Hey y'all, I'm back with an update for the twentieth time lol. This chapter is in Frank's pov, enjoy :D

Franklin

For the first week without her, I moped. The second I stayed in bed smoking blunts. By week three, I was back on the streets with a gun on my hip and a list of targets to kill. Ten names, and after a few days' work with Lester's help, only one remained.

Escobar Guzmán.

I set up my perch high above the teeming city streets, loaded up my sniper and studied the world beyond. In the dead of night, the skyline was a hazy show of glittering lights and smog-cloaked buildings. Below, the road was a frozen river of endless cars. From so high up, where skyscrapers touched the clouds and planes grazed the stars, the brutal, crime-ridden city of Los Santos almost seemed…peaceful.

It would had been great to sit back and enjoy the view for a while. But I had a job to do, and it was humid as hell out here—great beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. I wiped it away, repositioned the flat brim of my hat backwards, and gazed into my red dot scope.

Half a mile away, through the shadowy cracks and crevices of graffiti-riddled alleyways, stood the Los Santos harbor. And beyond that was the ocean, black and still like a great tub of ink beneath the pale moon. Ferries, tugboats, and yachts dotted the motionless sea, all pearly white and pristine, most of them hosting crowded parties while a select few lugged around little more than cargo.

"You're looking for a speedboat," Lester's nasally voice blurted through my earpiece. "It's an antique—fiberglass with a finished wood deck, sticks out like a sore thumb. Can't miss it."

I panned the large expanse of water. To the far left, past the extravagant yachts and ferries, was a motorboat matching Lester's description. There was a shirtless dude at the wheel carving a speedy path through the water, his shoulder length hair whipping wildly in the wind. He drove in swift, precise circles with a cheeky smile plastered on his face, the powerful motor spraying great white trails in its wake.

"A'ight, I see the boat," I said. "There's a dude drivin' it, and he ain't too bad at it either."

"Unsurprising," Lester said. "Guzmán dabbles in offshore speedboat racing from time to time, and rarely ever loses. Is he alone?"

"Yeah."

"Good. He usually takes his daughter out for rides by the docks, but luckily for us, she stays with her mother on weekends—"

"What?" I winced, withdrawing from the scope. "He got a daughter, man?"

"Don't get soft on me now, Frank," Lester snapped. "Not only is this human shit-stain a notorious human trafficker, but he also happens to be one of Madrazo's trusted gunrunners and drug smugglers. He moves tons of hot product from overseas into the states. And before that, he was an enforcer for the cartel."

"Damn," I sighed. "This motherfucker must be bad to the bone with a rap sheet like that."

"Heh, no kidding. To sum it up, he has more blood on his hands than you and Michael combined."

"And Trevor?"

"Hard to say. We'd have to take into account all the hitchhikers that have gone missing over the years throughout Blaine County. Knowing Trevor, there could be hundreds annually. Anyway, if you take out Guzmán, the heartless tyrant Madrazo will take a big hit financially. With the cartel's most efficient smuggler out of the way, they'll have less resources to use against you. Might just tip the odds in your favor."

"And if I don't?" I asked.

"Let the bastard live and, well, your predicament remains the same—fucked. These scumbags don't play nice, Franklin. It's only a matter of time before Guzmán gets the order to come after you, your friends and the tiny bit of family you have left. Everything and everyone you care about is a target…"

Thoughts of Tracey flooded my mind, her face as clear as a picture. My gut kicked as my body reacted to vivid memories of her. I promised I would keep her safe, and I intended to see it through no matter what it took. I gritted my teeth together tightly, clamping my emotions down. If anything, I could triumphantly drink myself to sleep tonight with a promise well-kept and a sense of pride—that I did this for her, that I was one step closer to righting my wrongs.

I took aim at Guzmán and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced his neck, ripping flesh, tearing muscle. His boat came to a sudden halt. The sound of the shot muffled by both the suppressor and hectic noise of the city—no one noticed a thing. I watched the blood spray from the gaping hole in his throat until he stopped moving.

Another sleazy motherfucker down and I didn't even feel bad about it. He shoulda been a better man for his daughter. You get what you give.

"It's done," I muttered, dissembling my sniper.

