Prologue 0.75: My first love…

*FLASHBACK*

Sasha POV:

I was walking home from the fertility clinic with a bright smile on my face. I was completely ecstatic. My husband and I had been trying for months and finally I was pregnant. Suddenly I noticed a figure a small boy from the corner of my eye.

I looked at the small boy shivering, quivering in the cold weather. He was huddled between two alleyways, and had covered himself in the rubbish discarded by other people to keep warm. The rotten smell from the heavy potato based diet of these Russians was assaulting my nose as I slowly trudged in the snow and walked toward the boy.

To my utter surprise the boy was deathly pale. His head was hung low and his lips were parted, and cracked. His chest was slowly heaving, but I could see that he was having trouble breathing. Possibly a broken spine.

“AHH!” I shrieked when I realised that I was crouching over a puddle of blood red snow. I quickly shuffled about until I saw a gun shot wound on the ankle of the boy. Thick black blood was oozing out of the wound. The boy was desperately putting pressure with the last ounces of his strength trying to stop the rapid flow of blood.

Black?

Oh my gosh! He was poisoned. What on earth happened to this boy? I brushed the hair covering his forehead and slowly brought my hand over to measure his temperature. Hi body was completely frozen, and some of the tips of his fingers were pale blue. Fortunately the boy had a tourniquet just over his ankle blocking the flow of blood, stopping the spread of the poison.

“Please.... Please help me… “ He whispered.

…

In my small apartment I placed him on the bed. Wiping his forehead and turning up the thermostat to extremely hot temperatures. Through sweat I was hoping to regulate the poison if it had travelled to other parts of the body. I was desperately hoping my husband would come through the door any time as he was a much more experienced doctor than me.

As the bullet entered the boy, it caused laceration and crushing wounds. It had punctured tissue and bone, crushing aside anything in its path. When it passed through tissue, it created a cavity that was quite largely making it hard to stop the bleeding. I quickly sterilised the ends of the nerves blocking all the bleeding. This cavity must have closed behind the bullet less than a second after the bullet passed, but the cavitation caused damage to nearby tissue, organs and bones via shock waves.

The tip of the bullet contained small amounts of poison. Although definitely not deadly I knew that it was meant to incapacitate enemies so they can be tortured for information later. I slowly saw the boys face return to a healthy colour, after I applied an antibiotic ointment, and bandaged his leg. I saw that other than a broken heel through impact there was not much nerve or severe tissue damage. He was recovering incredibly fast, inhumanly fast... The poison itself was slowly expelled out of his body after several changings of the bandages.

I took his shirt off and to my utter surprise I saw multiple scars. Deep horrendous scars. I stifled a scream when I imagined the amount pain and torture this boy must have gone through. This boy must have been terribly tortured. My heart tightened with pain when I saw the boy in such a state.

“BOOOOM”

My door suddenly flung open and a team of armed men walked through the door. There was a man, wearing a black suit was leading the charge. He was scanning around the room until he noticed me taking of the shirt of a small boy.

“Umm…this isn’t what this looks like,” I muttered somewhat embarrassed.

“I was actually helping him…”

“I see you have found my son!!” The man interrupted. He had a bright smile on his face and to my utter surprise ran up to me giving a tight hug.

“Sir, please get off…” I muttered.

“I am sorry I am just glad my sons alive…” he said quickly shuffling away from me.

“I am sure you are.”

“Thank you for giving him treatment. I will get out of your house now. Sorry for the inconvenience my son caused you. AHAHAHA” he chuckled.

I was completely shocked. His son was just shot. This is a small inconvenience. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“Sir I hardly call a gun shot wound and nearly bleeding in a frozen wasteland a ‘inconvenience’” I raged.

“Yes I am sure. I will make sure to tell him not to go to the bad parts of town next time…” he tittered. Poking the small boy’s forehead childishly.

“Sir your ‘son’ has extremely thick lacerations all over his body. Furthermore he has been shot and is still regulating the poison from his body. I am not sure what’s happening but I would like to call the police to take a look at him before you take him away.” I sternly interjected. This man had a maniacal look about him and was somewhat giving me an unsettling feeling.

“I know this child hadn’t gained the scars in the last 2 months due to the amount they had healed. These scars must have been brought on when he was quite young.” She asserted somewhat still frightened by the numerous gunmen.

“It is painfully obvious that the boy had gone through large amounts of child abuse.” She said slowly reaching for a phone behind her.

“Hmmm…” the man looked at me. Pursing his lips as if he were somewhat sorry for me.

