by Joy Blood
I set out in the direction he went, sure to keep my distance from the trail he left behind in case he comes back unexpectedly. It takes me nearly two hours to reach his snowmobile. It’s parked two hundred yards away, but he’s nowhere in sight. Scanning the area, I take a couple steps away from the tree hiding me to get a better look at my surroundings. His footprints lead off in the opposite direction, so I chance a few more steps, closing the gap. I have plenty of tree coverage to hide and get the jump on him if I need to, so I make my move, taking off my gloves and tucking them away in case I need to have better use of my hands. I creep closer, until a click sounds out from behind me. I freeze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. My ears perk at the noise, like a dog’s would. The sweat on my spine instantly chills, turning the dampness to ice rolling down my back. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”
“The shroud of weakness will help you. Make yourself appear weak to your opponent, then strike when they least expect it,” Master says from behind me. My test. The final one before I get to start my mission for vengeance. The potbellied man three times my size plods from his car into the building, disappearing behind a steel door. “You will leave the man breathing, Sobaka. No blood will be shed. Your only goal is to subdue,” Master instructs before sending me off. Only subdue.
I make my way to the door the man went through, only to turn the knob and find it locked. I grab a pin from my belt and pick the lock. When I hear a click, I pull the door open and close it behind me, locking it one more, and more forward into the empty room. It’s dark, the only light coming from a small bulb illuminating a neighboring door. I glide across the dirty floor, and easily slip through the door, coming to a set of stairs. Placing one foot in front of the other, I move down the steps, my heart pounding with each one I take. Subdue. Subdue. Subdue, I chant in my head, hearing it with each beat of my heart.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find a short hallway. The growing stench of smoke hits me, then the sound of laugher. I freeze. I wasn’t expecting more than the one man. “The shroud of weakness will help you.” Master’s words echo and push me forward until I’m inside a room with four men huddled around a small table. “How the fuck did you get in here?” one calls out, breaking the conversation at the table. They each snap their gaze my way, but I hold steady.
“I’m so sorry, I’m lost. My car broke down and I followed you down here hoping you could help,” I say pointedly to the potbellied man, who gives a predatory grin.
“Is that so, peach? Well, now, what kind of man would I be if I turned a pretty little thing like you down?” he says, getting up from his chair and stalking toward me. As if they all have the same idea, they descend on me. Shrinking away, I muster up tears and stutter out some mumbled words before letting my first blow land directly on Pot Belly’s throat, causing him to choke and clutch at himself as he tries to gasp for air. The next one gets a palm to the nose hard enough for me to hear a sickening crunch as the bones crack under the hit. One man grabs at me, but misses, only to have the other clasp my arm.
“Got you, ya little bitch.” But he doesn’t. I spin on my heel and stomp down onto his foot, then slam backward into his groin. He drops me, giving me enough time to lay a good hard kick to the last man standing right in his temple. He goes down to join the other three, groaning on the floor.
“Not going to ask again. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” The punctuated words seep into me and I hone in on my training.
“I’m lost. Please…don’t shoot me,” I whimper, extending my hands palms up in front of me to show I’m not armed. I’m thankful he can’t see the gun tucked into the waistband of my pants. It’s under my coat and it will take too long to get to it, so I need to think of another way. Weakness.
“Turn around,” he commands. The prodding end of his rifle pokes between my shoulder blades, his intent clear. Slowly, I start to turn. I’ve seen this man from a distance, seen him in pictures, heard him described. But coming face to face with him is more than just looking at some paper with an image printed on it. His lips and the tops of his cheeks are tinted a bright red from the cold, but even with the elements marring his face, my breath hitches. His square, prominent jaw and sharp nose are exposed when he pulls down his face shield. Pale green eyes flecked with amber scrutinize me from head to toe before landing on my face. “How the hell did you get lost?”
Sniffling a little for affect, I start my story, being sure to keep my hands held up. “I…was…am, with…or was…I got separated from my friends. My snowmobile broke d-d-d…down,” I stutter, keeping my eyes trained on the barrel of the gun as if it is going to go off at any moment. “Please don’t shoot me. I j-j-j…just want to go home.” Maybe not award winning but it does the trick because he starts to lower the rifle, and his guard.
“How far down the mountain were you? I’ll give you a ride,” he says taking his finger from the trigger and disengaging the weapon. He once again moves it to his back, the strap falling over his chest holding it into place.
“I’m not sure. Maybe three miles?” I say falling into step with him as he leads the way to his snowmobile.
