Demons of Abyss - Retribution

Chapter 18

ELEA

A loud knock startles me out of a fitful sleep. Damn. I've fallen asleep. When West and Ryan brought me here yesterday, I wasn't myself for a while. My fighting spirit went bye-bye. But after a few hours, I realized that maybe it was meant to be. I was supposed to be here. Maybe this way I can help Kilian and bridge the time until Charly comes back. Provided I don't get beaten to death in the first fight. Another knock, even louder than before, makes me get up. I fell asleep with my clothes on, thinking I had nothing else. But I notice a bundle of clothes lying tied together on the concrete floor in front of the door. I stare at it, annoyed that I didn't notice it. Did they put it through the bars? Thoughts run amok until a huge guy shows up at the cell door. As he bangs his baton against the iron, I flinch. He's trying to intimidate me, and he's just managed to scare me. Good start.

"Welcome to hell, b***h, we're leaving for practice in five minutes, hurry up."

His tone drips with spite. I didn't expect anything else. With Bear, I only ever had five minutes, too. Even though the situation should be killing me, I have to smile a little. What would Bear have done? I miss the old grim man. Not wanting to miss practice, I hastily grab the bundle of clothes. I quickly make my way to the tiny chamber. Behind the wall, in this damn cell, there is something similar to a bathroom. A toilet, a shower head, a wall shelf and a drain. I guess that's all, there would be room for. I put the bundle down on the wall shelf and undo the string that holds everything together. I discover a towel, two pairs of black track pants, a gray sweater, and a hooded vest, six pairs of socks, four white short-sleeved shirts, and underwear. My underwear. At least what I had in the room. But what scares me is the extra underwear, which looks new and just like my old ones. I decide to just accept it and am glad that I don't have to make ends meet with just two pairs of briefs. Additionally, there is a wrapped toothbrush, toothpaste, my hairbrush, and a bar of soap wrapped in the bundle. A knock startles me up again.

"Three minutes!"

The deep voice echoes off the bare cell walls. Hastily, I reach for the toothbrush and hold it under the shower head. I turn on the water and brush my teeth while combing my hair with the brush. I slip into one of the black workout pants and put on a white short-sleeved shirt. My ribs still ache as I raise my hands in the process. I have to ignore this pain. Because, as West says, I'm going to fight soon. For that, I should be fit again to survive long enough to find Kilian and kill Charly.

I wash out my mouth and spit into the drain. When I hear the clack of the door lock, I try to bounce my sneakers as I make my way to the front. It must look funny for sure, because I barely manage to stop in front of the bald guy before I run into him, he looks at me like I'm out of my mind.

"Get out of here." He steps aside and with a nod of his head indicates that I should move. Although I don't like being ordered around, I follow his instructions because otherwise I'll go crazy if I sit in this cell any longer. As I step into the hallway, I spot a second guy standing against the wall on the other side looking at me. He has slightly grayish hair and a full beard that looks very unkempt and is probably to hide his fat neck. He starts to move, and I assume that I am supposed to follow him. Meanwhile, I try to memorize everything. The cell doors we pass, are all open. Where have they taken the men? Behind me, the other guy's footsteps echo. Glancing back, I see his fingers tighten around the baton. He's ready to hit me anytime. We keep walking, and soon we turn a corner and walk down the hall again. I hear the murmur of voices and what sounds like battle cries. As we march through a huge archway, my suspicions are confirmed. It is a training room. There are mats on the floor, punching bags hanging in every corner, and meter-long cabinets stacked with all kinds of fighting gear on the walls.

In the middle of it are at least a dozen men fighting. But when they notice me, the noise stops and also the fighting. They all stare at me. Instinctively, I look for a familiar face. Kilian. He must be here. Please. But I don't find him. A loud iron knocking makes me startle and look to my right. The bald man has hit a steel column with his stick and not a second later there is again a hustle and bustle. They avert their gaze and continue their training.

I can't help it. I have to ask, even though I'm almost certain the asshole won't answer my question. But it's worth a try.

