You knew you were going to wake up badly. What a night… the phone has been ringing for a while. It’s your work colleague. You’re late. Very late.
There are empty bourbon bottles, you’ve got a headache and Cristi… no wait, Sandrah, her name is Sandrah, and she’s naked, fresh out of the shower. What a beautiful woman. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but you’re suddenly in a hurry. You really need to rush up.
You get up and kess her goodbye. «See you baby,» you can’t think of anything better to say. It doesn’t matter. You have to get the job done as soon as possible or you’ll be in trouble.
You grab your brown leather gloves, your helmet and put on your jacket. The one that matches your suit and tie. The one with the hidden armour. You leave the hotel and go straight for your bike.
You’re going to have to go fast. Speed up as if your life depended on it, which is not too far away from the truth though. You get on, fast as hell through the traffic.
As soon as you get there, Anna looks ar her watch. ‘Yes, I know I’m late, but still on time.’ She always looks beautiful when she’s angry. She starts up her bike and speeds off, making it hard to keep up with her. Her Harley looks stunning and she’s so elegant on it. Soon you reach the financial heart of London. The City.
No one knows what you are doing there, but no one suspects anything. You enter the building with the elegance of one who has control and power. You smile at those who cross your path and enter the lift. When two people with class enter a building, time stands still and the doors open.
‘I was scared, I thought you weren’t coming… the brunette?’
‘The blonde’ you reply even though you know she knows you’re lying. You can’t fool your partner, she is way better than you are at this game.
‘If we’re late for the meeting we’re really fucked up’ You look at the watch and you know she’s right. She’s always right.
With a resounding clonk the lift reaches the top floor. At that damn meeting table everyone looks at you in surprise. Like someone who has seen a ghost, and then you say:
‘You started without us! Well done’ and you and Anna automatically pull out the artillery and unload almost five rounds on those poor bastards.
There’s blood everywhere. Broken glass. The smell of gunpowder. You put your guns under your jackets and leave. The motorbikes sound so loud in the middle of London’s city, but who’s going to suspect two posh bikers?
SON of a GUN is by far our most elegant Jack. Aramid layer inside and full level 2 body armoured.
