Pound of Flesh (Wrath & Vengeance Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

  Ivan refused to look, but his eyes widened, his body tensed. He was preparing to get caught up in the attack. They hadn't remembered him yet. This was their chance. The best one they'd get. Aleksandr motioned him forward, and Ivan broke into a sprint. His little arms pumped wildly as his feet tripped over the uneven sand, threatening to bring him to the ground.

  The instant he was close enough, Aleksandr lunged forward. In one smooth motion, he snatched Ivan up, spun, and raced back down the slope. Aleksandr held his brother just a little too tight. Enough that they both had a little trouble breathing. With one arm wrapped around his bony waist and the other cupping his head, Aleksandr tightened his grip until Ivan didn't need to hold on.

  Skidding to a stop by the back stairs, he forced himself to put Ivan down, taking care not to nick him with the knife. Cupping his brother's cheek with his free hand, he quickly looked him over. There wasn't any visible damage.

  “Did he hurt you?” Aleksandr asked a little breathlessly.

  Ivan shook his head. “Nadya?”

  Right on cue, she slithered out from under the house and gathered her twin in a bone-crushing hug. It was clear that they needed the moment, the reassurance. Even if they had no time for it.

  “Come on,” Aleksandr coaxed. “We’re supposed to be asleep.”

  Parting to stand side by side, the twins blindly reached out and found the other's hand. They clutched at each other tight enough to hurt. Neither so much as winced. Holding hands was a coping mechanism, one they had developed around the time they realized that their hands were attached to their arms. Back then, their parents had found it adorable. Then amusing. But now that they were approaching their tenth birthday, Aleksandr just hoped that they wouldn't start reading something more sinister in the gesture.

  He studied their identical expressions. Terrified but ready. It was all he could ask for right now. As he grabbed the door handle, the kids cupped their free hands over their noses. He opened the door and a putrid stench wafted out over them. It hadn’t smelt like a bed of roses before, but the closed door had been keeping most of it contained. Holding the knife at the ready, Aleksandr crept forward. There were numerous reasons why the kitchen was a horrible and dangerous place. Tonight, the worst of it was the rotting corpses set up at the kitchen table. Olga had become lonely while cooking one day so had decided to set a few of them up. After losing interest, she had just left them. The desert heat had accelerated their decomposition and the stench had drawn all manner of insects. It was getting impossible to make it across the room without standing in melted flesh and fat.

  The twins were still close behind him as they slipped out the kitchen door and into a hallway. Silence encased them. The stench stayed. Fat did that. It went airborne, ready to latch onto skin and hair as you pass. The same reason he had always smelled like French fries at the fast food job he had held down for a month. Aleksandr led the way across the living room and foyer. The silence around them set him on edge. His parents could have easily come in while they had been moving around. Holding up a hand to keep the kids back, he hurried forward and pressed his shoulder against the front door, keeping it closed. The moment he was in place, the twins ran past him and up the stairs. He waited for them to be out of sight before he followed.

  Aleksandr couldn’t relax until they were all inside the twins' room. Ivan checked under the bed. Nadya checked the closest. Watching them, Aleksandr couldn’t help wonder how many other kids checked to see if their parents were lurking in their rooms.

  Somewhere along the way, Nadya had lost her fresh change of clothes. By the way they moved, he could see that both of the twins were anxious to have a bath. To get the stench off of them. That was out of the question for tonight. They’d have to settle for Aleksandr’s preferred method. Olga and Petya were firm believers of ‘go-bags’ and it was perhaps the only useful habit they had given their children. They all hid bags, with everything they needed, all over the place. The twins' room wasn't any different. Dousing the children with lemon juice to kill the smell, he let them hurriedly wash off with a few bottles of water and some clean rags. They were well-skilled with the task and were impressively clean by the end.

  They both opted for sleeping on the bottom bunk, pressed tight together even though there was extra space. The screaming started as he tucked them in. Even with the windows closed, the tortured girl sounded like she was inside the room with them. Both kids squirmed down in the sheets.

