Those who Fled

Chapter One

"I'm sorry! Please leave me alone! I'll never ask for anything again!" The girl's wild eyes meet mine, and those of the rest of us huddled there. Her struggle increases tenfold. "Please, one of you, help me!"

The punching bag lurches back at the force of my hit. I follow up with two quick jabs and and a cross, the sand-filled bag making satisfying smacks.

The girl, only here for about a month, made the grave error of asking if she could sit out her next fight. Her stomach was still recovering from a wound she received when one of Scarlet's 'clients' pulled a knife on her in the ring, and she thought that the merciless redhead would understand if she was reluctant to face another opponent.

The new ones never really digest the full extent of Scarlet's ruthlessness until they've been here for a while. Although I also had trouble comprehending the cold hearted bitch, I had always known that asking for anything would result in punishment similar to that of the young girl in front of me.

Scarlet called forward two of her lackeys, motioning for them to hold down the nine year old. The small girl fought valiantly against them, and my hands curl into fists when I see that her injury has reopened, staining her already raggedy shirt with ominous crimson droplets. She's too young to experience one of Scarlet's beatings.

We all are.

I pump my legs faster, powering through the forest trail. I leap over logs and dodge branches, never faltering, and pushing myself to be faster than I was yesterday.

If they ever come back, I need to be ready.

I sigh and pull myself to my feet. James rests his hands on my arm, silently telling me that no one expected me to do this for her, but I shrugged him off. The sick woman turns and smirks at me, her expression informing me that she knew I would interfere. I almost always do.

"Let her go." I say with a defeated tone, already wishing it could all be over.

Her smirk widens and she complies, nodding to her men to release the girl. The frightened child gives me look of gratitude and scampers off to join the rest of the house's occupants on the ground.

Scarlet and Sean (or Superman as he likes to be called) each pick up a whip. That's our silent agreement: if I take the place of someone else for a punishment, I get twice the beating. I've gotten used to it; I've been doing it since I was twelve. Two long years ago.

They dip their tools in saltwater; a welcome blessing. Although it causes the injuries to sting unbearably, it cleanses them simultaneously. I've learned to deal with the added pain.

I kneel in front of them and slip my shirt up to reveal my already abused back, bloodied and scarred from previous but similar occurrences and my fight earlier today against a 32-year-old professional boxer.

Scarlet leans down, her ruby tresses falling into my shoulder as she brings her mouth to my ear. I stiffen at her closeness; the mere proximity disgusting me.

"It's almost not even fun anymore." She whispers in a whiny tone. "At first it was almost pitiful, seeing a girl who could barely hold her own in the ring suddenly putting her own life on the line for someone else."

Superman cracks the whip across my back, causing a painful cry to pass my lips.

"But then you became my number one fighter."

Crack. Scream. Smack. Repeat.

That 32-year-old professional fighter? He brought a gun with him into the ring and shot at me, skimming me as I failed to dodge. Hence the blood on my back before Scarlet started. He was supposed to face Rose after me. There was no way in hell that was happening.