Pound of Flesh (Wrath & Vengeance Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

  Yanking off her headgear dislodged her band, and allowed a cascade of sweaty crinkly hair to drop around her face. Evelyn puffed out her cheeks with annoyance. It was hard to get it all back in order with gloves on, even if they were fingerless. Struggling with the task, she listened to Coach Wallace’s breakdown of the bout. He never sugar-coated anything, and one slip up was enough to earn a girl another hour of fundamentals. She had hoped that he hadn't noticed her moment of distraction. Of course he had, and then shackled her with another round of burpees as punishment. Her arms wobbled at the thought of the pushups, although the jump that followed wasn’t going to be a picnic.

  Judy got the same punishment for her weak footwork and they ended up side by side on the mats in the corner. Before they performed the first one, Evelyn knew that it was going to evolve into a contest. One that only ended when someone collapsed. Evelyn hit the mat first.

  “Have my arms fallen off,” she asked as she flopped her limbs wide.

  “No.” Judy was breathing too hard to laugh properly.

  The mat wasn’t comfortable, but she pressed her cheek against it anyway. “Are you sure? I can’t feel them anymore.”

  “Wait until tomorrow.”

  Evelyn groaned at the prospect. Closing her eyes, she melted against the ground and wondered if it was weird that she had grown to love the scent of clean sweat and plastic.

  “Hey,” Judy said as she thumped her back. “Come on. Coach is saying to hit the showers.”

  After a halfhearted attempt to get up, she groaned. “Nope. I live here now. Bring food and a blanket.”

  “I can get you a sweat towel and your water.”

  “Food,” she pleaded. “Hungry.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to suck it up.”

  With a pained groan, Judy lurched to her feet, leaving Evelyn to reluctantly follow.

  Standing still long enough to have a shower helped settle her overworked muscles. That didn't mean that she wasn’t utterly exhausted as she struggled to get into a pair of denim jeans and a crop top. It was convenient that she lived in such a warm climate. Having worked so hard to create her visible six-pack, she wasn’t likely to let a bit of cold weather keep her from showing them off.

  It wasn’t an easy walk out of the gym, harder still to lift her hand to wave goodbye, but it was important to maintain certain standards. So she suffered through her farewells, and she headed out into the night. After hours in the gym's air conditioning, the heat of the summer night was stifling. Like a swamp turned airborne. She pulled the strap of her gym bag higher onto her shoulder as she cut across the parking lot.

  Take out, she decided. Take out is a necessity. There should still be time to grab something decent before all the restaurants closed. But she would have to hurry. Pulling her phone out of the bag’s outer pocket, she hit the speed dial. Her dad answered before she had time to get it to her ear.

  “Hey, princess. How was training?”

  “Excruciating in the best possible way,” she grinned. “I’m starving and plan to gorge myself on burgers and fries. You in?”

  “Are the fries curly?”

  “Are there other types of fries?” she replied with a scoff.

  “I have never been so proud of you.” The line crackled as he laughed. She was yet to have a phone that could handle his hyena cackle. “I’m in. Extra pickles on the burger.”

  Her brow furrowed as she approached her car and noticed a small mass gathered in the shadows around one of her rear wheels. A few more cautious steps and the lump took form. A child? Curled into a ball, face pressed against its knees and arms wrapped around its legs, Evelyn couldn’t see a hint of its face. Not that she would have recognized them anyway. Evelyn was an only child and never had a reason to come into contact with kids. Another step and she could see that its slight shoulders were shaking as it sobbed.

  “Dad, I think there’s a lost kid here.”

  “What?” he asked. “Where is ‘here’?”

  “The gym parking lot.” She looked around. Cars filled the parking lot; their crooked rows lined up enough for the windshields to reflect the glow of the lamp posts. Beside the child, it looked like she was alone. “I can’t see their parents.”

  “Wait, ‘their’? I thought you said that there was only one child.”

