Devil's Playground

  Devil’s Playground

  Wrath and Vengeance Series Book 2

  Written by Sara Clancy

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2018 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  Welcome,

  Sara Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

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  Chapter 1

  Aleksandr smiled while tightening his grip on the knife. The edge of the table kept the cooing elderly ladies blissfully unaware of the danger they were in. So they remained standing where they were, blocking Aleksandr’s exit and praising the twins who sat opposite him. In Las Vegas, buffets were big business, and it wasn’t any different at the Flamingo Casino and Hotel. Hundreds of people bustled around them, running the spectrum of humanity. Happy families, retired locals, gambling addicts and the obviously hung over who had barely managed to peel themselves out of bed. It would be insane or reckless for the couple to try anything in such a public place. Aleksandr marveled at how many people found that idea comforting instead of terrifying. As if insane, reckless people didn't exist.

  “My, how clever you are,” one of the women said before leaning closer.

  Aleksandr calculated how long it would take him and his siblings to jump over the woman’s corpse and get to an exit. If they cut across the courtyard, they'd be on the crowded Strip before security organized themselves. Surveillance cameras would be a problem.

  “How old are you two sweethearts?” one of the women asked.

  “Six,” Nadya declared the lie cheerfully, believably, bouncing slightly in her seat.

  As the couple prattled on about how intelligent the twins were for their age, Aleksandr arched an eyebrow at his sister. She shrugged, unapologetic. A lifetime with serial killers had taken its toll on the Sokolovsky siblings. Malnutrition and squalor had left all three of them smaller than average. Hard labor in the burning desert sun and countless, bloody fights had aged Aleksandr. The twins, however, still had an angelic, innocent appearance. Thin, frail, with large doe-like eyes, and childishly soft voices, they could pass for nearly half their age, which was something they exploited ruthlessly. For fun and to pander to their egos. Aleksandr generally didn't mind. Kids’ rates made family days out a lot cheaper.

  Aleksandr struggled to keep his polite smile in place as the woman switched to gushing about how sweet the twins were. Watching them perform for the women, Aleksandr had to admit that his siblings were, by nature, very kindhearted. But nature only goes so far when nurture gets involved. Petya and Olga Sokolovsky had intended for all the children to follow in their footsteps. He wondered if the women would still think them 'sweet' if they were aware that the twins knew precisely how to skin someone alive.

  The woman closest to him fixed him with a warm smile. “You must be so proud of your little sisters.”

  Ivan almost cackled with glee. The twins were masters of perceptive manipulation. Ivan and Nadya could be either boys or girls, pass as each other, or mentally meld into a singular person. It was impossible to catch them in a lie or trick them into revealing themselves. The only way anyone would ever know the truth is if they decided to let them in on the secret.

  “My kids,” Aleksandr corrected.

  He swiped the index finger of his free hand across the tabletop. The tiny movement went unnoticed by the perplexed woman but carried an explicit message to the children before him. You’ve had your fun. I want them gone.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” one of the women said as she placed a hand on his tensed shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re mine. Not my siblings.”

  Ivan looked up at the woman standing next to him as she released a nervous laugh, excited to see how she responded. Nadya was losing interest, and Aleksandr was growing impatient.

  “You’re trying to trick us,” the woman beside Aleksandr said at last. She squeezed his shoulder as if it would somehow prove her point. “You’re far too young.”

  “I’m twenty-two,” he said coolly. There was no reason to lie about his own age. People always paid more attention to children. “They’re mine.”

  The energy around the table shifted the instant the women did the math. Looking a little flustered, they managed to hold their smiles through their farewells, but barely got three steps away before they started whispering amongst themselves.

  “We work so hard to manipulate people,” Ivan sulked. “And all you have to do is mention teen pregnancy. It’s not fair.”

  “Yeah, but he can only trick people into going away,” Nadya noted.

  Without their distraction, the twins went back to their separate activities. Nadya was fascinated by the live flamingos that filled the little oasis beyond the glass wall while Ivan had his Real World News magazine. The publication insisted on calling itself a newspaper. In truth, they were a trash tabloid full of stories about Bigfoot, conspiracy theories, aliens, and monsters recently found in local swimming pools. Ever since their encounter in the desert, Ivan’s interest in the paranormal had become an obsession.

  Enraptured with his reading, Ivan blindly reached out towards his plate. Aleksandr watched silently as his brother placed some strips of bacon on a syrup-drenched pancake, rolled it all up, and proceeded to eat the cylinder one-handed. Nadya was quick to follow suit, preferring to stare at the birds rather than use cutlery. Seeing his siblings mindlessly devouring their second helpings always made Aleksandr smile. Two years ago, they had struggled to finish a snack unless they were high. It was hard for any of them to stomach a meal while their parents would randomly go through cannibalistic phases. Aleksandr had never experienced a greater triumph than seeing his siblings at last put on a bit of fat.

