Page 66 of Sadistic Retribution

He levels me with his stare. “Malishka, I know the state you’re in… intimately. Let me help you. Please.”

“Nope. I’m better than good. You're not needed—not anymore.” I condescendingly pat him on the head like a puppy, and leave the way I came in. Time to go visit Augustine to report the first two tasks are completed.

Purge

I'm trudging slowly back to my room. I swear, I’m more exhausted now than before I got some sleep. I managed to pass out for about five hours, which—lately—is about four more than I’ve been getting.

I have so much work to do, though. I need to find out more information about the supposed seventh Family, along with dirt on our fathers, and finding Fiasca’s true identity.

I get into my room, slumping down into my well-used computer chair. I pull up my screen, searching for any new info. It looks like I got access to the trafficking chat room on the Dark Web. Excellent.

Before I can check it, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I quickly pull it out, hoping it’s Iskra.

Frowning, I answer the call. It's my mother’s phone number. She never calls me. Hell, she's usually not around at all. And if she is, she’s drugged to the gills in her room—a separate room from my father’s.

“Mother?” I question, and I hear hysterical sobbing come through the other end of the line.

“S-Son? I need you to listen to me! I don’t have long,” she blabbers. “Your father... he’s doing some... bad things. You're in danger! You're all in danger! Please?—”

The line suddenly disconnects, and I curse profusely. I try to call back, but it just rings out.

The thing about all our mothers is that they’re anything but. They’re either always gone, locked up, or drugged out of their skulls. They exist solely to obey our fathers. It's clear they were simply broodmares, and only “matter” in a public environment. All their marriages were arranged. I don’t think I’ve ever seen actual love between my parents. The others have noticed the same thing with their own parents.

I don’t even know my own mother very well. She was stunning—the epitome of a classy, Russian woman of status. Blue eyes, long, brown hair; she used to turn heads wherever she went. Now though, she's not noticed. The years with my father and the drugs have destroyed her looks.

I pull up the chat thread with the guys, explaining what just happened.

Me: Answer your phones if it’s your mothers. Or better yet just call them right now. Something's up.

Synn: The hell?

Razor: Calling mine now.

Frost: Ditto

Ghost: I’ll call too

Trikk: On it bro!

Me: She said we were in danger. So high alert!

Synn: FUCK

My sentiments, exactly. I put my phone down next to me, shifting my attention to the computer screen.

I punch the code into the screen, watching as tons of messages flood into the trafficking chat room. Looking at the side bar, there are five hundred plus people in here. I shudder knowing there’re so many sick fucks in the world.

I click into the message box at the bottom of the screen, under my fake alias.

FrshMtLvr69

A cringy name but hopefully it will be effective.

I type:I am looking 4 fresh & tender meat, who would I contact for that?

A DM pings me in the top corner, so I click into it. UserMTObs55d, nice.

They write: I can help you. What are you looking for exactly?