HER LOVER - HER ENEMY

The night smelled of rain and gasoline.

A storm loomed over the city, thick clouds rolling in to smother the distant glow of streetlights. The wind howled between buildings, carrying the sharp scent of damp asphalt and something metallic—something Elena Carter, at only eight years old, did not yet understand.

Her father’s grip on her hand tightened as they hurried down the nearly empty street. His fingers, warm and calloused, trembled slightly around her much smaller ones. He was walking too fast—almost running. His heavy boots splashed through puddles, but Elena struggled to keep up, her own rain boots sloshing through the water, her breath coming in quick, frightened gasps.

"Daddy, slow down," she panted, her small fingers digging into his palm.

He didn’t slow.

His eyes—sharp, darting, afraid—kept scanning the darkened alleys they passed. His free hand hovered near his holster. Every few steps, he looked over his shoulder, his face drawn in tight lines she had never seen before.

Something was wrong. She could sense it.

Elena didn’t fully understand her father’s work, but she knew he was a police officer—one of the good ones. A hero, like the ones in the bedtime stories he used to tell her. But heroes weren’t supposed to look this scared.

They weren’t supposed to run. They were suppose to stand their grounds against bad people, not run from it.

The distant wail of sirens echoed somewhere behind them, but it was too far away. No help was coming.

Not tonight.

She wanted to ask what was happening. Why they had left the police station through the back exit instead of the front. Why his usual warm smile had vanished, replaced by something tight and unreadable.

But before she could, she felt it.

A presence.

That crawling sensation at the back of her neck. That instinct buried deep in her gut.

They weren’t alone.

Her tiny hand squeezed her father’s, and when she turned her head, she saw them.

Four men. Dark clothing. Shadows stretched long behind them in the dim alley light.

One of them leaned against a graffiti-stained brick wall, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers, his exhale curling like a serpent into the cold night air. The others stood still, watching. Waiting.

Elena’s heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Her father stopped walking.

Slowly, he moved her behind him, his broad frame blocking her view, his body a barrier between her and them. His free hand dropped to his gun.

The cigarette man took one last drag before flicking it to the wet pavement. He stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel.

"Detective Carter," he said, voice smooth as oil. "You’re making this harder than it needs to be."

Her father’s shoulders tensed.

"You don’t have to do this," Michael Carter said, his voice controlled, but Elena could hear the strain beneath it.

The man chuckled, shaking his head.

"See, that’s where you’re wrong.” You dug too deep. Started asking the wrong questions. We tried to warn you, that there would be dire concenquences. f*ck it, when even tried to buy you off. But your damm self righteousness" He reached into his coat, pulling out something small and golden. A gun. 

"And now, you’ve got a choice." He turned it over in his hand as if testing the weight. "Make it easy on yourself… or make it messy."

Elena’s small hands fisted into the fabric of her father’s coat.

She didn’t understand everything they were saying. But she understood enough.

They were going to hurt him.

Her father crouched suddenly, turning to her. His strong, warm hands cupped her face, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her cheeks.

His blue eyes—her blue eyes—held hers, and she saw something there that made her want to cry.

Love.

And something else.

Finality.

"Elena, baby…" His voice was soft but urgent, like a whisper on the edge of a storm. "Listen to me."

She nodded, her little heart hammering.

"When I say run, you run. Do you hear me?" His grip on her shoulders tightened. "You don’t stop. You don’t look back for any reason. You just keep running, okay?"

Her chest tightened. "But—"

"Elena." His voice broke, just slightly. "Trust me."

Then he stood up.

And pulled out his gun.

The First Shot Rang Out Like Thunder, echoing down the alley.

Bang.

Elena screamed as her father fired, hitting one of the men in the shoulder. The man staggered back, cursing. But the others moved fast—too fast.

A second shot. A third.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat as she saw her father stumble.

He groaned, his body jerking backward as a bullet tore into his side. His knees buckled.

Blood bloomed across his shirt, staining the navy blue fabric a deep, dark red.

"Daddy!" Elena lunged forward, but his voice—tight with pain—stopped her cold.

"Run!"

But she couldn’t move. Her legs felt stuck.

Her little hands trembled, eyes locked on the way his chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged gasps.

Another shot.

Her father gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright. His gun was still in his hand, but his arm shook violently.

The cigarette man sighed. "Such a waste."

And then—

Bang.

Elena’s world collapsed.

She heard the bullet before she saw it.

Saw her father’s body before she understood what had happened. It was just like in the movies, her father had just been shot before her very eyes.

His body hit the pavement with a sickening finality, his limbs slack, his fingers twitching once before going still. 

Blood pooled around him, dark and warm, soaking into the cracks of the street. The rain carried it away in thin rivulets, washing it toward the gutters like it was nothing.

Like he was nothing.

A choked sob tore from her throat.

"No—No, Daddy, please."

She dropped to her knees, small fingers clawing at his jacket, at his chest.

"Daddy, wake up!"

She pressed her hands against the wound, the warmth of his blood seeping through her fingers.

His eyes flickered open.

"Elena…" His lips parted, but his voice was barely a whisper. His eyes locked onto hers.

Something flickered there—a desperate, silent plea.

And then—

Nothing.

His hand fell from her cheek. His chest did not rise again.

Michael Carter was gone.

Run.

The word echoed in her skull.

A rough hand grabbed her arm.

"She’s a witness," one of the men muttered.

"She’s just a kid," another scoffed. "Leave her."

The cigarette man tilted his head, studying her. His gun was still warm from the last shot.

"No witnesses," he murmured.

Elena snapped out of it. 

Run!

The word echoed in her skull again.

She didn’t think. She just moved.

She kicked the man on his crouch and wrenched her arm free, her small body twisting as she turned and bolted. Running as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Gunshots rang out behind her.

Bang, bang.

A bullet whizzed past her ear, embedding itself in the brick wall inches away.

She didn’t stop.

Her lungs burned, her heart pounded like a drum against her ribs. Her boots slipped on the rain-slick pavement, but she kept running.

The city swallowed her whole.

She ran until the screaming in her head faded to white noise.

Until her sobs became silence.

Until the little girl who had once held her father’s hand no longer existed.

That night, Elena Carter made a promise.

She would never be weak again.

She would never be that scared little girl.

And one day…

She would find the men who did this.

And she would destroy them all.

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