Brian finished his ciggerate. Looking through the window, he frowns. Nothing to fuckin' do but sit and wait until we land. He borrowed the jet from someone he knew was trustworthy: someone who was smart enough not to ask questions and just fly the damn jet for him. When this is over, I think I'll buy myself a jet. It'll make life easier. Sighing, he leans back against the chair. Checking his watch, he figures that Justin is probably fast asleep by now. Brian smiles, picturing Justin laying across the bed, naked.

Closing his eyes, he knows he should try to get some sleep as well, but his insides are pulsating. It was hard dissociating from the fact that Nick, Sr. was willing to have him murdered. Brian scowls, "Fuckin' asshole." If Nick was still alive, he'd side with me. Sides. When did it all come to this? Taking sides. Ridiculous. This is my city now, old man.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Brian walks to the other side of the jet. He was restless. I just want this to be fuckin' over. Then I can go home, fuck the shit out of Justin, and then go to sleep. Just a few more hours. I need a drink. Returning to his seat, Brian forces himself to go to sleep. The sooner I sleep, the better. Come on, Kinney, just go to sleep.

Opening his eyes once again, Brian slowly exhales. Fuckin' Nick, Sr. After all I've done for that asshole. Fuckin' bastard. Swallowing hard, Brian stares back out the window. Just think about Justin...think about Justin waiting for you to come back home... He smiles softly and closes his eyes.

out the window

Justin struggles to open his eyes. People were coming in. Fuck! Rolling to his side, Justin quickly hides from their view. Four men enter. Oh shit. Four men that Justin didn't recognize. Four men with guns. Justin brings his own gun close to his body. Okay, my Browning has one 13-shot mag in it...13 shots. That should be easy, right? Four men: 13 shots. I can do this...

Aiming at the closest trespasser, Justin shoots him in the throat and then ducks as the bullets start flying in his direction. Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!! He quickly crosses the bedroom doorway, shooting absently in the direction of his assassins until he reaches the bathroom. He hears a thud of someone else falling to the ground. Two down. Two to go. Locking the bathroom door, he positions himself in the shower stall, his gun ready.

Oh God, Brian...Brian...please be safe... Bullets immediately hit the door and as soon as Justin sees a hand, he shoots.

"Argh! You fuckin' shit!" The man screams, backing away as he holds his bloodied hand. Justin flys over the sink as more bullets come his way. Diving behind the counter, he shoots the bleeding man in the head. One more to go. The loft is eerily quiet. Justin stays in his place, straining to hear. Where the fuck is he? Cautiously, Justin peeks around the corner of the counter. No one was there. This is a trap. But he had no where else to go but out of the bathroom. He was trapped in his own home. Swallowing hard, Justin checks his gun. He had only four shots left. I can do this. I have great aim. Everyone knows this... Everyone. Meaning that the man left standing somewhere in the loft also knew it...and therefore a trap had been made.

Justin quietly walks to the bathroom door, peering out. No one was in view. Oh God. This is not going to be good. Taking a deep breath, he steps out and into the bedroom. Silence. Just keep breathing. He needed to stay focused. Listening hard, Justin moves quietly and exits the bedroom. Glancing at the staircase, he wonders if the man is waiting for him downstairs. He could be anywhere. Taking a second step, the loud sound of a bullet flying in the air ripples past Justin and crashes into the wall inches away from him. "Shit!" He screams, diving down to the floor and rolling behind the kitchen counter. He checks his gun again. Okay. So where the fuck is he? Kneeling, he raises his head and shoots towards the stairs. The bullet ricochets against the steel and hits the other side of the wall.

The man chuckles, whispering, "You missed."

Justin immediately shoots in the direction of the voice only to have the man jump out of view once again. Shit. He's fast. Justin looks back at his gun. Three shots were left. How many shots does this guy have? Justin tries to think, but the sound of footsteps over broken glass brings him back to his situation. The man was coming towards him. Lying on his stomach, Justin inches to the end of the counter and tries to get a better look. A bullet hitting the wood changes his mind and Justin quickly retreats back to the middle of the counter. This was not going to be good.