~Chapter 1~
Worthless!
Weak!
Useless!
Murderer!
No....no..no..not those words again, I cowered in a corner, making myself as small as possible, while the man who was supposed to love and protect , stood before with so much hate in his eyes.
"You're so much like your mother, weak and useless" those damned words, the sa words I had heard a million tis but I still flinch whenever he said them.
Stupid.... stupid..... stupid.
My father -Boris Volkov- was as heartless as they co. He had no qualms about using his words to cut down. You would think being an only child and daughter to soone would be the dream but for , ohh it was a never-ending cycle of pain and nightmares.
Why was I being treated like this? Well My mother died while giving birth to , and every day I wished I had died with her.
It was a crazy thing to say or even think, but it was true and I couldn't shake it off because of my father.
Was I a killer, No, but he always reminded that I was a Murderer, calling my mom weak for dying and blaming because I looked so much like her.
Having only see one picture of her, that I had stumbled upon when I was ten years old, I knew without being told she was my mom.
I had been both fascinated and intimidated by that picture; She had bright golden eyes and curly snow-white hair.
I was a miniature version of her, but it was bullshit, having it both, was a blessing and a curse, it beca a constant reminder to my father of the woman he had lost.
To him, my resemblance to my dead mom was a cruel joke, he couldn't bear to look at , couldn't bear to see the features of the woman he loved staring back at him through my face.
So, he took it out on , using as a punching bag for his own fucked up emotions
A hot slap brought back to reality, and I held my already bruised cheek, wincing in pain. I wasn't shocked, – this was my everyday life. Kicked, thrown, and insulted.
I'm used to it, the feeling of being helpless and alone.
"You worthless bitch," my father spat, dragging by my hair, pulling across the room with a strength that fitted his age.
Struggling against him, he threw against the wall, and I hit it with a thud.
That hurts so much. I slid down to the floor with my head spinning and my body aching all over.
Knowing better than to cry, though – that only made things worse. So I sat there, silently, waiting for the storm to pass. But it never did.
He matched over to with a snarl twisted on his face. "Why don't you just die?" God, his breath was stinky, which isn't a surprise with the cigarette he smoked every damned ti.
But I didn't say a word nor respond to his comnt about my death. What was the point? I had heard it all before.
Not knowing why I didn't just die, either. I had thought about it so many tis, wondered what it would be like to just slip away into nothingness.
Into darkness.
To silence.
To peace.
They were all a tempting prospect, especially when faced my hell called life.
My father's hand shot out to deliver a punch.
Hopefully this would be the one to end it all. Hoping it would be the blow that would finally silence the screams in my head and quiet the ache in my heart.
But as soon as his devilish hand connected with my face, a loud explosion shook the ground beneath us.
The force of the blast sent both and my father far apart.
Rapid and loud gunfire erupted from outside, making my ears ring and making it hard to hear anything else.
My father stumble to his feet, while I struggled to sit back up.
He was clearly shaken, but he quickly regained his composure and reached into his waistband, pulling out a gun.
With his gun, he moved quickly, running towards the door that had been blown out of its hinges and disappeared through it, leaving disoriented.
He couldn't even co check on , best father of the year, pun intended.
Silently, I pushed my small fra away from the wall, grasping for anything to hold onto and made my way to the door. I peered through the opening and What I saw made my blood run cold.
What in the world was happening, n dressed in dark suits were firing guns at my father's n, who were also wearing suits.
The ground was literally damaged with dust everywhere.
I had always wondered why my father had n around our house, always guarding and always watching.
A two year old could guess, He has to be involved in so shady business, but I never had the guts to ask.
Fear and intimidation had beco a constant presence in my life, and I had learned to keep my mouth shut and my questions to myself, never knowing when my father's temper would flare up or when his "business associates" would co knocking on our door.
A bullet whizzed past , making duck for cover behind the shattered remains of the doorfra.
That was freaking close, I didn't know what to do, never being in this situation before.
Should I hide and wait for this sudden violence to pass, or was this my chance to finally run away from my father? Was God finally answering my prayers and giving an opportunity to escape the hellish existence I had endured for so long?
Peeked around the doorfra again, I saw my father's n returning fire, but they were outnumbered.
I had to act quickly and make a decision.
I could stay here, cowering in fear, like always, or I could take this chance and try to escape.
The thought of leaving that animal grasp was exhilarating, but it was also terrifying. What if I couldn't make it on my own? Or worse, I get caught? But despite my reservations and the what if , I had to try, right?
Taking a deep breath, I peered around the corner, and saw my chance. The hallway was now clear, alongside the stairs leading down to the front door.
It was now or never.
I took off in a sprint, didn't dare look back, fearing what I might see. My heart hamring in my chest, threatening to burst free from my ribcage.
Finally, everything would be alright, I'm going to be free, for so long, being a twenty year old trapped rat was hard.
But as I took the last step that would lead to my freedom, a figure strode through the front door like he owned the damned place. He was dressed to perfection, his tailored suit accentuating his lean, athletic build.
His piercing eyes bore down into my very soul as he stopped in front of .
Blocking my freedom, fuck!!!
He lazily held a gun in one hand and in the other hand, he grasped a lit cigarette, but that was not what truly caught my attention; it was his face.
You need to see this.
Half of it was covered with a slick black mask that seed to be molded to his flesh. The other half, however, ohhh the other half was breathtakingly beautiful.
Chiseled features, dark gray eyes, and a strong jawline all combined to create a face that was both captivating and terrifying. Damn
For a mont, we simply stared at each other, the only sound my heavy breathing and the distant gunfire. Then, in a movent that was both fluid and nacing, he raised his gun and pointed it directly at my head.
What did I do?!!!!
I was facing my death, through and through.
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