  “That’s not the new one,” Nadya noted meekly.

  “I guess she’s still unconscious,” Aleksandr said as he pulled a small box out from under the bed. “It doesn’t matter to us.”

  Ivan stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I don’t like it when they scream.”

  Aleksandr smiled slightly as he rolled a bit of marijuana into possibly the world’s smallest joint. They were small themselves. They didn’t need much. He gave it and the lighter to Ivan first. He needed it more. The twins took their medicine as he readied their IPods and noise-canceling headphones. Each time they inhaled, one of those old anti-drug ads played in his head. He wondered how some of them would see the usage if they were in his position. The sole caregiver of two children too traumatized to sleep. What would they do when a serial killer insisted that they eat in front of corpses? Or worse still, when the corpses were the meals. How would they get them to eat? And smile afterwards? And feel anything beyond the constant looming threat of death?

  Soon enough, they were done. The screaming wasn’t. The blood curdling cries fought against their high to make them whimper. Aleksandr leaned forward and handed out the IPods and headphones. Before they could put them in place, he smiled.

  “Can I tell you both a secret?” he asked.

  They both nodded.

  “I hate it when they scream, too.”

  They had small smiles as they tugged on the headphones and turned the music on. Both had it set loud enough that Aleksandr could hear the rhythmic beats and muffled singing. He wasn’t the biggest fan of opera, but it was the best for drowning the world out. It didn’t take long for the drug to work through their system, and they settled, toppling into sleep soon after.

  Aleksandr leaned back against the foot of their bed, his knife ready on his lap, and waited for dawn. As the screams and begging and sobs wafted in from outside, he pulled up his legs and balled his hands into fists. It had been days since the guy he had tossed into the canyon had promised him this all would end, and nothing had changed.

  Nothing would ever change.

  Monsters couldn’t be killed.

  Chapter 4

  A searing pain shoved Evelyn back into the waking world. It felt like razor blades had replaced her bones. A light flickered against her eyelids, each burst driving into her brain like an icepick. She tried to flinch away from it, but that only brought more pain. Every attempt to move, no matter how small, revealed some new damage that she hadn’t known was there. From head to toe, she could feel the bruises welling up. Grinding her teeth, she whimpered through the pain and tried to think back, to pinpoint what had happened. It was as if her mind had sunk deep into a thick, static swamp. No matter how hard she dug, she couldn’t reach it. She couldn't remember.

  When she stayed still enough, the pain ebbed away, and she was able to process other sensations. Thin, hard rows dug into her side, uncomfortable and unrelenting as she lay on them. Carefully, she tried to wiggle away. The process was slow and excruciating. She had barely moved half an inch before her back pressed against a wall. Preparing for the agony, she forced her eyes open and looked around.

  She didn’t recognize the room. But then she could barely make out the floor. It appeared to be one uninterrupted slab of concrete. The air was hot and tainted with the scent of blood. Before her, an old box TV sat on a chair a few feet away, the black and white images creating the light that had flashed against her eyelids. It seemed like existence ended beyond the TV set. Blinking a few times, it occurred to her that this wasn't po
ssible. It was just dark. Like a bottomless pit. Small gleams drew her attention. She squinted, focused on them, and realized that it was the light of the TV reflected in metal. Rows of metal.

  A cage, she realized with a growing sense of dread. I’m in a cage. Wanting to sit up but not having the strength to do it, she settled for lifting her head. The new position set waves of crackling agony through her without giving her anything more for the trouble. There was nothing else to see. Unable to withstand the pain, she lowered her head back down, clenched her teeth, and struggled through each breath. Her eyes squeezed shut.

  Ear-splitting screams shattered the silence. She bolted upright, her head scraping the top of the cage, and twisted around, desperately seeking out the source. It came from everywhere at once. Echoing. Her brain bashed against her skull. She couldn’t see. The shrieks grew louder. Each one contained more horror and pain than Evelyn had ever known was possible. Latching onto the side of the cage with trembling hands, it took the last of her strength to keep from crumbling. The shrieks bombarded her ears and reduced her brain to slush. There was more than one voice. Three, maybe four, she couldn't tell. But they were close. So close.