"Is that all of them?"

"None of your business, bitch."

Exactly the answer I was expecting. But it wasn't a yes either. So hope dies last. Kilian still has to live. He is strong. He is stronger and more experienced than some of the fighters here. Now that they have thrown themselves back into their training, I can get an idea. Some of the fighters are good, but others look like they're going to go down at the first punch. The gray-haired guy nudges me with his baton and urges me to keep going.

"This way."

So I follow him through the training hall until an open training area is visible at the end. There he stands in front of me and looks down at me from above.

"You will train here, no contact with the others. If you want a duel, you will come to us, do you understand?"

I nod. Even though I'm thinking right now, I could train the duel right here with him. I could take him out and then go after the bald guy. I'm sure none of the fighters would rush to their aid. But I change my mind, because I want to find Kilian and I can only do that if I stay here. He must be here, because where else would they have taken him? So I make my way to the sandbag dangling from the ceiling and stand on the mat lying next to it. I ignore the furtive glances of the others and get to work warming up. I have to use the time to get back into shape. Eventually, the eerie duo also disappears and positions themselves next to the huge archway. After a few more minutes, the noise level rises again and the men devote themselves completely to their workout. I do a few more stretches, trying to ignore the pain in my ribs. After the warm-up, I start with a few sit-ups. At first, I can still feel the pain, but after the first round it gets better. After I finish these exercises as well, I try some kicks against the punching bag. I have to move differently to protect my body, but I quickly get the hang of it. Then I get lost in the din of the fight noise and the rock music coming softly in the background from old speakers. At least one thing that is positive here. I punch and kick the punching bag. Sweat burns my eyes and I wipe it away with the waistband of my shirt. I don't know how long I've been training, but in the corner of my eye I notice someone approaching. I can't stop, though. Just then I get a run in and the pain is gone. I practice some roundhouse kicks. But at some point I can't ignore this someone anymore. Especially not anymore when he stands behind the punching bag and looks at me. So I stop after the next kick, in which I still put all the anger that lies dormant in me. I take a step back and try to catch my breath. I realize that I've lost a little bit of weight in the last few weeks, days. My condition was better before. Now I feel the pain again, which is even worse than before the training. But I have to breathe it away. Mainly because I don't want West to notice my weakness. Which he probably has, despite my best efforts, because as I look into those cold dark eyes staring at me, as if they know everything about me, I don't feel as strong as I'd like to feel. I don't like the way he looks at me. It scares me. No one should be able to see inside of me. No one should know what I'm really thinking. I wonder what he wants from me. Why is he here? Does he want to sell me after all? He surprises me, however, by holding out a water bottle to me. I would love to take it, because my throat is dry, and the effort has dehydrated me. But he might have put something in it, that would numb me. I don't trust him.

"It's still locked. I'm not a coward who drugs others into submission."

He looks at me forcefully, which in a naive way makes me think he's telling the truth. So I reach for the bottle with my head held high. Our fingers touch briefly as we do so, and I feel a tingle at this point. I unscrew the bottle, realizing that he wasn't lying to me, it was indeed still sealed. I take a sip, noticing his gaze as I do so. Why is he bringing me water? Why is he staring at me? He wanted me dead, he probably still does. I recap the bottle and set it down at my side. To keep my muscles warm, I stretch my upper arms and my legs. Unfortunately, I didn't expect my wound to burn in the process. I inhale haltingly and try to block out the pain. I close my eyelids briefly as I do so, and when I open them and look into West's face, I recognize concern there? I stare at him in confusion and notice him regain his composure and the coldness return to his eyes.

"You should take it easy for now."

"Why? So I can fail at the first fight?"

I'm angry because he makes my emotions boil over with his presence every time.

"Still, you should take it easy. It's no use if your wounds don't heal. After you beat Ryan injured, I assume you'll be able to take out the first opponents without training."

I shake my head. Why is he telling me this?

"I'm out of shape, and if I wait more days, I'll lose, what I've spent years training for."