  “There is.” She lowered her voice to a whisper to add, “I just can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl.”

  The whole situation was sending up warning flags in her mind. So it didn’t surprise her when her father asked, “Is anyone with you?”

  She looked again. While she could spot some people in the windows of the gym, none of them approached the lot.

  “No.”

  “Princess,” he said, his voice thick with warning.

  It was enough to have her take a small step backwards, but she couldn’t bring herself to just straight up abandon the child.

  “Hey, kid.” She called out louder than she should, given the small distance remaining between them. The child didn't respond. It just kept sobbing. “Are you alright?”

  The sounds turned into a mix of squeaks and little gulps of air. Listening for a moment, she was reasonably sure that the child was actually trying to say something.

  “I can’t understand you,” Evelyn said.

  “What’s going on?” her dad asked.

  “The kid is crying.”

  “Maybe their parents are inside.”

  Evelyn was sure that her father didn't exactly believe that. He was paranoid by nature and there was enough in this cocktail of events to make them both hesitate. She looked over her shoulder at the gym door and called out for Coach Wallace.

  “He's nice,” she assured the child. “And I’m sure he'll be able to fix this all up. Come on, let’s go to the light. They have air conditioning.”

  Her soft words didn't offer any solace. If anything, the child only dug deeper into a ball and wailed louder.

  “Oh, no. Don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay,” she said hurriedly. “Just take a deep breath. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Evelyn?” her father asked over the line.

  “I’m going to head back in and get Coach Wallace,” she told him.

  “Keep me on the line.”

  “Sure.”

  As she searched the serene parking lot again, the pit of her gut gave a sharp twist. It was a familiar sensation. A warning that something wasn’t quite right. Hard experience had taught Evelyn to listen to what her body told her, and she wasn't about to start ignoring it now.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the child and turned, intent on jogging back to the open gym door.

  Before she could take a step, however, a small voice mingled with the sobs. It was inaudible at first, but definitely there, and full of pleading. Evelyn took another look around, hoping to spot someone else. Preferably someone who was better with children. Evelyn hadn't interacted with kids since she was one. But the parking lot was still empty. Quiet.

  “I’m sorry, I still can’t understand. What are you saying?” she asked the child.

  The mumbled squeaks grew louder but still didn't make much sense.

  “I’m just going to go find a responsible adult, okay?”

  “No!” the child suddenly wailed.

  “Look, kid, I’m only a teenager myself. What we need is an adult.” She tried to make it sound light, hoping that it might get the kid to calm down a bit.

  It didn’t stop the little hiccupped sobs that shook the kid's shoulders, but at least the child lifted its head. Evelyn forced a small smile as she studied the child's face, hoping that she might recall the features. A few people here had kids. She might have seen them in passing. No older than nine years old, the child still had some baby fat to round out their cheeks, making their chin appear a little more pointed. Seeing their face didn't help her to decide if the child was a boy or a girl. Everything about them seemed to have been carefully crafted to hover in a non-committal middle
ground. In the dark, it was hard to tell what color the eyes were, but they were naturally wide and large, making the child’s neutral expression look doe-eyed and pleading. They also made it easy to see that there weren't any tears. All that crying and they hadn’t shed a single tear.

  Evelyn took a step backwards. “What’s your name?”

  The child didn't answer. Only stared. The unblinking expression instantly reminded her of the man in the gym. The skin on the back of Evelyn’s neck chilled.

  “Well, kiddo, I’m going to go get help.”

  “Don’t leave,” the child said. Their voice was light, almost breathless, and gave their words a Russian accent.

  “I think I saw your father inside. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  “Would you like to come with me?” She kept the phone to her ear with one hand and reached out to the child with the other.

  The child locked their eyes onto Evelyn's offered hand like it was trick.

  “Come on,” Evelyn said, trying to keep her growing concern out of her voice. “It’s okay.”

  Timidly, the child lifted their hand.

