𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

16 || Indecent

This is a double update so make sure to read the previous chapter before this one. Or else it won't make much sense.

Song: Mac Miller, Miguel - Weekend  (slowed + reverb)

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Nico

I'd only ever been shot a total seven times in my life.

Don't get me wrong, I'd been shot at hundreds, maybe even thousands of times but it was rare that the fucker was lucky enough to actually hit me.

But when they did manage to strike me that's all it was. Luck.

I was as professional as it got when it came to guns.

From the moment I was old enough to learn to read, I was handed a gun and trained how to use to, how to value it. 

Useless in the wrong hands and nothing but an accessory in the right ones.

But there was one thing that was for sure, getting shot fucking hurt like a bitch.

The shitty pain killers had worn off and I'd woken to the sound of my phone buzzing.

I reach for it, my hip screaming in protest and my eyes move to the bottle of whisky on my nightstand in contemplation.

I'd already indulged and broke the nearly two week streak of staying sober, but even I knew it wouldn't help right now.

I force myself off my bed and into the bathroom where I set my phone on speaker and place it onto the counter. "What?"

"It's done, Jefe." (Spanish| boss)

I brace my hands against the counter before turning on the tap and washing them clean.

"How'd clean up go?" I ask, glancing at the clock to realize it's four am. And had Spencer not been my best clean up guy, I'd have his head for waking me up.

"Spotless."

I go to wash my face, only to stop and realize there's shit on it. A quick glance in the mirror tells me that Bambi's put little bandaid over the various small cuts and I sigh in annoyance.

"And the casualties?" I ask as I begin to angrily peel off all the little pink bandaids.

Such a waste of my fucking time.

"What casualties?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

I nod satisfied with his response and begin to wash my face. "And the bitch?" Politicians were usually the tricky ones, not their wives. But last night didn't go as planned.

"In a pretty little box sitting on her husbands desk."

"Bien." I nod, the information already making me feel lighter. Cleaning up a big mess tended to do that to me. (Spanish| good)

I strip down and change into my sleepwear before inspecting the gauze and stitching on my left hip.  

I passed out before I could examine the last of her work but it was adequate and considering she'd managed to wipe off all the blood from around the wound, I had no complaints.