Warning! Violent content ahead, if you think it might trigger you, sorry, please skip the chapter.

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'Boss? Boss..?! Are you there?' Shaundi's voice insisted on the other side of the line. I made a use of picking up the phone without saying a word, and hanging off just like that. But she called me over and over.

'This better be fucking important, what the hell!' I almost yelled, in my usual joyful moods. But I trusted Shaundi's intelligence to know that she wouldn't bother me for no reason, so I waited.

'Jessica.' She said simply, confirming my guessing.

At that name, the old wound was open again. I was praying for the news to be good.

'I'm at a parking lot. The bitch almost ran over me with her car. She is at the bank, making a deposit. Hurry Boss.'

I didn't see the slight inconvenience in having to start a hostage situation inside a bank for the prize we had our eyes on. Not mine or Gat's first bank robbery, that's for sure. Granted, the cops and the press would be in our asses for months, but if that was the price to pay to put my hands on the one responsible for Carlos' suffering then it was quite cheap.

Gat and I went after her on our own. We bursted into the bank and used her as a hostage. It wasn't difficult to spot Jessica and her bright red hair between the clients.

Not after an unfriendly encounter with the Feds that I don't feel the need to describe for now, we shoved Maero's girl to the trunk of her own car.

I tore as fast as I could towards the Mission House. If we wanted to pull this plan I just made in my mind right, then we would have to hurry. To be honest, I don't know how I came up with it so fast, by improvise. Turns out, unfortunately, that those kind of ideas have always come naturally to me.

'You got the wrong person, sweetheart.' She started as we went our way down the stairs of the Hideout, in a neutral tone. Surprisingly, there was none of the arrogance I knew before, the two times we spoke before that. It wasn't friendly either, perhaps out of fear it would be too of a giveaway that she was trying to bullshit us.

I ignored her and saw that Gat shrugged at my side. I was sure he also sensed that she was trying to act on a clear head and take us for a ride, or plain negotiate her way out. And that she didn't had much time, that depending on what she told us before we reached the insides of the Hideout, would also depend her fate.

'I just fuck him. I didn't order it, you know?' Jessica continued and her voice was calm, almost conciliatory. 'Matt was the one behind all of it. Your boyfriend Carlos' death was his idea.'

At the allusion of Carlos, at the idea that this bitch just pronounced that dear name, all the numbness I've experienced throughout those days forfeited. I could feel, for the first time after a while, my heart accelerating with enormous hate. My will was to strangle that whore right there. But then, I thought, still struggling to regain my cool, that what I had in mind for her was far worst.

'Look. There's not need to pretend nothing happened. But you can still make a huge profit out of this. I could give you Matt and a share of his personal profit and we call it a day.'

As we approached the Purgatory, I noticed that Jessica discreetly took something out in her hand, trying to hide it.

'What's that on your hand?' I rested my head against the wall, laughing convulsively. My chest was full of wicked joy, tears in my eyes (I was laughing so hard) when I identified what the object was: An engagement ring.

'Oh! You were engaged...!'

I rolled the golden circle between two fingers, then closed my palm around it tightly. 'This is getting better and better. I knew you were more than his bottom bitch, although we all know, you really deserved no better. But... He really must like you, I mean, if you guys are going to, sorry; were going to get married...! I came after the right person then. Thank you Jessica!'

Now, I am about to burst you bubble if you thought so far that I was simply a victim of society, and that my tragic life is the sole responsible for me making a career in a street gang. As much as I would prefer you to like me because you would think that, deep down, I am a good person since I am loyal to my loved ones and help the people of our hoods, I can't mislead you to get the wrong idea.

Maybe it's ok to do petty crimes or even robbery if you don't have other way to survive, but did you really think that someone can make it all the way to the top like I did if they don't have what it takes? Sorry my friend, good kids don't turn to heavy crime and do the things that I do, and good people certainly don't consider doing what I did next, even in the face of pain:

One of the most unfair things in the world that've always loathed and punished with death in our gang was sexual violence.

