The world around me was pitch black. I couldn't hear anything other than a heavy draft picking up in the distance. Suddenly the ground became visible, showing black pavement, then streetlights and cars racing by behind me. A nightmare again, this nightmare again. I was underneath the expressway with my father gripping my arm tightly. A heavily tattooed, bald white man stood before us shouting insults, begging for more time. Everything went too quickly for my young brain, this is my first conscious memory, a drug deal. Soon he was on his knees, hands above his head, pleading "please don't shoot me." Then, boom. As smoke drools from the barrel of my father's handgun, I see an ocean of blood rush towards my pink sandals. My toenails painted a sparkling pink were spotted with blood. That man's blood. From the hole my Papa made in his chest.
I couldn't speak, my throat felt swollen. I could barely raise my chest but I could hear everything, my Papa grunting and taking the dead man's wallet. He grabbed my arm once more and I was forced back to Papa's pickup truck, the whole time watching the man's body bleed. I didn't start screaming until I was in the car. My Papa yelled and yelled Spanish insults, demanding I shut up, until he hit the side of my head with the butt of his gun.
And I was asleep again.
After that, I jolted awake. My gaze jumping all around the room to ground myself, it's just a dream, just a dream. The light blue, peeling paint gave me comfort as I fall back onto the matrices. It must be four in the morning, the sun isn't even up. My eyes glanced down at my illuminating phone, new messages from Lester.
"Y/n, I've got some job offers from this guy if you're interested at all."
"Now, I know you won't be happy BUT it's some heists and a little revenge prank. Get back to me."
I scoff at the thought heist. Those aren't really my kind of thing and Lester knows that. They're something my dad indulged in regularly, and as a child, I never went to one I always stayed home with my Abuela. However, once I turned 15, and I had the physical strength to hold a gun, I was drafted into his little squad. We'd do little bank heists along the shore of California, then ran through Arizona and New Mexico.
They were... exciting, sure. Just, more my Dad's kind of thing, not mine.
Disgruntled, my morning started as usual. Stumble out of bed, lazily get dressed, make myself a halfhearted breakfast and so-on. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking of the texts, fighting with my half-conscious self on whether going would be such a bad idea. It could be better this time now that I don't have my dad breathing down my neck. Once again, okay guy and all, but a little controlling and very, very secretive.
Not to mention delusional.
I wince at my reflection in the mirror. My head was filled with voices and arguments, cloudly from the intensity of my nightmare and the heist. I slam my fist on the countertop of my bathroom sink and let out a groan of frustration. Punching in Lester's number, I look back at my reflection, and as I'm redirected to his voice mail I leave a simple message.
"I'll do it." Fuck.
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Bloody Mary { Michael De Santa x Reader }
FanfictionYou know her, Bloody Mary, like the Queen of England. But in this case, she's the "Queen of Underground Los Santos." Supposedly she was raised around death. Every woman her father would bring around was dead within twelve hours, presumably so he wou...
