She had an answer for everything, but then she was an angel and she’d never visited hell before. She was about to begin her descent.
“I talked a little bit about this to you earlier, baby.” He didn’t hide his reluctance to expand his explanation. “Sorbacov took us from our parents when we were just kids. I was a toddler. Two, three, I don’t know. My two older sisters and Reaper. They murdered my parents right in front of us. Sorbacov stood there with this half smile on his face and his gold pocket watch in his palm while his soldiers killed my mother and father and took us from everything we knew. I’ll never forget that smile as long as I live.”
Seychelle’s fingers were on his scalp, massaging in the way that she did. Soothing him. Keeping him grounded. He was grateful for that. He rarely allowed himself to go back to that place and those times.
“My hair is blond and really thick. Worse, it’s curly. It grows in spiral curls all over my head. It has since I was born. Let’s just say I was unusual enough that I caught the eye of Sorbacov. He was a fuckin’ pedophile who loved little boys. Really young boys. And I had a headful of blond curls. My father ran a military school, and by all accounts, he and my mother, who was a linguist and scientist, were listened to by most of the very prominent people in the region. They opposed Sorbacov’s candidate for the presidency, so they had to be removed. The fact that I had a brother and two sisters—all the better.”
The bitter taste in his mouth was all too familiar. He knew he was going back there in spite of his determination never to do it. He tightened his grip with one arm around her thigh and with the other began a slow slide up and down her left leg, trying to ground himself.
“They took our clothes and threw us down into a basement. There were chains on the wall. There were other children, all naked, and they were filthy, had wounds on them, all over their bodies. There were three factions down there. Czar was the youngest and only had a couple of kids with him, but Reaper was insistent we choose him. It was terrifying down there. I didn’t understand what they were telling Reaper and my sisters, but pretty soon men came and dragged my sisters up the stairs. Then they came for Reaper and me. Sorbacov was waiting. I could hear Reaper screaming. I could hear my sisters screaming. Sorbacov kept smiling that smile and petting my hair. He told me I’d better be nice to him and do what he wanted or he’d make my brother and sisters suffer. Then he raped me over and over.”
He didn’t look up, but he knew she wept. His woman. He had known she would. She had compassion. Empathy. It was a long time ago, but he was still that toddler. He’d been taken back to the basement, bloody and naked, to find his brother in bad shape. His sisters were thrown down the stairs, both of them, twisted, bloody and broken. Dying. He told Seychelle. Whispered it against her thighs. How they died. Who killed them. The pedophiles who delighted in torturing and murdering little girls. He forced himself to continue.
“Sorbacov got bored with his toys. He liked to see them hurt. He had friends who really loved to hurt little girls and boys, so he invited them to party with him. They had whips. They would take turns tying us up and taking the skin off our backs, me and a little girl, and then they’d rape us. All three of them. Sorbacov and his two friends. I was a little older by that time. Czar had begun to recruit more members and teach us how to survive in that hellhole. The basement was divided into three factions, like gangs, and even down there we had to work to survive. No matter where we were, it was always a fight.”
He reached up and pressed her hand deeper into his skull, telling her silently she needed to continue her scalp massage. Immediately she complied, her fingers working her magic, easing some of the terrible tension building and building until he thought he had a volcano inside of him.
“The problem was I wouldn’t cry in front of them, and they wanted me crying. They wanted me screaming. I fought back. Every time, I fought back. Knowing they would beat me more or whip me more, I still fought them. They thought that was great fun. I didn’t realize for a long time I was adding to their enjoyment. By the time I knew, I didn’t care. I was getting stronger. I worked out in the basement. Pull-ups. Push-ups. Push-ups with the girls—Lana and Alena—on my back. Every exercise Czar could think of, we did.”
“All of the children?”
It was Seychelle’s first question, and he welcomed the break. He lifted his head and got to his feet, reluctant to leave the solace of her warm body but knowing he needed to get water. He could barely talk with his throat raw.
“Only our group. You couldn’t trust anyone but those in your own ‘family.’ Even then, the others weren’t trustworthy with one another. Czar kept our group very small. He insisted we work out every day, no matter what. He taught us survival skills, like throwing little rocks through small holes until we were so good, we could throw a knife accurately and hit a target. We could blow homemade darts and hit a target. There were a lot of things Czar taught us that he didn’t pass on to everyone, nor could we let anyone know we could do them.”
“Why?”
Savage took his time, drinking the water, thankful it was cool on his burning throat. All those kids. He remembered every one of them. They’d tried to save them. Tried to talk to them. Tried to convince them that Sorbacov wasn’t a nice person and anything he said was a lie. The children were just too scared and wanted so badly to believe an adult was going to save them.
“They needed to believe everything Sorbacov said to them. Even when he gave them to his friends. Even when they came back broken, bloody and so bruised and swollen. He petted them and told them it would be all right. Said he was proud of them for doing what he said. They would be rewarded. They needed to believe him, so they did.”
“Honey,” she whispered.
He turned his face away from her and stared out at the turbulent waves he felt such an affinity for. He fucking hated the pedophiles who had run that school. The ones Sorbacov had deliberately recruited. The most vile, depraved humans the man could find so he could watch in delight.
“One traded favors with Sorbacov. He was older, an asshole. None of the kids were safe with him. One lied and taught her group to comply in order to curry favor. We couldn’t get them to see what was happening. We had to hide what we did. We couldn’t chance them telling Sorbacov. It was sick how he treated them, but they would do anything for his food or his pats on the back, including betraying one another.”
“Savage.”
“We actually attended classes to learn what we needed to know to be better assassins for him. The instructors were sadistic. We were expected to learn various subjects, and the punishments were severe if we didn’t get the material immediately. We helped one another the best we could. The other children were defeated and looked to Sorbacov, complaining and crying, but of course, that didn’t stop them from being punished. They would tell on each other for any infraction. Sometimes he would give one or two of them food. We were all starving. We always shared food. They wouldn’t.”
“I can imagine all of you were in a state of terror all the time.”
He frowned, wondering if that was true. He had been terrified at first. Then filled with pain and anguish when his sisters had died and he’d experienced rape and torture and the brutality at the hands of adults. Somewhere, that had quickly changed to anger. Anger had grown to rage. Rage to determination and the will to fight back.