Post by Tony DeStefano on Nov 26, 2024 4:06:23 GMT -8
TW: This CD contains some extreme violence and the unaliving of some folks. Please stop here if you're not comfy with those elements. Otherwise, enjoy.
Tony sat slumped against the concrete wall of a gas station, the neon lights overhead buzzing faintly and flickering every few seconds or so. His hoodie hung loose on his frame, and the shadows under his eyes clearly indicated how exhausted he was and just how badly his day had gone so far. A nearly empty bottle of bourbon dangled loosely in his hand, the paper bag crinkled and damp. His other hand clutched a cheap, secondhand phone—a burner he’d just bought off a wiry crackhead loitering near the pumps since he’d broken his iPhone like a moron earlier in the day.
Tone stared at the cracked pavement, the bottle tilting as he took another long pull. The alcohol burned, but it didn’t numb him enough. He let out a weary sigh, leaning his head back against the wall. His mind was churning with thoughts of Callie, Bella, the upcoming championship opportunity, and how he didn’t feel like he deserved any of it.
'It’s your fault, you idiot. You let this spiral out of control. You should’ve just stayed focused on wrestling and not pussy. You can never be fucking satisfied… can you?'
The phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up briefly before dimming again, bringing Tony out of his pity party and reminding him that he needed to find a way home. Without even thinking of the consequences, he unlocked the phone and dialed the one number he knew would come through for him no matter what. It would turn out to be a good thing that he did.
“Bruno,” Tony muttered when the line connected. “I need a ride. Gas station off the strip. Yeah, I know it’s late. Yes, I know I’m supposed to be at home. Bruno. BRUNO. It’s been a shitty day, cumpa. Just… get here. Please?”
He read off the address and hung up before his watchdog could yell at him some more or ask any further questions.
About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed-- enough time for Tony to smoke half of a joint and give the other half to the crackhead he’d bought the phone from so he would fuck off; when suddenly an unmistakable sound echoed down the strip. Tony squinted down the street and his stomach dropped as he confirmed the absolute worst-case scenario. Of course, it was the same bikers from the other night, and of COURSE, they were headed this way.
Because why wouldn’t this night get worse?
His pops had warned him explicitly that these greasy fucks had been passing the word around town that they were offering a hundred g’s a piece for anyone who brought them Tony and Liam. He told him ‘Whatever you do Anthony, do NOT GO ANYWHERE without Bruno.’
Now look, another dumbass decision and Tony had just inadvertently handed himself over.
He stood slowly, setting the bottle of bourbon on the hood of a nearby car and bracing himself for a fight. “Che cazzo, here we go again” he muttered under his breath as the bikers dismounted and looked directly at him. “Lookee what we have here boys. It must be our lucky night. We hit big at the casino AND saved ourselves a hundred grand. Check it out.” the one with the “vice-president” patch sneered, making his way across the parking lot toward Tony. The three other bikers followed, grabbing tire irons and chains off of their bikes.
Tony stepped forward, not showing an ounce of fear as he sized the man up. “You boys don’t know when to quit, do you? How’s your guy doing, by the way? It was the uh... Enforcer, right? I don’t see him here enforcing things. Speaking of seeing, he’s probably not seeing much either out of that busted-ass eye socket I gave him huh?”
Before the biker could reply, a black SUV screeched into the lot, and Bruno stepped out of the driver’s seat like a force of nature. Dressed in a dark leather jacket, his broad shoulders cut an imposing figure as he sized up the bikers.
“What the hell’s goin’ on here, Tone?” Bruno asked, his voice low but sharp.
“Just some old friends,” Tony replied dryly, his eyes never leaving the bikers. “Guys, meet MY enforcer.”
That’s all it took. A few seconds later the tension snapped like a rubber band. The VP lunged at Tony, and chaos erupted. Tony ducked his wild swing, driving his knee into the biker’s stomach and following it up with a clean right cross. Bruno, meanwhile, came charging like a runaway semi-truck and plowed through another with an elbow to the head, his sheer size giving him the upper hand.
The fight spilled across the parking lot toward the bikes, and it escalated even further when the VP got his ego bruised because he was getting his ass whooped and pulled a gun.
“What are you going to do with that besides make me mor-”
Tony began, calling the man’s bluff momentarily before he was cut off by the sound of gunfire. The first shot went wide, sparking off a nearby fuel pump, and Tony immediately dove for cover behind the SUV. “Bruno, they’re armed!” Tony shouted, drawing his pistol from the waistband of his jeans.
