She had on a pretty hideous blue waitress outfit that was masking her curves instead of putting them on display.
She was about five-six in her flats with a great ass and hips and chest with her brown hair pulled back in a bun with a few strands falling around her pretty, somewhat round face.
I couldn’t make out her eyes in the dark, but something told me they were likely a shade of brown.
Pretty.
Far too pretty to be walking alone in this neighborhood in the middle of the night.
With nothing but an eye-gouger and an umbrella as protection.
I needed to yell, to warn her.
But it was too late.
To stop shit in time.
To let her get away.
Because the bastard ducked down low behind the car raised his arm and let out several rounds, completely oblivious or indifferent to who he might hit.
And hit her he did.
The first bullet sank into her thigh, and she stood there for a second, frozen, like she couldn’t quite process what had happened.
Then her head lifted.
And she looked right fucking at us.
It wasn’t until she heard the second round get squeezed off that she seemed to snap out of it, her body jerking around, turning away from us.
And away toward the bullets coming her way.
I saw as the second bullet hit, her body jerking back hard, then falling to the ground.
It was right about then that we heard them.
Sirens.
“Fuck. We gotta go,” Cesare said, giving my shoulder a shove because I was frozen in the spot, looking at the woman who was writhing around on the ground, her pretty face twisted up in pain. “We gotta go!” Cesare barked even as the enforcer turned and booked it down a side street.
“She saw us,” I said.
“What?”
“The woman. She looked right at us.”
“Fuck. What the fuck do we do then?” he asked.
The answer was simple, really.
“We take her with us,” I said. “Get the car,” I added, rushing across the street toward the woman’s prone body.
“Ow ow ow ow,” she whimpered, one hand clutching her shoulder, the other pressing against her thigh.
Both hands were getting covered in blood.
She was losing a lot and fast.