"Flowers don't bloom
Without a little rain.
Everything has it's purpose,
Even the pain."
- Jessly Fernandes

"Hurry up and dump the body. I haven't got all day. " Ruslan scowled as two of my men heed his demand.

Dragging the burnt corpse from the safehouse, my eyes journeyed the trail of black flesh that remained on the floor.

Like burnt coal, the carcass ceased into a pile ash. Worthless and forgotten.

"Clean this shit up. I expect to see my face reflecting off of these floors by day break."
I grimaced, before walking outside to where a black SUV awaits my presence.

Igor, my personal chauffeur, opens the door, tilting his head respectfully as I slid in the back.

Ruslan was already seated, patiently waiting as he types on his phone.

"Drive." He called out, not moving his eyes from the screen as the driver quickly took his seat; nodding his head he obliges, driving through the desolated woods and onto the main lively road.

Our safehouse is located in the middle of nowhere, away from the hustle and bustle of the busy city; for obvious reasons of course.

I looked through the black, tinted windows as the car took off, traveling through the busy streets of New York City.

My crown jewel.

Everyone here has heard of the name,
'The Reaper'. But no one knows how the Reaper looks like.
Purely due to the fact that none have lived to tell the story.

Rumors are spread and tales are told, carried by mindless idiots that indulge in pointless gossip; most of which are far from the truth.

Yes, I kill. But with good reason.

People say, 'murder cannot be justified', but I say it can.

My victims are mostly men.
The fucking scums in this broken world.

Men that abuse women and children, whether it's physically or verbally, are the ones I take pride in killing.

Gouging their eyes, slitting their wrists, removing their nails and teeth, you know.. those type of stuff.

And in return, I leave the victims a purple flower.

Whether they're lavender roses or purple irises, they are my signature move.
Marking my presence, because, you know.. it's an honor to be killed by a girl like me.
And everyone has to know it.

So, along with Reaper, I am called many more names: Purple Psycho, Lavender Murderer, blah blah blah...

But I prefer Reaper, since I literally take these damned souls back to their diabolical sanctuary.
It's got a better ring to it too.

Regardless of what they say or offer, I don't hesitate to put a bullet between their eyes.

Same goes with anyone that tries to test me. And especially those who double cross me.

Betrayal.

A bittersweet delicacy, filled with toxic venom and sin. Handcrafted by the Devil himself, tempting even the most faithful companions into a demonic fiend.

All that deception, just as a means to satisfy temporary hedonism. Where trust is shattered and a stab to the back; where the knife continues to sink deeper and deeper as time goes by.

It is the one thing I hate most in this wretched world.

Thus, I am the one that will bring them back to the Devil; sending their hapless souls to the pits of Hell, where they belong.

There's a thin line between betrayal and loyalty. And, in the end, I can either be your most trusted companion, or your worst nightmare.
And there is no in-between.

§§§§§

The car halts in front of black iron gates that surrounded a huge, lavish manor.

Home.

The guards standing by approaches the vehicle gingerly, nodding towards Igor before gesturing for the gates to be opened.

The car continues to drive, swirling around a tall fountain that stood majestically in front of the mansion. 

Ruslan exists the car with me following closely behind.

Walking up towards the white terrace, I made my way towards the lavender roses growing in the corner as Ruslan knocks on the grand wooden door that stood proudly in front.

Rubbing my fingers against the silky petals always did give me a profound sense of comfort.

The smooth touch, the sweet fragrance and the beauty of it reminded me of a loss that always haunted my mind; tainted with an unforgivable grief that ate away my sanity bit by bit.

My attention averted towards the opening of the door as Olga, our old house maid, invites us with her warm, wrinkled smile.

Olga has seen some of us grow from babies to adults, tending to our wounds, preparing us food and making our beds to sleep on.

To some of us, she's a mother figure.
Especially to me.

My mother died giving birth to me, so Olga took the role for me. She fed me, clothed me and bathed me until I was able to do so myself.

Despite the life we live, Olga doesn't mind and has been the only constant in my life. The only person who had shown to be affectionate and loving, just like a parent would.

"Priviet* Ruslan! Sabina! How was your evening?!" She quickly ushered us inside.

*Priviet = Hello

"Priviet Olga." Ruslan greeted, pecking her on her cheek.

She smiles sweetly before turning towards me and pulling me into her warm embrace.
Her vanilla scent wafts up nose as I begin to smile pleasingly on the crook of her neck. Her homely body moulded under my arms as her fragile arms slithered around my waist.

"Bina has been causing trouble as usual." He includes, slipping his fingers through his back pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

"Snitch." I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Olga quickly grabs the packet from his hands as she detaches her body from mine.

"Hey!" He complained, raising his hands in protest.

"No smoking inside the house!"

"Ha! Serves you right." I smiled gleefully, stifling a giggle as I watch him circling Olga as a means to grab the packet from her.

