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This is just a something I started. It will eventually be a book but I'm already working on a couple of those so for now it's a small short story or flash fiction... What ever you wanna call it.

Submitted:Jun 20, 2014    Reads: 45    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

I look over the edge and my stomache makes its self at home nestled snuggly ontop of my bladder. Mustangs run through my vains as my heart rate reaches sky high. A hand grabs hold of my right arm seconds before we hit a bump that would have thrown me over the edge if the hand on my arm wasn't acting like an anchor holding me down. The jolt doesn't send me tumbling towards my death but makes my vision go black. I'm barely able to stay concious. The hand that holds me down is now a arm wrapped around my waist. I cant see the arms owner because there are stars blurring my vision. But I don't have to be able to see. I know that the arm belongs to Logan.
"Thanks.", I mumble into his chest. His colone fills my nostrils curing me of the nerves and filling me with pure joy for a few seconds.
His deep voice pierces through my thoughts of almost dying and even the appetizing smell of his colone. "No problem princess. It's my job. Couldn't have the CIA's most wanted criminal slip through my fingers now could I?", He chuckles and I feel his chest move letting me now that it's his real laugh not the faked laugh he often used lately. he is happy to be my body guard.
I know what youre thinking. Why does the CIA's most wanted criminal have a body guard? Well you will just have to keep reading and stay along for the long dangerous and top secret ride we have ahead of us.
But don't be fooled I don't need a body guard. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I am seventeen year old, a girl yes but i have brought grown men twice my age and size to their knees with out breaking so much as a sweat. You might think that is crazy but what did you expect. Ive been trained in the martial arts since I turned three. I learned to assemble and fire about any model gun by my fifth birthday on which I received my own two caliber riffle. I was taught to see things that others fail to. I was trained to kill. But most of all I was trained to survive. "Kill or be killed my little warrior", I can recall my dad saying as if it were yesterday even though he died when I was ten.




