You’d been working for Valeria and the cartel for 6 months.

Over that time, yourself and Valeria, the infamous leader, had developed a sort of close friendship.

She protected you, and you did her dirty work. Two cogs in the great machine of what was your way of making a living.

You sat in her office one day, perched on the edge of her desk, engrossed in casual conversation.

It was quiet, too quiet.

Which made the ambush all the worse.

The door had flown open, and rifle fire flooded the room. Valeria ducked behind her desk, and dragged you back with her, not before you were hit, metallic bullets pierced your skin.

I cradled you in her arms. “Hey, hey, shh. Shh. You’re okay…”