Blood Red || Book I

Chapter 2: Rich, Red, Magnificent

TW: A LOT of blood talk and kinda pervert-ish and sex worker-ish talk.

New York : 2016

It's stuffy in here. There are so many people moving back and forth, running from place to place. I always heard stories about New York, the city that never sleeps. No wonder they call it that, it's 3 am and people are running around this airport like it's about to explode. I've learned not to trust people so I grip my suitcase and my passport a little tighter.

Is the passport real? No.
Does it look real? Hell yes.
The reason the passport is fake: technically I don't exist. According to Russia Aleksandra Nikitina died in 2008 with her parents, but Alice Solovyova is alive and well, she's also an American citizen.

I get shuffled into a line with a woman checking passports. I have been waiting for about half an hour now standing next to a kid who doesn't know how to cover when he sneezes. Gross. I know why Dreykov trained women, boys are disgusting.

Dreykov.

The thought of Dreykov makes my heart feel heavy, I start to feel sad but I shake my head at the thought. Sadness is weakness, he taught me that. I focus on replacing this sad feeling with anger, another thing Dreykov taught me. It isn't hard to replace my sadness since I have someone to be angry at; Natasha Romanov. She took Dreykov from me.

By no means was Dreykov a saint, but he had a soft spot for me. Natasha gave him a bad reputation. If you obeyed him, he rewarded you. We only hurt those who deserved it. I never deserved to be harmed so I was never harmed. It was that simple. I was his pride, the KGB's best fighter. I was the first to be chosen for the hardest missions. There was a joke going around that I should be called the Golden Widow.

Being Dreykov's favorite came with its perks. I was allowed to go to fancy galas, yes it was to be a bodyguard but I got to wear dresses and makeup without being undercover. I was allowed one nice meal and a glass of champagne. I was spoiled compared to the other girls, but I never knew if they liked me or not. We didn't have true emotions besides anger and aggression. We could sometimes feel sadness but we wouldn't tell anyone, or we would be punished. There were two types of punishment: torture and death. Of course, there were different levels of torture but sometimes people begged for death after what they went through. With my punishment- no, don't think about it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Repress and forget.

"Next!"

The lady's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I didn't realize I'd been staring off for 5 minutes. I stayed silent as I handed her my passport and a fake ID. The lady looked at my papers and then back to my face.

"Russia?"

"Yes ma'am." I did my best American accent, which was very good if I do say so myself.

"You're a fan of the cold huh?" Her small talk is absolutely pathetic. She's just here to wear out the clock like everyone else here. Americans are supposed to be nice so I put on a fake smile and try to not roll my eyes.

"Yes ma'am, I have family there." I smile trying to look innocent. God knows that my ledger doesn't just have blood in it, it's drowning with blood, smothered. Innocent is the complete opposite of me, in every sense of the word.

The lady hands me my papers back after stamping my passport. "Welcome back to the United States Ms. Solovyova." I smile and grab my papers. I can't get out of this hell while they call an airport fast enough.

• • • • • •

The taxi driver is my kind of guy; no talking, no bullshit. I have no place to go to, but fake it until you make it right? That should be America's motto. Everyone here is fake, it's disgusting and almost poetic. It reminds me of the cartoon movie with the superhero family. If everyone is fake, then no one is.