I'll Be Your Bullet

Characters

Nikolenka, Peyton, Mishka. Others

Description

Nikolenka had always had it rough; She was treated her like a slave by her stepfather in her own home and was the sole carer of her older brother who'd suffered from brain damage from birth. After her mother's death, her family split in two - Her stepfather and her maternal Uncle, who was a local mob underboss had never got along and Niko was constantly stuck in the middle of their spats.

She was never a shrinking wall flower, but after an unforeseen accident, Niko can't keep herself under control any longer. She breaks past barriers she didn't even know she was capable of and sets out into the real world with nothing but her issues and a hair trigger.

 

Title
I'll Be Your Bullet

Tagline
Money Makes The World Go Around

Series
Original

Theme Song
Paradise Lost - Hollywood Undead

Genre
Action, Relationships, Gallows Humour,
Hurt/Comfort, Adventure, Crime, Angst, Drama

Start Date
24th August 2013

End Date
--/--/--

Warnings
Swearing, Graphic scenes of - Substance Abuse, Sexual Themes, Violence
 

Foreword

Shaking, the female pulled up to the gas station in a rust bucket Chevy truck. Pulling down the sun visor, green eyes scanned the reflection. She felt her stomach churn as a whiff of blood made its way up her nose and the memories from only moments before crashed through her mind. Flipping over in her seat, the driver snatched the hold-all off the passenger seat and then opened her door. Sliding out onto her feet, the girl's eyes darted around to make sure no one was there before making a dash for the toilets around the side of the building.

Once inside the confined space littered with graffiti that stunk of piss and smack, the young woman gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white from the force as she tried to calm herself. Hitched breath slowly regulated and eventually, the female had gained enough courage to look at the cracked mirror. Chartreuse eyes inspected the smeared crimson across the right side of her face, the clotted blood in her once platinum locks and the grey t-shirt almost exposing her breasts from its gaping.

She felt sick.

Not from what she had done, but from what they had done.