Resisting Temptation

01 | uno

carina 

MY legs burned as I turned round the corner, a beed of sweat drizzling down the curve of my cheek. The sound of sloshing echoed throughout the dimly lit alleyway, the soles of my boots pounding against the puddles that pooled in patches upon the concrete.

The atmosphere grew tense and I could see the way my breath rose in the air like puffs of smoke: present and then not. My eyes darted across the area, searching for my target.

Vigliacco, I thought. The man who had become my target was a coward who could not remain loyal, and for that, he was to die and it was my job to do it. I was going to end his miserable life, painfully and slow. Painfully slow. I tried not to revel in the delight of taking his life.

Lost in thought for a brief moment, I almost missed the movement coming from behind a towering pile of trash. Almost. I thought to myself, a sickening grin etched across my lips as I lifted my arm, the weight of my gun feeling like air as I pulled the triggered.

It was as easy as breathing to me.

A deafening scream soared through the air. A gasp followed by erratic breathing, the man I had shot began to cry, a howl of pain echoing from behind the pile of trash. He began to crawl, his nails scraping the ground but doing little to put a big enough distance between himself and I.

I watched him like a predator as he dragged himself across the dirty ground, a pool of crimson red blood following and the sound of his groans filling the silence as he moved—or at least, as he tried to.

Despite the intense feelings of pain he was experiencing, he kept moving. I appreciated his sudden drive, but then again, I knew that anyone on the brink of death would do anything to escape it.

Rounding the corner of the old building, I tucked my gun away into the waistband of my black skinny jeans that moulded to my legs like a second skin.

The heels of my boots clicked, the sound was probably petrifying to the rat. The louder the sound got, the closer he got to his death.

The blade of my knife shimmered, the moonlight dancing across the tip. Dragging a finger across the edge I hissed in delight. "It's sharp." I taunted the man, my chuckle echoed between the silence of the night and the defeated groans of my victim.

The man froze. He knew this was the end for him. And he would be stupid to think otherwise.

Grasping a chunk of his matted blonde hair, I yanked his head back and he let out a hiss of pain. "You know what happens to unfaithful rats." I spat whilst he tried to pull his hair from my tight grasp. That only made me tighten my grip.

"I'm sorry, I had to do it. You don't understand!" Growing bored of his pathetic excuses to plead for his life, I threw his head down with a jerk. He'd likely smashed his nose and my thoughts were confirmed when another hiss of pain erupted from the man.

Pressing the heel of my boot into his side, right where my bullet had torn into skin, I pushed him over, laying him on his back. The man was crying in pain, his entire body aching, but I didn't care.

Growing up in the kind of world I was born into, bloodshed and death was not a foreign concept. Rather, I was surrounded by it, ever since I was child. Being a woman, however, I was supposed to look the other way when the men partook in such activities, but I wanted more for myself than that. I wanted to know I could survive if I had to and I wanted to protect my life, myself. I never wanted to rely on anyone.