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Retribution
folder
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,467
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,467
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Boondock Saints, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A walk on Grey St
AN: These next few chapters aren't BETAed so there are going to be mistakes. Please dont criticize unless your volunteering
And I cant get the Italics to work, >_< so all thoughts will be surounded by *'s.
Retribution
Chapter 3: A walk on Grey St
Murphy woke up to the sound of his brother slamming his knee into the furniture as he stumbled around in the dark. He rolled his eyes at Connors clumsiness and rolled over, covering his head with an extra throw pillow. He managed to doze like this for awhile, drifting in and out of consciousness, the daylight and background noise, simply rolling off of as as he lay there in a sort of suspended animation, contemplating moving, but not wanting to.
Finally the background noise grew too much to simply ignore, with irritation he tore the pillow from his face and sat up, looking around, his mind still fuzzy from sleep.
*What the? AWE, you have got to be shiting me!*
The sound of his brother’s love making reached his ears. He swung his legs over the couch and stood, throwing the blanket over the side. He didn’t know why he was angry, the vision of his Connor between the legs of that girl, there was something there he couldn’t take. The usual jealousy and something more, something that was repressed, but he could no longer keep it down. Growing up Murphy had always been in the shadow of his twin. Even though they didn’t know who was oldest, it was obvious that Connor was the more adored, especially by the girls. His teenage years had passed, watching Connor sweep one girl after another off their feet, while Murphy simply watched. Oh, sure, it wasn’t like he was always alone, it just always seemed like Connor had more, always more. And these feelings grew to a boil as the husky voice of Emily as she called out Connor’s name amongst the moans. It was too much.
*Fucking hell, how do they expect me to sleep?! Can’t he fucking keep it in his fucking pants for once. I’ve had enough of this shit….I need air. *
In a sweeping motion Murphy picked up his old black coat, with out a word or a glance back he left the small apartment and traveled down to the cold street below.
He looked around, Emily’s apartment was about a mile from McInties and a little past that was the old loft that he and Connor used to share. He decided to go back there, if only to see that it was still standing. Murphy walked at a steady and fast clip, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his head bent, shielding his face slightly from the stinging wind that funneled between the cold grey buildings.
His mind tried to work around the sudden influx of resentment that he felt for Conner, but deciding that it wasn’t worth the time, Murphy buried the feelings and focused his mind on every thing that had passed since that day so long ago, when they had openly killed Papa Joe. They had fled Boston and found themselves in several other major cities, killing evil men and sending their souls to the final judgment. They did not try to hide their trail, newspaper headlines followed them were ever they went, in some they were worshiped as holy crusaders, in others they were branded lawless murders. But to Murphy and his brother and father, there was only one law, that of God, and it was they who were committed to enforce it amongst all evil.
It was in Seattle that things got out of hand. They had spent about a week scouting out new targets and had found a small time pimp, who was responsible for killing both his whores and his clients, leaving a trail of drugs, blood and sex. It was rainy and grey the morning they finally pumped his body full of lead, leaving him in the darkened alley, the bright copper pennies over his eyes seemed to glow in the light of the rising sun, the family prayer still echoing in their ears. It was only later that they found out that the target had in fact been connected to a large Russian crime family based in Baltimore. In fact the little piss ant had been the only son of the elderly syndicate boss, Nicoli Petrofski. In a short time the tables had turned and they were now the hunted, forced into hiding, they ran and were followed. They had made deadly enemies in almost every major city, making it impossible to find a place to hunker down and wait till the smoke had cleared. They had tried to go after Petrofski themselves, but by that time there were too many people looking for their heads, criminals and the government alike.
Finalley wey were forced to flee back to their hometown in Ireland, a place they had not been since they had left at the age of sixteen, when r mor mother could no longer hold them back. It was a small town, a farming town. They had been safe there for awhile, long enough to let their guard down. About a month after they had come home, it was early in the morning and the three of them were nursing a hang over from the previous night. A group of thugs bust threw the door just and the sun was chasing away the last shadows of night from the sky. A flurry of gunfire followed, tearing threw the small cottage and as the smoke cleared the twins stood over the body of their father, blood spilling from the wounds in his chest. They had to rush their mother to the hospital 40 miles away; she suffered an injury in her shoulder.
That was why they were in Boston again. There would be no more running, no hiding, they were going to find those bastards and make them pay, even if they had to kill the whole city to do so. Murph wasn’t sure whose men had been responsible, but he knew that they would come to him, and if they wanted a fight they were going to get one. This is were it started, this is where it would end. One way or another
Murphy looked up from his thoughts. The buildings around him were grey and tall, they looked hallow, graffiti scrawled along their sides and glass broken in the dusty windows. Things had gone down hill since he had l Not Not even the newly risen sun could put a shine into these streets. The bums that littered the corners somehow managed to look more beaten down then ever.
A few blocks ahead Murphy spotted the old building were he and Connor had made their home. It looked as shitty as ever. He smiled slightly as he approached, remembering all the times he had drug Connor threw those doors after a long night of drinking. Those were good times. Murphy stood on the corner across the street looking up. Thoughts of every thing that he had given up washed over him as the streets began to fill with cars. People going to work, drunks coming home. But one of the cars did not pass. It was a beaten up van that sputtered to a stop on the street just behind Murphy. He was so deep in his memories that he did not notice the two large men that got out and walked up behind him. One of them drew his gun. The sound of metal on a leather holster rang in his ears like a bell, and Murphy turned, his own revolver already half drawn. But it was too late, the butt of the stranger’s gun came down on his skull, and darkness flooded his mind.