  Munching on a strawberry, he let the kids do as they pleased and subtly checked the crowd. The hot desert sun pulsed against the tainted glass, pushing back against the arctic chill of the industrial air-conditioning. Outside, tourists milled about, heading for the hotel pools or observing the flock of flamingos. The rush of the small waterfalls was barely audible over the crush of people inside. There were a few recognizable faces, mostly the serving staff and slot jockeys. No one was paying them any undue attention, although there were a few people sneaking glances at their table, offering weak smiles of acknowledgement when Aleksandr caught their eyes.

  Only after they had gone on the run did he notice how fascinated people were with twins. Sometimes it was nothing more than a curious double-take, like they were merely checking they weren't seeing things. Others, like their most recent visitors, felt compelled to point out how cute the twins were, either to Aleksandr himself or their own companions. For some reason that Aleksandr couldn’t fathom, the general public was more amused by female twins, or perhaps just considered it socially acceptable to point them out. Whatever the case, the days they decided to be girls always drew more attention. Still perusing the continually shifting c
rowd, he heard Ivan choke and rapidly tap the tabletop.

  “You speak two languages,” Nadya said, remembering to cover up her Russian accent halfway through the sentence. “Pick one.”

  Ivan gulped and croaked. “They’re taking a psychic to the ghost town.”

  A pulse of anxiety coursed through Aleksandr's veins like melted iron, but he kept it from showing on his face. Just the mention of that hellhole was enough to cast him back into a maze of nightmarish memories. A cluster of abandoned buildings, separated from the rest of the world by miles of scorched desert had been the perfect place for Olga and Petya Sokolovsky to play out their darkest desires. Nothing was too depraved. Nothing was off limits. Each time he blinked, he could still see the small concrete room hidden under the sand. The crippling humidity. The stench of blood assaulted his nose. He could feel bones cracking against his knuckles.

  None of that scared him now. For all their cruelty, his parents weren't the only monsters out there. He had witnessed the Furies. It was a daily struggle to make peace with the knowledge that creatures from ancient Greek mythology had killed their parents. At least in part. Aleksandr had helped the cause along. The worst part was the uncertainty. Where had they gone? Where were they now? And what else was out there?

  Shaking away his thoughts, Aleksandr shrugged and popped another piece of fruit into his mouth. But having something to keep his teeth busy didn't quell the need to chew on his thumbnail.

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked as casually as he could.

  The twins fought over the magazine until they settled for spreading it out on the table between them. Education hadn’t been a top priority for their parents. None of them could read without moving their lips slightly, and Nadya still needed to keep her place with her finger.

  “It is hoped,” she read aloud, exaggerating every syllable, “that the psychic will be able to make contact with the lingering spirits of the victims. This could bring new energy to investigators, who are still searching the property for human remains.”

  “Just throw a stick. You’ll find one,” Ivan muttered.

  Nadya hunched her shoulders and lowered her voice to a hurried whisper, “Right? It’s not like Olga and Petya put any effort into hiding them.”

  The twins shared a silent look before turning in unison to stare at their older brother.

  “How many victims were there?” they asked in a synchronized whisper.

  Aleksandr could only shrug. He had stopped counting long before the twins were born.

  “Wait, what?” Nadya mumbled as she pressed closer to the page, eyes squinted as she read and reread the passage. Her head shot up. “They want to talk to our parents, too.”

  “Our parents are dead,” Aleksandr said.

  That got him a couple of dirty looks.

  Ivan rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “They want the psychic to make contact with them.”

  Biting back a smile, he mumbled, “Right.”

  “Can they do that?” Nadya battled to keep the panic out of her voice.

  “Not unless they can tap into hell,” Aleksandr dismissed.

  Ivan, however, hummed thoughtfully. After a brief glance around to make sure that no one was listening in, he continued, “They did die violent deaths. They could be ghosts.”

  Nadya bit her lips. “What do we do?”

  “Nothing,” Aleksandr said.

  “But,” she stammered. “They could tell the psychic about us.”

  Still chewing on his nail, Aleksandr offered his sister a reassuring smile. “No one will believe them.”

  “Yeah,” Ivan said, although he didn’t sound convincing. “Besides, they were sucky parents. It wouldn't occur to them to mention us.”

  “Do you remember what Alek did to Olga?” Nadya said in a low whisper.

  Aleksandr remembered. Slicing his mother’s throat was the only time he had ever enjoyed violence. It had come with an intoxicating rush of righteousness.

  “Yeah, that,” Nadya said, attention darting between her brothers. “Also, we left them behind. You know they’re going to be mad about that.”

  Aleksandr chewed harder on his nail, tasting fruit juice and soap. “Let them be,” he dismissed.

  Frustrated by their lack of concern, she folded her little arms on the table and leaned in.

  “What if this psychic stirs up the Furies?” she asked.

