Page 12 of Sadistic Retribution (Rise of Phoenyxx #2)

Phoenyxx

“Wake up, little one.” A hand caresses my cheek, rousing me from the sleep I finally fell into.

I'm curled up on the cold floor of my cage.

It's where I live. It's the size of a big dog cage. Enough room for my small body to partially stand up. A small pot sits in the corner, which is my toilet. I have a small, thin blanket—at least when I’m good. No pillow.

I blink up at the man towering above me. Even crouched like he is, he’s huge. A terrifying presence. He's tall and muscular, with dark, brown hair and gray-blue eyes. He is always wearing a suit. I can tell he’s a powerful man. He's the one who is always here, so this must be his house.

“Would you like to get out today, Bella?”

I look at him in confusion. Out to where?

“Yes,” I whisper meekly.

“Good girl; so bellissima,” he answers. “I thought to take you upstairs, to visit my room. If you’re really good, you’ll be able to watch TV for a while.”

My eyes widen. I nod frantically, dying to watch TV again. He takes my hand, helping me to stand. On shaky legs, stiff from lack of use, I follow him up the stairs, into the main part of the house.

It's so massive! We walk through a large kitchen, then out a set of doors and into a living room. He nods towards the wall. “The TV is there.”

We continue on, towards a large, winding, spiral staircase. Up and up we go, then down a long hall. He leads me into a bedroom—such a big one, it has separate sitting areas, and a bathroom.

He gestures to the bed. “Sit.” I do as he says, releasing a shuddering breath. He sits next to me, taking my hand again. “I want you to give me pleasure.”

He puts my tiny hand directly in between his legs, and I flinch.

He uses his other hand to release the button and zipper to his pants. I try to look away, but he grabs my chin. “Don’t look away. Be a good girl now.”

I try to close my eyes, not wanting to look.

He slaps me in the face. “Always keep your eyes open, Bella—or else.”

My lip trembles, and silent tears streak my cheeks, praying it’s over.

“Let’s go wash your hands, then you can watch TV. You've earned it, Bella.”

I sit up, hyperventilating. What the fuck was that? It wasn’t just a dream; it was way too vivid. Maybe a side effect from the drugs? I hold out hope that’s all it was, but it’s probably a memory. Why now? Why? Who was that man—and where was I?

The questions make my head pound, and I’m forced to my feet to make it to the toilet in time to empty my guts. I glance down at my arm, noticing an IV is taped in again. There's no pole or bag anywhere, that’s weird.

My head is still swimming from that drug they gave me. I've never felt such a rush of pure rage before. It was almost... freeing.

My musings are interrupted by Demon and Jester coming into my cell.

“Okay, little bird. Time to watch another fight.”

Jester grabs the back of my neck, steering me out and towards the fighting ring. “Fun, fun, fun! This will be so fun!” he sing-songs. Crazy as fuck, this one.

He pushes me through the door, and the sight of the ring flashes more adrenaline through my veins. I see 6 waiting for me again outside the door.

“Let’s go, 11!” She links her arm with mine, practically skipping.

Once we pass from the changing room to the arena, we go to take seats close to the action.

My eyes stray to the ring, where a huge girl stands there, waiting.

She’s got to be six feet tall. She has so much muscle, she looks like a guy. No tits to be seen.

Her opponent is the girl who won the last round—8. 8’s stretching her limbs, looking confident.

The loudspeaker crackles, the same voice as before coming through. “Ladies and gents—buckle in for this one! Our reigning champion, against a beast! You don’t want to miss a second of this!” Applause sounds out. “Ready, ladies? And—ding-ding!”

Titless is already moving, roaring as she ducks down, going for 8’s legs. She grabs them, lifting 8 easily into the air. She aims towards the side of the ring, slamming 8 hard into her chair then pushing her into the ropes. 8 goes down, her head bouncing off the floor.

Titless grabs her hair, dragging her back up.

She hits 8 dead in the mouth, in a vicious, rounded punch. 8 spits blood, and her eyes go dark.

