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I fire my gun at Dominic’s thigh, the bullet piercing his muscle and coming out the other side, embedding itself on the stage nearby.
“Fuuuuucckkkk!” he roars, clutching his leg, falling to the ground. “Well, don’t just stand there! Shoot him!” Screaming to his team, he waves his arms about, and only a blink later do bullets start flying.
My team fires to harm because we came here as a warning, not to start a war. Sebastian won’t be happy, but it appears that Dominic is taking that decision right out of my hands as his team shoots to kill. After all that Dominic has done to me in the past, I wouldn’t mind seeing his blood splattered all across the room, so my team and I rush out the door, dodging shots until we’re outside on the sidewalk.
We have mere seconds before the onslaught continues. Bullets fly through the air one after another, as each of his team race outside, clawing for the accolade of being the person that kills Dante Luciano, Sebastian Romano’s right-hand man. But their aim is as straight as their business, and they miss every attempt at making me their target.
I see two of his men each take a bullet to the chest, their bodies flying backwards, slumping against the brick wall behind them. Red now coats their white shirts, and I know this isn’t going to look good, but there was no way I was going to back down. Not this time. We have given him more than enough chances, yet he still thought it was better for him to start firing than for him to tell the truth and leave the bloodshed to another day.
I look left and right and see all my team still upright as we wait for the rest of the party to join us outside. Inside would have been a better option for bloodshed this morning, but I will take it out here on the footpath just the same. The door to the club flies open, and gunfire rages again, as the remainder of his men stalk out shooting, with no consideration for the outside world. Glass shatters from the broken windows of the cars nearby where stray bullets have found their surface. The sidewalk is beginning to be coated in red as another one of his team falls to the ground.
My gun is constantly firing, while I also keep an eye on each of my team, making sure crimson doesn’t coat their frames. I am not losing anyone in this shitshow. No one is getting injured on my watch. My frustrations rise more and more as the popping sound encasing us all. We came to ruffle feathers, not to kill the entire goose.
Just as his team storms closer, I catch a movement to my left and I see her. She is like a rabbit caught in headlights, and I don’t even think, I just do.
2
Annie Peterson
My feet slap against the pavement in perfect rhythm as I move through the quiet dark streets, lost in my own thoughts. Running has always been my savior, my north star, the one thing that calms and soothes me. I need a moment to center myself after taking a terrifying speeding cab through the city after jumping off the red eye into New York this morning.
After I got to the safety of my room, I had little time to rest my beating heart. Although the room looks like the photos from the website, it was clear that they took creative license with the photography. It is much smaller than I thought it would be. The bathroom has mold, the TV doesn’t work, there is no internet, and I am reasonably sure that I need to place the broken armchair in front of the door when I sleep to ensure I don’t get stabbed in the middle of the night.
It was hard to miss the peeling paint on the walls, and although the bed is large, it is fully made up with shiny black linen, making me think that they rent the rooms by the hour. And after skimming through the paperwork this morning when I arrived, I felt like an idiot as I realized that they do just that. Lovely.
The damp smell of my new dingy room still lingers in my nostrils as I try to take deep breaths into my lungs, pushing my legs to go faster, only the waft of garbage from the streetscape around me makes me nearly stop and gag.
I am a country girl in the city for the first time, so my expectations may have been a little high considering my accommodation choice was limited. It is my own fault, really. I didn’t research this trip at all, and this was one of the only hotels in New York I could afford. I’m already stretching my dollars far enough.
So, I decided not to stick around in the shabby room for any longer than I had to. I left my small duffle bag that contains my entire life in the small wardrobe, then quickly changed into my active wear, and now I am running my stress and fears away down the streets of the Big Apple.
I look down at my emerald-green crop top and matching leggings, proud of the look I pulled from the top of my bag. They were a generous gift from my old neighbor Lilly. They were a Christmas gift she didn’t like, so she passed them over the fence to me. She has watched me go running every morning for the past five years, usually in baggy sweats and old, beaten shoes. She said green wasn’t her color, but that it would suit my flaming red hair and pale complexion, which I thought was really sweet. I thanked her eagerly, always wanting such an outfit but never having the money to spend on such frivolous things.
Aside from this outfit and a few other tops and pairs of jeans, there really is nothing else. After mom died two months ago, I sold everything, and by the time I paid all our debts, there wasn't much left over.
I slow my pace to catch my breath, my hand involuntarily resting on my chest, rubbing the small lump in my breast. My fate is no doubt going to be the same as my mother’s, but unlike her, I have decided to live the rest of my life to the fullest instead of in a drug haze. No matter how short that life now may be.
Looking around, I realize that I only have a little time left of the darkness before the morning breaks, and although my body is weary, my mind is alert.
I pick up my pace, passing a few shops, many of which are boarded up. A convenience store and a few more by-the-hour hotels come into view before I’m crossing the road and guessing my way through the maze of streets, hoping that I am heading toward the water. It will be nice to watch the sunrise from the edge of Queens, even with the planes flying in and out of JFK Airport scattering across the sky.
I make it exactly two blocks before I realize that I am lost. Stopping, I wander down the street to try and catch my breath. Running is the only thing that has gotten me through the past few years, but my stamina is not what it used to be, so the walk is a welcome reprieve. Glancing left, then right, I curse myself for not bringing a map or my phone, or even looking at one before I left. I will definitely need to think more clearly from now on, living in the city.
With the faint glow of the morning sun, I begin down the street, on a mission to find a shop that may be open to ask for directions. Sunrise is certainly different here than back home in Oklahoma. I can’t really see much through the buildings. But I wanted an adventure; that is the whole point of being here, and after only an hour in this place, I realize that’s most certainly what I have got.
I spot some people gathered down the street and decide I’ll ask them for directions. Sprinting off with renewed enthusiasm, I pay little attention to what they are doing, but as I get closer, I see that they are all men. My step falters, and I begin to slow my pace, as they look aggressive even at a distance. But I have nowhere to turn without it looking suspicious, my red hair high in a ponytail swishing back and forth as I come to a stop. I’m unsure of what my next move should be. Maybe I could still ask for directions and then just keep running… a lot faster?
As I open my mouth, about to speak, I hear a popping sound, along with screams of terror as gunfire goes off all around us.
I stand rooted to the ground, too scared to move. My feet feel like they are encased in cement, and my heart thumps right out of my chest. Is this the way I am going to meet my maker? Is this it? Right here on the streets of New York, is this how it will end for me? My mind is telling me to move, but my body is so stiff, I can’t; my legs won’t budge, and my glazed eyes don’t leave the mess of men and blood. This can’t be happening…
In the next breath, the air completely leaves my lungs as a tall, dark-haired man grabs me, literally sweeping my feet from under me. The panic slows, the noise a mere blur as his hands wrap around my body, pulling me to him before we land hard on my back onto the sidewalk. My head is protected by his hand, his strong body covering mine. I can barely breathe as his weight sandwiches me between him and the sidewalk, protecting me. The noise of the gunfire rushes back into my senses as soon as my shock settles, and I bury my head against him, my face firmly planted into his chest.
Popping noises continue, alongside the overwhelming sound of multiple people yelling orders, including my savior, who is still on top of me. I have no idea what they are saying, though, and that only makes me more nervous. I grip onto his shirt even tighter, squeezing my eyes, the feeling of his body the only comforting sense I have to give me hope of surviving.
Then, everything stops. Things go silent, eerily so, and he moves his head until his lips meet my ears.
“You’re okay. Everything is okay,” he says in a deep baritone voice, with a hint of accent that feels like honey poured down my body, soothing me instantly from the inside out.