“No shit, wise guy!” Bruno growled in return, following Tony behind the SUV as bullets pinged against the metal. He gave Tony a look of disappointment, shaking his head and muttering a quick slew of curse words in Italian before popping up to return fire, his aim steady as he clipped one biker in the knee and dropped him to the pavement.
Tony peeked out, squeezing off two shots of his own. One hit a biker in the shoulder, sending him spinning, but the second shot went wide. The bikers fired back, the gas station filling with the deafening sound of gunfire.
“Cover me!” Tony yelled, breaking from the car to flank them. Bruno laid down suppressing fire, forcing the remaining bikers to scatter as Tony moved fast, crossing the parking lot towards the gunfire and catching one of them off guard with a clean shot to his chest. The man crumpled instantly.
Within minutes, the fight was over. The bikers lay sprawled on the ground, some groaning, others completely still. Tony crossed the parking lot like a scene from a movie, scooping up the bourbon bottle to stand over the VP, his breath ragged.
“You should’ve let this shit go,” Tony said coldly, taking a swig from the bottle before raising his gun.
The biker tried to mutter something—an apology, maybe—but Tony didn’t wait to hear it. He pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out in the now-silent lot. One by one, he then walked down the others, finishing the job with cold precision. Each shot was deliberate, his expression unreadable as he alternated between firing and drinking.
Bruno watched, wiping blood from his face as he holstered his gun. “Jesus H. Christ. You done, Tone?” he asked, his voice gruff and dripping with annoyance. Tony fired off one last shot between the eyes of the club's Vice President. A Message.
He then nodded, slipping his gun back into his waistband holster. “Yeah. Now I’m done.”
Bruno didn’t argue. Instead, he turned and walked into the gas station, his imposing figure enough to send the clerk scrambling into the back. Moments later, he emerged with the security footage in hand, tossing it into the SUV.
“Now if you don’t mind, let’s get the hell outta here,” Bruno said, climbing into the driver’s seat. "We gotta go tell your pops what just happened and ditch these guns. We're definitely at fuckin' war now, kid. You just opened a big ass can of worms."
Tony paused as he was getting into the car and looked over at Bruno with fire in his eyes. "Fuck em. If they want a war, then I'll give em a war. But if they come at the prince? They better not fuckin' miss. I'll wipe out that entire fuckin' club and leave no one standing." His arm curled and flung the empty bourbon bottle into a trash can with an hook shot and then climbed into the car to peel off into the Vegas night, leaving the symphony of sirens and idling motorcycle engines as nothing but a faint sound in the background.
Tony sat slumped against the concrete wall of a gas station, the neon lights overhead buzzing faintly and flickering every few seconds or so. His hoodie hung loose on his frame, and the shadows under his eyes clearly indicated how exhausted he was and just how badly his day had gone so far. A nearly empty bottle of bourbon dangled loosely in his hand, the paper bag crinkled and damp. His other hand clutched a cheap, secondhand phone—a burner he’d just bought off a wiry crackhead loitering near the pumps since he’d broken his iPhone like a moron earlier in the day.
Tone stared at the cracked pavement, the bottle tilting as he took another long pull. The alcohol burned, but it didn’t numb him enough. He let out a weary sigh, leaning his head back against the wall. His mind was churning with thoughts of Callie, Bella, the upcoming championship opportunity, and how he didn’t feel like he deserved any of it.
'It’s your fault, you idiot. You let this spiral out of control. You should’ve just stayed focused on wrestling and not pussy. You can never be fucking satisfied… can you?'
The phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up briefly before dimming again, bringing Tony out of his pity party and reminding him that he needed to find a way home. Without even thinking of the consequences, he unlocked the phone and dialed the one number he knew would come through for him no matter what. It would turn out to be a good thing that he did.
“Bruno,” Tony muttered when the line connected. “I need a ride. Gas station off the strip. Yeah, I know it’s late. Yes, I know I’m supposed to be at home. Bruno. BRUNO. It’s been a shitty day, cumpa. Just… get here. Please?”
He read off the address and hung up before his watchdog could yell at him some more or ask any further questions.
About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed-- enough time for Tony to smoke half of a joint and give the other half to the crackhead he’d bought the phone from so he would fuck off; when suddenly an unmistakable sound echoed down the strip. Tony squinted down the street and his stomach dropped as he confirmed the absolute worst-case scenario. Of course, it was the same bikers from the other night, and of COURSE, they were headed this way.
Because why wouldn’t this night get worse?
His pops had warned him explicitly that these greasy fucks had been passing the word around town that they were offering a hundred g’s a piece for anyone who brought them Tony and Liam. He told him ‘Whatever you do Anthony, do NOT GO ANYWHERE without Bruno.’