Before I could blink the man suddenly rushed at me. Arriving in hairs breadth in front of me. He was a shadow and didn't make a single sound when arriving to my side. He placed his palm on the lower part of my navel.

“I hate killing pregnant women. You know…” he sympathetically nodded.

Swiftly taking a butterfly knife from his pocket and handling it expertly in between his fingers. He looked at me as if I were really unfortunate.

“For saving my son. I will make it quick…” he whispered.

My mind went blank. What just happened? How did he know I was pregnant? Why do I deserve to die? I just got the best news of my life. Why is this happening?

“FATHER STOP!!!” suddenly a voice came from behind me.

…

Sam’s POV:

The woman worked tirelessly. She was clearly panicked doing her best to control the poison. I tried to move but my body was in complete shock from staying in the cold bleeding. It barely moved.

Her brow was dripping with sweat and she vigorously did her best to save me. I couldn't help but feel small amount of warmth swelling up in my chest. Even when in the dark room, whenever I was hurt by a bloodthirsty beast. Nobody came. I was forced to learn large amounts of injury and trauma recovery during my training. My father would throw a box of the necessary medical supplies and I would do procedure myself.

I remember once I had an extremely deep cut of my back when I was 6 years old from a wolf that I had just killed. I was seriously bleeding. As punishment my father refused to give me the necessary anaesthetic when doing the stitches. He forcefully hooked my skin repeatedly telling me that this should never happen again. Needless to say I made sure to not get hurt in places where I couldn't see or treat myself.

The warmth only got more profound when I saw her see my body wasn't exactly normal. She stifled a scream as she saw the scars on my body. From the corner of her eyes tears swelled up as she covered her mouth…

She cared…

After many missions I was somewhat aware that my treatment wasn't right. I knew that the things my father was doing to me was not normal. But seeing her reaction the pain I was suppressing all these years burst forth. Small tears trickled down the corner of my eye.

The feeling was new to me. I was still in immense pain but the thought that she was here was incredibly comforting. All my life I wasn't someone who particularly needed comfort, or mutual affection. I was always detached. I never got close to or cared for anyone. Even when on missions I never befriended anyone.

Who is this woman? Why is she caring for me?

I heard a loud bang followed by a hurried entry of numerous people. From the sound of the footsteps alone I easily counted that approximately 20 people had hurried in. They seemed to be equipped with guns.

I knew that this was definitely my father. Somewhat surprised as to how he found me.

Sasha was fiercely confronting my father of my ‘treatment’. I again felt the same warmth. Every time she expressed care or concern for me my heart slowly felt indescribable cordiality.

What is happening to me…

I noticed that the confrontation was taking a turn for the worse. My father would surely kill her. The thought of her dying sent me into panic. I didn't make sense but I didn't want her to die. Her survival became my top priority. If anything were to happen to her…

My heart felt intense pain just at that thought…

“FATHER STOP!!!” I yelled. Slowly sitting myself up. Still on the make shift medical bed.

“Father you cant kill her…” I asked.

“Why not!?” he asked as if leaving her alive was completely ridiculous to him. “She has seen your face, and mine!!”

“She saved my life father…” I replied.

“All these year I have done what you have asked no questions asked… Just this once I am asking you a favour.”

“Please father…I am begging you!” I asked, giving him a deep bow although it was giving me immense pain.

“Hmm…Alright. Just this once…” he replied. Turning away. I could hear the disappointment in his voice. My heart trembled at the thought of disappointing him but when I looked at Sasha I couldn't bear for her blood to be on my hands.

I looked at Sasha. She had somewhat confused look on her face; I could see that all these events happening in such quick succession were too much for her. Any normal person wouldn't be okay after the events that had transpired.

She quickly recovered and then gave me a apologetic gaze. I could see that she was in deep inner conflict. I had no idea what it was but I could tell she was hesitant about something.

I slowly stood up and limped towards my father. I turned to give one last look when I realised the lady had a firm grasp on my hand.

“I cant let you take him!!” she exclaimed. I was completely startled. Does this woman not care for her life? What about her unborn child?

“Ohoho…You still have quite the bit of courage.” My father snickered licking his lips.

“I cant let you harm this child any longer. I have already dialled 000 they should be hearing our whole conversation right now…” she muttered. When in the world did she dial the police? I soon noticed the Surface phone in her pocket glowing. The holographic display blinking bright red with the words Emergency sprawled across it.

