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LINCOLN PARK, CHICAGO
7:16 AM, SUNDAY
|| SACARIO ISSAC SANTANA ||
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• SANTANA •
–
"P-please" the man pleaded as Santana aimed his gun at him before pulling the trigger, instantly killing the man.
"Should've paid up" he shrugged as the man's body froze, blood oozing from his head, his body now lifeless, he fell backwards onto the floor.
Santana rolled his eyes as he put his gun away, "can I go now?" He questioned in a bored tone looking over at his father.
"Mhm," he nodded.
"Get Jayden to clean this all up" Santana's father instructed one of the workers.
Santana had been killing people since the age of 13, his father believed it best for him to learn from early.
At this point in his life when he had the gun in his hand aiming at someone who pleaded for their lives, he didn't feel anything.
Santana walked himself to his office, removing his now stained shirt and throwing it to the floor.
Walking to his cabinet he picked out a clean shirt before there was a knock on the door, soft and almost quiet.
"Come in" he called out clutching his shirt in his hand.
In walked a slim, brown skin woman, with tattoos cascading down her arms.
Santana screwed his face, "who are you?" He questioned as he analyzed her.
He could tell by the way she was still standing in the doorway she was slightly awkward or uncomfortable.
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