Page 9 of Voracious

The sides of my fist hit muscle as I punch into his back. Until I manage to get his spine and the little misstep has me doing it again. I hold his hips as I throw my weight forward, pressing one foot against his stomach and kick the other back, aiming for the fucker’s face. He’s too quick and catches my ankles so my thighs are resting on his shoulders.

His back vibrates with the threat and my body jolts as he lifts my legs higher, gritting, “Keep playing games with me, hellion.”

It’s a stupid name, he never calls me Ana. But it’s better than little or what the other guards call me.

He keeps pulling my legs up until they’re over his shoulder as he walks into the house, and I snicker to myself when my head is in line with his ass. If he farts now, I’ll definitely kill him, but it’s still funny. I punch him in the ass as a warning and I don’t have any time to prepare as I’m dropped on my head with my fist still extended ready to hit him again. I can’t focus on fighting him because I can see the tips of his boots through my thin strands that have fallen from under my hat. My body reacts on instinct and I curl up in a ball, protecting my organs, while I wait for his boot to hit my arms.

The back of my neck throbs from the strain of taking all my weight but my breathing slows along with time. Once you hit the floor there’s not enough time to get up and you go on the defense. Taking a full-force kick to the stomach can rupture an organ and internal bleeding is a bitch to deal with.

No kick comes. He tries to be gentle as he grabs my biceps and pulls me up to stand. His brows come together, and he forcefully blinks before moving his face closer and staring at my eyes. He grabs my cheeks, keeping me in place and turning my head without looking away from my eyes. He can see the evil is my first thought. But there’s no disgust on his face, only intrigue.

Letting me go, he rubs his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, ordering me around.

“Go to sleep.”

He didn’t say where and I walk backwards to the door. Steel eyes snap open, landing on me and then the door two steps behind me. They flick back to my face as his voice drops.

“Try it, I’ll put you in a cage until you’re house trained.”

Curling my hands into fists, I dig my nails into my palm at the memories coming back. It’s never images but perfect recall of what happened. Watching the punishments and being tasked with standing there, holding the key around my neck so their hate grew.I hate them. I hate that I was a keyholder and everyone thought I was important and the voices. I hate the voices the most, they scream at me, still asking me to unlock the cage when I couldn’t say anything, and it was cold. So cold.

The electricity crackling against the cage is replayed like a loop mixing with the voices when Dima speaks again.

“So, decide if you want to be comfortable in a room or chained up like a fucking dog.”

It’s poetic that I’m threatened with the same thing I did to other people. There’s no lie on his features, he’d do it and enjoy it. Maybe I should let him, pay penance for what I’ve done by experiencing it at someone else’s hands. I’m a coward and go with the first option as I walk past the dickhead.

The overbearing idiot follows me and doesn’t let me slam the door in his face. Instead, he pushes past me and messes with the window handle. I can’t see what he’s doing because of his annoying body blocking my view and he steps back, shimmying the frame to test that it doesn’t open. He does the same thing to each exit point as he moves around the room.

Without saying a word he leaves, the door closing followed by a click. The cunt has really locked me in. Not just the windowsbut the door as well. I can’t breathe, it’s been years of not being locked in anymore. My body isn’t used to it, I’ll run out of air.

I’ll do a little reset and be fine. A human body can only focus on one thing at a time. If survival is on the line, my brain will push my full attention to keeping my heart beating. Covering my mouth and nose with my hands, I drop to my knees and push my weight forward. Little bit more and I’ll reset, my brain will focus on my lungs and heart not the doors and windows. Holding my wrist so my hand goes numb, and I can’t pull it away, I tighten my hold, waiting to get lightheaded.

My arms go limp as I turn on my side and black dots dance in front of my eyes, but I can breathe. It’s choked and my lungs burn, telling me I’m alive, screaming that they’re the only thing that matter. It’s over too quick as the moon pokes its head out of the clouds.

I made up a story to tell myself when I was filled with hope, my four-year-old brain used to find comfort in it. How the moon came out as soon as it was dark to protect everyone, to shine in its loneliness and join everyone in theirs.

“Me and you, Mr. Moon,” I mouth like a deranged idiot.

I remain on my side against the soft fluffy carpet staring, at its glow and drop into the fake world. The one filled with mythical creatures instead of sick fucks, everyone is the same with the knowledge of their existence but no understanding of how. I’m not alone in knowing there’s evil and we can’t ignore it.

My limbs are heavier, and sleep threatens to make me a prisoner. Sitting up so I don’t get haunted again, I pull my phone out. TRR, that’s my focus. They’ve posted more conditions and I wait for the damn thing to load.

There are at least twenty people confirming attendance, $1.5 million without even giving them a taste of what they’re getting. My heart drops seeing the sign off and figuring out who the fuck they are.

The fucking Rainbow Rooms, every corner of the dark web whispers about them. How fucking magnificent their ‘shows’ are and that no act is off limits as long as they purchase the correct banding. People decorate nurseries with the same image, put it on balloons and banners to show happiness.

But each color of the rainbow isn’t the usual bright hue that’s associated with joy or love but twisted and skewed. Because that’s what these sick kid fuckers and rapists do to anything good, they distort it and try to destroy it. And Rowan always loves the mind fuck of taking something innocent and turning it into the sickest thing he can think of, it’s why he started The Dollhouse. But he’s out of hiding again and I’ll be smarter this time, so he doesn’t go underground when I get close.

I’m going to kill him just before I kill Yulia. They’ll both torment each other until I perfect the most painful death possible which will be created just for them. A chill works through my body as phantom cattle prods crackle, it echoes and it’s distant as it leaves the filing cabinet of my mind.

I’ve spent all the money I have on getting information, with my purse from the fight I’ll be short after buying a profile. Lifting my t-shirt, I check for bruises, as long as they’re red I’ll be able to go to Amon to get the remaining $15,000. He doesn’t like it when someone is already injured. For a weird freak who pays to torture someone, he has strange rules. There’s dried blood distorting the redness, and I move quicker than my tired mind can process as I send him a message and go to the bathroom.

There’s no body wash in the bathroom or even a toothbrush. Obviously, Dima wouldn’t use his pea brain to give his guests amenities. He was raised in the wilderness if his manners are anything to go by. Scrubbing my skin until it’s free from anyone else’s violence, I relax, seeing no bruising or marks. The redness will settle once I’m in the cold night air and Amon will be too excited to notice.

Changing into another all-black outfit, my thumbs dance against the sides of the phone, waiting for his reply. It’s always a location, never a yes or a no. Just show up and let him have his moment. This is the closest I’ve got to finding Nina, but I can’t focus on the after. I just need to find her then she can hateme, and I can know I did it. I saved one, out of hundreds and thousands I’ll be able to say I saved one. Amon’s reply comes accepting the service and I look around for something to smash the window. I’m giddy. Not at the prospect of his hands or whips but knowing I’m finally saving her. She’ll have a life and smile.

Dima is a fucking idiot and he didn’t seal the bathroom window. His dumbass probably thought it was too high up or small for me to fit out of, but I press against the hinges, widening the restricted opening. I don’t make the same mistake as last time and check to see if his big body is anywhere in sight before I climb out and jump down, remembering to tuck my head.

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