Chapter One
[Chapter One]
Working as a detective for the New York Police Department (NYPD) was a very tedious and dangerous task. But it was a job I was willing to do. Why would a single mother risk her life everyday when her daughter only has her?
At 15 years old I watched from a tunnel as two gunmen murdered my parents. 4 shots were fired. I listened as my parents begged and pleaded for their lives yet they didn’t receive mercy.
Coming out of the hidden tunnel once I knew for sure it was safe. I cried rocking my parents in my arms. When the cops showed up and my parents were taken away.
All I felt was hate. I wanted revenge for my parents. And I would do my damn best to do it.
Bouncing from foster home to foster home until I met Elijah Anderson. Commissioner Anderson. I was 16 when the commissioner adopted me. Since then. I’ve been trained by New York’s finest.
Graduating high school shortly after my adoption was finalized gave me the opportunity to join the task force. And I did. Starting from the academy and working my way up.
I’ve done undercover work. Taken down gangs. I’ve taken down a sex trafficking ring. Busted drugs lords. You name it. I’ve done it. I’m not even being cocky. Being raised learning from the best. I’ve solved murders. I’ve been working to get information on the two thugs who murdered my family.
Having a 3 year old daughter being a detective was hard but little Anna seemed to love spending most her days with grandpa.
I hated being away from her when I am put on undercover cases because I’ve never been able to take her with me. And your probably wondering where’s the father? It happened when I was just 17. I thought I was the shit. Like I could take on the world after one of the most brutal trainings ever. Proving myself to the men and women of the force. I felt great. So of course sneaking out of the house like any other 17 year old girl. Snuck into a club. Got drunk. Woke up the next morning with no fucking clue what happened only that I woke up naked in one of the rooms in the club. Who I shared the bed with is unknown to me.
Then finding out a couple weeks later. You could tell my dad was disappointed. I don’t blame him. I was even disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen. But as my pregnancy progressed, along the way he came to love the idea of a grand baby. When he held her the very first time, I’ve never quite seen him smile like that before. With his wife passing away of breast cancer, he wasn’t able to have kids. That’s why he adopted me. Now he has a grand baby and a daughter. All he’s ever dreamed of. Just one person missing. His wife.
I’ve never cared to find the father. He left before I awoke that god awful night. I knew he wouldn’t care. So I kept the baby raising a beautiful baby girl.
And it was easy. But I did have the second best father figure. The first being my actual father. Throughout the years with Elijah, we’ve gone back to my birth place, my childhood home, cleaned it completely updated everything. Showing his the tunnels I used to roam as a kid. The very spot I was when my parents were shot in cold blood in front of me. I didn’t want to even touch my parents room. Left it the way it was. Except making the bed. It was just how I remembered it.
I painted one wall in my old childhood room Crimson. Why you ask? To remind me everyday what I promised my parents before they were buried 6 feet under. A promise I intend to keep. If it’s the last thing I do.
(In No way shape or form
