Ch. 1
It was heavy rain that night. Dark rain that pounded the stones outside, washing all the blood away, but the bodies remained. Tears raced down their bloody, scarred cheeks, trying to wash the pain away, but their faces remembered their death. Some hands still gripped weapons that failed to save them. Their black uniforms seemed to melt against stone, and a broken, silver chain was carried away somewhere in the darkness. And another blast of gunfire echoed in the night air.
"Take the gun, and shoot him," he commanded, forcing the hot weapon into my hand. It had taken many lives tonight, burning with the scent of death. "Shoot him," and he grabbed my hand, forcing me to aim at a man on his knees. "Now," he nearly screamed into my ear.
"I can't," I whispered, and my hand shook. "I can't do it," and he struck me against the face. And blood spat out and then ran down my chin. "I can't," I screamed at him as he ripped the gun from my hand and shot the man in his head.
"If you weren't my blood," he snarled at me.
"Sir," a man also wearing a black uniform stepped forward. "I think we got all the traitors."
"Good," he responded.
"And him," the man asked, gesturing toward me.
I could see that he was thinking about it. His grip tightened on the gun. He then turned toward the body by his feet. For a moment there, I thought that he would spin around and shoot me in the head. Instead, he holstered his weapon and stormed away. "We take him with us," and he walked outside into the pouring rain.
"I would have killed you," the other man said to me. "We don't tolerate weakness."
"I'm not weak," I snapped at him.
"No. You're just a princess," and he stepped away. "If your whore of a mother was still alive, we would leave you with her, but… I guess we're stuck with you," and he walked outside.
"Fuck you," I yelled after him, and I swore that I could hear him laughing outside, despite the heavy rain. "Bastard," I muttered under my breath.
My attention fell on the man near my feet. A river of his blood was washing over my black shoe. His eyes bore a hole through me, almost mocking me for failing to kill him, but I knew this man. He was good to my mother before she died. He was good to me, so how could he be a traitor? How could he steal from us, and where did the money go? And where do we go next, but the night was over. And because I failed to kill him, he would not give me dinner. I would be lucky for scraps, and if I wanted water… There was always the pouring rain.