Twenty-Two

Silver

Two days later...

"Therapy only works if you talk, Silver." Torment sighed as I looked around his office at the clubhouse. Generally, the brother operated out of his office building downtown, but since Malice and I both flat-out refused to step one toe in that building, Torment had no choice but to hold our daily sessions at the clubhouse. Considering that neither of us were forthcoming, I didn't understand why Torment insisted we sit there for the entire hour.

I'd been in this room three times already and still hadn't said shit.

Well, nothing he didn't already know.

"You know I can sit here all day, Silver. Makes no difference to me."

"Bet your other clients will have something to say about that."

"For the time being, I've cleared my schedule, so to speak, and hired a suitable replacement so I can devote all my time to you and Malice."

Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees. "I've really got nothing to say, Torment. I'm good. Got no hidden anger, fear, or resentment. My supposed mom is a cunt. Hope she dies a painful death. Never knew my dad. My tormentor is dead. Malice and I are good. I'm good. Happy even."

"You just learned that the woman you thought was your mother is not your mother. That you have no idea who your actual parents are. How does that make you feel?"

Sitting back, I groaned. "Honestly, Torment. I feel nothing. How can I miss something I never knew?"

"Aren't you curious?"

I shrugged. "I guess some part of me is, but I'm not going to cry like a baby if I never find out."

"Tell me about your childhood. Before you arrived in California. What was it like growing up in Wales?"

I sighed. "It was good, I guess. I grew up in Porthdinllaen, a small fishing village on the northern coast of the Ll?n Peninsula in North Wales. I had an idyllic life, friends and family. I thought I had it all until I didn't."

"What was so idyllic about it?"

"Everything, I guess. I was happy. Well, as happy as I could be back then. I went to school, had friends, loved to watch the fishermen on their boats. I spent a lot of time near the water. I remember there was a cove near the harbor where I would sit for hours watching the waves roll in. I found it soothing."

"What was soothing about it?"

"Everything. Being raised by the town slut didn't do me any favors, so when I could get away, I did. I would sit near that cove and dream of far-off places. Magical places that would take me far away from her."

"Where were some places you dreamed of going?"

"I don't know," I muttered, fumbling with my fingers. "Anywhere she wasn't."

"What was it like when she was around?"

"She drank all the time. If she wasn't drunk, she was high as a kite. On the rare occasion she was sober, she was at the pub, hitting on the tourists, hoping one of them would fuck her so she could steal their money. She never could keep a job. We were always broke. If it weren't for the local parish charity, we'd have starved to death. Every penny she got went to drugs."

"And where were you when this was happening?"

"Anywhere she wasn't. I learned early to stay away when she was jonesing for a fix."

"Tell me more about the cove."

Taking a deep breath, I sighed. "It was just a cove, Torment. A place I could hide when she was being a bitch. Everyone in town knew that's where I went when she was drunk, high, or with a man. She never went near the place."

"Why?"

"Because she's afraid of the water. Can't swim."

Torment nodded, then said, "So, the cove was your safe place?"

"I guess so," I whispered. "Sometimes, I would show up and find a fresh blanket or a basket of food someone had left. One time, I found a coloring book and crayons. Towards the end, I spent more time at the cove than I did at home."

"Why?"

"Because her drug dealer started looking at me. I didn't like it."

"And what did she do?"

I looked at Torment and sneered, "What do you think? She fucking sold me to Petrovitch."

"You said you had friends. Tell me about them."

I shrugged. "There is really nothing to say. They were friends. Now they're not."

Torment leaned forward, placing his notepad on the small table next to him, and sighed. "Silver, look at me."

Doing as he asked, he said, "There weren't any friends, were there?"

Gulping, I looked away.

I couldn't answer him.

"I'm betting there wasn't even a cove. I think you made it all up because you don't want to tell me the real truth. What was your childhood really like, Arianwen?"

"It was shit, okay!" I shouted. "My cunt of a mother was more worried about her next fix than me. She hated me. Called me her valuable little spoiled rich bitch, which made no fucking sense, since we were poor. When she couldn't get her fix, she enjoyed hitting me and whipping me. She tried to drown me more than once. She forced me to watch her fuck men. She forced me to buy her drugs, to steal her alcohol. I had to beg for food and no one in that fucking town cared. They would see me coming and look the other way. I was a kid, and they ignored me! Not even the priest at the local parish church would help me. I tried running away, but she always found me. The day those fucking Russian asshats showed up, I thought they might save me, but they didn't. They wanted the money she owed them, and when she couldn't pay, she offered me to them. I was thirteen years old! And she fucking sold me to them as if I were garbage."

