I hated listening to my parents' music. Thank GOD I brought my headphones. My little brother Oliver, however, did not seem to mind. A mop of black curly hair bobbed to the beat as he partook in one of their ridiculous sing alongs.

I bumped the volume up another 2 notches for fear of accidentally hearing them. Mom shimmied and shook in the passenger seat, her curls in a loose bun on the top of her head. Black tendrils escaped the knot, decorating the back of her neck. Dad kept a cool smile, shaggy blond hair occasionally tugging with the air from the open window. Family outings were never boring. We were all in good spirits though, today was Wednesday.

No, not #humpday or #midweekvibes. Our Wednesdays were different.

Traffic hummed, most people on the way into their 9 to 5. Our expert driver wove in-between cars, choosing the fastest lane to reach our destination. We were all excited. Even me, but I wouldn't be caught dead admitting that. I pressed my face to the window, watching as we passed over the bridge. The same bridge we go over every Wednesday.

You know that feeling, right as you dip over a hill and your stomach tenses up? That's what it felt like. We were prepared, amped up, and counting the seconds until we arrived. We moved with the car as Dad took the exit, the tension rising even further. Ollie started bouncing his legs, the anticipation clearly simmering over. Mom started fiddling with a couple bags she had between her legs, zipping and unzipping it. Dad was as calm as he always is. I was always in awe of how collected he could keep himself, even with the crazy crew he hauled with him.

It felt like time had basically stopped, all of us holding our breaths. Ollie squirmed in the seat beside me and I couldn't resist slugging his shoulder. He winced and looked like he was about to start mouthing off when Mom whipped around, pinning him with a look. A silent victory for me. As we neared the end of our drive, I pulled my own mop of curls up into a thick pony. Poor Dad, making carbon copies of our mother. Although, she did carry us, so I felt she had earned the right to having "mini Me's." I was more like my dad in personality. With each rotation of the tires bringing us closer, I felt myself slip into a settling calm. Mom and Ollie were bouncing, the excitement of our task filling the small space of our vehicle.

Dad put the car in park, holding up one hand to pause the jailbreak. Mom passed around our bags one at a time, sifting through her own in the front. Finally, he closed his hand signaling for us to exit. We didn't quite run, but briskly walked to the entrance of Dad's warehouse. He lifted the garage entrance, ushering the 3 of us in. Ollie ran inside, immediately seeking his binoculars and walkie. He sported a pair of shades, the nice day had brought on the scorching sun. Mom shouldered into the sling of her M16, adding a few grenades and smoke bombs to her utility belt. Dad preferred the shorter guns, loading up the chamber on both of his Glock 19's. I loved the long distance. I cleaned my Barrett, known for its accuracy over long distances.

Today was Wednesday, mission day. My family was one of the most wanted crime groups in the country. Just your average suburban assassins.

Dad stood at the door of the garage, dropping his shades low onto the bridge of his nose, a grin plastered onto his otherwise emotionless face.

"Let's get to work."