New (better) version comment about it. Cheers.
Nightmare
Jamie Hunt was alone as he paced towards his front door. He was always alone. He lived alone. He enjoyed being alone. As he dived into his pocket to retrieve his house keys, his short blonde hair not even flinching in the breezy air, he thought about his life. He did this a lot; it gave him a sense of freedom from his bustling life, of crime. For Jamie Hunt was no ordinary man. He was 23, born and brought up in Manchester and a master criminal. He was about 13 when he realised that there was serious money to be made in crime. He had always had a taste for trouble, whether it was getting told off by the headmaster at school or organizing a weapons deal with an allied gang, Jamie always got a kick out of it. But more importantly Jamie Hunt loved money. He adored money; he always had some form of racket or scheme going on at his school when he was young. But in those days the proceeds had gone to packets of sweets at lunch time, as opposed to the £850,000 Chelsea house he had now or the large black shotgun the he kept under his study desk for unwanted visitors. Since the day he became friends with a gang members kid brother on the 1st day of high school, (at which time he, nor his friend, had any idea about his siblings dealing with the top Manchester gangs) Jamie had been in numerous gangs of criminals. All of which had ended in either in the gang going into debt or getting caught. All of which Jamie had come through untouched. He had now worked himself to the top and was the leader of his own gang, The Raging Bulls. They were now the biggest gang in London and had a following of over 60 strong youth’s aged 13 – 19. They also had regular dealings with the Peruvian drug cartel ‘Edocia’. His gang did a range of crimes from petty shoplifting to major drug deals and were one of the most successful gangs in Britain. Over the years Jamie’s gang had made many enemies, including one of his most current and most fearsome rivals, The Blood Boys led by the largely feared Jeff Miller. They were a crew of around 40 experienced men who had fought and won many battles over the years. What The Blood Boys lacked in manpower they made up for in experience. There were many rumours flying around saying that The Blood Boys were going to get there hands on some big weapons and try to start a gang war with any gang that stood in there way. But Jamie wouldn’t let himself worry about that.
Jamie had just got home from the pub and had finally managed to unlock the door of his big house in Chelsea. Once he got in he walked along the corridor to his study. His study was the biggest room in the house, mainly because his work was the biggest part of him. He had a desk that faced towards the door with a big Dell PC on it. If he sat at his desk and opened his study door he could see straight at the front door. He felt safer that way. As Jamie sat down at his desk to open up his mail there was a bang at the door.
‘Nobody bangs on the door at 11 at night’. Jamie thought. As he peered through the small glass window next to the door Jamie could see the silhouettes of two young men both built heavily with menacing tattoos. There was another bang at the door and before Jamie could tell them to go away they opened the door. He must have forgotten to lock the door when he came home! Jamie made an instant decision.
Unfortunately for the men at the door he was a very careful man. He reached under his desk a brought out his Italian made Benelli M3, semi-automatic shotgun. If one of its 12 gauge shells hit a man square in the chest it would rip him in half. He saw all the tattoo’s and realised they could well be members of The Blood Boys, they just had that look about them, hardened criminals, who looked like they’d fought in many wars. They were racing towards him, knives in hands and sadistic grins on there faces. They looked like some sort of pair of twisted clowns. Jamie raised the gun to his shoulder and fired twice. For a second every thing was frozen, he could see the expressions on the there faces, grinning and then, suddenly, surprised. One minute they were running straight at him the next they were propelled backwards at an alarming rate. Both rounds hit their targets straight in the chest. The man on the right was thrown into Jamie’s radiator with a sickening crunch. The other man was swept of his feet; he went straight through the doorway and ended up sprawled in the corridor between his study and the front door. He went over to them he could see that they were almost certainly dead, he checked both men’s pulses before standing up and straightening his shirt. A huge wave of relief ran over him, he had been in riots and fights in his 28 years on the planet and compared to the worst of them that wasn’t bad, but it still wasn’t a pleasant experience and definitely not one he would like to relive. Then, out of nowhere, the phone rang. Jamie went over to it