“Hmmm…I don't want to go back on my promise to my son…and also cant let you live knowing about us…” my father muttered out loud not even mildly scared of the oncoming police.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Guys lets just take her with us!!” my father chuckled. His smile reaching an unnaturally large size. His insane eyes once again sending a jolt down my spine.

“FATHER NO!!”

……

9 months later…

Sam’s POV:

It’s been 9 months since my father forcibly dragged Sasha to Iran. The first few months due to her incessant crying my father refused to feed her and repeatedly exercised violence on her. She begged to make a single call. A single call to let her husband know she was fine.

My father refused to grant her that luxury. It was heart wrenching to watch her in that state. My mind was wrecked with a new unfamiliar emotion, guilt. In the beginning she refused to talk to me. Looking at me as if it were my fault. Her emotionless eyes further wrecked my heart with remorse.

It was my fault…

I couldn't bare to see her in that state either. I repeatedly intervened but my father was immensely stronger than me. So strong that I was not able to retaliate even slightly.

To remind me not to interpose he constantly implemented new methods of torture onto me. From carving my flesh to even burning.

Burning. This was completely new to me. In my experience blood doesn’t have a smell at first, although it is very visible, tends to flood your memory and when it stains clothing that smell imprints itself on the memory event as it were there in the moment. But blood was something I had grown accustom to.

I was used to those smells, but the smell of burning flesh was much more apparent and different than anything I had ever experienced. The smell of burned flesh was like smell of burnt hair, yet exponentially grown by the method in which he burnt me. Implementing a blowtorch on me while Sasha was screaming did not help me one bit.

The only way I can describe the smell of my skin is that it was as if leather was left out in the rain long enough to fester slightly, and then it was burned, or at least how I image that would smell. The addition of the burnt clothing created an earthy smell, to the total experience.

Sasha’s desolate screams coupled with the fact that, her pregnant frame was heavily bruised in various places, gave me extreme pain. I had yet again intervened and was beginning to see that my father was getting tired off my repeated interferences.

The flames. The tissues under the skin started to boil and bubble, and the skin eventually separated and fell off, exposing bare nerve endings, which are constantly irritated, The pain was like having a fire that won't go out. Seeing me in such a scene was enough to change Sasha’s behaviour and she became extremely docile.

The next few months I rarely went on assignments. Refusing my father’s requests for which he rewarded me with torture. I wanted to stay with Sasha. I knew from the beating of my father her pregnancy was extremely precarious. I couldn't let anything happen to her…

I didn't know then but those were the first feelings of love I was developing. An overwhelming emotion with an emphasis in the need to protect and enrich the life of another person. I never felt something so profound before…

That night Sasha gave birth. All the knowledge my father had given me finally came to use and I myself a 10 year old helped in bringing, Alex into the world. A small beautiful girl. She was named after her father. I could tell after the despair, which Sasha had been feeling Alex’s existence had become her only source of happiness.

The girl was born with a weak constitution and needed care. I begged my father to help her, but he couldn't care less.

I could tell that to my father my recent behaviour was alarming. He started to notice the subtle changes, in the way I acted. My nature of indifference was peeling away and was developing feelings for the first time toward someone other than my father. He could sense that slowly I was slipping away from his grasp.

I increasingly grew close to Alex. The cute girl wouldn't leave my side and when I held her in my arms she would slow drift away to sleep. Her cute frame making tiny whimpers that gave me indescribable joy. Her small head was resting on my shoulders and I was rocking her back and forth. Sasha was looking at me holding her small child and gave a smile so bright that it haunts my memories to this day.

……

“ This is your new assignment…” my father said flinging a large file over the table.

I had barely seen him these past few months due to his new “project,” and had somewhat grown accustomed to a nonchalant lifestyle. I would train all day taking regular breaks to help Sasha with taking care of Alex. I knew that me leaving may give way to my father’s repeated abuse so when he handed me a new assignment I was somewhat distraught

“Father is it okay if I stay here…” I whimpered. My voice barely audible due to the fear in my heart as to how he would react.

“Hmmm… what did you say?”

“I was wondering if I could stay here. At least until Alex is old enough to take care of herself…” I urged

“BANG”

My father stood up slamming his fist into the large mahogany table splitting it in half from the sheer force. I was frozen with fear. I had never seen him so angry. His usual eyes were replaced with ones that were blood shot and his body was visibly trembling.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” he urged. Daring me to answer.

“I THOUGHT YOU WILL RETURN TO YOUR SENSES AFTER SOME TIME BUT TRULY I AM SICK OF THE WAY YOU FUCKIN ACT NOW.” He screamed.