"Durak* You are becoming like your father, and now look at him with his yellow teeth! You need to stop!"
Olga scowled, looking up at him with her hands rested by her hips.

*Durak = fool

"I will, I will! But can I have it back, pleasee..."
He pouted, looking deep into Olga's eyes as he places his hands on her shoulders, locking her in his gaze.

"Don't fall for it Olga.." I whispered lowly into her ear as I move to stand behind her small frame.

"Shush!" Ruslan interjected, bringing his large hand to cover my face.

Swatting his hand away, I kissed Olga on her temple before walking around the lobby, listening to the clicking of my heels against the pristine floor.

"Go to your room Ruslan!" She finally yelled.

"Olgaa..."

"Not another word." She warned with her eyebrows raising up to their peak.

His eyes sink in defeat; clasping his mouth shut and raising his hands up in surrender he begins to walk backwards towards the main stairs.

I snickered at his sudden change in expression as I saunter towards Olga with my hand raised for her to high-five.

My laughter was quickly silenced, and the upturned corners of my mouth fall as I notice her furrowed guise.

"What did he mean by causing trouble, aye?"

Now it was my turn to be scowled.

"Olgaa..." I whined, dropping my hand by my side. "Nothing important."

"Don't 'Olga' me, child. Now tell me."

A innocent look on my face as I turned to face her.
"I punished someone by burning them to death." I shrugged guiltlessly.

"Bozhe* Sabina! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Pakhan will punish you!" She gasped in a shocked manner.

*Bozhe = Good God.

I plopped myself down in the nearest chair, sinking backwards as I envelope myself in the cushiony material.

"Olga. There's nothing more he can do to me. A few words and such, but we both know he won't kill me."

"Sabina-" She was quickly cut off by a deep hoarse voice.

"Miss Pavlova, Pakhan wants to see you in the basement, immediately."

I glared at the tall, brawny figure. He was dressed in a clean, sharp suit and his black hair was gelled backwards, giving him a presentable look as he stood with a confident stance.

"Chertov ediyot* Can't you see I am in the middle of a conversation, and you dare interrupt." I ranted, glowering at the messenger threateningly.

*Chertov ediyot = Fucking idiot.

"I-"

"Molchi*! I will be there. Now move from my sight." I waved my hand irately, dismissing his presence as I rolled my eyes frustratedly.

*Molchi = Shut up

Without a single word, he turns around and disappears down the corridor.

I look back at Olga, an unimpressed look etched on her face as she stands with her arms crossed against her chest.

"What?" I questioned obliviously.

"Sabina Anfisa Pavlova. Talk to your elders with respect. Especially with your workers. They are not being paid to put up with your attitude."

"Yeah, at least they're getting paid." I mumbled sarcastically.

"Sabina.." She warned, quirking her eyebrows tentatively.

"The Pakhan expects me to sit around in that damn safehouse, checking the storage and new recruits like I am his damn waitress!" I started to complain, getting up from my seat.

"He's trying to keep you safe." Olga cooed in her soothing, melodic voice.

"Safe my ass! He doesn't even know acknowledge me as his daughter, do you think he pays attention to me!?"

I listened to the tapping of my heels against the marbled floor as I marched back and forth across the foyer. My heart begins to pump faster as the caged anger begins to unleash itself through my blood.

"Dammit! I bet he even forgets he has a daughter to begin with!"

"Enough, Sabina!"

Olga stops my motion as her soft hands meet my cheeks. Her warmth immediately steadying my heartbeat as they emit the familiar feeling of content.

Her touch calmed the murky ocean of thoughts that clashed the surface of my mind; sedating the tumultuous pounding within my core that shook my very existence.

Despite the harden facade carried around, I was broken.
Despite the intimidating mask on my face, I was damaged.

But no one needed to know that.

I exhaled sharply, boring into Olga's sincere, sapphire eyes as they twinkled in empathy; her tranquil ocean eyes a complete contrast to the frothing gloomy waters confined in the pits of my being.

"Sabina, go to him and see what he says. I'll go make some food for you to eat, then we can continue to talk, khorosho*?"

* Khorosho = okay

Her small hands begin to trail down my cheek to my hands. Her eyes searching mine for approval as I give her a tight smile with a nod.

"Da*." I sighed.

*Da = yes

She begins to tiptoe, pressing her soft lips on my forehead as she whispers compassionately,
"Moy malen'kiy tsvetok * I am so proud of the woman you have grown to be. Don't forget that no matter what."

*Moy malen'kiy tsvetok = My little flower

"I won't." I murmured softly as I lower my forehead to give her more access.

Immediately a surge of serenity deluges my mind, overflowing the darkness encaged as Olga's motherly touch calms the storm brewing inside.

Authors Note
Sorry for the short chapter!! Trying to build up the pace :)