Chapter 3 Finding her

Sergio

My day usually starts at five in the morning, when I hit the gym for two hours before I tackle some light work. I didn't feel like going to the gym today, so I decided to go for a run outside. It's also good because I want to patrol the street to see what's going on and also throw people off balance, which is not very hard considering the type of work I do.

The weather is pretty chilly today, so I decide to go back inside and get a jacket. I don't like the cold very much because it brings me pain in the scars that refused to heal. It's funny because I love causing pain, but the pains that I have are unbearable. The pain is also good for me because it reminds me of where I come from, which is important in my line of work.

My father would be proud of me if he saw me today, what with all the beatings he gave me. The bastard, I'm sure, is proud even from six feet under, even though I'm the one who put him there. I mean, who wouldn't be proud, right? I am exactly what he molded me out to be. It doesn't take a genius to know that you are your upbringing, although Mamma would scold me for that line of thinking.

My mood is sour today; I should have guessed it from the dreams that I had of my old man. But I know it means trouble, although it doesn't surprise me much. I just don't know where it's going to come from. It is stupid of me to turn my soldiers down when they ask me if they should accompany me on my run. I don't want company right now, so bless the soul that will try to give me trouble on my run because they will meet their maker.

Thirty minutes into my run, I decide to reroute. I take a street I don't usually take, although I'm familiar with it. It's funny how my turf has a college in it, actually, but it's funnier that most of my guys know that education is important. Who would have thought that a gangster would care at all about school, right? See, the thing is that when you grew up with brains and a father who was handsy after a few bottles, you need to find something to do when the sun comes up, that is, if your old man didn't bother having you registered at school after you lost your momma.

Sometimes I wish I could've taken a better route in life, but you eat what you are served. At fifteen, I already knew how to use a gun and had my first kill. At seventeen, I was a made man who served under a man whom I looked up to and was already on my way to the top seat. At twenty, I buried the very same man who saw potential in me and made sure that I inherited all he had, even though I was not his son by blood. I guess I'm lucky in a way.

I've just passed the college when I see it, the body of a battered young woman. Hidden in plain sight in the bushes. Hidden not so well, in fact, because the only part of her body that appears is a naked leg.

My first instinct is to pull her out and check if there's a pulse. I may be a killer, but I don't like to see women hurt. And this one looks like she's been through the wringer. Her pulse is low, so after I pull my jacket off and wrap it around her, I call one of my guys and ask him to pull the car around and pick me up. I could carry her as she weighs like a feather, but I don't know how deep her injuries are, which is why I'm calling a doctor to come around the house next.

I've never considered myself stupid, honestly, that is, until this very moment when we reach the compound and possession takes over my body and mind. Instead of taking the nameless woman to one of the spare rooms in the house, I take her to mine without a single thought. Even more stupid is me ordering my men to find out who she is and find the people who did this to her.

I chuck that out with everyone knowing I don't allow women to be hurt on my watch. I may be a lot of things, but anyone who knows me knows I'm protective of women. After seeing my mother being beaten blue and black growing up, I don't have the heart to see a woman hurt. It's stupid considering how many women are in my line of work.

The doctor arrives fifteen minutes later, and I manage not to scream at him because I know he lives a bit far from my compound. When he asks for the room to examine her and I refuse to leave, I know instantly that I'm fucked. But I don't trust anyone with her right now, which is fucked up because this man has seen the worst of me and my men and has brought us back from the dead more times than I can imagine.

Thirty minutes later, he confirms my suspicions of rape. What surprises me, though, is the mention of broken bones he mentions, which should not surprise me, considering how I found her. After putting her on a drip and mentioning for the third time that she needs the hospital, he leaves.

After calling one of the maids to clean her up and look after her, I go to my home office. I would do it myself, but my blood is boiling at the sight of her, and I fear I wouldn't be as gentle as I need to be. I also leave because I don't know how not to punch a wall every time I look at her. And all these feelings I have scare me because they are so foreign to me.

I would never consider myself possessive. Every woman I've been with knows I don't do feelings. As much as I don't play with women's feelings, I don't do all that relationship bullshit. I don't have time for it all. Women want all of that.