This story is not unique. It's honestly all too common.
It's 2019 in Tampa, Florida. It's summertime, and it's hot.
Jose was born in Xicoténcatl and came to this country looking for milk and honey. He loves his family more than Trump loves putting k...
Braxton and Conner lounge on the plush tan bench seats on the back of Braxton's dad, Don's, Bertram 61 yacht, as they cruise through the channel. The blistering sun reflects in crystals off the brackish water. Snowy egrets dip down into the water, feeding on schools of sardines. Don sits at the helm, blasting I'm Real by J-Lo and Ja Rule. Wrapping around Davis Island, they pass the mansions that give way to the shipyard. The wake kicks mist back on their faces. Wiping his face dry, Braxton stands up, "Let's go inside, I'm tired of this bullshit."
The air-conditioned interior of the boat is saturated in luxury. Conner plops down on one of the many leather chairs. Braxton walks behind the bar and picks up a ten-year bourbon, "You want something to drink?"
"What do you got?"
Braxton surveys the selection, "Everything— whiskey, vodka, gin, you name it, the old man has got it back here. What do you want?"
"I don't care— just make me something."
Braxton sets the bourbon down and picks up a bottle of organic vodka and unscrews the top, "Vodka it is." Grabbing two medium-sized tumblers, he tosses a few rocks in and gives it a healthy pour— adding a splash of lime soda, he hands it to Conner. Taking a drink, Conner doubles over, nearly spitting the cocktail out.
"It's strong, right?"
Conner takes a breath to recover, "Yeah."
"My sister and her friend came home from college last week and got so fucked up on this shit that her friend almost fell overboard."
Conner takes another drink— he handles it a little better this time, "Damn, that's crazy."
Braxton pulls out his phone and hits play on a video, "Here, check this out," he says, handing it to him.
In the video, Braxton's sister Bailey and her friend Josie are passed out on the bed in their bathing suits. You can hear Braxton on the other end commentating on the situation, "Fucking drunk ass bitches right here—" Bailey is lying face down, but her Josie is on her back with one breast flopped out of her bikini. Braxton laughs as he zooms in on her lower half. Her bottoms are half twisted, showing one of her lips.
"Did they know you were recording them?"
"Hell no, they were passed the fuck out."
Looking at this shit doesn't feel right—
Imagine if she knew this video was out there—
Conner feels for the girl, but at the same time, he's not looking away.
Braxton nonchalantly takes a sip of his cocktail, "She's hot, huh?"
She's beautiful, which makes it worse— a knot forms in the pit of Conner's gut.
"I'll send it to you."
Conner's phone buzzes, and just like that, he's an accomplice to sexual assault. Still, he doesn't do anything. He wants to, but Braxton is his best friend.
"You want to see something really wild?"
He doesn't. He feels like he's going to be sick. Conner takes another drink, "Sure."
Braxton opens another video on his phone, "I found the live stream of the Christchurch attack in New Zealand—"
Conner watches as the first victim of the massacre approaches the gunman and greets him, saying, "Hello Brother," before being met with a shotgun blast. The gunman proceeds through the front door of the mosque, shooting worshipers indiscriminately. Braxton is all smiles, "Look at him, cut those sand niggers down— that dude is cold-blooded, huh?"
Conner can't believe what he's watching. He hates Arab's as much as the next alt-right asshole, but this is not bullshitting on some random 4chan message board. This is real. Real blood. Real Violence. Real bodies falling to the ground. Real fucking lives lost, "Jesus—"
"Happy Fourth of July, buddy! Watch, the next part is the best."
Militant music plays in the background— the gunman switches from his shotgun to a semi-automatic rifle.
"Check out the look on this bitches face— shit is priceless."
The gunman shoots the woman in the chest. They watch all 17 minutes of the attack as 51 people lose their lives on the 6.1-inch phone screen. Once it's over, Braxton walks back behind the bar to pour them another round of drinks, "We could do that."
"Do what?"
"You know, our part."
Conner doesn't know what to say. He can't tell if Braxton is just fucking around.
Braxton hands him his drink, "I'm serious. Think about it— how many Americans have lost their lives due to those fucking towelheads and kikes? Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria— how many wars do we have to fight to save their dumb asses from themselves? Not to mention the homegrown terrorists— and the fucking monkeys infesting every city in this country."
"I mean you're right—"
"At some point, we have to fight for what's ours. What are we gonna do, just let the spicks come in and run us over?"
"No, but—"
"No buts, fuck that— I'm tired of this bullshit— it's time we sacked up and did something— right here in our own city— you down?"
Conner is not down. If he's being honest, he's fucking terrified. But by now you can see where this shit is heading, "Yeah— I'm down."
Braxton takes another drink, "I have it all planned out. The problem with most of these assholes is that they assume they're on a suicide mission— You gotta hit em' quick and get out." Braxton surveys the brass-trimmed interior of his family's yacht, "listen, I'm not an idiot— I'm not trying to throw all of this away." The boat engine comes to a halt. The ship slows in the water, "My dad's coming, gimme your drink." Braxton quickly takes Conner's glass and pours it out in the sink before sliding the bottle of liquor back behind the bar. Don enters the cabin.
"Hey, dad."
"Hey, boys. What are you fellas up to?"
"Not much, just chillin'."
"Yeah, me too—" his dad chuckles to himself, thinking he's amusing in a dad sort of way, "We'll swing by Rick's later to grab some wings, but if you want something to tide you over until then, I had Lupita toss a couple sandwiches in the cooler."
"Thanks, dad, I think we're good for now."
"Cool, well you know where they are if you changeyour mind," His dad walks in the bathroom and shuts the door. Braxton leans in tofinish his thought, "My uncle has an AR I can get my hands on— we just gottaget you one."
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New chapters released every Monday and Friday (Chapter 15 of 28)
