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As she made her way downstairs to the large training room, she wondered what they had in store for her. She was already trained in mixed martial arts and fully expected that she would likely have to fight. Sparring with one of her parents was a weekly training activity, and she thought perhaps they would likely make it a harder, longer session. Maybe even make her take on both of them together.
She was naïve. That wasn’t what they had planned at all.
The moment she stepped down into the room, a cloth bag was thrown over her head, and her arms and legs were bound. Fighting was a natural response, but she barely managed a half-glancing blow to one of her attackers before she was completely immobilized.
She was carried only a short distance. Her hands were untied, and she managed another jab to a soft body part before she was once again bound. This time, her hands were tied separately to rings on the wall she faced. The rings were the starting point of a climbing wall. She used them frequently and never once considered they could be used in another manner.
The entire time, not one word was said. She didn’t even speak herself. She had known she would be punished, and no matter what they did to her, she could not regret seeing her grandmother one last time.
She remembered every agonizing moment of what had followed. She had worn a dark brown jumper that day, believing she would blend into the background, and no one would notice her. A ten-year-old traveling alone was not the norm. When she heard the scissors cutting the sweater from her body, a new terror swamped her. What happened next was something she could still, to this day, not fathom.
A fiery strip of pain zipped across her back, and she screamed in agony. Before she could catch her breath, another followed. It was on the fifth strike that she recognized the instrument of torture was a cane. She stopped counting on the eighth strike, and on the tenth, she started praying for unconsciousness to claim her. How long it went on, she didn’t know. It felt like hours. She was barely conscious when she finally heard her father say mildly, “You’re going to scar her.”
She hadn’t known for sure who was doing the beating, but she wasn’t surprised when the voice that responded was her mother’s. “Just enough where she’ll never forget.”
Whether it was her father’s warning or her mother just got tired, she didn’t know. There were only a few more blistering strikes before the punishment stopped.
Choking back sobs, Olivia heard footsteps and knew she had been left alone. They left her there for hours, and she wondered more than once if they were planning to just leave her to die. She needed water in the most desperate way. She could feel blood oozing down her back and over her bottom. Her legs had been hit, too, but not as badly as her back and bottom. She urinated on herself at some point, and even to this day, she could remember the sting from the urine. Her arms went from pained, to numb, to agony. How many times she lost consciousness, she didn’t know.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, lights flooded the room, and she was cut down. She dropped to the ground, crumpling onto the floor. Her legs wouldn’t work.
The bag was removed from her head, and arms scooped her up. A new torture began as she was carried upstairs, each step causing agony to the welts and open rips on her skin. She kept her eyes closed until a door was opened, and she realized she was in her bedroom. Looking up into her father’s face, she wanted to ask him why, but he had no expression other than a slight pity in his eyes.
He placed her on the bed and said quietly, “Learn your lesson?”
She nodded. Speaking was beyond her at that point.
“There’s water on the bedside table as well as ointment for your wounds. Your mother will be in soon to discuss your future. I suggest you listen.”
He left then.
She was eventually able to get to her knees and grab the water on the table. She drank it slowly, knowing she would throw it up if she didn’t. Since she didn’t have the strength to walk, she crawled into her bathroom, reached up to turn on the shower, and then sat on the shower floor. The water stung her wounds, but it also did the job of waking her up. She managed to stand, turn the water off, and step out of the shower. Her mother was standing in the bathroom door.
Blond, beautiful, and lethal—even now, that’s how Olivia thought of Iris Gates.
Hatred filling her every pore, Olivia acted on instinct. Swiping a pair of manicure scissors from the bathroom counter, she ran toward her mother. Seeing the look of surprise on Iris’s face was something she would never forget. She tackled the woman to the floor and held the scissor point at her mother’s jugular, the rage within her so fierce she wasn’t sure she was even human anymore. At ten years old, Olivia barely weighed seventy pounds soaking wet. Her mother could have easily overpowered her, even killed her.
Instead, Iris gave her what could be described only as a proud look. “There’s my girl,” she whispered.
Those three words did something to Olivia. This was what they wanted for her, what they were training her to be. They wanted her as heartless and cruel as they were.
“If you ever touch me again,” she snarled, “I will kill you.”
Iris nodded and gave her an approving smile. “I would expect nothing less.”
Olivia got to her feet, backed up, and slammed the door in her mother’s face.
Three days later, her mother showed up again. The bruises on Olivia’s back were still there, but the cuts were closing up, and the welts had lessened. The pain was manageable. There would be scars, as her father had said, but Olivia didn’t care. Her mother had been right about one thing: She would never forget where they came from.
Iris stood at the doorway, and though Olivia doubted she feared her, she liked to think that at least the woman might be somewhat wary.
“Pack your bags. You’re going to boarding school tomorrow.”
Olivia didn’t react. She had been standing at her window, staring out at the freshly mowed lawn and wishing for a different life.
“You’ll stay there until we tell you differently. Do you understand?”
Olivia didn’t bother to acknowledge the question.