"Nice work," Lester said. "I'm impressed. Now get out of there and lay low, eliminating ten high-profile targets in the matter of days is bound to draw unwanted attention."

"Good. I want Madrazo to know I'm comin' for his ass."

"Granted, the world would be a better place with one less deranged drug kingpin terrorizing everyone. But if you're on the warpath, best be smart about it. Making another move against him so soon would be too risky without proper preparation. Give me some time to scope out another opportunity to strike."

I sighed. "Fine. Hit me with somethin' soon, a'ight?"

"I'll keep in touch. Oh, and be careful, Franklin. I wouldn't cope well with you dying. For a hired thug, you actually make a pretty good friend."

I made a stop at Vanilla Unicorn for a drink and a word of advice from the only friend I had available. Lamar wasn't returning my calls, probably still tripping over Denise, and Michael was…Michael.

The music was blasting, and all the horny patrons were crowded around the stage, gaping at the loose-limbed and graceful strippers riding the poles. Trevor was cooped up in his private office 'handling important business' he claimed. So I waited for him, hunched over at the center of bar all by myself, my head hung heavy with thoughts of Tracey.

The heartbreak felt cold, like there was a gaping hole in my chest. How could she just walk away? Like all the shit we went through meant nothing at all? I couldn't get her face out of my head, and all the arguments we had, all the times I made her cry. Damn, I shoulda been a better man for her. I was a fuckin' idiot.

She was good to me. She deserved better.

Missing her usually came in long, excruciating waves—but tonight, I was drowning—suffocating in a sea filled of berating my own mistakes. Not even vodka could numb the pain. The heartbreak was killing me slowly and keeping me alive to feel it all.

Why did it hurt so bad? I was used to being abandoned. I've been alone all my life, long before she left me. I learned young not to get too attached to anyone or anything. Somewhere along the line, I fucked up. I fell too deep for a girl, and now I was paying the price for it.

I sighed deeply. The loneliness cut deep tonight, leaving a bitter tang in my mouth. How did my life end up this way? I mulled over the destruction, loss and agony I caused to myself and others over the years. No wonder everyone hated me. Shit, I hated myself too.

I muttered to the bartender for a refill of vodka. She obliged, her earthy brown eyes studying me like a puzzle she couldn't solve. She tried to pull me into conversation more than once, absently twiddling her flowy black hair between her fingers and occasionally leaning her curvy figure over the bar.

I've never seen her before, she must be new here. Older than the last bartender, her roots frosted with age, but she was more attractive still—her brown skin perfectly smooth and dainty round face splashed with pretty moles.

Although her attempts to chat with me was met with silence each time, my eyes would often drift to her breasts, outlined beneath her low-cut blouse and practically on the verge of popping out. The nice view was enough to distract me from the loneliness, at least for now.

A man stumbled drunkenly to the bar, short and scraggy with a snake-like chin so long it covered most of his neck. There was a purple bandana tied around his wide forehead—telltale sign of a bitch ass Balla. "Hey baby!" he slurred, sliding into the seat next to me. "Hurry the fuck up and serve me up another beer, sexy."

"I think you've had enough," the bartender retorted.

"Bitch please, ain't the customer always right? I'm just getting started, boo."

"Nuh-uh, yo' drunk ass ain't getting another sip—"

In a sudden fit of rage, he slammed his fists against the counter. Bang! She shuddered, stumbling a step back. "Bitch, stop playing!" he barked, pointing a meaty finger at her. "Give me my motherfucking drink or else I'ma come over there and slap that cheap ass lace front off the side of yo' head—"

I rolled my eyes. "Nigga, what you need to do is take yo' no-neck, Jiminy Cricket lookin' ass home. Out here bullyin' a female—you an embarrassment, dog."

"What, nigga?" He sprang up and swatted my vodka out of my hand. The glass hit the wall and shattered to pieces. "You talking to a Balla OG," he paused, burping in my face.

I launched to my feet, staring him dead in the eyes, my blood boiled, and muscles vibrated. This fool was gon' pay for that shit.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a dude creeping up on me from behind. "Yo, what set you from, man?" he probed. "You Gang Green, ain't you? I know a CGF fuckboy when I see one."