After my outburst, Torment ended the session, telling me I had said enough for the day. I hated that he saw right through my story. Fucking bastard was too damn good at what he did. Now, I was feeling like shit for lying to him in the first place. I hated he had made me remember crap I never wanted to think about again, but mostly I hated that I'd lied to him.

Leaving his office, I went to find Malice, only to see him in Montana's office talking about club shit. Knowing he could be in there for a while, I headed for my safe place.

The bar.

There was something about sitting behind the bar, surrounded by the thick oak wood and bottles of booze that felt like home to me. It made absolutely no sense to me, but it was where I felt more comfortable. That and I had a bird's-eye view of everything that happened in the club.

I had just gotten comfortable when my cell phone buzzed. Reaching into my back pocket, I grabbed it and flicked my finger across the screen to see I had received a text message. Opening the app, I saw it was Sinclair.

Sin: Meet around the back near the loading dock. Have a surprise for you.

Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I left the comfort of my bar and headed out back.

Opening the door, I saw a black Lincoln Town Car pull up and park, before Sinclair got out from behind the driver's seat, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Little One."

"Sinclair," I replied, frowning. "Why are you here? Malice isn't here, and Montana will not be happy to see you."

The man pressed a button on his key fob and grinned. "Like I said. I have a surprise for you."

"I hate surprises."

"Not this one," he said as the trunk of his car popped open to show me a woman bound and gagged.

Looking from the woman to him, I asked, "And who the hell is that?"

"Little One," Sinclair said, walking over to me, resting his arm around my shoulder. "Let me introduce you to Lucy McLaren."

Gasping, I looked up at him and happily smiled. "No! Really?"

"In the flesh, as requested."

Hugging the man, I kissed his cheek as I giddily skipped over to the irate woman in the trunk. "Hello, bitch."

She mumbled something incoherent.

Shrugging my shoulders, I ripped off the duct tape as she cried out, "You fucking bitch! That hurt!"

"Really?" I smirked and wasted no time punching the bitch in the nose. Hearing the crunch of bone and seeing blood drip across her face, I laughed. "Did that hurt?"

Seeing her knocked out, I clapped my hands and giggled, looking at Sinclair. "It's like Christmas, Valentine's Day, and the Fourth of July all wrapped up into one. I love my surprise!"

"I knew you would, Little One."

"Oh, you stupid cunt." I grinned at the unconscious bitch. "Boy, do I have fucking plans for you."

With a little effort, and Sin's help, I carried the unconscious pedophile out of the sedan and into the mailroom, securing her to the Saint Andrew's cross without too much fanfare. However, when it came time to remove her clothes, Sin stepped back, shaking his head.

"She is all yours, Little One."

Huffing, I glared at the man. I couldn't really blame him. She didn't hurt him. Technically, he had no beef with her, and he'd honored his promise to me. Nodding, I walked over to a table pushed against the far wall, eyeing all the tools Malice and Payne left displayed for easy use.

Rubbing my chin with my finger, I sighed, turning to look at the still sleeping bitch.

"Fuck it," I muttered, grabbing a box cutter, and went to work removing the cunt's clothes. I was actually quite proud of myself. I didn't cut her once. Lucky for her, because in my current frame of mind, I wanted to do all kinds of nasty, salacious things to her body. When I was done with her, she would never touch another child again.

Seeing her attached to the cross, naked as the day she was born, I tilted my head, taking a good look at her.

"What are you thinking, Little One?"

"I don't know," I muttered as my eyes scanned her body. "This bitch spent her life torturing young boys. She reveled in the destruction she caused. For years, she tormented Malice. Made his life a living hell. Because of her, he won't let me touch him."

"Go on," I heard Torment say from behind me.

Turning, I saw him standing next to Sinclair, eyeing the woman on the cross with disdain.

"What are you doing here?"

"Came for the show," he said, stepping over to a chair, and sitting. Taking a deep breath, he added, "You were saying."

Frowning, I turned back to the woman.

"She's evil. The very reason kids think there is a monster under their beds or hiding in their closets."

"Kind of like Petrovitch was your nightmare."

I nodded, reaching for a baseball bat that was lying on the table. Holding it in my hand, I tapped it against my palm, as vivid memories of my time in his clutches pushed forward. Instead of Lucy McLaren before me, she morphed into Boris Petrovitch with his smug, condescending look.

I hated that motherfucker.

Everything that was good and innocent in my life, that son of a bitch ripped away with his sadistic desires.

"If Boris Petrovitch was on that cross, what would you do, Silver?" Sinclair asked.

I didn't need to think.

I fucking knew what I would do.

Gripping the bat firmly with both hands, I swung with all the strength I had, aiming for the bastard's kneecaps.

Screams rang out all around me as I unleashed years of pent-up anger, with a fury I didn't know I had in me.