The Silencer Read online

  The human brain is intriguing in how it operates. That night, I discovered how it felt to have an out-of-body experience. When the mental, physical, and emotional agony becomes far too much to handle, your brain allows you to separate from your body as if you’re overlooking the scene in a detached way.

  I’d never been more thankful for my brain’s ability to do that. It became my main survival technique, especially when he invited “friends” to participate.

  No one should have to suffer through a fucking poor excuse of a life like this. Four solid years—that’s how long I’ve endured this abuse.

  But I’ve been working hard to rebuild my hope in myself. To reestablish my perseverance at not giving up and push through to find a way to escape. And in my mission, I’ve kept my nose to the grindstone to scour every available resource.

  I never imagined that having private tutors and never being permitted to socialize with my peers would become useful. In the absence of a real social life, I turned to other means of passing the time. And mine has become knowledge.

  I read as much as I can get my hands on.

  I listen to every word uttered around me.

  I do all this because my survival depends on my ability to escape. And if I can’t escape this piss-poor excuse for a life, the only option is death. But even that will be by my own hands because it’s the only way to truly avoid any more of this nightmare.

  My computer science tutor, who can’t be a day over twenty-five and is never without his bow tie, dark, thick-framed glasses, and multiple pens in his shirt pocket, has eagerly supplied me with books on programming. This is how I learned how to cover my tracks and mask any digital footprint from computer searches or operations I made.

  I’ve never been permitted to have social media accounts, and everything I do online is tracked—that was revealed after my first escape attempt. But once I learned to wipe clean all traces of my computer activity—whether online or offline—it enabled me to test the waters further.

  When no one burst into my bedroom in the two following weeks to drag me to “the room” to interrogate and torture me before the real abuse began, I realized I could do this. That I’d been successful in covering my tracks.

  I became a fiend for information of all sorts, from self-defense techniques to more complex financial tricks and how to secure a new identity.

  Tiptoeing down the rabbit hole of hacking revealed the biggest opportunities. The dark web, Reddit, and 8chan have been superior sources of information because I know I can’t disappear and survive without a means to do so.

  I began dabbling in the faintest skimming of funds from his various accounts—accounts he thinks no one’s privy to. The money deposited into these accounts is filthy. Why? Because these are payments to him for using me any way those monsters want. I was merely a vessel, a sexual toy they enjoyed bending to their every whim.

  But those payments also served as hush money to keep their dirty little secrets locked up tight.

  I did a little skimming at first as an experiment. If it was discovered, I knew I’d hear about it.

  I knew I’d be dealt the repercussions firsthand.

  When there was no uproar or panic after the first six times I skimmed and transferred funds into an offshore account I opened—fraudulently, of course—before wiping that transfer evidence clean, I gained something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. Sure, it was only the barest thread, but it was there, and I was holding on to it with all my might.

  I’ve made it so my “visible” and tracked Internet searches are mainly ebooks I’ve purchased or movie trailers and makeup tutorials I’ve watched. For good measure, I’ve thrown in some visits to sites with mathematical operations broken down.

  They believe I struggle with math, and that’s why I barely squeak by with a C average in the subject. I’m hoping that if they ever catch on, it’ll be much harder to fathom me being the culprit behind everything. That I’m the person who siphoned nearly a million dollars.

  I’ll need money—and a lot of it—to get far enough away from them. I’m never greedy, but I am patient. I have to be.

  My survival depends on it.

  No one can truly grasp the concept of evil until they’ve experienced it firsthand. You might be horrified after hearing someone else’s story, but it’s not the same.

  Living a nightmare is far different than simply reading or hearing about it.

  My failed escape served a purpose even though it was hard to see initially. I discovered just how deeply embedded the evil surrounding me is.

  I can’t trust anyone.

  This time, I’m not going into it with an iota of naïvety. I’ve covered my tracks and confided in no one.

  Thieves of innocence are like cockroaches. There’s never just one. They slither and skitter, spreading their filth to everything they touch.

  I make a silent vow that once I gain enough knowledge and experience, I’ll extinguish these motherfuckers once and for all.

  I’ll make sure they feel degraded and helpless.

  Tortured.

  Devoid of humanity.

  Devoid of worth.

  Everything they made me feel, time and again.

  I’ll come for them, and I won’t stop until every last one has paid for their sins.

  With their lives.

  Chapter 4

  Seventeen Years Old

  One might presume I’d rejoice in attending my own birthday party. Especially since it means emerging from the house that’s been more like a prison.

  But it’s even more stressful in a situation like this. I’m watched like a hawk, and I know it’s a test to see if I dare to speak candidly to someone and ask them for help.

  The sensation of being watched isn’t new to me, but this feels different. It doesn’t strike me as someone assessing me in a sexual manner. It’s not like how those other “friends” peruse me. They tend to hug me in a way that leaves me feeling filthy, their touch lingering like fire ants crawling along my skin. They’ve used this “celebratory” occasion as a front to put their hands on me amidst the crowd.

  I’ve finally been granted a reprieve and edge closer to a corner of the room. Countless key players in high society mingle, puffing on expensive cigars while ignoring the No Smoking placards posted throughout.

