They were in the clear, well at least the first car was. The maintenance truck followed slowly behind, catching a wary glance from security sitting just beyond the gate. Travis tried not to look at the man. But he couldn't help himself, a sly glance from the corner of his eye told him that something was off. A sinful error in the world they lived in. One wrong look could get you killed or in a whooole lot of trouble. But when the security guard never got up from his seat, Travis and D’Angelo let out a sigh of relief. They were in the clear—or so they thought.

  The maintenance truck continued to push on, slow and steady across the gravelled path until men in balaclavas came storming past the first car, sub machine guns in hand, as they flanked the maintenance truck. Two at the front, two either side, and two at the back. Guns cocked back, fingers on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

  Travis slammed on the brakes.

  Not that it needed such an aggressive push. He wanted to show them he had stopped, not giving them any false inclination they were opposing the threat. He had seen brains get splattered on the windscreen for less.

  “Out the car—get out the car,” they screamed as their fingers pressed wrapped tighter around the trigger.

  Travis and D’Angelo raised their hands in the air as a sign of surrender, but the men surrounding the truck were not having it. The men continued to scream, signalling with their guns.

  Robert’s eyes wandered from side to side like hands on a clock. Sweat dripping from his head as his heart skipped a beat.

  Why I didn't just listen to my dad is beyond me, he thought. Now im in the back of a car on a mission that's about to go tit’s up. This most definitely is not how I pictured my life ending.

  “Derrr—ick,” Malakie forced out through clenched teeth. You need to do something or this whole plan you put together is going to be finished before it's even begun.

  Derrick’s heart slapped against his ribs as his lips turned dry. Everyone was looking for him to do something, he could feel the stares from all angles like he had eyes everywhere. His arm reached down, opening the door.

  As his foot touched the gravel, he paused.

  He took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

  “Guys,” he shouted. “Is everything ok?”

  The men turned, their eyes now fixed on Derrick, but their guns remained locked on Travis and D’Angelo.

  “Wait—wait—wait, their with me,” a familiar voice came traveling down the gravelled path, running past Derrick towards the men. Derrick’s inside man—Andreas. “I called them, their’s maintenance that needs taking care of in the house—drop your weapons.”

  The men looked on at Andreas, confused.

  “Did I stutter—those men are with me,” he said. “Or do I have to go to the compound and get Julius to come all the way over here—because we all know how that ends, but choice is yours.”

  The men looked at each other, then retracted their weapons. Patting the side of the truck as they signalled for them to move on.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Derrick, glancing towards Malakie, closed his eyes as he let out a sigh of relief. But that sigh of relief came at a cost. Malakie had seen all he needed to see. Derrick wasn't going to help his boy’s until he was pushed, and Malakie knew that now—he knew the old Derrick was looong gone. This version—was ten times more dangerous than the last, a man with everything to lose, on the edge and in it for himself.

  Travis and D’Angelo’s hands dropped. They tried to keep it cool as Travis drove on, but as they glanced back in the side mirror and the men were in the distance, D’Angelo grabbed Travis by the shoulder, screaming, “yeahhh!!!” one last step to go baby and out lives are forever changed homie.

  “D’Angelo,” Travis said with a smile that couldn't be contained. One more step until

  we're on top running shit—remember, my word is my bond, you're my right hand, were taking over this shit together, like brothers should.

  The pair dapped each other up with their signature handshake, then continued to push forward. The pair had every right to be happy, but you can never celebrate a job until then job is finished, and they weren't at the finish line yet. The easy part was done. But it was now time for the reason they came here in the first place.

  As the paths diverted, Travis and D’Angelo headed over to a side conversion of the complex, and Derrick, Robert, and Malakie—they headed into the heart of the complex. As the group arrived, the large black doors were pulled back, revealing beautiful marble flooring, fine art, pictures hanging on the wall, expensive historic items perfectly placed around the room, and two spiraling stairs on opposite sides leading upstairs.

  Standing atop those stairs in the middle, glass in hand, smile carved from corner to corner, was Julius.

  He waved his cup, motioning back towards himself. “Boys,” he said, pausing more for dramatic effect than anything. Come on—join me in my office.

  The guys looked at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. But that choice was quickly taken away from them. Julius’s guards pressed their firearms into their backs, ushering them forward towards the left side of the staircase.

  As soon as the men reached the top of the stairs, Julius was waiting, ready to give them a history lesson as they walked towards his office.

  Derrick glanced at the first painting and Julius couldn't help but smile. “Derrick, quite a fine painting isn't it. The battle of San Ramona Paolo, Ucela. 1438–1400.

  Like a chessboard, no,” Julius asked rhetorically. “Horses frozen mid charge, spears at the ready. Blood just waiting to be spilled—a masterpiece if do say so myself.

  “And this one boys,” Julius continued, “is Napoleon crossing the Alps. 1801–1805, a beautiful painting catching the great Napoleon atop his rearing horse.

  “And the one just ahead is poetic tragedy, pain captured in a beautiful canvas. The third of May 1808 by Francisco Goya, 1814. A faceless firing squad executing the innocent under the light—like I said, beauty in tragedy.

  “And last but not least, Guernica by Pablo Picasso, 1937,” he said. “This one is the beauty in the messege, it spoke to me as I saw it. The great Picasso shows you a message hidden in plain sight, it shows what modern warfare does to the human body, families, loved ones, creatures of the earth. That there is always a huge price to pay.”

  Julius pressed his fingers to his lips, then blew the painting a kiss, flicking his hand outward. “Pure beauty.”

  “You men—you worry too much,” Julius laughed as he reached in, grabbing his security guard by his tie.

  “No one in Miami would be stupid enough to come for me—or my family, and at my compound—I would personally hand them a shovel myself so they can dig their own grave before I remove them from this world,” he said, patting the guard’s cheek with his other hand.

  “But one of the many lesson’s the great Napoleon taught me was—never interrupt your enemy when they are making a mistake,” he sniggered, letting go of the tie as he fixed his own suit and left the guard to fix himself.

  “Now where were we,” Julius’ head and finger rose in perfect sync. “Ahh, yes. Follow me.” Julius opened his office, walked in, then one by one the men followed. Malakie entered last, shutting the door behind him as the guards just watched on helplessly.

  They were on the clock. One wrong move and they were cooked. All war is based on deception, and the mask Derrick brought to the party was one of friendship—the most dangerous mask of all—in the wrong hands. But the question still remained: could Derrick keep his cool when he had it all to lose, or would he fold and show his hand?