With a feral cry, Titless spins, and kicks upward, nailing 8 in the face. Crowding 8 into the corner, Titless starts hitting her face and body, punch after punch. She's using both of her fists, left then right, then back again.

Titless keeps punching even when 8 stops moving. Her face turns into an unrecognizable lump of blood.

The loudspeaker comes to life again. “Winner, and new champion—10!” The clapping and hollering are deafening.

“All done,” 6 sing-songs. “Time to go! It's almost time for free time!”

I frown. “Free time?”

“Oh yeah! I was told we’d get it today. They must trust you better now.”

My eyebrows rise. Trust me? How?

“What exactly is free time? What do they let us do? And why haven’t we had it since I got here?”

She giggles. “We can wander the hall and talk to each other. Only on this block, though. When someone new comes, free time is on hold until the newbie is ready.”

I sigh, so past done trying to figure out how things go in here. I’m starting to become numb to all the bullshit.

Wandering could be the perfect opportunity to find out vital information about this place.

Purge

I have exhausted every outlet to find out anything about Iskra.

Without a damn real name, I can’t find shit.

Researching the Solomons gave me zero connections.

None. Both them and Iskra are nonexistent by all ways of seeing things.

It’s odd for someone to not have any digital footprints.

Most people have at least gotten a traffic ticket or something at some point.

They would at least be traceable through jobs they've had.

I growl in frustration, mussing my hair by running my hand through it.

I need to switch focus, so I move on to Harris. Now this—it should be easier. He has an obvious work background for me to start from. I sure fucking hope so, anyway.

I start with a simple name search through the Dark Web search engines. I wait for something to ding at me. In a few seconds, it alerts me to a hit. Finally.

I peer at the screen, seeing the word “confidential”. I click into the program I use to get more out of the Dark Web than usual, finding a sealed file. Before I hack it, I scan the information.

Hunter Harris, Age 33

Birthdate: October 11, 1992

Birthplace: Hammonton, NJ

Current location: The Retreat, Pine Barrens, NJ

Occupation: Therapist

Description: 6’2”, 180 pounds, blonde hair, aqua-blue eyes—no tattoos or distinctive marks

Marital Status: Single

Kids: None

Pretty basic—but interesting it does list this place as his current location. I’m glad my extra program was able to locate this, without a bunch of extra hacking needed. I refresh, trying to stimulate a fresh ping on location. No luck, dammit.

Sighing, I move on to the sealed file. I pull up my screen of code, flying through every trick in my arsenal. I know this likely will take a while, so I settle back in my chair to wait.

I must have dozed off. The alert sound on my computer has me bolting up, rubbing my eyes. I pull my chair closer, seeing the results.

The file is open. Finally—something to track! I click, my eyes widening when I read what's listed there.

Notice:

RE: Sgt. Hunter Harris

Date: Feb 27, 2019

Sergeant Hunter Harris has hereby been separated from the United States Marine Corps with the following discharge status:

Dishonorable Discharge

Reason: Sergeant Harris led a team of soldiers in Afghanistan. On his command, a group of civilians all under the age of thirteen were shot and killed. Sergeant Harris failed to properly identify the proposed targets before ordering an open fire command thus resulting in multiple losses of life.

Whoa. That’s all I can see of the document—but holy shit!

This explains some things. But it sends a bunch of questions flying through my mind too.

How is he a therapist at a reform school?

Lining up the dates, it seems he must have enlisted at twenty-one, then was discharged at twenty-seven.

Since he’s thirty-three now, he must have had at least four years of education to get a degree.

I shake my head, trying to figure out what high school he went to. There are a lot of high schools between here and his birthplace of Hammonton, so I'll have to narrow down the search.

I settle in to do even more hacking. I’m so exhausted, my bones hurt. I don’t even know what day it is, let alone the last time I ate or slept. I know I need to stay sharp. My work could be the only thing that gets Iskra back.

I push away from my desk, standing up and wincing at the stiffness. I aim for the kitchen to quickly fuel, then get right back to work.