“All right. Shit. Your sense of direction is fucked. Take those snowshoes off—” he trails off and I realize I fucked up. If I were snowmobiling I wouldn’t be wearing snow shoes, and only an idiot would have left their snowmobile and the trail. Before he can grab at his rifle, I’m already springing into action. My hand flying out to connect with his nose is enough to stun him but it’s not as powerful as it should be. Instead he keeps coming at me, gripping at the back of my head and slamming my face into the seat of the snowmobile. The cold plastic seat might as well be a brick. My face smacks against it hard and I feel a crunch from my nose. Shit! I don’t allow him to bring my head down another time. Using my foot, I fling it up with force enough to bring the pointed end of the snowshoe into his side. When it connects, it gives me the second I need to break away from his hold and regain my composure. I only get a moment though before he starts at me once again. This time I dodge him and get a good elbow to his kidneys. “God damn it!” he bellows before turning and coming face to face with me again. This time he goes for his gun. In the same moment, I rip my coat open and take my own weapon in hand. Instead of shooting me he uses the rifle to hit my pistol from my grip. It goes flying, landing somewhere in the white landscape. He then aims the rifle and pulls the trigger, nearly hitting me but grabbing the barrel last second, I am able to point it away from me. The heat from the shot sears my skin and sets my hands on fire. Letting the barrel go, I push past it and bring a knee to his thigh. He falters slightly allowing me to get a better grip on the rifle. With force, I slam the butt of the gun into his cheek, freeing it from his grip, but I can’t hold onto it any further, the pain in my hands is too much and he is able to knock it from my grasp. Taking it back into his possession, he kicks me to the ground. The snow is a welcome balm to my burning hands but it doesn’t last long before he is yanking me up by my now exposed hair to face him. “Now, that is e-fucking-nough,” he pants and before everything goes dark I see his fist flying toward my face.
Chapter Five
“Get up Esteban. There is work to be done,” Roman barks out to me standing at the door to my room. Four walls, a cot and no windows. My cell. Its quieter and cleaner, but I find myself missing the basement. Missing my friend. It’s been so long since I have been moved I don’t even remember what she sounded like.
My thin arms push me up from the cot. When I was first shoved into this room I was surprised to have an actual place to sleep besides the cold floor, along with the thin blanket that barely keeps out the cold, but I will take it over nothing. As I do the food I get more than once a day. “You have a new job, Esteban,” Roman says with a lighter tone than I’m used to, using the name he gave me after this place became my home. He tosses me a change of clothes. I take them with wide eyes. “Get dressed and meet me in the basement,” he barks, his usual harsh pitch falling back into place, and le
aves the room. I look down at the grimy clothes on my frail body. The small robots that once covered my pants are long gone, caked over by years of dirt and wear. My shirt was the same way until I used it to cover up a cut I got on a rusty nail. One of the guards took the shirt from me when he discovered what had happened. I was promptly given a shot then tossed back into the room—without a shirt. Now I’m holding a black tee shirt and a pair of black pants. They are the softest thing I have ever felt. I quickly shed my soiled pajama pants that once reached my ankles but now come to my knees and toss them onto the floor and pull on my new clothes. The shirt is big and nearly reaches my knees. The pants have to be rolled up three times before they stop dragging on the floor. He didn’t give me anything to put on my feet and the hospital socks I had the night I got here are long gone. The bottoms of my feet have become thick, almost as if I have grown an extra layer of skin. For only a moment I let myself smile at the feel of the clothes now covering my body but quickly wash it from my face before walking out of my room and down the long hallway to the basement, as instructed.
The familiar smell as I take the stairs hits me, a cross between cleaner and a coppery tang that hangs in the air thick enough to taste. I haven’t been down here in so long, I almost forgot how the smell would linger inside my nose. I find Roman at the bottom of the steps, talking to Sebastian and Trenton, two of the guards I have gotten to know. Sebastian, as he always does, eyes me when I come into view. He is skinny, the smallest between Roman and Trenton, and the most dangerous. “There you are,” Roman greets me with a rare smile on his lips. “Congratulations, boy, you will be our new cleaner. When a cell opens up you will clean it out. Get it ready for a new girl,” he states, leaning back on his feet and hooking his thumbs into his pants pockets. He is dressed in a gray suit, with a crisp blue shirt underneath.
“Yes, sir,” I say knowing it is the only answer he expects. I decide to be bold and thank him for the clothes as well. “Thank you for the clothes, too, sir.”
“Would you look at this?” Roman whistles through his teeth looking me over then glancing at Sebastian and Trenton. “The boy has some manners. Nice to hear Esteban, but the clothes were a gift from Sebastian. You should be thanking him.” I pale at the words but choke back the fear bubbling up in my chest.
“Thank you, Sebastian. Sir,” I say nearly at a whisper making Sebastian boom out a harsh laugh.
“He will do just fine, boss,” Sebastian says not taking his black eyes from me. Roman gives him a nod before he walks up the stairs, Trenton not too far behind. Leaving me alone with Sebastian. “Well now, boy. Where should we start?”
Chapter Six
Jesus Christ, I just got jumped by America’s top ninja warrior. What the fuck was that? I have no god damn words for what the hell just happened as the tiny ass woman that just attacked me goes limp from my punch and falls to the ground. I knew I felt eyes on me all day but to find out it was this little thing…
With her story about getting separated from her friends, the stammering and fear of my rifle, I believed her. There was no fucking way she could be here to kill me. Then I saw her shoes and knew I fucked up. With barely a flinch with the barrel burning her hands, this girl either has the highest pain tolerance known to man or has had some intense training. With the way she fought, I’d go with the latter. “The fuck am I going to do with you?” I question her unconscious body. I begin to wonder if she has a contact she reports back to, or if she has a tracker on her. If she does, there is no stopping whoever sent her here to kill me. My location is out now. How she got it I don’t know, but my location will have to be underworld knowledge by now.