“Father I…I…” My voice wouldn't come out. I was sweating profusely; my father words induced extreme fear into my very soul.

“I DIDN'T THINK I WOULD NEED TO RESORT TO THIS, AS THIS IS OBVIOUSLY BENEATH ME BUT, IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS I WILL MAKE SURE SASHA AND HER CHILD ARE DEAD BY THE MORNING. YOUR RECENT PUNIHMENT WOULD BE A CAKEWALK COMPARED HOW AGONIZING I CAN MAKE IT FOR THEM.” he screamed.

I stepped back extremely frightened by the sudden surge in anger. My jaw was clenching and cold sweat was forming on the back of my body. He was going to kill them. I could tell he was definitely going to kill them…

“Sorry father…sorry father…” I cried tears pouring down my face and falling to my knees.

Although I was someone whose mind was no longer comparable to an average human. In front of my father, I was a mere 10-year-old child. Unable to do anything. Frightened beyond my mind.

“YOU MAY LEAVE…” He responded quickly turning back.

….

Sasha POV:

I know it not Sam’s fault, but I couldn't help but be mad at him. It was his fault I am here. Bearing my child in the den of the most powerful criminal organization in the whole fuckin world. I sometimes wished I didn't save the boy. His every sad gaze and every method to try to get close to me sickened my very soul. He didn't seem to care though. The way he looked at me, as if his whole world revolved around my existence.

The boy every morning came to feed me. I refused and sometimes even spat at the small 10 year old. He never gave up. I pushed him away. Slapped him, pinched him even once kicked him. But he stayed, and wouldn't leave until I ate everything. Time to time he would touch my belly, just like that criminal 6th did, as if to check if my child was okay.

I knew it wasn't fair to hate the boy. He had lived a life of abuse and torture that I couldn't even begin to envision. This all the more made me crazy. I didn't know who to direct my anger to. I couldn’t even be mad at the asshole 6th, he wouldn't have left me alive if his son hadn’t asked me to. I could tell that my incessant crying was getting to him. But what could I do…

except cry…

I got a wakeup call after about 2 months. I was crying screaming almost when the 6th walked in. He was trembling with anger. He came and slapped across the face with such force that I flew to the side and slammed on the wall. He then kicked right in the stomach. I coughed up blood all over the white wall. I started begging, I didn't want to die. Not before I gave birth to my child. He clenched his fist and pulled his arm back to punch me. I flinched in response covering myself in the foetal position. Bracing myself for the worst, and hoping that nothing would happen to my baby.

Trembling with fear…

But no punch came. From the corner of my eyes I saw Sam’s face distort in pain as the punch landed to the side of his face with inhuman strength, creating a large gust of wind from the sheer force. Sam was flung back, blood pouring down his ears and the corner of his left eyeball. His hair flaying wildly and his cheek swollen. Surprisingly no tears came. I had realised on my first few days that 6th and Sam were incredibly strong. They moved faster than the wind, and when fighting were so ferocious and powerful it sent chills down her back.

They were monsters…

When Sam refused to let his father abuse me any longer. The 6th’s anger began to rise. I could see his maniacal expression turning stone cold. Then he proceeded to torture his son in the most inhumane way I had ever seen. I couldn't bare to look at the boy whose small lithe body was abused and tortured in ways that felt as if I were trapped in a horror movie.

The room that night echoed with screams not of Sam’s but of mine. The boy made no sound whatsoever but never gave up no matter how much his father tortured him, his unyielding gaze never faltered. That was the day I changed.

I no longer hated Sam, in fact I cared for him. He was boy who showed no expression or even the slightest feelings on the outside but there were few times that he would show emotion. Emotion so genuine that seeing this detached boy’s expression brought indescribable joy to me. He showed the purest of smiles when caring for Alex…

After that he would often go on missions and come home looking more and more lifeless each time. These days of being away from us were taking a huge toll on his emotional state. Going on like this would undoubtedly break the boy.

I couldn't let that happen…

Maybe prior to knowing familial love, or any sort of affection he wasn't aware of the importance of this sort of emotion. But now that he knew what was happiness and through my conditioning of teaching the boy what was good and bad. He was racked with guilt after each and every ‘mission’.

………………

*End FLASHBACK*

Sam POV:

“If you loved her why did you kill her?” the interviewer rudely interrupted.

“Can I finish the goddamn story!”

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been a while guys sorry for that

Not gonna promise regular releases but here ya go....