Page 13 of Sadistic Retribution

“The fuck? I don’t get it...”

We hastily grab up the rest of the papers, finding one other weird document. It looks like a thesaurus page, or something ripped from a book.

‘It is widely known that the Italian Mafia and Russian Bratva are bitter enemies. It's basically unheard of for them to work together. History is rich with examples of the violence and death between warring families. It stems back hundreds of years, back to the first hints of both mobs.’

Our jaws drop.

“How could this be true?” I am seriously confused.

“I don’t get it, either,” Ghost says. “But I'm not turning on you. We’re all brothers here.”

“I agree. Fuck history!”

“Well, I just bought us two more weeks,” I say. “We need to hit it hard. I refuse to leave here without ensuring Pazessca’s safety.” Murmurs of agreement surround me. “We have to step up our search...”

The sentence dies on my lips when a bedraggled, barely conscious Ghost practically falls through the door.

“Bro!” Trikk yells, darting over to help him to the sofa.

He looks awful. Skinny, paler than usual, and covered in blood. In two strides, I reach him. “Whose blood is this, Ghost? Where is the body?”

He doesn’t even look up. “It’s mine… only mine.”

I glance up at Frost, and he nods. Great minds and all that. “Have you eaten or drank anything?” I ask. Ghost shakes his head, slumped down.

“Get up, Ghost. Let me and Frost check your injuries. And Trikk? Make him some food.”

“On it!” Trikk darts into the kitchen.

I help Ghost up, Frost coming to his other side. We half-carry him into the bathroom. I shove up his shirt, wrangling it off. He is covered in blood—some dry, some fresh. Frost grabs a washrag, running it under warm water and adding a bit of soap to it. He gently washes away the blood from Ghost’s arms and torso. There are so many cuts, I can’t count them.

“Pants,” I command, knowing his lower half won’t be much better. Frost helps Ghost out of his pants while I hold himupright. His legs are full of cuts, as is his lower stomach. Frost cleans those off too.

“He’s lost quite a bit of blood,” Frost points out.

“I can see that,” I say through a clenched jaw. “Grab the ointment.”

Frost complies, slathering it over all his cuts. “I’ll grab him a shirt and pants,” he says, heading out to Ghost’s room.

“Brother... do I need to worry, here? Are you trying to kill yourself?” I ask.

Ghost finally looks up, tears streaming down his face. “Not trying to off myself,” he whispers. “Just need the pain to stop.”

Fucking motherfucker. If it’s the last thing I do, I'm killing those fuckhead fathers. Every last one of them.

Frost comes back with a t-shirt and sweats. We gently help Ghost into the fresh clothes, then guide him back over to the sofa. Once he’s seated, Trikk brings in a plate of eggs and bacon, with a tall bottle of water.

“Sip and eat slowly, Brother,” he tells Ghost, caressing his cheek. Trikk and Ghost have gotten closer, because of... Pazessca. Fuck. Now I need a damn Tylenol for the headache from this insanity.

Chapter 6

Phoenyxx

I'm lyingface down on the concrete floor. Too weak to even roll the fuck over. No clue how long we’ve even been here. My guess is days, at least. No food, no water. I've taken to drinking my piss. It's disgusting, but I'm still alive. Barely.

I'm jolted out of my semiconscious state by the masks yanking me up off the floor.

“More play time!” Jester announces.