"Man, fuck you Balla bitches," I spat fearlessly. "Both of y'all pussy."

The drunk Balla shoved a hand into his pants and yanked out an Uzi. "Who you callin' a pussy, you…punk ass negro nigga?" He held the gun cocked to the side with quivering fingers, the barrel pressed against my chest.

He thought whipping out a strap would faze me. Wrong. I glared at him, jaw clenched and unflinching. He wasn't gonna pull the trigger. Beneath all the macho bullshit and gang sign slinging was wide, panicking eyes, trembling limbs and a gaunt face drenched with cold sweat. I've been around killers and psychotic ass fools with nothing to live for my whole life, and they all shared one thing in common—the coldness in their eyes. This dude didn't have the look. Motherfucker was putting on a front.

"You kno-know what?" he stammered, lowering the gun. "I-I ain't got time to be fucking...'round with chu. I'm on parole and shit. You ain't even worth it, mark mother…fucker." He turned and wobbled away, beckoning his friend with a clumsy wave of his hand. "Yo! We out, playa."

"Word, fuck this joint," his friend brushed past me roughly. "See you around the block, family boy."

"Peace, Ball-less bitch," I replied, reclaiming my seat.

Once the Ballas departed, the bartender exhaled loudly and beamed warmly at me. Her bright smile changed her face, softened it, added a touch of delicate vulnerability.

"Thanks for having my back, sweetie," she said, grabbing a clean glass from behind the counter and filling it to the brim with Hennessy. "Take this, it's on the house." She passed me the drink.

"Thanks," I muttered, avoiding her gaze. My head throbbed with tension, like an annoying tooth ache in the brain. I rubbed my brow in firm circles, hoping to ward off the headache. Fuck, I shoulda just went home. I had enough problems already, adding Balla beef to the mix was only gonna make shit worse.

She fluttered her thick lashes and gravitated close, her manicured fingers tipped up my chin in a bold attempt to seize my attention. Our eyes met, her wise, smoky gaze burned through me, probing my very soul. Unnerved by the scrutinizing intimacy, my heart skipped and then began to race. "I know that look," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper. "Who broke your heart, baby? Your girlfriend? Wife?"

My face burned, a hot wave of shame washed over me. How the hell did this lady read me so easily? Slowly, I sipped my drink with a grimace, and gave her a clean answer. "My girl. She left me."

"That's her loss. She oughta be a fool to leave a man like you behind."

I snorted a tight, deprecating laugh. "Can't blame her, I woulda left my ass too. I ain't a good guy."

"No, you're a bad boy. And from what I can tell, you're bad with a good heart that's hurting more than it damn well should." She leaned closer, her pouty red lips hovered over mine. "And if there's anything I learned over the years, it's this—bad boys ain't no damn good, but good boys ain't no fun."

I snickered, tossing down the rest of my drink. My head hummed from the strong, bitter tang. "Shit, guess I got some redeeming qualities after all."

Gently, tentatively she pinched my cheek. "Sweetie, you have a great smile. You should show it more."

I tensed as her gaze drifted over me, heat coiling low within the depths of my stomach with every lingering visual caress. She caressed my cheek and I didn't shy away from the affection. In fact, I welcomed it, yearned for it—her touch was light and feather-soft, just like Tracey's. Time came to a slow as I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. I could imagine my baby so clearly, the way her angelic face would shine so bright when she was happy and tighten into a pout whenever she was sad, and how her blue eyes sparkled like stars whenever she looked at me…

For a moment, she was right here with me. Like she never left. Her fingertips toyed with my beard playfully, her body clinging to mine as always—she hated when I pulled away, both physically and emotionally. So I gravitated closer, chest to chest, hugging her tighter than I ever did before.

The most foul, nauseating stench hit my nostrils. My eyes shot open, the disgusting scent yanked me back to reality.

"Everything will be okay, kid," Trevor murmured softly, leaning against the bar and cradling me in his embrace, stroking my head. "Uncle T is gonna take good care of you—"

I jerked from his grasp, my skin crawled. "T! What the fuck, man?"

"What?" he blinked, confused. "I was comforting you. You don't have to be such a dick about it."

