Targeted [EDITING...]

1

Hello.

First chapter. Hope it gives you a good first impression

(Read up to Chapter 4 on Patreon- I'll post almost every day)

I'll post a chapter every Sunday- hopefully.

Why did I come here? I asked myself over and over again. Clubs were not my thing. I knew that, and yet I let Kyle convince me otherwise. He told me to go out because I'm a stuck-up beautiful black woman who needs to get her ass fucked up.

Right now, I was feeling very uncomfortable, not because there was a very huge, terrifying man glaring at me right now. But because there's also a repulsive, very creepy-looking guy staring at me.

Not to mention this fucking club is expensive.

I tried not to glance at the scary man. He looked dangerously handsome. The scar running from his left eyebrow down through his eye and cheek told me everything.

I needed to stay clear of him.

I wanted to kill Kyle for leaving me like this, telling me to be a big girl and go out by myself.

I'm only twenty-three. I don't want to die—maybe I'm being dramatic. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm leaving.

I grabbed my stuff, tipped the bartender a hundred, and walked out.

I didn't drive because it was only a three-minute walk...but now I regret that decision.

"Hey, pretty girl," hot musty breath fanned my ears as arms wrapped around me.

"Let go of me." I yanked out of his arms, looking for anyone on the street who could see this.

No one.

I tried to run, but the guy was faster. He dragged me into an alleyway and pushed me onto the floor. This is not happening right now. I searched my bag for my taser, but he kicked my bag, causing me to scream in panic.

"Please, is it money? I'll give you money. Please don't hurt me." I started begging.

"No need for that, darling," he unbuckled his belt. "Just give me a little taste."

"No!" I screamed as his dirty hand groped my boobs, and his other went up my skirt. "Stop, stop, please! Someone help." I cried.

"Shut up, bitch!" He smacked me across the face.

That's when I realized everything was over with...until his blood splattered across my face, and he fell to the side with a gunshot wound on his head.

I gasped, looking up at the familiar scary man at the bar. "You killed him," I whispered. "Oh no, you shouldn't–you're gonna be arrested–thank you?"

There was a whirlwind of confusion and appreciation in my head. I didn't even question why he'd have a gun accessible to him–maybe he was a cop. Even though seeing blood or a dead body wasn't new to me, seeing someone be killed was such a shock. Usually, the person is already hurt before they get brought to me.

I work in a hospital as young as I am. I graduated at fourteen with a high school diploma and an associate's degree and went on to get my doctorate. That's how I'm here, at twenty-three, as a doctor, in the back of an alleyway as a witness to a murder.

"Go home," his voice was gruff, and his steel eyes were soulless and hard. I knew how this went, I'd start running, and he would shoot me in the back–how embarrassing.