Sacrifice: A Heroe's Legacy

The Protector

Chapter 1

Natasha watched her protector with a smile as he worked his secure laptop. The world called him Striker. She knew him as Alex. Her Alex.  

He worked on an encrypted file, his deadly hands gliding over the keys. She watched him as he killed her.  

"I need an adjective," He aid in German. Russian was hard on his tongue, so he only spoke it when he had to. "Something that really describes you. I'm putting all of your files, accounts, cookies, everything will be here. I just need to seal it, and you'll be erased. Gone, never born. I cant' choose, though." He explained. 

"How about ugly?" She asked in French. He didn't even acknowledge her comment. He replied in French. 

"Natty, I thought we agreed that we would speak the same language so people would think we were from the same place."  

"But German is such an ugly language." She rebutted as she looked at his midnight black eyes. She tried to hide her tears. "Just like me." 

Striker looked at her with an annoyed look, which then turned to curious compassion when he saw her tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He absentmindedly shut his laptop, put it on the nightstand, and gave her his full and undivided attention.  

"Why on earth would you think that, Natty?" He asked gently.  

"It's true, Alex." She said as she looked away, failing to avoid crying. "Ever Since America, I've been the stupid, ugly Russian girl." Alex's mind flashed back to the video he had stolen from the CIA. From HIS office. He had lost her; they had caught her, and spent two hours telling her how worthless she was. Apparently, she believed it all. He turned her head to face him, and locked his focus on her deep, blue eyes.  

"That's not true, Natty. You-"She pulled away.  

"Yes it is!" She lost control. Tears made a waterfall down her face. "That's why people talk about me. That's why my father sent me away." She broke. "...and that's why I was raped." She painfully turned her head back to look at her protector, expecting to find indifference. Instead, she saw pain, sympathy, and sorrow. And anger. She saw his knuckles turning white. His eyes caught fire. And he waited, silent.  

"I didn't tell you, because I didn't want to run. I'm so tired of running, Alex. My first day, the editor called me into his office...He said that I had to pay for something. I'm not sure what." Striker watched her zone out and step into the memory. "I fought hard. I did. He was just...too strong." Alex nodded, showing his support. He knew what he was doing tomorrow. Striker would be there. Striker would take care of it.  

"I still remember everything." She explained slowly, painfully. "Sometimes, I can still FEEL his hands and-NO! STOP! PLEASE!" Alex brought her out of the memory and held her close.  

"It's alright, Natty. It's okay. He's not here. He can't hurt you. I won't let him." He rocked her back and forth. "Get some sleep, Natty, okay?" She nodded, but didn't let go of her tight grip on his shirt. She needed him. Natasha doubted he even found her attractive, but she didn't care. She loved him.  

"Natasha," She said as she dried her tears on his shirt. It smelled of gunpowder and sweat. She buried her nose in it. She loved it.  

"What?" Her friend asked, confused. 

"My name is Natasha. When you call me, Natty, I feel like I'm seven." Alex chuckled a bit.  

"Okay, Princ-precious. Whatever you say. Get some sleep now." Ivan, her father had told him not to reveal her identity. If she didn't even know, she couldn't tell anyone. "Goodnight."