Chapter 4
I reached for the satellite phone on my pillow. The screen lit up, and Ryan's last message appeared: [No matter what you do, I got you.]
I gripped the phone tightly, making a silent vow in my heart. For every bit of pain Helen and Lucas had inflicted on me, I'd pay them back a hundredfold.
*****
The basement of the safehouse was much larger than I had imagined.
Ryan turned on the lights, revealing a makeshift training area. Sandbags, wooden dummies, and various melee weapons were neatly arranged along the walls.
"Starting today, you'll train for six hours a day," Ryan said, handing me a set of black training clothes. "Go change first."
His tone left no room for argument.
I took the clothes and pointed at the corner.
Ryan turned his back. "You have five minutes."
The door shut behind me.
I struggled to peel off the hospital gown.
The wound on my chest was still raw, and the word "SLUT" beneath the bandage burned into my skin like a hot iron.
My reflection in the mirror was covered in bruises and scars. Skin that used to be smooth now looked rough and scary.
I gritted my teeth and slipped into the training clothes. The fabric scraping against my wounds made me hiss in pain.
"Ready?" Ryan called from outside.
I opened the door.
He took one look at my pale face, didn't say a word, and tossed me a pair of gloves. "First, the basics."
Ryan stood in front of the wooden dummy. "There are seven deadly weak points on the human body."
He hit the dummy fast, naming each spot as he went. "Eyes, temples, throat, heart, abdomen, groin, and knees."
Every time he named a spot, his hand landed with a heavy thud. "You're not strong enough yet, so you need to take them down in one blow."
He gestured for me to try.
I raised my trembling hands and mimicked his moves.
"Too slow." Ryan's brows furrowed. "Do it again."
An hour went by. My palms were red and puffy, and streaks of blood stained the wooden dummy.
"Keep going." Ryan's voice was cold.
Sweat dripped into my eyes, burning them, but I didn't stop.
With every strike, those sneering faces from the engagement party flashed in my mind.
With every kick, the scalding agony of boiling water forced down my throat flashed through my mind.
"That's enough." Ryan reached out and seized my wrist.
It was only then that I realized the blood on the wooden dummy had merged into a single, dark stain.
"We're done for today." Ryan grabbed the first aid kit and started wrapping my hands.
I typed on my phone: [Why did you stop? I can keep going.]
Ryan didn't even look up. "Revenge isn't about getting yourself killed. You need a clear head, not the rush of hurting yourself."
His words felt like a cold shower, snapping me back to reality.
"Tonight, we'll learn how to use secure messaging," he said.
Once he finished bandaging my hands, he turned and walked out of the basement.
*****
Dinner was simple—just pasta and veggies. Ryan's cooking was surprisingly good.
"Eat it all," he said, sliding the plate in front of me. "You need your strength."
I ate in silence, not leaving a single bite.
After dinner, Ryan pulled out a laptop.
"This is a military-grade encryption system," he said, entering a long passcode. "I'm going to teach you how to use the dark web and encrypted messaging."
The screen lit up with a blue glow, casting sharp shadows across his chiseled face.
"First, memorize this key," he said, scribbling down a string of complex characters. "Each letter corresponds to a coordinate, and those coordinates determine the encryption method."
I focused intently, committing every detail to memory.
Three hours in, my temples were pounding, but I was finally able to send encrypted emails on my own.
"Not bad," Ryan said, giving me a rare bit of praise. "We'll continue tomorrow."
*****
Two weeks slipped by in a blur. I spent days on combat training, and nights diving into hacking techniques.
My body was healing, and the wound on my chest had scabbed over.
Ryan's training was getting tougher by the day.
"Your enemies won't show you any mercy," Ryan said, pressing a knife to my throat. "Fight back."
I slipped to the side and slammed my elbow into his ribs.
Ryan grunted, and the knife hit the floor with a clatter.
"Nice," he said, rubbing his side with a grin. "You're finally starting to look like a real fighter."
That night, I went through the few things I had left. All I'd brought from the hospital was my phone, wallet, and a necklace.
There was an old photo tucked inside my wallet. I pulled it out and suddenly froze.
The photo showed a young Helen and a woman I didn't recognize.
They stood in front of a university gate, both grinning brightly.
On the back, in faded letters, it read: [Helen & Victoria, graduation day, Kingston Bay University. June 1999.]
That was Victoria Carter, my birth mother.
I couldn't look away from the photo.
The stranger, Victoria, had features almost identical to mine.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the back of the photo.
Besides the writing, there was a phone number. The ink was faded, but I could still make it out.
My heart thundered in my chest.
This was a shot to contact my real mother.