Lina Gonzalez is a poor girl who's never had much. After running away from her abusive stepfather and starting a new life, she's left to pick up her broken pieces. What happens when a run-in with a handsome stranger leaves her with more than she bar...
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"Fuck!" I yell out as I watch the train take off. I place my hands on my knees, catching my breath. She was a fast little thing.
What was she doing in that alleyway? How much did she hear? I needed to find her ASAP and knew if I didn't, she would be met with someone far more brutal than me.
Walking back to the alleyway, I search around for a hint. A door next to some garbage bins catches my attention. I pull the door open, being met with the sound of a busy kitchen. She had to work here.
Stepping inside, I watch as the worker's faces flicker with fear and confusion. "Did you need something?" An older woman asked. I assumed she was the owner, being the only one out of uniform.
"I'm looking for a small brunette with green eyes. Ring any bells?" My voice comes out cold, demanding. The old lady shakes her head, no, but her expression told me differently. I place my gun on the countertop, maintaining eye contact.
Her eyes widen with fear as she looks at the gun and back up to me. "Does she sound familiar now?" The old lady walks into her office, coming out with a sticky note.
Handing it to me, I look down. An address is sprawled across it messily. I nod my head in acknowledgment as I walk back out the door and head to my car.
If she thought she could run from me, she was in for a reality check. I was a right-hand man to a cruel mafia leader. I couldn't have any loose ends, she needed to be handled.
As I pull into the shitty neighborhood, I glance around. Did she live in this? I shake my head in disapproval, shifting my car into park. The note said apartment 3 B. Opening up my glove box, I grab out a rag and chloroform.
Although my line of work required me to murder, I wasn't completely heartless. I didn't normally kill women, especially not innocent women.
Walking up the stairs, I remain as quiet as possible. I search floor after floor before finally finding her door. Taking a deep breath, I step back. Bringing my leg up, I kick open the cheap lock and knock it aside.
I hear a woman yell as I look around the small apartment. Walking in, I head towards the bedroom and find the doe-eyed brunette hastily stuffing clothes into a bag. Her eyes widen once she sees me. She sprints towards the open window, stepping onto the fire escape.
I wrap my hand around her waist, her bare skin brushing against my fingers. "No more running, bambola." (Doll.) I'm sure she didn't know what it meant.
Nor did she know how her big green eyes and dainty features remind me of a pretty little doll. I keep her back pressed against my front, a death grip around her waist.
She fights against me, swinging her arms and legs wildly. I let out a few shushes while placing the cloth over her mouth and nose.
Her movements slow before her body eventually slumps against mine. Grabbing her duffel bag full of clothes, I swing her against my shoulder and take her down to the car.