"The way you're fighting and in shape, it must be many years." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Who taught you all this?"

He seems genuinely interested and takes another step toward me. Now there may be only a yard between us. Between me and the guy with the darkest eyes I've ever seen and the scar on his face that makes him look more dangerous than he's acting right now.

His hair is loose today and hangs over his shoulder on his left side, as the right side of his head is shorn short. I didn't notice that, the last time we met. It just occurred to me for the first time that if he weren't a Demon, I would find him attractive.

"No one you know."

I can't suppress the sarcasm in my voice. Why should I give him an answer? Maybe this is his attempt to get information. But certainly not with me. I will protect my family, at least what I can call family, with my death. If I couldn't do it with my parents, I'll have to do it with the rest of them. There's a smirk on his perfectly formed lips, and again, my heart responds to that with a beat more.

"Tell me your name?"

I shake my head.

"Booze gave me a great name, b***h or was it...whore?" I pretend to think, and there's annoyance on West's features. He takes another step toward me. The smell of sandalwood enters my nose. I feel the warmth emanating from him. His black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans and boots make him look like a demon who has just risen from hell. Then he leans down to me, and I forget to breathe.

"We both know Booze was an asshole."

Then, like nothing happened he takes a step back. I know he's trying not to show it, but he's scanning the area just as I always do. With a quick glance behind me, he seems to want to make sure no one noticed.

"If you knew he was an asshole, why did you stand by and watch him torture innocent girls. And don't tell me this poor thing was the first."

The words come hissing over my lips, so that no one else can hear it though. Now I take a step toward him. He does not retreat, which I would not have expected from him. I am angry and almost want to press my finger accusingly on his hard chest. However, he knocks my hand away, grabs my forearm and trips me up. I land on the mat and gasp. He's fast as hell. But he could have been more brutal. I know he didn't use all his strength. At first, I'm so surprised I can't act. But when he leans over me, putting his knees to the right and left of my hips while holding my arms above my head, I react. I try to resist, but he has a grip like a vice. He moves closer and as his breath brushes over the skin on my neck, his mouth close to my ear, I forget to fight back.

"If I just talk to you for too long, it'll be too noticeable. So we're training."

The confusion seems to be written on my face, because I don't know how to react in the first moment.

"Fight back, or they'll think I'm about to f**k you."

Again, the hint of a grin appears on his lips. This is something that makes my heart beat faster and makes me angry at the same time. I try to focus on the anger as I wrap my legs around his waist. I clench my thighs together and twist my wrist under his. I wriggle out of his grasp like a snake. He lets go of me and I stand up as quickly as I can. He does the same to me and grins.

"Not bad. Go on."

If that's the way he wants it, fine. I feint with my left foot and when I think he's going to fall for it, I raise my right foot and go for a kick. However, I didn't count on his quick defense because he grabs my ankle and clutches my lower leg with his strong arms. Then he pulls me closer so that I dance around on one foot in front of him. Again he whispers.

"If I could, I would never have let it happen. But to prevent the worst evil, sacrifices are unavoidable."

He speaks of the girl.

"What could be a worse evil than r****g innocent girls? And don't tell me you couldn't. You're in charge here."

He turns me and lifts my foot so that I'm almost suspended in midair. Both of our breaths are rapid, and I can feel sweat running down my back. He pushes me against the wall. I feel his closeness everywhere, especially when he lets go of my foot, and I'm standing on both legs with my back pressed against the wall. His breath tickles my sweat-covered neck.

"I'm only in charge until Charly gets back," he says.

"You're his vice, his second-in-command."

He looks away for a moment and suddenly seems lost, like he's thinking about something right now. Something that haunts him the way my memories haunt me.

"It's not that simple. Even though Charly is my producer, I've had to earn the vice patch hard. Harder than anyone else. That's why I can't put anything on the line. Not yet."

I swallow. His eyes don't lie. Neither do his words. He calls him a producer. Disgust rises in me. He is the son of Charly? The man who killed my family. And suddenly I'm ticking off. My brain is tuned for revenge. Like father like son.

