Alejandro stared at himself in the mirror, noting the multitude of familiar gang tats. His stomach clenched like it always did, but he’d done what he set out to do. He’d gotten his little brother out of the God forsaken hell hole that was their hood. Miguel, now Mikey would never have to experience what Alejandro dealt with on a daily or nightly basis. Six years he’d spent protecting his secrets and his brother. Six years he’d run with the men he called brothers, no matter the crimes they committed. Family closer than his blood, except for Miguel. But it’s not what he wanted for his baby brother. Miguel deserved better than the heavy guilt and constant fear—the life and death danger. Deserved better than the way Alejandro lived.
He picked up the short cylinder off the bathroom counter and carefully screwed it onto the gun in his hand. Time for the last favor for Berto and his debt would be paid. It wouldn’t be his first kill, though the others had been in self-defense. This would be his first murder. But Berto had made it clear, no kill, no home for Miguel. Alejandro had to do it, or his life, and Miguel’s would be forfeit. And Berto was not a man to mess around with or fuck over. He’d put a bullet between your eyebrows as soon as look at you. Alejandro didn’t understand why the gang was so loyal to the crazy guy, and yet Berto had no sense of brotherhood to the rest of them, no sense of responsibility. Berto never had anyone’s back. Didn’t make sense. But then, it didn’t have to since Alejandro was as much a drone of the gang as the rest of them.
Alejandro picked up the photo of the man Berto wanted out of the way and flipped it over, reading the stats. Nothing here clued Alejandro into why Berto wanted the man dead, but it wasn’t Alejandro’s job to question or wonder—or think. It was just his job to pop the guy and not get caught. Alejandro’s stomach clenched again and he was beginning to wonder if he could even do it. He’d never killed anyone in cold blood before and this man had never done a thing to him. He stepped back from the bathroom counter and caught the movement in the mirror. He stared at himself, watching his bright green eyes go dead. With a shaking hand, he stuffed the glock in the waistband of his tattered jeans and shuffled out of the run down apartment to find his target.