I knew by experience how terrible it was, but when it came to hate, I for sure wasn't above recycling.

I won't lie and say that I feel remorse for it now. That bitch, she had it coming. Anyway, what's done, it's done isn't it.

I don't know how I actually brought myself to watch it, or being more specific, to film everything with my phone. After all, the sight of it was enough to trigger one of the worst memories of my life. The only explanation could be that Carlos' loss was messing with my reason, it was stronger than anything then.

Some scenes remain in your mind forever, either because they have traumatized you, either because they're are simply too much to be tossed into oblivion and stashed with your other regular, unimportant memories. Even for someone like me.

The memory of what I did to Jessica Parish would remain stuck inside my brain forever, until as we speak. Not that I regret it, but it's quite annoying when it pops out of nowhere, for instance when I am talking about something that reminds me of it somehow, or when I am relaxed and allow my mind to drift. Frozen like a statue or a movie still, this very specific image of that afternoon in the Hideout got forever carved in my brain, as an indestructible monument to my motherfuckingness.

In the half shadow of the trunk, back where she was in an unspeakable state, she stared at me for a rapid moment. I only could see one of Jessica's blue eyes, since the other was hidden behind a curtain of red sweated hair glued to her forehead. However, I would never see such a look of insane hurt, anger and hate again. It passed right through me, along with physical pain, as if it could pierce my skin and my bones.

'You…!' All the strength she had left, she used to say this in a gasp. Jessica was sobbing, and each tear from that broken woman was for me. I thrived on them.

I flicked my fingers and tossed my lit cigarette on her face, and simply reached for the door of the trunk with despise.

'Did you really think we were going to let you walk away?'

Hands steady, I banged the door close coldly and jogged to the driver's seat. Gat, as usual, was already inside, calmly waiting to watch my back on the next mission.

I turned the keys hastily in the contact and hit the gas, turned the wheel and slid the vehicle with the shape of a half moon. The smoke from the tires covered our vision briefly, but the car had already left the street of the Hideout and gained the road with intense speed.

'Where to now, Boss?' My friend asked, all support, his straw between his lips.

'Do you think this ride is too nice for the Demo Derby, Johnny? Maero is competing tonight. I say, we go pay our respects at the Arena.'

First it was Jessica, unawarely crushed to death by her boyfriend's truck.

Roughly one week later, followed Matt.

One night after a Feedogs concert, the famous guitarist went missing, and was found by a couple of Goth kids. His hand (the one he used to play) was chopped off. The body was left in front of a tattoo parlor inside the Brotherhood's territory.

With that, the gangster underworld lost control and tossed any existing rules to the wind.

Street gangs were never famous for their courtesy or humanity with each other, however, unless there was a huge beef between them, some 'turning the head the other way' wasn't uncommon. Sparing energy and bullets, or police attention.

Like, for instance, if one guy from the other gang is doing his thing and not interfering with your business, you don't shoot him. Personal matters aside, there was an unspoken "no shooting rule" unless you were on a mission. Something like good manners between criminals.

None of this, of course, applied to the Brotherhood.

A member of the red faction crossing the same sidewalk as a Saint was more than a reason to get shot.

The Boss made it clear to the crew to shoot on sight any vehicle, store, ally, costumer or member of the Brotherhood. Truth is, the crew wouldn't have it differently either. It wasn't about business, like with The Samedi, for instance. No. This war was fueled by the hate of two families who've lost loved ones to each other.

It would only end when one side was destroyed.

Week after week, the vendetta from both sides escalated beyond the limits of total madness.

And raid after raid, the Saints had the upper hand. The enemy, cornered like a wounded wolf, was slowly forced to retreat to the abyss while trying to defend itself in the most extreme ways.

Stilwater was thorn by gang war and things got so out of control that Troy himself gave orders forbidding the cops to interfere.

Some people called him a coward, but in reality he simply knew The Boss, and the Saints: It would only stop when the Brotherhood was done for. He would let it happen, after all, it wawould be one less street gang left for the PD to fight.

Days later...

'Take the guys and the guns. We're finishing everything tonight, Gat.'