"You...are just like your father."

I press the words angrily over my lips, and West looks dumbfounded. Like he doesn't know what's suddenly going on with me. I take advantage of it and kick his shin with my foot. Then I slam my fist into his ribs. With my back I brace myself against the wall and kick my foot against his belly. He stumbles back a few steps. His face should be distorted with pain, but there is not even a hint of pain. Furious, he comes toward me. I lunge with my hand and with the other I protect my face. I almost hit him, but he is too fast and moves to the side, so that I only lightly graze his cheek. He then grabs my forearm and twists my hand behind my back. So hard that I can't move, and my shoulder is stretched to the limit. He twists my wrist and a moan of pain almost escapes my lips, wouldn't I breathe it away quickly after all. He grabs me and pushes me in front of him again. I want to fight back. Kick at him. But each time he turns my wrist even further.

He pushes me brutally through the hall. Past the staring men. The two guards come running toward us.

"West, should we take her to their cell?"

He shakes his head, and his voice seems so damn angry that it cuts into my thoughts. It fuels my hatred. He is the product of Charly. Of the man, who took everything from me in the most brutal way possible.

"I can handle this beast. Get your s**t done and make sure the men keep training and not gawking."

He shoves me forward again and I give an angry hiss. I almost trip over my own feet and the laughter of the guards enters my ears. Those damned cowards. I don't stop struggling. I catch him once with my foot, but that only stumbles him for a moment. This goes on until we arrive at my cell. My angry snort is the only sound, otherwise there is eerie silence. We are alone. With a movement so fast I can barely follow, he turns me around. He presses me with his body against the wall next to the cell door. His legs hold mine captive. His long fingers grip my wrists tightly and press them against the wall behind me at shoulder level. I don't give up and squirm under his grip, but he's so strong, and I'm so angry that I can barely concentrate.

"Damn. Stop. It. NOW."

He is out of breath as he spits the words angrily at me. But I am not finished. I'm burning of anger and I almost think my heart is about to burst.

"You killed my parents. You motherfuckers. I hate you guys."

Now I've given it all away, but what the hell. I'm full of hate. So out of control. Tears are brewing in my eyes, even though I haven't shed a tear in a long time because of the memory. I don't understand why I feel all the emotions at once in his presence. Why in his presence it feels like a hurricane is raging inside me, even making sure I can't fight him off.

"Keep your voice down. If they hear you, I won't be able to help you. I'm not them. I'm not what the Demons represent right now."

I rebel one last time before giving up. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?

"Calm down. You're so angry you can't even think straight."

His brown eyes look into mine. As the veil of my anger ebbs a bit, I recognize sincere compassion in them. His eyes seem glazed over, almost as if he feels my pain. That, that expression in his eyes, the scent of forest and sandalwood, and the warmth of his body make me feel calmer. But the anger is only dormant. Ready to erupt at any moment.

"Calm down. I know how you feel, but you can't let it control you. Breathe."

There's concern in his raspy voice, something that confuses me. Because my mind wants me to hate him. I need to hate him.

"I will never be like my producer. He's just my producer, that's all. And damn it, I'm going to make sure he pays for all of this, but you can't ruin my plans with your thoughtless actions."

Now it's me who looks at him in surprise. What did he just say? He wants to make sure Charly pays for everything?

"Why?"

He moves even closer. His mouth is over my ear. His breath grazes my neck.

"He didn't just have your family on his conscience."

When he leans back and looks at me again, I do the same. I eye him, as I've never looked at him before: As a human being. But immediately, my mind reports back. What if he's just playing with me? He grabs my wrist and pulls me towards the cell door and I follow him into this hole. As soon as he lets go of me, I put a little distance between us. As far as this tiny cell allows. Near him, my mind grows dim. A crease forms between my eyes. What does he mean by that? Not just my family? He takes another step toward me and lowers his voice.