The sky is getting dark and the snow is starting to fall heavily. I was hoping to be back by the time the storm hit, fresh kill in tow, but it looks like that isn’t going to happen. At least now I’ll have some entertainment. Pulling her body onto the back of the sled, I make sure to check her over for any other weapons but only find a knife tucked away in her boot. I’m surprised she didn’t go for that instead of the gun that was lost in the drifts. I seriously contemplate stripping her bare to see if she may have a tracker of some kind on her, but the thickness of the snow coming down gets me moving faster.
The drive back to the cabin is quick, my need to get back inside even quicker. Tossing the girl to the ground with a thud I cover the sled back up and drag her inside. The fire is still burning hot so I bypass that for the moment and tend to my new house guest. I don’t want to take the chance of her waking up and killing me where I stand so I strip her of her clothes and boots—complete with the snow shoes—like I wanted to before and find some rope to tie her to my bed. Being sure to make my knots tight. She is a slippery little thing and probably knows how to get herself out of ties. With her clothes piled on my table, I start rifling through them but come up with nothing but a few granola bars, a bottle of water and a body warming blanket. How long had she been watching me?
Leaving her in only her bra and panties, I look her over from head to toe. She can’t be more than five and a half feet, maybe mid-twenties, willowy as hell with a full head of dark hair. I can tell it’s long, but she has it tied back into a now very messy braid. The closer I get, the more prominent the details of her face become. A small scar runs the length of her jaw, nearly two inches long, with another one not quite as noticeable through the top right side of her plump chapped lips. Even with the windburn and sun damage—the girl is a knockout. I only wish I could pry her eyes open to see what color they are. I didn’t quite get a glimpse of them as she was trying her damnedest to beat my ass into the snow. My eyes travel down to her breasts, confined underneath the unflattering bra she wears. They can’t be much more than a handful. I find myself unconsciously reaching out to see for sure. Her body lurches away from my touch, letting me know she is awake and fully aware of her situation. My eyes find hers, the wide pools of chocolate, blazing with fire, meet me. Damn, brown eyes. Forgoing my mindless grope of her breasts, I instead bring the pad of my index finger to her rapidly moving chest and trail it along the tops of those concealed mounds. She jerks again, still not getting anywhere, and I pull my hand away. Feeling her up is not what I was planning when I tied her to the bed.
“You are here to kill me. What I want to know is, who hired you?” I stand to my full height, crossing my arms over my chest. She tracks the movements, watching me like a hawk. “You have training, little girl. Who taught you?” She still doesn’t answer, not that I thought she would just open up to me and tell me her secrets. Getting those will take time and I don’t know if I have any of that until she talks. I’m standing right on top of a fucking hard place with a boulder crushing me from above. “I can tell you’re going to be chatty.” I deadpan. I’m not getting anywhere with her tonight, nor do I even have the drive to at the moment. Maybe I’m getting old. Too washed up for torture and interrogation. Killing. The me ten years ago would have put a bullet in her head and drove away without a backward glance. But today, when I knocked her out, I didn’t kill her. And as much as I would like to blame it on needing the name of who she was sent here by, deep down, I know that isn’t the case. She has a fire I can’t put out, not yet anyway.
She doesn't say a word while I eat my last can of potato soup and down a full glass of water in her line of sight. She at least has to be thirsty, but she remains silent, staring at the wall on her right.
That’s how I find her in the morning. Eyes open, still focused on the log wall. Vacant. She’s using every ounce of her energy to keep herself quiet. “I take it you’re enjoying your stay?” I ask sarcastically, standing stiffly from the chair that served as my bed. When I tied her up, I didn’t quite think it through. Maybe I should have put her in the chair. A night in that and she would have said anything to get out of it. I know I would have. You should just kill her and be done with it. Maybe, but that would be too easy.
“Would you be willing to take our online survey? You could be entered in a chance to win a free four-night stay.
Tax included.” I flick my eyebrows up and down, using my sense of humor on her, but get nothing.
Damn, is this going to be fun.
Not.
Chapter Seven
“What did you say Esteban?” Sebastian asks stalking toward me, his strides slow and calculated. I made the mistake of opening my mouth and letting something other than ‘yes, sir’ come out. “Do you think talking to me like that is a good idea, pet?” His new name for me makes my skin crawl. I hated Esteban enough as it is but when Sebastian started calling me pet, I knew there were worse things than being called Esteban.
“Sorry, sir. It will not happen again.” I try and assure him but it’s too late. He has already been given a reason to become the monster he keeps stowed away. As he draws closer, I mentally kick myself for speaking. It has been two years now since I was given the job of cleanup and I’ve never seen the people kept in the cells nor have I seen my friend again, but that all changed today. The woman in front of me was naked except for the dirt she wore on her skin. Sebastian had her by the hair and was dragging her from her cell when she was able to get the best of him. She somehow got her feet under his and tripped him up. I stood by, watching, wide eyed as the whole thing went down. The woman was fearless as she fought for her freedom. Freedom she wouldn’t find.