Dazed and woozy, I shuffled about in a drunken haze until I found my seat. Damn, I needed to sober up fast. Being shitfaced with a predator like Trevor lurking around was a recipe for disaster. I glanced at him and muttered, "Ay, no more of that freaky shit, a'ight? Just 'cause I'm vulnerable, depressed, and a lil' tipsy don't mean you can molest my ass, man."

"You're the one who hugged me first, asshole," he snapped. "Naturally, I reciprocated the affection like any great friend such as myself would. You're fucking welcome, you sad cunt."

"Fuck you," I grumbled, glancing behind the bar. Strangely enough, there was no one there. "Ay, where that lady go? The bartender?"

"She's on a smoke break. Why? Need a drink?"

"Nah, I'm straight, dog. Ay, what took you so fuckin' long to bring yo' ass out that goddamn office?"

"I'm running a business here, kid. I can't babysit you twenty-four seven—"

A reedy stripper with a wild mane of curly black hair strutted over to Trevor and whispered something in his ear. He gritted his teeth and swept up a remote control behind the counter. Then, he powered on a boxy television set bulging from the wall adjacent to us and flipped through the channels with fierce urgency.

The frenzied channel surfing came to halt at a late-night talk show. Late-night talk shows weren't really my thing, I couldn't put a name on the bright-eyed host behind the desk with the overly expensive black tuxedo and bow-tie. But the white dude looked familiar, I coulda swore I saw his clean-cut face and trademark salt 'n' pepper hair plastered to the side of a bus somewhere.

Sitting on the leather single sofa chair beside him was…Tracey. My mind went blank, a rush of adrenaline zipped through my body. I flung from my seat and stared wide-eyed at the screen. What the fuck was she doing?

"I'm not supposed to be on TV right now," Tracey said, hiding her face behind a huge pair of black sunglasses. She stood for a moment to pose for the camera, showing off her pink flowery sundress. "I'm here because there's people trying to kill me and I want everyone to know that if something happens to me, Madrazo is responsible. And if I die from the hands of his ghoulish fiends, the world will lose an amazing dancer and global icon!"

Clapping erupted from the crowd. The camera shifted to a stern-faced man standing off in the corner. "That's my bodyguard everyone," Tracey said. "His name is Agent Smith, and he has a really awesome British accent. Oh, and he's looking for that special someone! He likes to bake cakes on his free time and plays golf Thursday afternoons at the Los Santos golf club. In case any of you single ladies wanna snatch him up, he's like, totally available." He straightened his red-striped tie and waved at the camera, his face blushing as red as a tomato.

Tracey cleared her throat. "Anyway, that's enough about him." She beamed as the camera shifted back to her. "As I was saying, I have a price on my head and its super high, like billions of dollars I bet. And I totally get it, because I'm a really important person, y'know? But the price isn't nearly as high as my love for my fans. So my fans should return the love I give them by protecting me with their lives—"

"Right," the host said, interrupting her. "So uh, you're an amazing dancer, your Fame-or-Shame performances are still making waves online. Tell us, do you have any future projects in the making?"

"Of course I do! If Madrazo doesn't kill me before then, I'm looking forward to continuing my career as an entertainer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Nope!" Her smiling expression abruptly hardened into a scowl. She glared into the camera lens, her eyes so hard and piercing, it was as if she was talking directly to me. "I'm super single and ready to mingle. My last relationship ended horribly. Seriously, he treated me so bad. Like, sometimes he'd kick me around worse than you do a dead cat—"

The crowd gasped. "He was physically abusive?" the host asked.

"No, he was not physically abusive. Let me be clear—he would kick me around like a dead cat with like, his words. He was a cruel, grouchy, douchenozzle-fucknut. I hate him!"

Trevor nudged me and blurted out a laugh. "Hey, douchenozzle-fucknut, I think she's talking about you—"

I scoffed. "Fuck off, man. That shit ain't funny."

"What kind of men are you into?" the host asked.

"I had this phase when I was into black thugs," Tracey said, "but now I'm looking for a good guy. Someone who doesn't have mood swings or pushes me away all the time or calls my mother a whore or my father a snitch or anything like that. I don't want him to be soft either though, I need someone who can protect me from Madrazo. You know what? I can show you a picture of what Madrazo looks like."