  “Where are you?!” she bellowed, unable to hear her own voice over the tormented cries.

  Her vision focused enough for her to make out the images on the TV. The quartered screen displayed four different movies at once. Evelyn peered at it and realized it wasn’t a movie. By the quality and rounded edges, she was sure that they were security camera footage. Each one seemed to have been from the same camera at different times. They all showed the same room from identical angles. There was little more than a table with a woman strapped to it. Each screen flickered through a collection of their own. For a moment, she couldn't make out what was happening. Her brain revolted against it. But the safety of her denial didn't last. Bile rushed into her throat when she realized what the standing couple was doing to the girls. That they were the reasons for the screams. Them and their knives, their branding irons, their pliers, their hammers and nails. It was a mercy when tears filled Evelyn’s eyes and reduced her vision again. Her whole body shook violently. She couldn't breathe. Hell played out across the screen and rang in her ears.

  A violent sob broke Evelyn in half. Hitting the front of the cage hard, she lost her grip on the rails and crumbled to the ground. She pulled herself into a tight ball as hot tears ran free. The screaming didn’t stop. She clawed at her ears, either to smother the sound or rip them off, she didn’t care. Her only thought was to make it stop. It didn’t. It never would. Those screams would still be echoing in her ears until her dying day.

  The sound clicked off. A shrill whine pierced her ears, broken only by her weeping and the choked whimpers for her father. She hadn’t even known that she was calling for him. Each attempt to stop herself only made her voice lower and more desperate. Her lips never stopped moving.

  Tinkling laughter drifted out from somewhere behind the TV. Unable to lift her head, Evelyn flopped onto her side and searched the shadows. She couldn’t see anyone.

  “Baby talk? Already? We haven’t even touched you yet,” an almost sweet voice taunted. It was a woman’s voice. Evelyn searched the fractured remains of her mind but couldn’t recall ever having heard it before.

  Lowering her hands from her ears, Evelyn waited to hear it again, not sure if it was her imagination.

  “Nothing else to say?” the voice asked.

  Another Russian accent, Evelyn thought. It dredged up a foggy memory and she clung to it in an attempt to make it clear. A boy. Or was it a girl? The confusion sent her thoughts spiraling. She clenched her hands around the metal and forced herself to focus.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Who’s there?” the voice parroted in a high tone. “Where am I? Why are you doing this to me? It’s always the same insipid questions. Can’t any of you show the slightest bit of creativity?” A soft huff broke the following silence and then she continued. “I’m here, the last woman you will ever lay eyes on. You’re somewhere no one will ever find you. And I’m doing this because it makes me feel good.”

  The muscles of Evelyn's arms vibrated with the effort of dragging herself back up into a sitting position. When she achieved it, she flopped backwards, letting the wall of the cage keep her upright. The screen still flickered. Even as she purposely avoided looking at it again, she couldn’t get her eyes to adjust enough to pick the woman out from the shadows. There was nothing. As if she were suspended in the middle of a black hole.

  “I don’t understand,” she choked out.

  “Of course, you don’t,” the women said. “Girls like you never could. You lack the intelligence. The creativity. The vision. If you could ever understand me, you wouldn't be in the cage right now.”

  Evelyn kept her voice soft. “I can understand. I'm sure I can if you just explain it.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, the easiest way is to show you. Shall I turn the sound on again?”

  “No!” Evelyn cried before falling into a string of pleas.

  It only made the woman laugh again.

  “All that effort to look like a man and you’re still such a simple, pathetic creature. Scared of a video. You don’t know what real fear is, but you will. I promise you that.”

