Blood Red || Book I

Chapter 12: She's so beautiful

TW: mentions of blood and death

Hell's Kitchen : 2016

Aleksandra's POV

The day seemed to move slowly, like it teasing me, wanting 5:00 to never come. Though, I'm not surprised today would feel slow due to yesterday's packed schedule and the excitement of last night.

"And even after all that, you didn't even get a name out of the girl?" Wesley spoke softly, just above a whisper, wanting to give Anatoly the impression that everything would be okay and that this was just an uneventful ride home.

"No." Anatoly did speak in a whisper, his voice was disappointed and ashamed; embarrassed about how he failed tonight. "The man in black came before our men had finished." He kept rambling on and on about the man in black as I brought him out to the car, trying to justify tonight's actions. None of the excuses mattered, he failed.

A long pause followed Anatoly's sentence. There was a lot of weight to this conversation, everything meant something. Anatoly interrupted Mr. Fisk even when Wesley was trying to stop him. The weight is even heavier since Anatoly doesn't know he did something wrong. He doesn't know how badly he fucked up.

"You were right to reach out to us, although..." Wesley pauses again for a second "a call would have been more appropriate." He keeps his eyes forward, wanting to have control of the situation as I stare at Anatoly across from me.

"I wanted to speak with him in person." Anatoly glances at me and then out the window. He's making it obvious he's uncomfortable with my presence. "Try to put the past behind us."

The silence that follows from Wesley is loud. A loud screech can be heard from the breaks, making Anatoly's ears perk up.

"Why are we stopping?"

"They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't." Wesley finally looks over at Anatoly, whose face is displaying the concern and confusion he's feeling. "It's smoke." He takes another long pause. "Trapped in a closed room, swirling, changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking." Another. Long. Pause. "But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood."

Wesley's phone goes off, breaking, or adding tension to the conversation depending on who you are. Wesley reaches for it and looks for a second, the number is already burned into his brain, then answers.

"Sir?" A brief pause. "Yes, passenger side." 

"Was that him?"  Wesley hums in agreement.

"He'd like to have a word with you."

"Очень хорошо." (very well)

The rest was all blood. I had to physically restrain myself from interrupting Fisk and killing Anatoly myself. The metallic smell filled the car, I could hear his bones cracking, the squish of his face being slammed over and over again until his head was clean off.  Blood was dripping from the car, I was in heaven and hell at the same time. The smell was glorious but the fact I had to restrain myself was physically painful.

Mr. Fisk looks at himself in the mirror for a second, allowing the adrenaline to leave his body. As his was dropping, mine was rising. Every moment I couldn't get my hands covered in the blood that was so carelessly flowing, my body grew hotter and hotter. My muscles were twitching, waiting for Fisk to allow me to smell, taste, and touch it.

Fisk takes a step away from the car to allow himself to calm down more. "Tell Mr. Potter I'll need a new suit." Mr. Fisk orders Wesley. My tunnel vision was so bad that I didn't even notice that Wesley got out of the car.