Gat got up, surprised, but put on his glasses and threw in a shirt. He wasn't expecting The Boss to be the one to wake him up, but if the matter was avenging Carlos and going for a blood bath on The Brotherhood, well, he wasn't wasting another second.

'Finally will fuck them up for good.' He guaranteed, picking up his favorite rifle. Johnny showed his teeth in anger, between a smile of a dream fulfilled and a death treat. He and the Boss started to load up on ammo.

'What about that dipshit of Maero?'

'I'll deal myself.' She replied with impatience.

'I will keep by her side. She is in no condition of doing this, she might get herself killed.' Gat sworn internally.

What do I recall of that infamous night we took over The Brotherhood's territory? Not much. Again, I can only but give you my side of that gruesome play, full of missing acts. But then again, have you ever been hurt there where it hurts most? I had, time and again. Lyn, Eesh, and now Carlos. But with him, it was worst. It seemed like all that was left was this worst part of my self: Violent and resentful. Cruel like I've been on the first days I joined this gang and had to torture, kill and destroy the city to prove myself to Julius.

A fleet was outside waiting for us.

When I banged the door on my side of the vehicle, as Gat insisted on driving, our plan was to hit their turf without a warning in the middle of the night.

Before starting the car he hesitated and slip something heavy and metallic into my palm:

'I am sorry. Pierce found it today at a pawn shop.'

I watched and squeezed the object in my hand, the edges sinking into my engagement ring: It was Hector's cross. The last time I saw it, it was on the chest of a living Carlos.

I slipped the golden chain on: From that day on, that cross should never leave my neck.

'Let's get it done! Death to The Brotherhood!' I screamed poking my gun in the window and firing rounds in the air.

A multitude of shots echoed mine, our shared will to kill in perfect sync.

Following us a good hundred of our kind. We carried everything we had, rifles, RPGs, and a chopper. But most of all, we carried the urge that there was a debt to be called with The Brotherhood.

The certitude of victory started to slowly melt into anxious doubt, then hopeless panic.

The Brotherhood leader saw more and more of his men get hit at every second. Every time he turned his head a red clad figure was falling to the ground, itself starting to present nothing but his gang members over it. Some Brotherhood trucks, coming as the last reinforcements where hit by RPGs, as there were Saints strategically hiding over the rooftops. The last men standing dropped their weapons and raised their hands in defeat.

A cry of satisfaction shook the purple nation: The Brotherhood surrendered!

Their cause was lost, even though they started this war on top of their game, but this other, underestimated and washed up gang ended up just taking all, and that was nothing Maero could do about it. It was time to admit with fury. They were done.

Spiting, sweated and hideous with anger and fear, Maero decided his last hope for survival was to accept the unthinkable and retreat.

Still proud, he shoot his way out and took shelter inside their hideout. The Saints had destroyed most of the building with fire, one could spot large clouds of smoke spreading within.

With much effort, he managed to shoot his way in and sneak himself unseen through the staircase. He closed the door as he entered and rested his hands on his knees to regain his breath.

'The harder part is done!' He thought with bitter relief, grabbing the steel. 'Now if only I can barricade myself at the garage.'

The gangster barely started the long way down, a shot made him duck out of reflex.

He understood he wasn't alone in those stairs. Maero turned back, shooting and fulminating everything he saw below.

Trash bags, empty cardboard boxes. But then, as he stopped to reload, came a figure.

As their eyes crossed the bulky gang leader stopped suddenly. His eyes were then animated by such a deadly hate that it made one understand better why he hesitated, and decided to change his direction.

He aimed expertly towards his enemy, the one responsible for all that was happening. He tried to get her in the head. It hit the wall behind, filling her shoulder with white concrete debris. The Boss had moved at the last moment, missing the shot by inches and instantly shooting back.

It was his time to dodge by a fraction of second. With a loud scream Maero took the risk and counter the attack, insanely shooting although he couldn't hit his opponent, who took cover scrambling in between the steps.

As soon as she got up, there was a hail of bullets in his direction, one hitting his right arm.

