Chapter 9

Ramone stood against the crumbling brick wall, the weight of the gun in his waistband grounding him. Just another day, another job. The faces blurred together after a while—each one of them, easy prey. His gaze locked onto the 14-year-old girl walking down the street, her headphones on, blissfully unaware of what was coming. She doesn’t even know she’s already mine, Ramone thought darkly, his lips twitching with the thought. Stupid kid.

He straightened up as she got closer, his fingers brushing the edge of his hoodie, ensuring the gun was secure. Ramone’s pulse remained steady, like it always did before a grab. She wouldn’t even see it coming. It’s always the same, he thought, his eyes narrowing. They never pay attention. Makes them easy. The van rolled up slowly behind him, right on cue. He didn’t need to signal. His crew knew the drill—efficient, silent, like ghosts.

Ramone began to follow her, keeping a careful distance. He moved with purpose, his eyes locked on the back of her head as her pace remained unhurried. The beat of her music kept her distracted, unaware of the predator in her shadow. How easy they make it, he thought, a grim satisfaction settling in. Every step was measured, his breath calm, as if this was just another walk through the city. For him, it was.

As Ramone closed the distance, the distant hum of a cop car made him slow his pace. His eyes flicked to the side, watching the cruiser roll by. He pulled back, blending into the shadows of a doorway, his body language casual but calculated. The cop’s presence barely rattled him, just a minor inconvenience. Let them think nothing’s wrong, he mused as the car rounded the corner and disappeared from view. He straightened up, his eyes back on the girl. The game wasn’t over yet.

Once the cop was out of sight, Ramone resumed his slow pursuit, his steps deliberate and quiet. The girl hadn’t even noticed the brief pause in his approach. She continued walking, oblivious to the danger creeping closer. Ramone’s fingers brushed against his waistband, reassuring himself the gun was still there, but he wouldn’t need it. Too easy, he thought. He could already picture the van door sliding open, her panic, the fear that would set in too late.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Ramone’s gaze swept the street ahead. Empty. Quiet. Perfect. His eyes flicked to the van as it turned the corner, moving slowly behind the girl. She was still lost in her music, her pace unhurried, completely unaware that her world was about to change. Ramone closed the gap between them, his steps silent, his mind already on the next move. Just a grab, like any other. The van slowed, the side door sliding open with barely a sound. It was time.

Ramone lunged forward, enveloping the girl in his arms before she could react. She let out a muffled cry, twisting in his grip, her instincts kicking in. She bit down hard on his hand, but he barely flinched, tightening his hold. Nice try, kid, he thought, dragging her toward the van. Her struggle was short-lived as the gang inside helped pull her in. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off her chance to escape.

Inside the van, the girl was thrown onto the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Ramone watched her from the corner, the machete glinting in his crewmate's hand as it pressed lightly against her neck. “Shhh,” the guy whispered, finger to his lips. The girl froze, her body trembling as the gag was pulled tight around her mouth. Ramone settled into his seat, the familiar quiet of control filling the space. She wasn’t going anywhere now.

One of the gang members reached down, picking up the girl’s discarded headphones and phone. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed them out of the van’s door, the objects tumbling onto the sidewalk a few feet behind as the vehicle sped away. The sound of the phone hitting the pavement barely registered against the roar of the engine. It was as if she had never been there at all.

Ramone leaned back in his seat, watching as the city passed by in a blur. The girl sat trembling on the floor, her breathing shallow behind the gag, but he paid her no mind. He glanced at the driver, who was focused on the road. The tension in the van was nonexistent—it was routine, just another day’s work. Ramone allowed a small smirk to creep across his face. No fuss, no mess, he thought, already looking ahead to the next move.

As the van turned another corner, Ramone noticed something that caught his attention—a bike parked outside a local diner. The sleek, black machine stood out on the street, and for a moment, his smirk faded. “Nice ride,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. The driver glanced at it but said nothing, keeping his eyes on the road. Ramone’s mind lingered on the bike for a second longer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it belonged to someone important, but there was no time to dwell on it now.

The van sped down the street, disappearing into the city’s maze of alleys and backroads. The girl’s phone and headphones lay abandoned on the pavement, a quiet reminder of what had just taken place. Inside the van, silence reigned as they drove deeper into the shadows, leaving no trace of their presence. The city swallowed them whole, like it always did.