  Evelyn couldn’t tell if it were the words themselves or the blow she had taken to the head. Either way, she couldn't follow. The words sounded right, but their meaning, the situation, the woman herself – none of it made sense. She rattled the cage. It didn’t open. Feeling the resistance helped to clear her mind enough for some sobering facts to sink in. I’m trapped. She isn’t going to let me out. I’ve been kidnapped. Her mind wanted to balk at the thought. It was too strange. Too unbelievable. This was the sort of thing she heard about on the news while safe on her living room couch. Something that was in the back of her mind but never considered an actual possibility. She walked to her car with her keys in her hand and kept her house locked up when she was alone. It was something she guarded against just to laugh off as paranoia. It couldn’t really happen to her.

  Desperation took hold and she slammed her hands against the side of the cage. Thrashed and kicked. Threw herself at the sides until the cage almost tipped over. The walls held strong. The woman laughed.

  “Finally catching on, are you? Well done.”

  Evelyn leaned back and stomped both of her feet against the side. “Let me out!”

  The TV was unmuted. Screams covered her frantic demands. She pressed the palm of her hands onto her ears until she was sure that her head was about to crack open like an egg. Tears burned her eyes like coals. Each movement felt like her skin would rip open. Blood seeped from the back of her head to drip down her spine. She couldn’t breathe. The screams of the woman who came before her broke something inside of her. Something she didn’t know was there before this moment, but now understood to be incredibly fragile. It was something that would never be whole again. She fought until her body couldn’t anymore. There was nothing to show for her efforts but the blood on her palms and the pain in her legs. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into the tightest ball she could, and wept. The sound clicked off.

  “Giving up already?” the woman asked. “And here I thought you’d be a challenge for him.”

  Evelyn sucked in a stammered breath. “For who?”

  “My boy. You’re going to make him a man.”

  Every battered muscle in her body tensed at once.

  “No, he’s not going to rape you,” she scoffed bitterly. “He shows no interest in such things. I sometimes worry that he doesn’t have the inclination. How do people put it? Swings the other way? He always demands men, you see. Now that you mention it, it might actually be quite good for correcting that behavior. With all those muscles, you look very masculine. But no, that isn’t what you’re here for. He won’t touch you like that.”

  As the woman talked, Evelyn collected what remained of her courage. She lifted her head and focused he
r gaze beyond the TV.

  “Then what will he do to me?” she asked.

  The woman was silent for a long moment. “Would you like to see?”

  Evelyn clasped her hands over her ears, preparing for the TV to be unmuted again. Instead, the room echoed with the click of the woman’s shoes. Hearing them approach made Evelyn scatter back. But there was nowhere to go. The shadows congealed to create a slender frame. Caught between wanting to hide and a fierce need to put a face to this monster, her eyes flicked to the woman and away. There wasn’t much to see. The woman seemed to be made from the shadows themselves. Her body was just an empty darkness impressed on the other shadows.

  A sharp jerk tossed Evelyn to the side. She hadn’t known the cage had wheels. Now they squeaked like nails on a chalkboard. The cage vibrated as it was rolled over on the raw, unsmoothed concrete floor. The woman pushed her around the TV and into the abyss. Evelyn couldn’t understand how the woman could see where she was going. Another sharp jolt and they stopped. There was no way to tell where the woman was now. The inability to see anything let Evelyn’s mind run wild. She kept imagining that her kidnapper was standing right beside her. Or crouching down, her face barely an inch from her own. The thoughts wracked her nerves until she restlessly shifted from one side of the cage to the other and back again.

  Before her, a latch popped. There was a slight whoosh and the stench of blood assaulted her nose anew. She gagged on the coppery smell. If there had been anything in her stomach, it would have ended up on her lap. A soft, electrical hum cut the pregnant silence. Clicking and sputtering, long fluorescent lights flooded the area with a stark, white light. Each flash blinded her. Seared her brain until the image of the room burned onto the back of her eyes. She saw it in the darkness. A concrete room. Gray stone stained with different shades of black. Finally, the light remained on and she found that she had been mistaken. It wasn’t black. It was red. Blood.