Gun shots in the air. Man down, oh yes, man down. But not just any man, it was sweet baby girls brother. Laughter echoes, howls of victory surface, leaving one wrathful and wild-eyed woman in replace of her dead brother. Each male body who surrounded their previous leader silently, with grace turns upon the beautiful damsel in distress. Her name was Dominica, baby sister to the leader of these Dragons and she just witnessed his death by the hands of disloyal companions. One bald headed Gringo waved a hand, with gun still in possession, toward the woman. Dominica begins to back away, slow and steady. She carried a gun on the waistband of her jeans and if she wanted to she could easily draw blood, but she knew if she did that would mean lights out for her.
"Get her! Make sure she doesn't get away, and if she causes any trouble.. kill her." The man orders and without hesitation three able bodies dash forth, awakening adrenaline inside of the woman and thus she turns to run. She could hear their wicked laughs as they chase her down, out through the threshold of the warehouse and across streets, over fences and through houses. She was being hunted, she could feel the anticipation crawling up her, trying to decipher whether or not she should just stop running and give up. Than, she remembered her brother's constant reminder - 'we are dragons, we do not run from danger, we face it head on.' A common motivational saying that always seemed to get Dominica off her ass and back to work, even before he was the gang leader of the Draco's he would preach the same tune while they grew up on the streets.
Dominica takes a sharp turn down 22nd Main Street, each building began to turn their lights off, causing the darkness to slowly start to creep around every crevasse. She can't find it in herself to stop running, her legs became numb to sensation - unable to halt or slow her pace. From behind her she could hear the harsh wreckage of the men, listening to their petty threats about how they're going to kill her. In a time like this to feel a butting force of annoyance in her gut was something out of the ordinary, howbeit so were the stray bullets that flew past her. Surprise, fear and anger were the three main emotions that melted into the core of her psyche. These bastards were shooting at her and an unlucky Domi felt the rising anguish upon her left arm just as the bullet grazes the flesh - the pain came and went, but gone in the matter of seconds as blood boiled and rage replaced fear. They were aiming for the kill, right for the heart albeit she wasn't about to give them the satisfaction, nor was she willing to go out like this. She is the only one who gets to decide how and when she drops dead. And it's not about to be by a couple of wetbacks. Dominica sneers, a demonic growl surging from her throat and at this point she had enough of playing the game of cat and mouse. "Fuck this."
Domi yanks her gun from her strap, whirling around to face the men who murdered her brother in cold blood. Her expression was lifeless as it was satanic, quickly spraying a round of shots toward the hounds. Each man ducked, swerved and tried to find shelter from the bullets that hunted for their hearts. In a moment of silence, while the shots rang above the fleeting sounds of sirens in the distance, Dominica watches almost in slow motion as the last bullet she fires hammers directly into the chest plate of one man. Unfortunately, the youngest of the mutts got caught in her ring of fire. The goddess, who stands in shock, studies the body of the boy as he falls in a heap to the earth. The two other men moving to aid him in his darkest hour, while Dominica's nimble digits release the gun from hand and thus her instincts were to run and that's exactly what she did.
The woman slips into a dark alley between a strip club and bar, both of which reminded her of her brother - remembering the times when she catch him at either or, slipping money into a strippers thong or downing a couple drinks with his homeboys. The memories were like flashbacks, coming and going as they please. Just as reality hit her, Dominica hears the sound of heavy footfalls followed by a voice laced in Mexican charm. "¡maldición! La perdimos, el jefe va a estar enojado." Dominica remains flushed against the wall, slowly wading further into the darkness. She focused on their conversation, listening to them bicker back and forth, until finally their voices were just a whisper in the wind and all that was left was the sound of sirens in the distant abyss. Dominica breathed, turning around to move deeper into the shadows, although she quickly fell onto her assets after tripping over a pair of legs. Dazed and confused, tired and worn, the babe glances up only to be met with a man covered in blood. The metrical substance was strong from where she lay sprawled beside him, her chocolate hued eyes examining the condition of him - taking a mental note of how much blood litters the ground and the harsh raspy sounds of his breathing. He was slowly dying, knocking on deaths door and at first Dominica wondered if she should even help him. A part of her couldn't leave him here to die and rot, so she did what any human being with a heart would do..
She sat up, in a position where she could pull him up so that she could try and get him to her apartment. Snapping her fingers in his face, noticing he was zoning in and out. "Hey! Hey! Irrumabo, just what I need." Dominica hissed, transiting from her Latin tongue to her English one. Shaking her head, she would push all current issues aside and thus gently helping him to his feet. He didn't weigh that much and she lifted weights much heavier than him, so without a second thought on the matter the woman scooped him up so that now she was carrying him. It was strange to carry a man, but she had to do what she felt was right.
-timeskip to her apartment-
Dominica hurries through the doors of her place, locating her couch and settling the man in a position where she could tend to his wounds. He had a pulse that was faint, albeit that did not mean he wasn't still alive and hanging by a thread - there might be hope for him. Running around her apartment like a mad woman, gathering all the necessary tools she needed to dig out the bullet and patch him back up. Domi sits beside the man, a stranger that she now has in her home, where not even her ex-gang members stepped foot in. She had to remain focused, but all she could think about was who this guy was and images of her brother haunting her mind. Dominica takes alcohol and pours it over the wound, using some tweezers to dig out the fragments still embedded in his flesh. Blood dripped onto her carpet, staining her couch and drizzling down her arms to taint her own clothes. He lost a lot of blood, that was evident, but Domi refused to allow anymore to drain from his body. She went to work, applying pressure on the area and dabbing away blood while she stitched him back up. "You are one lucky hijo de puto." Her accent crashes into her sentence, a voice of sweet honey coaxing the man alive. She knew he was going to live, right now he just needed rest and in the morning eat and drink lots of fluids. That, of course, Dominica will make sure of - along with asking him a shit ton of questions.
i'm tired, i gotta be up early in the morning.