The job was done.

The gaping, lifeless body sat at Caine’s feet, two bullet holes through the temple, a halo of blood pooling on the cool tile. Caine rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, turning the safety back on his gun. He was about to said word to his men when he heard the floorboards creak. Immediately, he was alert again. He grabbed his gun and held it up, flipping the safety off as his eyes cut sharply to the doorframe. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.

A young girl stood in the doorframe, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a camisole in disarray, her hair a messy mop on the top of her hair, one sock halfway off of her tiny feet. She clutched a stuffed toy in her arms, so mangled Caine could barely tell what it was. A rabbit, perhaps, or maybe a feline. Despite the childish youthfulness about her, the sleepy mess she was, Caine wasn’t one to deny her natural beauty. Her hair curled around her face in pretty ringlets, her youthful body slouched against the frame, tiny legs and feet bare as her girlish fingers gripped her toy, not yet realizing the gravity of the situation. She must’ve been the daughter of the corpse lying at Caine’s feet. No one had mentioned any daughter to him, but he never got the all-clear about the man’s family members.

Caine reluctantly lowered his gun and cleared his throat, not quite knowing what to do as the girl looked down at her unfortunate father. “Christ,” Caine muttered and tucked away his gun. Caine’s men started hustling into the room, telling him he needed to go. “Alright, alright,” He grit out through clenched teeth and grabbed the girl like she was a sack of potatoes. It felt wrong leaving the pretty young thing alone with the body of her father. “You’re coming with us.” Caine muttered to her, holding her up by her bottom and beginning to exit the house.