The Black Snake's Target [REVAMPED SAMPLE]

PROLOGUE [REWRITTEN]

Bad Things happen to everyone. Even to good little girls. Joanna Ruth Garson turned twelve when she learned this. The lesson was taught on a freezing night that was rare in her home country, Jamaica. She could clearly remember the breeze that maimed her skin, and the dark circle she stared into; one attached to the barrel of a rifle. There were these terrible wails for mercy; a chorus of cries from her and her family. But his blood still spilled that night, and she had never forgotten how it smelt like—rust. Nor what her father's corpse was rendered to—a red river, thick and mixed with bits of flesh and bone.

Or even how it tasted when smeared on her tongue...

That bitter, metallic texture haunted her. But it didn't terrify her. No, not in the slightest. Joanna grew to love the taste, considering what her life had become. She feared worse things; the person who had contributed to greater horrors. She would gladly take the blood, and the damage the kill did to her soul, over ever seeing that man again.

But even so, her body boiled with rage as she waited, sitting in the bushes along a dirty, back road. Her patience wore thin as a dusty breeze pricked her nostrils. But she wouldn't move, not until she saw the car. The old, black Mercedes, she knew her other tormentor drove.

Her heartbeat was loud, competing with the dancing rubble as the vehicle drove up the road. Time slowed down when it finally passed her. She had even locked eyes with the man. Those brown eyes, slashed by red sores widened with shock, as his light revealed her features.

Long straight hair, mixed with dyed strands of blonde. Her glistening, caramel skin tone. The cut just above her right eyebrow, and the scowl along her full, glossy brown lips. Her mahogany eyes were laced with sweet vengeance and lacked remorse or guilt.

Once he locked eyes with her, his hands left the wheel, raised in surrender as he stared into the barrel of her firearm. It was huge, resting over her shoulder as she aimed for the window. Her grin widened, sadistically as realization dawned on him.

"I bet you never thought you'd see me again."

Her tone was deep, raspy, and captivating, though deep with madness. Whether he heard her or didn't, never mattered. For she was sure he felt the shot pierce into the engine of his vehicle. She was sure that he felt the fire when the rounds exploded and sent the metal trap to the other end of the road. She could smell burned skin and spilled blood in the flame—Joanna reveled in it. Satisfaction and grief.

There were overwhelming feelings she couldn't describe on her own. So, she chose to focus on happiness, knowing that her plan worked. She hoisted the gun in her right hand and stepped out of the shadows, eager to collect a piece. But the ring of her cell phone stopped her dead in her tracks. Reluctantly, she answered it after two rings.

"Jericho Wilson, Kingston, I want him killed immediately." The call ended with no room for protest.

She stared at the burning vehicle and huffed with frustration. "I guess this should be enough, it must be. You're not even worth all this, Sanka."

'It had to be enough, it had to be enough, it had to be enough...'

And yet, it wasn't. 

That is the end of the Prologue. Let me know what you think in the comments section below and do vote if you enjoyed it. Until next time my lovelies😊☺️🔥💦🇯🇲