  Standing in my current haven-like corner, I half expect my face to shatter from my brittle pasted-on smile. I hold a glass of water just for something to occupy my hands, surveying the room, and only one description comes to mind.

  This is a dangerous political jungle with predators lurking in every corner.

  I know who he is before he introduces himself. I’ve made it my job to know as much about this world as I can. The social elite who believe they’re above the law. Who are, in fact, impervious to rules and the legal system itself.

  Tall and formidable yet possessing a contradictory humble quality, the man is impeccably dressed like the others. He’s an individual whose age leaves you guessing because of his smooth, dark skin, even amidst the sprinkling of gray at his temples.

  FBI Director Gasden is the odd man out in this sort of crowd. The simple fact that he’s slated to receive a dismissal from his position in the FBI tells me everything I need to know…and more.

  He’s always appeared to rule in an honest, above-board way. Coming from humble roots, he differs significantly from the bulk of individuals surrounding us who either ride the coattails of their family’s fame and fortune or those who have perfected the art of suckling at the power teat to get what they want.

  After graduation from the Naval Academy and then serving five years in the military, Director Gasden returned to further his education at Yale Law School, where he received his Juris Doctor.

  They’re getting rid of him because he’s one of the rare good ones, and they know it’s far too risky to have him around.

  The soon-to-be-former FBI director makes his way over to me, and I can tell the instant the others take notice. Multi
ple eyes land on me with such intensity it feels as if they sear a hole through my flesh.

  “Happy birthday.” His deep baritone voice contains a hint of gentleness I’m certainly not used to.

  When I tip my head to lock eyes with him, I find myself unable to look away. It’s been far too long since I’ve looked into a pair of eyes that shine with kindness. A polite smile graces his lips.

  “Thank you.” My meek reply is what I’ve been trained to offer. The slight tic in his jaw offers the barest proof of his disapproval of my response, which is intriguing. Why would it bother him?

  “You’ve had quite the adoring crowd offering you birthday greetings tonight. I hope you don’t mind a little more company?”

  Panic surges through me because while I’d love to talk to him, it could mean repercussions—painful ones. Especially since everyone here knows he doesn’t play by their rules.

  Uncannily, he appears to sense my inner turmoil. “No need to say a word. Perhaps you can just indulge me for a moment.” He digs into his suit pocket to bring out his cell phone. “I’m one of those proud new fathers, so I hope you’ll allow me to show you my new son.”

  Relief has my shoulders relaxing a fraction, and my smile turns less brittle. “Of course, sir.” Yet confusion muddles my thoughts. I wasn’t aware that the director had any children…

  His brow wrinkles, and he huffs out a breath. “Please. None of that sir stuff. My name’s Javoris.”

  He leans in slightly, but nothing like the others do. Not a trace of impropriety to be found here. Turning the phone’s screen my way, he shows me photos of a tiny white ball of fluff.

  “Oh, he’s so cute,” I breathe out. I’ve always wanted a dog.

  Maybe in another life.

  “Isn’t he, though?” Javoris grins and swipes his finger across the screen to show me another photo. “His name’s Grim.”

  In this one, the small puppy’s face is propped on Javoris’ shoulder and the man’s sleeveless shirt reveals an odd-looking tattoo on his bicep. It’s a Grim Reaper skeleton with a billowing cloak, except this one has a bleeding heart amidst the bones. Another intriguing contrast is the bow and arrow replacing of the Reaper’s usual large scythe.

  He catches me so off guard with his barely audible words that I nearly fail at his next directives. “Keep smiling and looking at my phone. Remember every word of what I’m about to say. Stay on course. You’ll have help getting out. Be ready.”

  He thumbs to the next photo and laughs, his voice now loud enough for anyone to overhear. “And this one is where Grim tried to carry a stick four times as large as he is.”

  My heart feels as if it’s beating out of my chest, and I have a million questions I wish I could ask him, but I can’t.

  Especially not now.

  “I see you’ve met my favorite girl.”

  My body goes rigid as he settles a hand on my shoulder. The squeeze is quick but painful enough to send a clear message. You’d better not be fucking around and opening your mouth, young lady.

  Javoris straightens, his lips stretching in a polite smile. Even so, I recognize the dimming in his eyes. He’s the minority here, where good is overrun with evil. He broadens his shoulders and turns the screen of his phone toward us.

  “I was showing off my new child.”

  “Mm. How nice.” The vile bastard at my side doesn’t bother to disguise his rudeness.

  A glint of challenge sparks in Javoris’ gaze. “Many say they’re a great judge of character.” He lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug. “Not everyone’s a fan of dogs, I suppose.”

  “No, not everyone is.” The hand on my shoulder tightens painfully, his nails digging into the fabric of my dress, and I grit my teeth to avoid showing my reaction.

  Javoris’ eyes flick to me ever so briefly before returning to the man. Extending a hand, he smiles. “It’s been a lovely evening, Chip. Thank you for seeing me off so wonderfully.”

