Mafia King's Contract Breeder

At first, the back of the shop seemed quiet.

Then—

"Mmm—oh—" A woman’s voice could be heard in breathy, sultry moans, intermixed with a man’s deeper grunts.

I opened the door fully and made myself known. It seemed that I had interrupted Turdin at his favorite pastime.

I found Turdin mid-thrust, some woman’s legs locked around his hips on a desk buried in paperwork.

"Mr Turdin."

The woman shrieked and scrambled off the desk.

"Fuck—" Turdin hauled his pants up one-handed, other hand already reaching. "How did you get in? Who the fuck are you?"

I smiled sardonically.

Very few people connected my name with my face, a layer of protection for my identity that I carefully maintained.

"You should have done your research before you started a war with me, Turdin."

The blood drained from his face.

"Sagres?"

He lunged for the gun in his desk drawer. Mine was already up.

BANG!

The first shot went wide—he’d dropped below the desk half a second before I fired, wood splintering where his head had been.

BANG! BANG!

He came up firing blind over the desk’s edge, and a round tore past my ear close enough that the air moved.

"We’re under attack!" he hollered.

Men spilled out from the back rooms, six, seven, more than Dover’s count. Muzzle flash lit the cramped space in stutters. Dover put two down before they cleared the doorway. A third caught me low, a graze along my ribs that I registered as heat before pain, and I put him down without breaking stride.

The room filled with smoke and the copper smell of blood over gun oil. Ejected casings rang off the tile. Someone screamed and didn’t stop until a shot cut it off.

We had fewer men. We had better aim. That was the whole equation.

Bodies dropped in twos and threes, blood running into the grout lines between tiles. Turdin’s men thinned fast—the ones still upright weren’t holding formation, just scrambling for cover that didn’t exist in a room this size.

Turdin used the chaos to retreat, dragging one lieutenant back with him toward the rear exit, firing behind him without aiming.

I wiped a fleck of blood from my cheek and started after him.

"Wait—don’t shoot!" Turdin yelled. "—maybe, we can come to an understanding—"

"You had your chance for pleasant negotiations." I stepped over a body, glass crunching under my shoe. "Not after you killed my men and burned my stock."

I moved through the wreckage of splintered furniture and fallen bodies, closing in on him.

"You cost me a son! You thought I was going to take that lying down?"

His voice came from further away. I frowned.

"Is there another exit here?" I murmured to Dover.

"Didn’t think so," he whispered back, but he pulled out his phone to tell our men to be on guard.

BANG!

We both dropped. Plaster rained down where my head had been a second earlier. Footsteps clattered away, fast, then muffled, then gone—swallowed by something metal.

I waved the smoke clear.

At the far end of the room, past an overturned filing cabinet, a trapdoor stood open in the floor. The stench climbing out of it told me exactly where it led.

"What a rat!" Dover said. He picked up his phone. "Boys, he’s in the sewers."

A gunshot cracked somewhere below us, distant, wet-sounding through the pipe.

I was not crawling after him through sewage. I turned for the door instead.

"Cover the drains. All of them."

The woman that Turdin had been fucking let out a terrified whimper, shaking as she hid behind the bullet-ridden desk. She cowered back as my men left through the shop front the way we came, but no one touched her.

I didn’t look at her twice. Whatever quarrel I had, it wasn’t with her.

Outside, my men fanned out along the block, watching every grate and manhole within two hundred meters. I counted the seconds. Turdin wouldn’t stay down there long—rats never do.

There—

He came up three streets over, soaked to the knees, and ran.

Two of my men broke into a sprint after him. Turdin cut hard toward the central district, where the lights were brighter and the cameras thicker, hoping crowds would do what his men couldn’t.

No chance.

Turdin was a slippery one, if I let him get past me this time, he would soon recover again.

"Get in the car!"

I took the wheel myself. Three blocks passed in a blur of shopfronts; I hauled the wheel hard at the fourth, cutting the corner so tight the tires screamed and the car’s nose clipped the curb, close enough that Turdin threw himself sideways to keep his legs.

He staggered. Didn’t fall.

People were starting to notice—a couple froze mid-stride outside a café, someone’s phone already rising to film.

We needed to settle this, quickly.

I rolled down the window and fired.

Turdin dropped low without breaking stride, some animal instinct keeping him alive, and my shot went past him into a shopfront awning. A girl standing frozen on the pavement flinched at the sound.

I fired again.

That was his opening. Turdin lunged sideways, closing the gap to the girl in two steps, and hauled her back against his chest before I could recalculate the angle.

The girl screamed.

"Idiot," I muttered, shaking my head. "Coward."

Did he think that would stop me? My generosity towards innocents only extended as far as they did not get in my way.

I lifted and aimed.

"Boss!" Dover called out sharply. "That’s Chloe Brinson."

Only then did my gaze focus on the girl that Turdin held in front of him like a human shield.

Straight blonde hair, clear blue eyes — the girl from the photos that Dover had brought me after I sent him to investigate the Brinson family.

The image of Lara’s blazing green eyes when she spoke of this girl surfaced before my eyes. It was insignificant, really, how she would loathe me if I let her precious sister die in front of me...

Totally insignificant. And yet—

The thoughts flashed by in a split second. I adjusted my aim, trying to look past the girl’s terrified blue eyes to Turdin’s fat, ugly face just behind her.

"Go around behind him," I said to Dover. "I will keep him distracted."

I hit the brakes, and got out of the car into the open.

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