankie jumps in, too, and pushes forward, firing as he goes, and the chaos is complete.

  There is a blast of automatic fire up into the ceiling as another of Sirico’s guys goes down, wounded badly. Pop. Pop. Frankie finishes him off.

  The noose is tightening, as only a handful of henchman remain in the interior part of the house.

  No Bella yet. I wonder if they have her. If they do, shit’s about to get fierce. I hurdle a downed dining room chair, then crouch to the wall to peer around it. Pop. Pop. Gunfire strikes the wall across from me. I swallow hard knowing that was too fucking close.

  I wipe my brow with my forearm, wait for Valentino to pinch in as I give him a signal to circle around farther to his left, squeezing the holdouts back towards Frankie and me.

  He releases his old clips, clicks in two fresh ones, and moves forward fearlessly and with bad intent. Valentino looks like the Terminator, unstoppable as he takes out yet another of Sirico’s gang, this guy hit point blank in the face as he popped his head up to get a look. Without much head left, his prostrate body flies backwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

  Frankie and I rush forward together, hurdling bodies and furniture, pushing toward the back bedrooms. Pop. Pop.

  Frankie’s hit in his shoulder, the spurt of blood shooting forward and onto the expensive oriental carpet. I can see all the details of it almost like it’s happening in slow motion. He unintentionally rolls forward, hits his shoulder hard into a cushioned lazy chair in an attempt to slow his momentum so he can remain protected behind it.

  Facing me now, he’s clutching his left shoulder, his face scrunched up in a grimace as he applies pressure to the wound with his right hand. “Don’t be a pussy, Frankie,” I call out from behind the low grand piano.

  He tries to smile, but the pain is forcing his mouth closed. I sprint up next to him, nobody firing at me this time. Valentino’s still working his way in on the left. I take off my shirt to wrap his shoulder, bringing one end of the shirt under his arm, the other side around his upper back, and then over his shoulder. I tie if off in a simple knot at the peak of his right shoulder.

  “Get him for me, Vito.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever the fuck shot me.”

  “You got it, Frankie. Hey…”

  “What?”

  “I promise not to be a pussy if you don’t bleed out on this floor.”

  “Deal.” He grits his teeth, and applying more pressure to the wound, the blood still pouring through, the rest will be up to him. I need to finish this and Frankie knows it.

  I move to my right around the piano again, and set off in a quick sprint to get behind a large cabinet. I peer around to the left and see the guy who got Frankie, and is now concentrating on Valentino. I recognize him. It’s Tommy Dibullo.

  I’m going to do Tommy old school for fucking with my boy Frankie, and for kidnapping Bella. This is all fucking me. I switch the gun to my left hand and grip the blade of the hunting knife. I inch toward the unsuspecting man, my eyes on a swivel. Five yards away, coming in low and quiet, he spins violently at the last second, a sixth sense saving his ass for now, his 9-mil swinging toward me as I lunge forward with a straight-right jab, the metal plunging into just under his rib-cage. I drive it in with my right, forcing my full weight behind it. My left hand still gripping the handgun, I push his shoulder backwards, slamming him full force into the wall with a grunt. The slightest trickle of blood, crimson red, comes out of the corner of his surprised mouth. I taunt him right to his contorted face.

  “It’s over for you, Tommy. You’ll die knowing you fucking failed.” I twist the blade counter clockwise, flesh and insides shredding under my strain. “This is for Bella.” Then I twist it back the other way, his mouth agape and making a wheezing sound, his huge fucking nose not able to breathe another breath. “And this one is for Frankie.”

  His eyes show no more life. Dead on the knife, I’m holding him up on the blade because I don’t want to be done killing him yet. Realizing the situation now, I release him, stepping back, and tilting the blade and pushing with my left arm into him until his oversized belly slides off it, his wide open eyes staring at me as he falls to the floor, dead.

  63

  Valentino

  Vito just gutted the real big guy, and judging by the look in his eyes, this was personal. I’ve killed a lot of men today, but none of them matter. Sirico matters. He’s in here somewhere. I can sense him.

  I move beyond Vito as he’s wiping the blade clean on the big guy’s pants. Knife in his belt, he’s ready to move in with me. Nothing needs to be said, we both know what’s at stake with Frankie down.

  I kick in a door, and have both guns pointing into the side bedroom before the door slams off its top hinge, barely hanging on at the bottom. Vito’s covering my back. This room is clear. We move out in tandem, covering each other. I motion to Vito to kick this one open. He strikes his leg straight out. The door flies open and then swings back in his face as he darts to his right, pinning himself to the wall on the opposite side of the door opening, multiple shots hailing from inside the bedroom striking t
he opposite wall.

  He nods at me, and we’re exactly on the same page. I move quickly back the way we came, silently out through the front door, leaving it open, and hug the house to my right, resting underneath the bedroom window to plan my next move.

  I pull a rock from the ground, maybe the size of a softball, and backhand it over my shoulder, smashing through the large window. I automatically tuck my head down in case some shards blow out. Shots fire over my head and I can hear Vito yelling for the man to drop his weapon.

  I spring back around, bolt in through the front door, eager with anticipation, because I know who’s in that room. It’s got to be Sirico.

  Sure enough, Sirico’s eyes dart to mine, then back over to Vito who has him kneeling down with his hands up, the sweat making its way down his bewildered face, not fully comprehending how the tide turned so quickly on him.

  I nod to Vito.

  “Maybe you can leave Mr. Sirico and myself alone for a few minutes so we can get acquainted.”

  64

  Vito

  “Rot in hell, Sirico.” I lower my gun, saying goodbye to that evil fuck, as Valentino kicks him square in the jaw, sending him crashing backward into a side table by the bed. I know the last moments of his life are going to be filled with torturous pain at Valentino’s capable hands. Sibling vengeance will rein down on him in ways I can’t even fucking imagine.

  I don’t care a lick about him. Valentino can have him. From what I can tell, all the bad guys are dead, and I just need to find Bella. Is she still alive?

  “Bella!” I stop by Frankie and can tell he needs some medical attention right away judging by his color and the amount of blood flowing from his wound. “Hang in there, Frankie. I’ll get some help.”