Hurricane

Chapter 1

"Tell me would you kill to save a life?"

Mitch sighed as he cocked his gun, a used shell popping out. He wiped his brow as he looked around, his senses kicking into overdrive as he held the gun up, ready to point and fire at the nearest enemy.

Currently, it was a lot, as he was surrounded. Mitch turned to the left and to the right, his eyes flitting back and forth, making sure none of the goons were going to make a move onto him.

His muscles were that of a wildcats or panthers, ready to spring into action at any given moment. Mitch took a deep breath to try to calm himself; he never shot accurate when his mind was running faster than his trigger.

Suddenly a goon moved forward, and Mitch reacted. Finally, some prey.

He quickly turned the gun onto him, and pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the head, and he was dead before he even realized he got shot.

Mitch's face was blank as he saw the pool of blood on the floor. He looked at all of the rest of the men and said, "Now, does anyone else like to try?"

The goons were silent. They all look horrified that Mitch didn't have a face of pity. Just stone hard coolness.

Especially Scott.

Scott.

Mitch saw him leaning against the wall out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were wide eyed, his eyes full of fear, confusion, and shock.

And it was all Mitch's fault.

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"Hey Clover," Scott said to Mitch, who was laying on the couch, scrolling through his twitter feed. Mitch looked up, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Blossom?"

"We should go out tonight. You know, drink, dance, forget all out problems. We've been on our asses for the past three days, let's do something."

"Hmmm..." Mitch hummed, sitting up. "That does sound nice. It's been a while since Momma's seen the strobes and the smell of hot sweaty boys in a club. I'm in."

"Perfect." Scott grinned, making Mitch feel...strange. Which has been happening for a while. He still couldn't figure it out.

"I better go get ready, we all know how long to takes me to get ready for a day out with the possibility of getting some." Mitch said, standing up and going to the bathroom.

"Please, bitch, you always get some, you're hot as hell." Scott called out from the couch where he was scrolling twitter. Mitch could feel redness on his cheeks as he blushed. Why the heck was he blushing? They gave each other compliments all the time.

I must be getting sick, Mitch thought to himself as he stripped of his clothing and got into a warm shower.

After he got out, he dressed in his best club clothing that really showed off his body(he'd been working out, alright?). He turned around in his mirror and winked.

You are looking fine as hell today.

"Microchip, are you ready?" Scott called to him. "Yeah, Software, I'm coming." Mitch said. He then walked over to the door to make sure Scott wouldn't come in. There would be some strange questions if he came in while Mitch was adding his final piece.

He went to his bed and placed his hand out of the pillow, pulling out a revolver and placing it in the back of his pants.

Never know when you might need that.

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The club was nice, Mitch supposed. The mixture of hot men and chardonnay were overwhelmingly pleasing, but he couldn't shake this feeling. Call it instinct, Mitch supposed.