"He killed my mother and made my life a living hell. But now I'm strong, now I can fight back and make him pay for all that. But revenge takes time. You act way too fast and think too little."

He shakes his head as if to dispel the images in his mind.

"Why are you telling me this? What if I betray you?"

I honestly don't understand what he's trying to do. Why he's telling me things that are none of my business. Things that could put him in danger.

"Because there's the same thing in your eyes as there is in mine, and I think we can help each other."

"And for your information - should you betray me, we will both die."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't, but what have you got to lose?"

He looks around the small cell and smirks. He's making fun of me, which annoys me.

"And yet you remain a Demon."

Now he takes a step toward me and I back away. Why am I backing away? If he wasn't him, my mind would be working. But he has that damned effect. Now it's not the cold I see, it's something I know.

"I'm not one of them. I'm me and this club isn't worth anything anymore. It's just the product of a mentally ill man now."

"You're his son."

"Genetically, yes. But I have nothing in common with him. He destroyed this club. He destroyed everything his predecessors fought for. He has no honor."

When I hear the word predecessor, I think of my dad. He was the president of the Demons. I would be interested to know if West knows anything about my dad, but I don't want to tell him anymore about my past. I don't trust him. I can't.

"Then tell me what you're up to and how I might be of help to you - here in this hole."

My voice drips with sarcasm.

Suddenly we both startle as we hear a voice. It's one of the guards and he comes closer.

"Boss, is everything okay with the beast."

West looks at me apologetically and grabs me roughly by my hair. I try to fight back, but he barely noticeably shakes his head. Then the guy with the unkempt gray beard appears and looks questioningly at West. West, in whose eyes that coldness suddenly returns.

"She's pretty wild, and I was just going to use her for the fights, but I think she needs something else."

The guy gives a dirty laugh, and it makes me feel sick.

"We'd be happy to take care of that. I'm sure the prisoners would appreciate some fresh meat too."

He grabs his crotch, ready to show me what he would do to me. But as West lets an angry "I'll take care of it," pass his lips, he falls silent and nods in intimidation.

"I'll take her. You need plenty of time for this beast."

"Sure, boss. Want me to let the others know?"

"I'll manage on my own. There's plenty of room for her in the trunk."

Now this guy is laughing again. He's getting horny, imagining how West is going to treat me. Then West grabs me by the hair and the back of my neck. I could fight back, but the chance of learning more about West's intentions makes me play along. So, I only half-heartedly resist, making it look like I'm just not going along willingly. West's grip on my neck hurts anyway. The guy accompanies us down the long corridor to the door that leads to the stairs. Another Demon is already waiting for us there. He is slenderly built and holds a machine gun in his hands. He accompanies us upstairs. The full-bearded guy says his goodbye and makes his way back to his prisoners. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, someone opens the door for us, and we are again standing in this hall, where this time there are only a few motorcycles. The car that brought me here yesterday, is also there and around it are four men with their weapons. They are watching me closely and when West gives me a firm shove against the back of my knee and I fall to the ground, I can see the gleeful grin on their faces.

"West, she'll bite your d**k off."

They laugh out loud and West sounds amused too.

"When I'm done with her, she'll be begging for it."

I would love to lunge at him right now and punch him, but he seems to realize I'm angry. He comes up to me and grabs me by my hair again. It hurts, but as I follow him, the pain is not so bad.

"I'll bring her back to the fights, assuming she can still walk then."

Their dirty laugh makes me think again about fighting back. But I acquiesce to West. At least to his plan, which I hope he will tell me. But when he opens the trunk, I resist. Surely he can't just put me in the trunk? What if he makes all his words come true after all? His grip tightens and he fights off my hand with which I wanted to free myself. With a violent shove he throws me against the bumper so that I fall backwards and into the trunk. He grabs my legs and pushes me inside before closing the tailgate. I bang my fists against the trunk lid, but nothing. All I hear is muffled laughter, a few voices whose words I don't understand, and an engine starting. The car is moving. What have I done? Is he going to kill me? Is he going to do to me, what he said to those men?