Now look, another dumbass decision and Tony had just inadvertently handed himself over.
He stood slowly, setting the bottle of bourbon on the hood of a nearby car and bracing himself for a fight. “Che cazzo, here we go again” he muttered under his breath as the bikers dismounted and looked directly at him. “Lookee what we have here boys. It must be our lucky night. We hit big at the casino AND saved ourselves a hundred grand. Check it out.” the one with the “vice-president” patch sneered, making his way across the parking lot toward Tony. The three other bikers followed, grabbing tire irons and chains off of their bikes.
Tony stepped forward, not showing an ounce of fear as he sized the man up. “You boys don’t know when to quit, do you? How’s your guy doing, by the way? It was the uh... Enforcer, right? I don’t see him here enforcing things. Speaking of seeing, he’s probably not seeing much either out of that busted-ass eye socket I gave him huh?”
Before the biker could reply, a black SUV screeched into the lot, and Bruno stepped out of the driver’s seat like a force of nature. Dressed in a dark leather jacket, his broad shoulders cut an imposing figure as he sized up the bikers.
“What the hell’s goin’ on here, Tone?” Bruno asked, his voice low but sharp.
“Just some old friends,” Tony replied dryly, his eyes never leaving the bikers. “Guys, meet MY enforcer.”
That’s all it took. A few seconds later the tension snapped like a rubber band. The VP lunged at Tony, and chaos erupted. Tony ducked his wild swing, driving his knee into the biker’s stomach and following it up with a clean right cross. Bruno, meanwhile, came charging like a runaway semi-truck and plowed through another with an elbow to the head, his sheer size giving him the upper hand.
The fight spilled across the parking lot toward the bikes, and it escalated even further when the VP got his ego bruised because he was getting his ass whooped and pulled a gun.
“What are you going to do with that besides make me mor-”
Tony began, calling the man’s bluff momentarily before he was cut off by the sound of gunfire. The first shot went wide, sparking off a nearby fuel pump, and Tony immediately dove for cover behind the SUV. “Bruno, they’re armed!” Tony shouted, drawing his pistol from the waistband of his jeans.
“No shit, wise guy!” Bruno growled in return, following Tony behind the SUV as bullets pinged against the metal. He gave Tony a look of disappointment, shaking his head and muttering a quick slew of curse words in Italian before popping up to return fire, his aim steady as he clipped one biker in the knee and dropped him to the pavement.
Tony peeked out, squeezing off two shots of his own. One hit a biker in the shoulder, sending him spinning, but the second shot went wide. The bikers fired back, the gas station filling with the deafening sound of gunfire.
“Cover me!” Tony yelled, breaking from the car to flank them. Bruno laid down suppressing fire, forcing the remaining bikers to scatter as Tony moved fast, crossing the parking lot towards the gunfire and catching one of them off guard with a clean shot to his chest. The man crumpled instantly.
Within minutes, the fight was over. The bikers lay sprawled on the ground, some groaning, others completely still. Tony crossed the parking lot like a scene from a movie, scooping up the bourbon bottle to stand over the VP, his breath ragged.
“You should’ve let this shit go,” Tony said coldly, taking a swig from the bottle before raising his gun.
The biker tried to mutter something—an apology, maybe—but Tony didn’t wait to hear it. He pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out in the now-silent lot. One by one, he then walked down the others, finishing the job with cold precision. Each shot was deliberate, his expression unreadable as he alternated between firing and drinking.
Bruno watched, wiping blood from his face as he holstered his gun. “Jesus H. Christ. You done, Tone?” he asked, his voice gruff and dripping with annoyance. Tony fired off one last shot between the eyes of the club's Vice President. A Message.
He then nodded, slipping his gun back into his waistband holster. “Yeah. Now I’m done.”
Bruno didn’t argue. Instead, he turned and walked into the gas station, his imposing figure enough to send the clerk scrambling into the back. Moments later, he emerged with the security footage in hand, tossing it into the SUV.
“Now if you don’t mind, let’s get the hell outta here,” Bruno said, climbing into the driver’s seat. "We gotta go tell your pops what just happened and ditch these guns. We're definitely at fuckin' war now, kid. You just opened a big ass can of worms."
Tony paused as he was getting into the car and looked over at Bruno with fire in his eyes. "Fuck em. If they want a war, then I'll give em a war. But if they come at the prince? They better not fuckin' miss. I'll wipe out that entire fuckin' club and leave no one standing." His arm curled and flung the empty bourbon bottle into a trash can with an hook shot and then climbed into the car to peel off into the Vegas night, leaving the symphony of sirens and idling motorcycle engines as nothing but a faint sound in the background.