Then a demented voice echoed through the stairway in a way that would chill anyone's blood:

'MAEROOOOO!' It translated that insanity, that hate that can stop at nothing and that will destroy and kill, at the expense of whatever it takes.

Now in total despair Maero started to clumsy run with all strength left down the stairs.

In a frenzy, he pushed on. The smoke grew thicker at each step, there was an intoxicating smell but luckily for him reducing a bit of the overall visibility.

With effort, he pushed the metal door that lead to the underground of the hideout. The Brotherhood grew some weed on it, but fire had taken upon the room. There was a large space where also were parked the very last monster truck of his once impressive collection. The one that crushed Jessica, and that Maero couldn't destroy despite all the pain associated with it. He had kept it but never drove it since that night, out of sorrow and respect for the only woman he truly loved in his life. But now, it was his only ticket out of there. Passing through the knocked out plants and broken pots, he headed towards the vehicle.

One look around though made him stumble once more in shock. He realized that something else was being burned there, besides the drugs. A pile of bodies.

Roughly gathered together and set on fire on purpose, most of them barely consumed yet.

Several holes were carved on the wall above them.

'Machine gun.' He guessed with expertise. There were no signs of fighting back, the weapons were on the floor and most of them had the back of their skulls split open. As if somebody got all from behind, while no one was expecting. 'The bitch executed those who surrendered.'

Maero reacted with a few steps backwards, then turned in the opposite direction and ran, using that small window to flee and live, although his eyes were still having a hard time leave the horrid scene.

Following his survival instincts he entered and started the monster truck. It was massive enough, he hoped, to tear in all speed and force his way out of that hell.

But his eyes then got a glimpse a living human form coming out of the stairs and through the smoke. She was covering her face with her shirt to avoid breathing in.

The way was clear ahead to freedom, but he hit the reverse.

The huge truck stopped, accelerating in place with a burnout and the ominous sound of the engine echoed through the room.

He mentally measured the distance between The Boss, who guessed his intentions and started to run for cover, and himself.

It was his last chance, but he still could do it. The last opportunity to be a Goliath against a David. Run over her. End everything right there. At least he would have that, to pay himself and Jessica justice.

Quickly, deadly, Maero let go of the break and went in her direction. She jumped through some glass doors, falling on her back. Her opponent missed her by a few good meters but he was already maneuvering around in a semi circle, ready to strike again before she could get out.

Without any time to think The Boss aimed for his front tires and shot, causing the Monster Truck to lose stability and direction. It hit, turned and went breaking through a concrete pillar while the driver's body clashed violently against its interior.

Maero's hand appeared first out of the wreckage, followed by his injured head, with blood flowing over his forehead and one of his eyes. He somehow still managed to slowly open the door and crawl out.

The Boss was already close by staring at him from above with her gun in hand. She leaned over to the Brotherhood leader as she had something important to confide about.

I kneeled close to him, like we were old friends and I was confiding to him. I wanted to make sure every single word of what I had to say next would sink in.

'I made you crush Jessica. That's right Maero. But not before taking her back to the Purgatory and ordering every single guy in my gang to bang that bitch.' I hissed calmly. 'Of course I caught all that on tape. Your boy Matt made a little video of me once, remember Maero?' I drew my phone and turned the screen towards him. 'Wanna see my little video for you?'

I thought that I was going to have to force him to watch it, but he snapped the phone from my hands convulsively.

As the video played Maero contorted his face painfully and opened his mouth wide like he was going to scream... But nothing came out.

'Any last words?' I asked, grinning at his reaction.

He mustered enough strength to answer what I presumed to be: 'Go to hell!'

But with a clean shot I interrupted his phrase.

'Sorry. I didn't catch that.' I mocked bitterly.

It was done, finally.

Gat arrived just a few moments after that, and silently took me in a ride back home.

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Hard chapter to write, sorry for all the violence but I feel it was needed and in context. I want to finish this story even if it's not the main focus anymore. Next chapter is ready and will be published soon.

Review and see you again soon! :3