Page 3 of Fourth Wall

“I’m in.”

3

Christian

2 Years Ago

“Back the fuck off, motherfucker.” I had my Smith & Wesson in one hand and my other hand carefully on the Glock that remained holstered at my side. Julian stood next to me.

“You need to fucking pay up right now. Otherwise, we’re going to pull your entire operation out of the park, and the feds will happily show up at your doorstep with an entire folder full of the shit you fuckers have been up to.”

Our little office had peeling wallpaper and a musty smell that permeated the air. It was a stark contrast to the grimy motorcycle club shop we had just walked through. The shop was run-down, with worn-out bikes scattered around and the walls adorned with faded posters of past biker events. Four men in matching vests puffed on cigarettes, and each had a tough, no-nonsense look.

As Julian handed over the folder of compromising photos, their leader glanced at it, seemingly unfazed by the contents. He leaned back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and shot us a cold stare. It was as if he didn't care that we were there, attempting to exert some kind of control over his territory. I could feel the tension in the room as we waited for his response, but he remained eerily calm, almost dismissive.

"These pictures ain't gonna change nothing," he finally said, his voice gruff and confident. "We don't bend to nobody's demands." His crew nodded in agreement, their expressions unwavering.

Julian and I exchanged a glance, knowing this wouldn't be as easy as we had hoped. We had underestimated their loyalty to their club, and it was clear they wouldn't back down easily. But we weren't about to back down either. We were here on a mission and determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

Alex, Julian’s brother, was the governor who lived in Sacramento, and these fuckers had promised to fund a few hundred thousand for one of his projects, but they hadn’tpaid up. In exchange for funneling their money through the government, the local police looked the other way when the sleepy town of Barstow suddenly was met with MC meetups and crew drops of new guns and drugs. The club also had the opportunity to wash some of their money through our operation, legitimizing their shop and making sure the feds stayed away.

I leaned in and grabbed the worn-out leather jacket from the leader’s face to pull him closer to me. I shoved my gun under his chin.

“I will fucking blow your brains out right here unless you give me the money you owe us now.”

“We’ll get it to you in a couple of weeks. We don’t got it now,” he drawled.

I turned to look at the other three men in the corner. One of them was starting to piss me off because I could hear him laughing throughout this annoying meeting.

With one hand still holding the Smith & Wesson under the leader’s neck, whose name I didn't care to learn, I grabbed the holstered Glock from my jacket and turned toward the giggling son of a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” I warned.

“Christian…” Julian trailed off, but the slight turn of the corners of his mouth told a different story. He knew what the guy had coming.

I turned toward the leader of the crew. “Give us the motherfucking money…now,” I demanded while still maintaining a cool tone.

“No can do.” He laughed.

“The boss said no…chill out, we ain’t even scared of no feds,” the laughing fucker said from the corner. I whipped my head in his direction.

“It’s not the feds you should be scared of. It’s me.” With that, I pulled the trigger, sending the bullet flying into the laughing fuck’s chest. It was a perfect shot to the heart.

There was an eerie silence, and only the draw of a cigarette was heard through the room.

I quickly holstered the weapon and looked at the leader, where my other gun stayed.

“I-I’ll get it to you now,” he quickly responded.

Suddenly, the money we needed was being ushered quickly over to the table. I put that weapon away, too, but kept a steady hand on where it was holstered.

“See,” I sneered as I grabbed the money and shoved it into the briefcase Julian handed me. “That wasn’t so fucking hard.”

Julian and I grabbed what we needed as we left the disgusting garage. I turned on my heel to look back at them and watched as they all looked toward the man slumped over his chair.

“Do not ever make me come out to this disgusting-ass place again. It ruins my fucking loafers.” I looked down at my now scuffed shoes.

“Ye-yes, sir,” the leader repeated from the back of the shop, and I jumped into the car while Julian slid in the passenger side.

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