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She was 18 and stood tall at 5’8. Her jet black hair was in a French braid to the side as her intense brown eyes were almost black staring into the face of her “First Victim.” Her face had a few scratches and a bruise on her left cheek began to darken. 

 The cold metal walls surrounded them, as she tried to focus despite her racing heart. 

Just a "target practice", her father called him. 

 Someone no one would miss. 

 A drug addict who hit rock bottom and made the life altering decision to steal from the wrong man.

He was on the ground gasping for air, with eyes full of rage. 

“Lokka! End Him.” Carlos called out from the stairs where he watched her.

She turned to look at him. His eyes showed no mercy, no emotion. “Papa…no.” 

Carlos’s voice boomed, “Keep your eyes on your enemy.” 

She turned just in time to see the man get off the floor and charge her. He rammed her into the wall making her head bounce against the metal. Anger boiled within her as her untapped, untamed rage surfaced.
Lokka used her full strength to push him back just enough to swing. The crack of his nose echoed through the room from the impact of her elbow colliding with his face. He fell to the ground holding his nose with a loud scream. 

“LOKKA! NOW!” 

She pulled the .9 mm gun from the small of her back emptying out 10 of her 15 bullets into his body. 

He was motionless. 

The loud rounds echoed in her head even though the room was silent. Her rage subsided as the blood oozed from his lifeless body. 

Heavy. 

The .9 suddenly felt like a brick in her hand as it fell to the ground. Lokka collapsed with it as tears cascaded down her face. She sobbed violently watching the blood run into the floor drain.

Carlos nodded, unaffected by her reaction, “You wanted in. The first kill is always the hardest.”

He walked over picking the gun up off the ground before pulling her to her feet. “Go get changed. It’s 6:30. You have to go to school.”

Chola LokkaWhere stories live. Discover now