"You have a picture of him?"

"Sure, he has plenty of pictures posted to Lifeinvader." She slowly pulled up her dress, revealing a pink lacy thong. The crowd gasped and whistled approvingly as she gradually slipped her cell phone from the strap of her panties. "Sorry, I don't have pockets," she murmured, licking her plump red lips seductively. "Sometimes a girl's gotta improvise."

"Jesus," Trevor shook his head. "Michael is gonna shit a fuckin' brick when he sees this. Bet you twenty bucks Sugartits is already on his way there."

"Bet," I muttered dejectedly, trying to ignore the stinging pang in my chest.

Tracey took her sweet time lowering her dress, the cheering growing louder and louder. A burning sensation stabbed at my insides. What the fuck was she doing? Damn, it was hard to watch. She was my girl. Mine. She didn't have to degrade herself for attention, she was more than just an object for desperate dudes in their basement to get off to.

"So, about your future projects," the host continued. "Can you give us any spoilers of what we can expect in the future from you—"

"Look at this man," Tracey held her phone out toward the camera. There was a picture of Madrazo lying in a hospital bed, wrapped from head to toe in bloody bandages. "This is Madrazo! If you see this man, call the cops immediately!"

The host furrowed his brows. "Not to point out the obvious or anything, but that man is lying in a hospital bed, an inch away from death. Are you sure he's as dangerous as you claim?"

"This picture was posted like a week ago after my dad and uncle threw him off a cliff, it's a long story. The point is, he's healthy now and he's trying to effing kill me, got it?" She stood up, and the camera zoomed in, centering on her face. "This is a message to all my loyal fans. If you see a short, Mexican man wrapped in a bunch of bandages, it's Madrazo! He's a psycho maniac and he's trying to kill me! I need help—"

"Tracey!" a voice shouted from the television, seemingly from afar. The camera snapped to the crowd. Michael appeared, barreling at full speed through the seated masses toward the stage.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Tracey wailed, hopping behind the couch for cover.

Two hulking security guards emerged from nowhere, tackling Michael to the ground before he reached the stage. Bang! Shots rang out, one of the security guards grew stiff.

"He has a gun!" a voice blurted from the crowd. Hysterical screaming filled the air. People scrambled from their seats and bolted toward the exit in a wild stampede.

"Cut the camera!" the host yelped frantically as he hid behind his desk. "Cut the camera! Cut it! Cut it—"

The screen plunged into distorted static. Trevor smirked. "I had a feeling that was that was gonna happen. You owe me twenty bucks, kid."

I winced. What a fucking mess.

"I'm back," the bartender reclaimed her rightful spot behind the counter, the scent of smoke rising from her skin. "What I miss?"

Trevor snorted. "A whole lot of bullshit we rather not talk about ever."

"Agreed," I sighed heavily.

She gazed at me, her eyes softening. "Hey, my shift is over in an hour, sweetie. You wanna come home with me? I know more than a few ways to cheer a man up."

I glanced at her. She was beautiful, her body curved in all the right places. The offer was tempting, but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't. I wasn't ready. "Nah, I'll take a rain check, baby. Peace, T. I'm takin' my ass home." I rose, turning on my heel and wobbling away. My vision was too blurred to drive, hopefully I could hail a cab—

"Wait!" Trevor grabbed my shoulder. "You wanna get your woman back? I know exactly how to do it."

I spun around to face him. "Stop playin', man—"

"I'm serious!" He gave me a stern shake. "I've been stealing hearts and breaking them all my life—literally and figuratively—long before you were even born. I'm an expert at this shit. You listen to me and you'll have the woman of your dreams back in no time."

"I dunno, homie," I frowned. "Shit is already fucked up bad between us. I ain't tryna make it worse."

"Think about it, kid. If the plan fails and you get rejected, you'll be back at square one again. You have everything to gain and nothing to fucking lose." He threw an arm around my shoulder. "So whaddya say, huh? You gonna be a miserable, loveless loser all your life? Or are ya gonna let Uncle T make all your dreams come true?"

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review, let me know if you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it lol. Honest feedback is always welcome. Love you guys, thanks for reading!