Page 10 of Potent Desire 5
Is she even inside the house? Would Father be so brazen to believe I’d give in to his demands? Or is this fight for nothing and they’re out, somewhere in the city, in a more controlled environment, waiting for word of my attack?
I shouldn’t think about this now. Focusing on this fight is my priority. Even if they’re not here, weakening the Braddocks is all I’ve got.
Well-trained riflemen stand ready, firing single bullets in the direction of awkward over-dangling Braddock men, half-behind cover. One bullet, one kill. Assault rifles and sub-machine guns empty magazines with no purpose or direction towards the house. Some smash through the windows, tearing curtains to shreds, and giving us a view inside. From outside, looking in, men drop while attempting to return fire, their guns only sticking out briefly before they need to reload.
Father’s army has grown, but they were not prepared for this type of war. Even with all the land grabbing Father’s done, the three families still reign supreme.
Return gunfire ricochets, thuds, dents, and on some occasions even tears through the metal of our vehicular shield wall. Windows shatter from the impact, and bullets fly overhead, but the three families stand strong.
No one’s waiting for orders, they’re just doing what feels right. Battling excitedly in the first war of our generation. This is what we’ve all prepared for. Odd jobs, a beating here and there, have all geared us towards this.
A last stand between the houses, for absolute control and superiority.
“How did you think this was a good idea?” Larry Slater asks. He’s pretty much laying on his back, his gun clutched to his chest. His words are muted, even though he is shouting, amidst the loud bangs from various weapons.
“Never said it was a good idea. It’s just the only one I came up with,” I reply, shrugging. “But enough talk, let’s get this over with.”
I peek my head over the front of the car I’m hunched behind. Any of Father’s men, who are out of cover, are met by someone’s bullet before they can duck back in again. This is the easiest part, I know, holding a line of defense. It’s storming the house that worries me.
But my life is unimportant in this scrap. Isabella will return home safely, with or without me at her side.
“Look at them,” someone lets out an elated war cry. “They’re squirming like maggots.”
“Then we keep pushing them back,” I shout. A thunderous roar bursts through the ranks.
I don’t even need to give the command for them to push forward. One by one, they start hopping over car bonnets, firing blindly in any direction where someone might be hiding. I join the masses, congregating like soldiers, ready to give up their lives for the cause. A foolish endeavor, I know. But I’ll trust and use them, as I’ve been used before; all to reach my end goal.
A continuous barrage of bullets streams from guns, peppering the house. Even I fire a handful of shots towards the windows, all blind, and knowing that somewhere inside we might get lucky enough to hit a target.
We funnel through the wrought iron gate, which was smashed long ago. The brave souls who broke it, lie dead at the hand of the Braddocks.
Father’s men are oddly quiet while the first wave pushes forward. At least, that’s what it feels like as we stumble and tumble over one another. But then, all hell breaks loose again. A return attack comes from windows and the front door. It seems like any weapons the Braddocks could lay their hands on, empty magazines in the sea of the three families making up ground.
Those bravest few who went to the front, start collapsing one by one. I want to call for a retreat, but I can’t. We’ve come too far, and all we need to do is get to the water feature, the Mazda and the Buick.
The loud bangs are overshadowed by the screeching of the men, who’ve been hit. Some scream aimlessly, while others begin their begging and pleading for help. It hurts, I admit, to walk over them. They’re laying in puddles of blood, with semi-amputated limbs, victims of the machine guns that tore them to almost to shreds.
Someone will help, once we’ve cleared the perimeter. Of that, I’m certain.
Once more, we return, blow for blow. For every member of the three families that falls, we manage to get one of the Braddocks. At least, that’s how it feels, although, in reality, we’re losing more men than they are. We’ve just got higher numbers, to make it all the way in.
The congregation of Families makes its goal, beside the water feature and the vehicles, and takes cover, before regrouping. Where I stand, somewhere in the middle of it all, I’m now on the front line. My heart’s thumping in my chest. I’ve never been so distraught, exhilarated, and nervous all at the same time.
I’m a modern-day Prince Charming, saving my princess from the jaws of a dragon.
“Fire in the hole,” someone calls. “Duck boys.”
“No, wait, stop,” I turn to him, but it’s too late. A grenade’s already flying through the air, into an open double window, long ago shot out. An explosion follows a few seconds later.
Another one goes into a separate window, at the other end of the house. The living room and a bedroom crumble in the blast.
Fuck. What if Isabella was in one of those windows? A sudden urge takes hold of me to get inside. The risk and cost of my life means little. I push past the Buick Regal I’ve dropped behind, pistol fixed on the front door. There are only a few stairs to go, and I’ve made it.
But it’s all silent now, apart from ringing in my ears. The three families push with me, many of them taking to the perimeter, walking around, and peering into windows. All eager to find their next target.
Those who rush behind the house are met by more resistance, while the men who join me at the front door seem in the clear. There’s grumbling, and screaming from hurt Braddocks scattered across the ground. But none are willing to lift their guns and fight any longer. Beaten and belittled, they are ready to suffer the consequences of standing up against The King.
We walk silently through the rubble. Parts of the ceiling or nearby walls are still crumbling from the grenades that were tossed inside. My soldiers move, their guns pointed at the injured Braddocks, ready to kill if there’s any funny business.