Cross his path

by Aleksandra Michashke

What if Alex Rider had an older sister? What if she blurred the lines between 'good' and 'bad? What if she slept with Yassen? What if she joined Scorpia? What if she slept with Nile? What if she slept with Ash? What if she was far from innocent? Would Alex have a better chance of survival? Would Ian and Jack live? Would Yassen, Nile and Ash? OOC, dub-con, underage.

1. Intro

Yassen Gregorovich.

Ian told me to be careful. To be wary of him. To never cross his path. Yet here i am, in the middle of the slums in London, with a gun pointed at my forehead. Oops. I didn't mean to 'cross his path', i was just curious. He did know my father after all. Well, mine and Alex's father. Alex is my younger brother, he's nine and rather annoying at times. His full name is Alexander John Rider, pronounced Alex-ahnder. Or, at least, that's how i pronounce it. He's four foot, four inches and is slim, but well muscled for his age. He has light blond hair that falls into his warm brown eyes, a small button nose, pink lips constantly molded in a pout and tanned skin. He's shy and quiet. I'm different. For starters, i'm a girl. I'm thirteen and my full name is Sasha Persephone Helen Rider-Beckett. I'm five foot, five inches and i'm slim and lithe. I have vivid green eyes that always have a mischievous sparkle, flawless snowy skin, a small straight nose, pale pink lips that constantly smirk and hair as black as night. It's rod-straight and reaches mid-rib when it's backcombed with a large choppy fringe to match my layers. My fringe stops at the bottom of my nose and obscures my eyes. I'm confident, out-going and dauntless.
"If you're going to kill me you should probably take the safety off first." I pointed out, an upper-class London accent affecting my words. The second i said that, his eyes widened marginally and he raised an eyebrow. He is rather...eye-catching. Icy blue eyes, pale milky skin, a straight nose that looked as though it had been broken and re-set professionally, ginger hair styled to fall over his face. Eye-catching indeed.
"Who are you and why have you been following me?" He demanded icily in accent-less English. Is everything about him icy? On a more important note, how do i answer that? Lie, tell the truth, bend the truth? Hmm.
"I'm Sasha and i'm following you out of personal curiosity Mr. Gregorovich." I answered, a sharp Russian accent present. Raising an eyebrow, he surveyed my body critically. Probably looking for weapons. I'm currently wearing black ankle-height converse that are studded with silver spikes and small silver chains, ripped black super-skinny's, a low-cut black belly-top that left quite a bit of my neon green bra on show, both the top and the bottom, and a large 'Punk Goes Disney' Snow White jacket. I have thin white bandages wrapped from my hips the middle of my rib cage. Deciding i'm not a threat, Gregorovich put the gun in the waist band of his black combat trousers that were tucked into his black combat boots and made sure his black zip-up jacket covered the gun. Taking a large step forwards, he towered over me.
"Sasha who?" He asked, emotionless, looking down at me with a curious gaze. Or down my shirt. One or the other. Either's cool by me.
"My surname is of no consequence." I evaded.
"Sasha who?" He repeated icily, pushing me back against the wall. Ugh.
"Sasha Persephone Helen Rider-Beckett." I admitted, looking up at him calmly. Hearing my name, his eyes widened comically and his eyebrow shot up. "Eldest child of Jonathon Rider, a.k.a Hunter." I added unnecessarily.
"How do you know his code name?" Gregorovich asked quietly, getting his wits about him. I have no reason to lie.
"Ian told me most of my fathers history, i read the rest in his file." I answered with a small shrug. "He mentored you, didn't he?" I asked quietly.
"He did." Gregorovich confirmed, looking at me searchingly.
"Did he tell you that he worked for MI6 the whole time?" I asked curiously, wondering how much my dad had told him. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Almost instantly, he had his gun in his hand and had pressed the barrel under my chin.
"What are you talking about?" He demanded icily. "Hunter never worked for MI6. MI6 killed him." He spat bitterly. Oh.
"It was all a lie, he was deep-cover trying to take Scorpia down. I've read his file." I disagreed. Not waiting for him to reply, i kicked him in the groin harshly and yanked the gun out of his hand. Ducking past him, i ran out of the alleyways sticking to the shadows whilst i tucked the gun in the waistband of my jeans and zipped my jacket up. After fifteen minutes, i stopped and looked to see if he was following me. Nope. Flipping my hood up, i shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and began to trek home, thankful none of the few people i had passed had seen the gun.

A.N: Reviews are appreciated.