Red Bullets in June

Chapter 1: The Red Bullets

"Vick! Please! Stop!" The shrill sound of my own voice rings in my ears. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me again!"

I'm flat on my back, pinned to the grimy, rust-colored carpet beneath my giant swine of a boyfriend. He has an unrelenting hold on each of my wrists. This is one of many times that he's hurt me. The last time, he broke my arm. I just got my cast off two weeks ago. I told myself that I wasn't going to put up with him anymore and I tried to leave, but he turned into Dr. Jekyll again, acting sweet, caring and loving and somehow convinced me to stay. Now Mr. Hyde has come back after a very short absence and he's full force and angry.

I should've left...

"Shut up!"

The impact of his knuckles against my stomach forces every atom of air out of my lungs. I gasp and sputter, attempting to reel in oxygen. I want to continue my pitiful pleading, but I couldn't produce another sound even if I tried.

"I don't care what I said! You don't listen to me! You never listen to me!" He grabs ahold of my hair and yanks my head closer to his. "I told you not to fight me! You're mine to do with as I please! Do you understand??"

"Ye...," I attempt to mumble.

My tender stomach suffers yet another blow and nothing but a strained gulp for air leaves my lips. It feels as though my insides have collapsed. Oxygen is unattainable and I fear that I'll suffocate.

"Answer me!"

In a final effort to save myself, I grasp for air and words once more, but they both continue to remain close to the ceiling and far out of my reach.
Air. Words. Please, don't abandon me now.
Another plow from Vick's coarse fist sends my chest lurching forward. This time, a metallic liquid travels up my throat, spurts out of my mouth and spatters across his face.

It's blood.

"YOU DISGUSTING WITCH!" Vick drags his fingers across his skin, smearing my specs of blood into his pores. "You're gonna get it now..." His fingers fly down to his belt.

Oh no. Not the belt...

He unfastens it, pulls it out from his belt loops and holds it above my head like a venomous snake that's ready to strike. I clench my eyes shut to brace myself for what's to come, but a shattering succession of gunshots assaults my senses instead.

What the?

My eyes shoot open to witness Vick's hazel orbs widen in horror just before the front door to our dingy apartment slams into the tile. Both of us zone in on the gaping space where there used to be a door intact.

A tall, lean and firmly built Asian man with shiny ebony hair that's perfectly combed back, a small silver hoop in each ear and endless ebony eyes is now standing under the door frame. He's wearing a foreboding, blood red hospital mask with matching latex gloves, a flawlessly tailored, all black suit and a blood red tie to match. The red in his mask, tie and gloves in contrast against his black suit is eerie to say the least. It screams DANGER like a red, yellow and black coral snake.

All at once, a recent news segment torrents to the forefront of my mind. A middle-age, White brunette begins speaking in a foreboding tone:

"New York Police have found yet another victim of the gang that calls themselves, The Red Bullets. The victim was a 30-year-old, White male named Mark McKinnon. He was found dead in his Harlem apartment with one bullet shot to the head. A single cherry-blossom covered with his blood was left on top of his body, just like every other victim who is killed by this gang. It seems to be their gang symbol and mark of death. Police have discovered that Mark was deeply involved in their drug trafficking chain."