Alex used to tell me the story of how he got me every night. My mom was an alcoholic, and was so addicted she was selling me to buy booze; i was a newborn still, and it was obvious she didnt care about me.
Alex, being 10 at the time, was running to the old store he called home with a days earnings from running errands for the mobs in his pocket; 6 dollars. He saw my mom, yelling out she was selling a baby. He knew there were many men who would take the oppurtunity to buy a girl, and raise her to be his slave. According to him, he couldnt let that happen.
He hadnt even said "ill take her'' before i was in his arms, and my mother was hobbling off, cackling, 6 dollars in her hand. He took me home, and with some help from one of the mob bosses who owed him a favor, he got me a old crib and a load of baby formula.
Alex was my brother, despite us coming from different families. His Dark brown hair, sharp gray eyes, and tough exterior helped him--and me-- survive in the ghettos. Since i was a girl, he had to be especially careful not to show me that often. Up until i was 8, he mainly left me at the abandened convienence store. He never told me as a kid what he was so scared of, but i eventually found out; being a blonde, blue eyed girl in the ghettos of New York city was not the best of things, especially with men who wouldnt hesitate to rape and kidnap a child.
I slept on a old pile of sheets, stole clothes from flee markets, but Alex made sure i never went hungry. His errands for the gangs and mob bosses became bigger and bigger, to the point where sometimese he wouldnt leave our home for days because of police looking for him. Like they really cared who killed a drug lord but it was their jobs. Like it was his to kill those people.
When i was 8, Alex got cornered outside our house. I was waiting for him inside, hidden behind an old shelf, wathcing the front window for him. I saw him coming, then suddenly, a car pulled up behing him. It was rare to see a car in the ghettos, let alone a ferrari. I may have been outside only at night, but i knew that a few drug dealers had come to play.
Alex had a set of rules in place since i was old enough to tlak. I couldnt go outside in daylight unless he was with me; i had to stay hidden if police came; and i was to never, under any circumstances, leave the store without his permission. But that night i broke that rule.
They probably would have killed him if i hadnt done the dumbest thing a 8 year old could do; i grabbed a small gun Alex kept underneath his pile of sheets, aimed, and fired. I hadnt meant to kill him, only to scare those men away form him. I was 8, for god sakes! i didnt even had a full grasping of what death meant.
After that, Alex got me my own gun, and also taught me how to survive. He soon began to take on his errands. I often covered my eyes when he had to resort to the last choice as he called it. But i was used to it. The soud of guns, yelling, and police sirens was what i fell asleep to everynight.
Suddenly, when i turned 14, Alex disappeared. Comepletely. He went off one night, saying he had a job to do, and never came back. I was by that time, running my own 'errands' for the mobs. Then, i was mainly hired to get close to druggies, pretend to seduce them, then drug them and steal there money while they were unconcious.
I never knew what happened to him. Since he was my main income and protection, i had to learn. Soon, i was just as wanted as Alex. I even had a name: The Shadow Chaser. UNtil i got caught.