A/N: Story is complete and rewritten, thank to those who reviewed and enjoyed it. I hope this version is worth a second look!

Evil men. There were a lot of them out there, doing all kinds horrible things. Looking through the newspaper proved it on a daily basis. A man walking home form his job at a factory gets pulled into a back alley and beaten to death as part of a gang initiation, leaving behind a wife and three young children with no support and no one to provide for them. A woman kills her husband to collect the insurance money so that she and her lover can go on a cruise.

Three corner stores robbed in two weeks; five people dead; one clerk and four unlucky by standers who went to buy smokes, or pick up a snack at the wrong time. One of the stores was the one right on the corner of the block where Connor and Murphy lived, and the clerk who was killed was a young college student named Sally. The brothers often chatted with her when they picked up their groceries. The killers were stupid meth addicts out to get money for their next hit. Connor and Murphy found them easily enough. Three meth heads getting high in a warehouse. The killer, a young woman with open sores all over her face, long tangled blond hair, and rotten teeth laughed at the memory of the blood spraying out of the back of the clerks head.

"Uppity bitch thought she was better than me." Was the last thing she ever said.

The other two cowered in the corner.

They didn't start out as criminals, the addicts cried. They couldn't afford the drugs, and so their dealer gave them a gun and told them there were better ways at getting money than begging for it.

It was the dealer who told them about Juan Martin. He knelt on his knees, crying, and begging for mercy. Juan Martin was the bastard behind it all. He was the man who brought in the guns and passed them onto his dealers who then passed them onto the addicts.

"Why would I want to give guns to these idiots, they're just as likely to shoot me for the next hit as they are anyone else out there."

Connor didn't want to wait. They knew where Juan lived. They knew the layout of the house.

If Murphy thought the plan was stupid he didn't say so. Juan Martin lived outside of the city in a ranch style house. It wasn't surrounded with gates or barbed wire or anything. He was a man comfortable in his reputation, and the message he sent by the lack of security was plain, I don't fear you.

Their plan was simple; pose as repairmen with their guns hidden in their tool kit, get in, and kill everyone.


And now Connor couldn't remember what went fucking wrong. His head was pounding, and blood stung his eyes from a cut above his eyebrow. He couldn't remember anything past driving up to the front gate. He had no idea how well or not well the plan worked up to the point that it obviously didn't, but at least the bastards looked just as bloody and beaten as he did.

They had him in a metal chair, his wrists cuffed behind him. Alone. Not technically alone, but Murphy wasn't there and the goons didn't count. His heart raced at the fact that his brother wasn't with him and he couldn't fucking remember what happened.

Another man walked in, dressed casual in jeans and a stripped shirt. "Welcome to my home."

"Who the fuck are you?" Connor spat. This guy was blond as a surfer boy. No way was this Juan Martin.

"I'm insulted. You come to kill me, you kill my men, and you don't even know who I am?" He didn't look insulted though, he looked amused.

"You don't look like a Juan."

He shrugged. "Like I'd be taken seriously in this business if I went by the name Martin Buckley. Your partner has much better manners than you."

"Where the fuck is he?"

"He is having a little chat with my friends." He smiled and walked a slow circle around the room. "I know who you are." He said as he came beck into Connor's line of vision. "The Saints of South Boston. I've heard of your work. I'm honoured to have such esteemed guests. Brothers, am I right? That's the rumour at least."

"Fuck you." Connor spat.

"I think, you are not only brothers but friends as well. It's a rare thing these days. I had a best friend; we grew up together like brothers. Because of you're interference in my operation, you and your brother are responsible for his arrest two weeks ago. Do you know what you and your fucking brother forced me to do? I had no choice. If the cops turned him he could have destroyed my entire operation. I posted his bail and had him killed. You made me kill my brother. And now I am going to have your brother kill you."

"No fucking way." Connor promised.

"I'm a killer, you are killers. We aren't so different. Your brother will kill you to save his own life. It's the way of things."


"Did you do any research on me at all before crashing in here with guns blazing? I'm a gambler. So how about we make a bet? If he does not choose to kill you, I'll let you both go free. You think I give a fuck how many people you freaks kill? Thinning out the competition is all I see it as so long as you leave me and mine alone. He chooses to kill you and you both die. He decides to kill himself, and you both live. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me."

Connor would do anything, kill anyone to save Murphy. And he knew Murphy would do the same for him. Not that he trusted the Martin bastard to keep his word, but it would buy them some time to escape if nothing else. And, if Juan kept his promise and let them go, they'd come back and kill everyone. "What do you want?"

"You aren't so different than I am. Everyone chooses themselves. Everyone."

"Won't fucking happen." Connor insisted.

Martin smiled.

The sound of Murphy yelling obscenities was like music to Connor's ears. It meant Murphy was alive and fighting. It meant they still had a chance to get out of this mess. The two men dragging Murphy along could barely get him into the room, and Connor watched with pride as his brother fought them like some kind of wild animal. It was only when another man came up and helped the other two by wrapping his arm around Murphy's neck in a choke hold that they managed to bring him under control. They stood across from Connor with Murphy restrained between them.

They faced three men standing behind Connor with their guns drawn and ready.

Martin stood behind Connor and addressed Murphy. "We're going to play a game." In his hands were two shot glasses.

"Go to hell." Murphy yelled. "We aren't playing your fucking games."

Martin continued unperturbed. "You are going to kill your brother." He said. "Or you will kill yourself. You can choose. One glass has enough poison in it to kill. One is water. The one who lives will go free."

They both glared.

"Choose. Or I kill you both right now."

Murphy looked at the glasses. Martin continued. "The one on the right is water. Which one will you have Connor drink?"

Murphy looked at Connor, then back at the glasses in Martin's hands. "Make your choice, or you will both die right now."

There was no doubt in Murphy's mind that Martin would kill them; he was shocked the bastard had let them live this long.

"And one of us can go?" Murphy asked. There were too many guns trained on them. Too many guns trained on Connor.

Martin nodded. "Will you play my game?"

Murphy eyed the guns again, calculating his chances. He couldn't do it, not with Connor cuffed to the chair like he was. Connor would be the first to die. So Murphy nodded. "I'll play your fucking game."

With a slight nod, Martin motioned to his men to let Murphy go.

There was no hesitation. Murphy walked up past Connor and grabbed one of the glasses and knelt beside the chair. He put a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Forgive me." He whispered, and he placed the glass to Connor's lips. Connor drank.

"Now you." Martin said.

Murphy accepted the second glass. After a long look at his twin, he drank it.

A second chair was pushed into the middle of the room across from Connor. "Sit down." Martin ordered. Murphy sat down and was roughly cuffed to the chair; a strip of tape pressed over his mouth.

"I told you I would make you kill your brother." Martin boasted.

Nothing happened at first. The brothers just watched each other intently. Minutes passed. Then Connor coughed.

Murphy jumped and struggled against the cuffs. Juan's men stepped forward to hold him down. Murphy fought, screaming behind the tape.

Connor was struggling to breathe. Connor was shaking. Convulsing. Murphy yelled and struggled until one of Juan's men wrapped his arm around Muprhy's neck once more and even then he didn't stop fighting. The hold on his neck strengthened the more he couldn't breathe from the pressure of the arm against his throat. His vision started to grey out, and he didn't stop fighting. He screamed until he couldn't scream any more, and Connor was still convulsing when Murphy passed out.