  I’m granted a small reprieve when the bastard removes his hand from me and shifts to shake hands with Javoris. “It’s been a good run.”

  Javoris grins, and this time, I catch a glimpse of the lethal potential this man holds. It has me wondering if he could be the one who succeeds in burning this place to the ground with all these monsters inside.

  “Ah, but, sir. Some say my run has only just begun.” With a wink, Javoris turns and weaves through the guests before I lose sight of him.

  I barely bite back a gasp when my upper arm is cinched in a punishing grip. “You better not be trying anything under my nose. Understood?”

  Maintaining a smile, I don’t bother to look at him. His soulless eyes always give the sensation that they’re powerful enough to leech more life from me.

  “Yes, sir.” It’s years of practice that help me maintain a calm tone. Years of pushing past the agonizing pain.

  When he finally releases me and returns to mingling with the other depraved excuses for humans, I breathe a bit easier and replay Javoris’ words in my head, forcing myself to memorize them.

  “Stay on course. You’ll have help getting out. Be ready.”

  Chapter 5

  Seventeen Years Old

  Six months later

  My backpack had once been orange, but little by little, I’d colored it with a thick black Sharpie until it was as dark as midnight.

  As black as their souls…assuming they actually have any.

  A unique amalgamation of both nervous dread and excitement courses through me as I stare back at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  With my brown hair tied back and tucked beneath a dark beanie, I paired it with a black long-sleeve shirt, a pair of black jeans, and rugged outdoor boots in the same color.

  Vividly, as if it were just yesterday, I recall the derision in his tone when I’d originally asked for these boots.

  “Those aren’t very ladylike.” He’d inspected my face, and I knew he was searching for the slightest sign that I was up to something.

  Thankfully, I perfected my poker face.

  “I just wanted to have a pair to wear around the house. A lot of girls my age wear them in fashion magazines.” My innocuous response passed his test, so he’d acquiesced.

  Of course, I knew there would be a downfall.

  There always was.

  It came when the boots arrived. I tried them on in the living room, so excited about them that I didn’t pay any mind to what I was wearing and how incongruous it might be.

  He’d entered the room, and his eyes took on that look I recognized far too well, skimming over my blouse and knee-length skirt.

  Nights followed where he and the others made me wear those boots and little else. Restrained on the bed, my limbs were spread so taut the pain turned to numbness. They preyed on my body like scavengers, determined to devour every last bit of innocence and goodness that remained.

  The only thing that helped me get through it was the knowledge that these boots would eventually be my saving grace. They’d help me put distance between myself and these monsters.

  And tonight is the night. I’ve laid out all the groundwork I possibly could. It’s up to me to execute my escape once and for all.

  They’ve gone to a retirement ceremony—ironically, for Javoris Gasden—the same person they’re thrilled about ousting.

  Of course, I’m still under surveillance. It’s never-ending.

  Everything I need is secure in my backpack, the straps snug over each of my shoulders. My laptop, which sits atop my desk, is necessary to execute the final play. I’ll be leaving it behind along with my cell phone.

  I can’t afford to be tracked in any way.

  I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly, my fingertips not the least bit shaky considering the consequences if I get caught.

  The small but lethally sharp knife I confiscated from the kitchen will serve as a weapon in two potential ways: to be used on anyone who gets in my way…or to be used on myself.

  I don’t believe in a god
anymore. He or she has forsaken me for some reason, so I can’t be concerned by the prospect of going to hell by suicide. But I will jam that knife into my neck if I’m caught with no way out.

  One way or another, I’ll escape this nightmare.

  Preparing to hijack the security feed in five minutes and cut not only the power and the backup generator, my fingers are poised above the open laptop. Once I type in the code, I’ll need to quickly make a run for it.

  Boom!

  So startled by the massive noise, I jump, jostling the laptop and nearly sending it toppling from the desk. What in the hell was that? It sounded like lightning had struck the house, knocking out the power. But there’s no severe storm ongoing, nor has one been forecasted. Only rain.

  I tense amidst the deafening silence. None of the bodyguards are shouting commands. Before my fingers can dance along the keyboard to determine what’s happened, my bedroom door opens, and a tall figure emerges from the shadowed hallway.

  Holy shit. What the hell’s going on?

  “Come with me, now. Javoris sent me.” The man’s voice is muted, so much that I strain to hear him even in the pin-drop silence. As soon as he offers me his black-gloved hand, my tension subsides throughout my body.

  Quickly typing the necessary commands to have my laptop wipe itself clean, I accept the hand of the most recent addition to the security team here. James was hired on ten months ago, but something about him always set him apart from the others.

  Perhaps, somehow, I inherently recognized that he wasn’t filled with vileness like them. Adding in the fact that he’s not on shift tonight yet is attempting to help me has my breath hitching within my chest with the faintest flicker of hope.

  Dressed in an all-black tactical uniform, he hoists me into his arms like I weigh next to nothing. “One set of footprints,” he mutters quietly. And it makes sense.

  There won’t be a sign of my leaving by my own free will. It’ll make it seem as if I’ve been incapacitated. Like I’m the innocent one in this…just in case.