  “That’s it,” she encouraged.

  The little fingers curled as the hand hovered in the air. It would be impossible for the child to reach Evelyn without getting up, but that seemed to be a line that they weren’t keen on crossing.

  “I just want to help you,” Evelyn said.

  A wild, shrill scream severed the silence. Evelyn barely had time to snap her head up before the creature rushed towards her from the shadows. It had a human form but didn't move like one. Sharp jolts and twitches rattled the body as it approached with incredible speed.

  The light only hit its face for a fraction of a second. It was still enough to sear the image into Evelyn’s mind. Grotesque, mangled, bloated with rot and twisted into an expression of pure fury. Its eyes were gone, the surrounded skin shredded as if they had been savagely gouged out.

  Evelyn’s arms instantly snapped, her feet slipped into a fighter’s stance, and her hand painfully squeezed the phone as it tried to ball into a fist. But the impact didn’t come from the monster charging towards her. The back of her skull exploded with searing pain. A blinding white light consumed her vision, returning only as a blur when she collapsed to the hot asphalt. Another blow came before she could gather her senses. A storm continued within her skull, slushing her brain about, leaking blood out into her hair, forcing her eyes to roll every time she tried to focus.

  “Evelyn?” Her father’s frantic voice pulled her from delirium.

  The ground lurched and swayed.

  “Evelyn?!”

  Her vision cleared enough to see her phone a few inches beyond her fingertips. The screen lit up with an almost ethereal glow as her father called her again.

  “Dad.” She couldn't get her voice to work. Every muscle shook as she reached towards the mobile. It was kicked away by the tip of a polished shoe. Evelyn lifted her head to try and see where it ended, but even that small movement almost made her vomit. Blood dripped down the sides of her neck in steady streams. She barely had time to acknowledge that sensation before rough hands gripped her wrists and yanked them behind her back. A click and slide, and restraints bit savagely into her skin.

  “Open the door,” a man with a thick, Russian accent hissed.

  “Evelyn, who is that?” her dad screamed. “Princess, answer me! What’s happening?”

  “Dad,” she croaked.

  Swallowing thickly, she filled her lungs, but her scream faltered as she was hurled to her feet and shoved into the back seat of her car. The seats felt strange against her cheek. A dozen items she hadn't cleaned out jabbed painfully into her at all angles. Every heartbeat pulsed behind her eyes and brought a fresh wave of pain. Vaguely, she realized that she was losing consciousness. Nothingness dragged her down like an undercurrent. It became an unbeatable battle to keep her eyes open. Even the sudden roar of the engine and the rumble of the moving car couldn’t draw her back to the surface. Lights flashed against her eyelids over and over. Streetlights. The highway. The words bubbled up through the thick haze of her mind. Dad.

  “Good job, Ivan. I’m proud of you.” The voice was deeper than the child’s. A man. But held the same strong accent.

  “She’s still talking,” the child said.

  “She’ll pass out soon enough.” The man sounded pleased. Entertained. “Hopefully she’ll show a little more fight for Aleksandr.”

  The child didn't respond to that and the man began to play with the radio. Dad. Evelyn hadn't known that the word had passed her lips until she heard the man laughing. The sound made her stomach roll as it chased her into the darkness.

  Chapter 3

  Aleksandr jerked awake. Before he had even opened his eyes, he had grabbed his hunting knife, the end of the hilt pressed hard against his sternum. With the solid doors closed tight, the air inside the walk-in cupboard had become humid and thick. The unbearable heat carried the stench of his sweat and made more sweat bead across his skin. Lying in complete darkness, he held his breath and strained to hear any trace of movement.

  His parents didn’t take well to any attempt to keep them from doing what they wanted. But they cared very little if their children lived in squalor. Aleksandr had taken full advantage of that to conceal his alarm system. Beer cans and other debris covered his floor; enough that it was nearly impossible to move about his room without making some noise. The next sound made his hand clench the knife. Sweat seeped between his fingers as he tried to trace the path of the noise. The floorboards creaked softly, telling him that the intruder was creeping towards his bed.

