There's so many positive 4 letter words:
Love
Like
Hope
Care
Life
Then there's negative:
Hate
Evil
Dead
For once in her life Desdemona wanted to hear negative. The word in itself: Negative. Instead she heard positive. Her whole world came tumbling d...
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Sitting in a New York City warehouse I nod off trying to fight my sleep. I'm supposed to be keeping watch of the guy who tried to shoot Casanova last night. Just because I was there I got dragged into this mess.
Scaring myself from my body jumping I sit up straight rubbing my hand over my tired face. I decide to stand up straight stretching my arms over my head to wake myself up. I sigh looking at the young kid who's tied to a chair. His head is lowered looking completely depleted. You can't see the fact his face is bruised and bleeding from Casanova beating his ass.
When Casanova comes back into the room shirtless and angrily pacing I arch my eyebrow. From being around him since I gained consciousness I realized the man has some serious anger issues.
"What's the plan?" I ask sitting back in the chair I was previously in. We've had this guy for hours and much of nothing has happened. Does he plan on holding him hostage or killing him? Either one he needs to let me leave and leave me out of this. He didn't try to kill me..
"Nina said to wait until she gets here. She needs to hurry up," he slams his fist into his other opened hand. "This little mutha fucka really tried to kill me," he points at the boy aggressively. "Who sent you?"
The guy raises his head wearing a smirk. "Cordelia. You know, the one who you killed?"
"That doesn't answer the question. Who sent you to get revenge? Desmond, shit, the De Carlo's from prison... Who? They'll be dealt with. I'ma kill this nigga before she gets here. I gotta calm down," he continues to pace.
"Yeah, go get some air," this dude smiles not even phased by the beating he got earlier. Casanova doesn't hesitate to grab him and punch him in the face before storming off.
The guy's nose is now leaking blood. He simply leans forward letting it drip onto his already bloodied shirt. It's quiet as I watch him then he looks around. "Pssst, Apollo," he whispers to get my attention. I don't know how he knows my name.