  An uneasy silence fell over the table, each of the three refusing to show just how deeply the thought terrorized them. The Furies had been the whole reason they had decided to settle in a larger city instead of a small, off-the-map town. In their heart, they were serial killers, and Aleksandr knew that beast well. Death wasn’t always as important as fulfilling the core needs. And the Furies needed to torture their prey before killing them. They wielded madness like a blade, creating images and situations designed to feed off of their victims’ fear. Last time, they had conjured a zombie horde and a colossal snake. They would need privacy for that or everyone would know they existed. Las Vegas had, among other things, a lot of witnesses.

  Aleksandr forced a smile and looked at each of his siblings in turn.

  “No matter what happens, we'll face it together. Just like we always do.”

  Seemingly comforted by that, Ivan and Nadya proceeded to read through the entire article. It took them a while.

  Ivan made a surprised grunt. “It seems like Evelyn’s keeping her mouth shut.”

  “I told you she would,” Nadya boasted.

  Aleksandr hadn’t shared his sister’s confidence. Silence was a lot to ask of someone you almost murdered. Neither of Aleksandr’s parents had approved of his insistence that he only wanted to kill men. It had just been a ploy to hold off on murdering anyone, but they had called his bluff, forcing him to fight random men they had plucked off the street. Eventually, even this had run thin. Petya had believed that, since she was a kick-boxer with a solid build, Evelyn was manly enough to ‘ease’ his son into murdering women.

  The arrival of the Furies had forced her to work with him to survive, but he hadn’t expected their truce to last once the threat was gone. There was no reason for her to put in the prolonged effort of protecting them. Even if she wanted to, it would be near impossible for her to keep her story straight on the long run. Not with the police, reporters, and the FBI all scrambling for every scrap of information she might have.

  A sharp thud sliced through the chatter that filled the room, reducing it to an awkward, confused muttering. Everyone looked around, searching for the source of the abrupt noise. The second blow stilled the room. Fine lines slithered out across the glass with the sound of cracking ice. Aleksandr turned to the window just as a blur of pink rushed towards him. It slammed into the glass with a heavy thud, breaking the glass even as the protective coating kept it from shattering. Nadya yelped with surprise, the noise lost under the sudden burst of chaos. The now constant attack of the glass whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Everyone ran in all directions, pushing people over and toppling tables.

  In one smooth motion, she snatched up her backpack that had been hanging on the back of her seat and leaped onto the table. Three quick strides and she threw herself off the edge, right into Aleksandr’s waiting arms. The crashing continued as they ducked down under the table. There was more than enough space for both of the tiny children, and Aleksandr used his body to shelter them from the people stampeding through the pathways.

  He didn’t need to tell them to put their backpacks on. In practiced, synchronized movements, they clicked the harness straps into place – one around their narrow chests, the other around their waists, and balled themselves up tightly, their puny frames easily fitting behind the shield of the packs. Aleksandr reached up to grab the knife off the table, his eyes continually scanning the courtyard outside the window. The thuds had increased. Growing louder. Stronger. It sounded like the sky was falling. Cracks formed cobwebs across the glass, distorting his vision, making it a jumbled mess of fractured colors
. Blurs shifted beyond it. The frothing waterfall. Green grass. Blazing pink flamingos. A few more strikes and the glass gave way, raining down in sharp chunks, allowing crazed, injured flamingos to fall sprawling into the room. Aleksandr pulled his siblings closer, making sure the table protected them from the jagged shrapnel.

  The birds looked considerably larger as they frantically flapped across the tables and floors, their strong legs snapping out and massive beaks clashing. Ducking his head, Aleksandr hunched over the twins, careful to keep the knife in his hand from finding their skin.

  Pandemonium surrounded them; demolished glass, screaming tourists, pounding feet and the dying, frantic screams of the flamingos. The three of them remained where they were until the evacuation finished. It took longer for the kamikaze birds to either die or settle. Then there were only soft sobs and the crunch of broken glass underfoot. Aleksandr lifted his head and peeked up over the table. The windows were now gaping wounds in the side of the building, opening up to the shredded courtyard littered with dying wildlife and injured tourists. There were a few other people still left in the restaurant with them, staggering about in a daze, looking over the damage with wide eyes.

  Aleksandr realized how lucky he was for feeling the cold when he straightened. Shards and fragments that hadn't managed to cut through his long-sleeved shirt toppled off of his back, sounding like chimes as they clashed together. An exotic bird was flopped over the table, still twitching in its death throes.

  “Okay,” Aleksandr said as he coaxed the twins up. “It’s over. Be careful around the glass.”

  He held their hands, supplying something for them to push off of as they climbed up onto their feet, sparing them from touching the ground. There was no reason to insist that they not look at the carnage. They had each seen far worse. That said, both of the boys were compelled to give their sister a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

  “Sorry about your birds,” Ivan said.