  The following silence crushed Aleksandr as he waited. It didn’t matter that he had anticipated the sound. The next clatter still made him flinch. It was closer to the wardrobe than the first.

  “Alek?”

  The small whisper made the air rush from Aleksandr’s lungs. The knife slipped from his hand as he sagged with relief and the sweat-soaked hair of his fringe tickled the bridge of his nose. Stretching out, he tapped the door with the tip of his boot. It didn't take long for the door to crack open slightly.

  The thin slip of moonlight might as well have been a spotlight. Squinting against the glare, he peered up to see his younger sibling lean into the gap. It wasn't easy to tell Nadya and Ivan apart in the best of conditions, let alone in the dark. The twins had perfected their charades to the point that they could possibly live their entire life as the other and their parents would never notice. Not never, a voice in the back of Aleksandr’s head whispered. They’ll hit puberty soon enough.

  The thought terrified him. Being a biological relative had never protected anyone from Olga and Petya Sokolovsky’s appetites. People like them couldn't be without playthings. And there wasn’t a level of depravity that they didn’t take as a personal challenge. The idea that they could someday be without a victim when little Nadya looked like a woman chilled Aleksandr to his core. She wouldn’t be off limits. No one ever was.

  He shoved the thought aside, turning his attention back to the moment and the child standing nervously before him. Shoulders hunched, fists balled into their pajama pants, head hung low.

  “Nadya,” he said with a sleepy smile. The jacket he had been sleeping on shifted under his hand as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “What are you doing up?”

  “I had a nightmare.”

  He nodded. Years had forged the word into a code. Like a few of the Sokolovsky children before her, Nadya hadn't outgrown her bedwetting stage. From what Aleksandr had read, it was common enough reaction for children facing trauma. It was probably one of the healthier responses, all things considered. Smiling, he lurched to his feet.

  “Have you showered yet?”

  “No. I was worried mother would hear the running water.”

  Aleksandr grunted at that, hoping that the sound would cover his relief that he wouldn't have to go anywhere near the upstairs bathroom. If N
adya and Ivan had noticed his disgust for that room, or bathrooms in general, they had never mentioned it. Aleksandr preferred it that way. Having been born long after Timofey’s death, all the twins knew about him was what Aleksandr had told them. His crooked smile. His easy nature and love of building sand castles. That’s how Aleksandr believed the twins should know him, and all he wanted to remember. They never needed to know how he had been murdered. Or where he had taken his last breath.

  “We’ll take the sheets to another house. Wash them there,” he whispered as he slipped his hunting knife into its sheath.

  Nadya waited for him to attach it to the waistband of his jeans before she said, “Mother will notice.”

  “We’ll put mine and Ivan’s in with it. If she says anything, we say that I couldn’t sleep so I did some laundry.”

  She nodded once. It wasn’t a motion of agreement, but more like she was just filing away the lie. Her hands tightened in the front of her soiled pajamas.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” she said.

  Crouching down in front of her, Aleksandr gently flicked her downturned forehead.

  “What a stupid thing to say,” he said.

  Using the back of her hand, she rubbed her forehead, a small smile curling her lips. Hooking his hands under her arms, he lifted her up and sat her on his hip. Partly because he didn't want to risk her waking up mother by hitting any more cans on their way out, but mostly because she needed the hug.

  The damp material of her pants pressed against his side, but he didn’t pay it any mind. The only thing that bothered him was the pain that still strummed through him. A few days had passed since his last fight, and most of the swelling had gone down, but it still hurt.

  As silent as ghosts, they moved down the hallway and slipped into the twins' room. There wasn’t anything that distinguished the two bunks. Identical sheets. Identical toys. Sitting his sister on the railing, he picked up the nearest teddy bear and passed it to her.