And I cant get the Italics to work, >_< so all thoughts will be surounded by *'s.
Retribution
Chapter 3: A walk on Grey St
Murphy woke up to the sound of his brother slamming his knee into the furniture as he stumbled around in the dark. He rolled his eyes at Connors clumsiness and rolled over, covering his head with an extra throw pillow. He managed to doze like this for awhile, drifting in and out of consciousness, the daylight and background noise, simply rolling off of as as he lay there in a sort of suspended animation, contemplating moving, but not wanting to.
Finally the background noise grew too much to simply ignore, with irritation he tore the pillow from his face and sat up, looking around, his mind still fuzzy from sleep.
*What the? AWE, you have got to be shiting me!*
The sound of his brother’s love making reached his ears. He swung his legs over the couch and stood, throwing the blanket over the side. He didn’t know why he was angry, the vision of his Connor between the legs of that girl, there was something there he couldn’t take. The usual jealousy and something more, something that was repressed, but he could no longer keep it down. Growing up Murphy had always been in the shadow of his twin. Even though they didn’t know who was oldest, it was obvious that Connor was the more adored, especially by the girls. His teenage years had passed, watching Connor sweep one girl after another off their feet, while Murphy simply watched. Oh, sure, it wasn’t like he was always alone, it just always seemed like Connor had more, always more. And these feelings grew to a boil as the husky voice of Emily as she called out Connor’s name amongst the moans. It was too much.
*Fucking hell, how do they expect me to sleep?! Can’t he fucking keep it in his fucking pants for once. I’ve had enough of this shit….I need air. *
In a sweeping motion Murphy picked up his old black coat, with out a word or a glance back he left the small apartment and traveled down to the cold street below.
He looked around, Emily’s apartment was about a mile from McInties and a little past that was the old loft that he and Connor used to share. He decided to go back there, if only to see that it was still standing. Murphy walked at a steady and fast clip, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his head bent, shielding his face slightly from the stinging wind that funneled between the cold grey buildings.
His mind tried to work around the sudden influx of resentment that he felt for Conner, but deciding that it wasn’t worth the time, Murphy buried the feelings and focused his mind on every thing that had passed since that day so long ago, when they had openly killed Papa Joe. They had fled Boston and found themselves in several other major cities, killing evil men and sending their souls to the final judgment. They did not try to hide their trail, newspaper headlines followed them were ever they went, in some they were worshiped as holy crusaders, in others they were branded lawless murders. But to Murphy and his brother and father, there was only one law, that of God, and it was they who were committed to enforce it amongst all evil.
It was in Seattle that things got out of hand. They had spent about a week scouting out new targets and had found a small time pimp, who was responsible for killing both his whores and his clients, leaving a trail of drugs, blood and sex. It was rainy and grey the morning they finally pumped his body full of lead, leaving him in the darkened alley, the bright copper pennies over his eyes seemed to glow in the light of the rising sun, the family prayer still echoing in their ears. It was only later that they found out that the target had in fact been connected to a large Russian crime family based in Baltimore. In fact the little piss ant had been the only son of the elderly syndicate boss, Nicoli Petrofski. In a short time the tables had turned and they were now the hunted, forced into hiding, they ran and were followed. They had made deadly enemies in almost every major city, making it impossible to find a place to hunker down and wait till the smoke had cleared. They had tried to go after Petrofski themselves, but by that time there were too many people looking for their heads, criminals and the government alike.
Finalley wey were forced to flee back to their hometown in Ireland, a place they had not been since they had left at the age of sixteen, when r mor mother could no longer hold them back. It was a small town, a farming town. They had been safe there for awhile, long enough to let their guard down. About a month after they had come home, it was early in the morning and the three of them were nursing a hang over from the previous night. A group of thugs bust threw the door just and the sun was chasing away the last shadows of night from the sky. A flurry of gunfire followed, tearing threw the small cottage and as the smoke cleared the twins stood over the body of their father, blood spilling from the wounds in his chest. They had to rush their mother to the hospital 40 miles away; she suffered an injury in her shoulder.
That was why they were in Boston again. There would be no more running, no hiding, they were going to find those bastards and make them pay, even if they had to kill the whole city to do so. Murph wasn’t sure whose men had been responsible, but he knew that they would come to him, and if they wanted a fight they were going to get one. This is were it started, this is where it would end. One way or another
Murphy looked up from his thoughts. The buildings around him were grey and tall, they looked hallow, graffiti scrawled along their sides and glass broken in the dusty windows. Things had gone down hill since he had l Not Not even the newly risen sun could put a shine into these streets. The bums that littered the corners somehow managed to look more beaten down then ever.
A few blocks ahead Murphy spotted the old building were he and Connor had made their home. It looked as shitty as ever. He smiled slightly as he approached, remembering all the times he had drug Connor threw those doors after a long night of drinking. Those were good times. Murphy stood on the corner across the street looking up. Thoughts of every thing that he had given up washed over him as the streets began to fill with cars. People going to work, drunks coming home. But one of the cars did not pass. It was a beaten up van that sputtered to a stop on the street just behind Murphy. He was so deep in his memories that he did not notice the two large men that got out and walked up behind him. One of them drew his gun. The sound of metal on a leather holster rang in his ears like a bell, and Murphy turned, his own revolver already half drawn. But it was too late, the butt of the stranger’s gun came down on his skull, and darkness flooded his mind.