The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,95

in a glass case on a wall.

“Break in case of emergency,” I say, reading over the small print on the front of the case. “Well”—I elbow the glass, it shattering into pieces—“this is an emergency.”

Reaching for the ax, I gently usher Ella off to the side so I can bring the blade down onto the handle. It pops off with ease, allowing me to reach in through the hole and unlock the door.

With ax in hand, I open the door and peer inside, but nothing, nothing can prepare me for what I see.

There is a small lamp in the corner of the bathroom, allowing me to see three small children, huddled together on the floor. Their heads are downcast, but their dirty clothing allows me to guess what condition they’re in.

I drop the ax, shaking my head at the horror before me.

Ella stands beside me, gasping and covering her mouth when she too sees the atrocities. “They’re children,” she whispers, expressing her surprise as we both were expecting adults.

I don’t know where they’re from, so I greet them in English. “Hello. We won’t hurt you.” But they continue crying, their emaciated frames shuddering in fear.

I need a moment because they remind me too much of Irina and the state she was in when crudely dropped off at the orphanage gates like an unwanted dog. Suddenly, I’m hit with a thought, and I rub over my chest, my heart threatening to burst free.

Ella drops to a crouch in the doorway. “Hi, my name is Ella. And this is my friend, Alek. We’re not going to hurt you. The bad man and woman are gone. I promise.”

The children’s whimpers grow softer, and one of them lifts her face. I stagger back because she may as well be my Irina.

“Bad man gone?” she whispers, eyes wide in hope. Her accent is possibly Polish.

Ella nods. “Yes. They’re gone. You’re safe. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Her soft voice soothes the children as one by one, they lift their faces. Two girls and one little boy. I can’t do this.

Turning, I walk to the railing and grip it, internally screaming at the injustices in this world. How long have they been kept this way? Where are their families? And who bought them?

I need to know.

Once I’ve pulled it together, I turn around and try my best to smile.

Ella knows better than to force them out, so she slides a bottle of water toward them. As well as a couple of granola bars. They look at the offering, scared and confused. Who knows when they last ate, or showered for that matter?

They are covered in filth.

Ella comes to a stand and turns to me, leaving the kids alone. They need time to adjust. They need time to see we’re not here to hurt them, but that trust won’t come easily…just how it didn’t with my цветочек.

If Mother Superior were here, she’d say this was a sign from God. But what I have to do, what I have to unearth is surely a curse from the devil himself.

“We need to—”

“I know,” Ella says, not needing me to finish my sentence.

This can’t be a coincidence. These kids may as well be Irina, and if they’re headed for Tura, then I need to know who bought them. I need to know who’s in control of this operation because they may be my key to finding out Irina’s past.

The answers have to lie here. Irina’s past has always been such a mystery, and maybe that’s because I’ve been looking in all the wrong places.

Maybe she was once like these little children, shipped off to Tura and forced to live here. It would explain her poor lingual skills because who would teach her how to speak?

But even if she wasn’t, I need to put a stop to whoever is doing this.

A rage overtakes me, and my body shudders with the force. I am going to kill every last motherfucking vile cunt on that island. I can’t breathe. I need to hit something before I explode.

“Alek,” Ella whispers, knowing better than to touch me when in this state. “Go. I’ll handle it.”

I can’t be near anyone when this way. I know myself. So I do as she says and march up the stairs, ready to steer us the fuck away from this hell. Adjusting all the controls, I start the engine and begin to cruise at a steady pace, not wanting to scare the children.

Lifting the satellite phone, I dial Saint. “Oh, thank fuck!