by Piper Stone
But I should have known better.
I should have run far away, skipping out of town before the monster had a chance to get his hands on me, but I’d been assured of my safety. I wasn’t a fool and certainly didn’t believe in fairytales, but I’d bought into the words, lock, stock, and noose around my neck.
As I shifted in the seat, the rumbling engine of whatever vehicle I’d been tossed in almost made me sick. Let alone my bottom hurt like hell from the spanking.
My pussy from the hard fucking.
Don’t cry, Emily. Remain strong.
Strong. As if that was an actual possibility. I was suddenly overwhelmed, the full breadth of anxiety gripping every muscle and squeezing, much like the suffocating effect of his brutal touch, claws wrapping around my throat. I would never forget his dark eyes, either in the courtroom or the reflection I’d seen in the cheap mirror hung on my wall.
Soulless and without remorse.
My God. The asshole had taken me like I already belonged to him, almost as if our sinful coupling had been selected in the stars. I bit back an involuntary cry, trying to keep my wits about me. I was exhausted and drained from the experience, the adrenaline rush from before all but nonexistent.
While I’d tried to pay attention to the twists and turns of the road, it was impossible to figure out where they were taking me. Escaping his clutches was the only hope I had. A bitter laugh collected in my throat. As if that was even possible. I sensed a presence in the seat next to me, could hear the assigned thug’s heavy breathing, but the bastard hadn’t said a single word. There was also a driver, another brutal asshole. I wanted to remember every detail regarding the bastards so I could crucify them. When the engine slowed, another rattling series of panicking fear wrapped around my mind.
I sensed a driveway of some sort, maybe aggregate, but I wasn’t entirely certain. The vehicle stopped, still idling, and I held my breath.
Then the sound of a door opening made me cower in my seat, the warm air and light breeze floating across my face uncomfortable.
“Come on,” the gruff voice said, yanking me out of the vehicle. There was a hint of a New York accent, crude in tone, almost Italian.
“Let’s get this over with,” the other soldier barked, cursing under his breath.
I didn’t bother asking either one of them any questions. I knew how the mafia worked, the men likely soldiers at best, assigned to all the most ridiculous grunt work possible. I almost laughed at my analyzation of the crime syndicate family, as if I had any idea what the organization was like.
Other than what I’d heard on the news and what little the various attorneys had shared with me.
The men couldn’t care less that I was in my bare feet, dragging me along like the ragdoll I’d turned into. Neither bothered telling me to watch my step. The fall on something hard was jarring, the pain in my knees spiking down my legs. “Oh…” I gasped for air, my entire body shaking. I was overwhelmed by racking fear and dread, trying desperately to find a way to fight the asshole even though I knew it was no use.
“Come on. Get up,” the Italian snapped, yanking on my arm again. “I got places to be.”
I could hear the sound of a door being unlocked and opened. There was a distinct musty smell as I was pulled past a threshold. Then it hit me. This was Cristiano’s house. I wasn’t certain whether to be grateful or terrified.
After being dragged for several feet, I heard the sound of another door opening.
“We’re going downstairs. I don’t give a shit if you trip,” the second asshole said. There was a clicking sound, as if a light was being turned on. The slender slit of light coming from under the blindfold confirmed it as I lifted my head.
I was no longer shocked by the gruffness of their voices or the hatred in their tone. To the brutal soldier, I was nothing more than the enemy.
Breathe. Think.
“What the hell are you doing?” the Italian snorted.
“There’s a special place to put the bitch,” the second man huffed.
“That’s not what Cristiano wants.”
“As if I give a shit. We gotta make certain she doesn’t get loose.”
The Italian snarled. “Fuck you. I ain’t gonna take the rap for your bullshit decisions. You do whatever you want. I want no part of it.”
“You’re such a fucking pussy. Have some balls for once.” He jerked my arm, yanking me with enough force I stumbled.
The stairs were narrow, indicating an older house, which of course made sense in New Orleans. I’d googled Cristiano more than once, but what few pictures of him had landed on the Internet were obviously prepared, except for the ones surrounding his arrest and incarceration. Even then, he’d glared into the cameras, so arrogant and confident that he wasn’t going to prison.
As the heavy sound of the man’s boots hit a platform of some kind, I shuddered thinking what was going to happen next. The musty stench was even worse, assaulting my senses, the air dense yet chilly. I was in Cristiano’s goddamn basement. Another whisper threatened to give away just how terrified I was.
“Stand right here. You move. You die. Got it, sweetheart?” he asked before letting go of my arm.
“Uh-huh.”
He laughed, the sound creating ripples of goosebumps dancing down my arms. When I heard a creaking sound, as if an old door had been swung open, I swayed back and forth. “Get on your hands and knees.”
“What?”
“You heard me. If I have to ask you again, I just might get nasty.” He laughed in a provocative manner, the sound sending a chill down my spine. “If I had more time, I’d enjoy a taste of you.”
When he slid his hand to my breast, squeezing roughly, I bit back a whimper then reacted, spitting in the asshole’s face.
“You fucking bitch!” The backhand was savage, knocking me to a concrete floor. I was stunned, pain bursting into every muscle. “I should kill you right here.” He jerked me up by my hair and I could feel his hot, disgusting breath as it cascaded across my cheek. The stench was horrible. “Do that again and I will. Now, get the fuck in the cage.”
While I obeyed his command, slowly dropping to the floor, I finally did something I hadn’t done since I was a child. I started to pray.
The jerk fisted my hair, dragging me forward several inches. When I felt a cool metal surface, I was unable to stop the whimper from escaping my mouth. “Please stop. Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything, sweetheart. Now, if you behave like a nice little bitch, maybe you’ll be released on good behavior. Oh, wait. My boss didn’t get that opportunity. All because of you.”
The clanging sound sent another shot of adrenaline throughout my body. Whatever was planned for me, this was only the beginning.
“Now, you can experience a little time behind bars,” he huffed, chuckling darkly.
No. No. No. No!
I yanked my knees against my chest, immediately lifting my arms, able to wrap my fingers around a piece of metal. Bars. Oh, God. Oh… Panic swept through me, my heart thudding to the point I was forced to take gasping breaths. As soon as I heard the brute’s boots thudding against the stairs, I ripped away at the blindfold, sucking on my lower lip to keep from moaning. The darkness was horrific, oppressive, and suffocating.
After fighting with the rope that had already chafed the skin on my wrists, I took a series of shallow breaths then reached out, using the tips of my fingers to ‘feel’ what kind of enclosure I’d been dumped into. Several minutes later, I was forced to accept that I’d been dumped into a basic dog case; metal bars on all sides, the paneled bottom hard and slick.
It was no use screaming. I knew the kind of house Cristiano lived in, well secured and surrounded by as much land as he’d been able to find, likely with a six foot tall perimeter fence keeping everyone, including prying eyes, unable to venture even a single look.
As I settled against one of the panels, I finally allowed more than just a few tears to fall. My life was over, s
tripped of any concept of a future. I’d followed my conscience and I’d lost. After a few minutes, I closed my eyes, unable to stop shaking, the reality of my new life sinking in.
Never stop fighting. Don’t give in. Don’t you dare give in.
Myriad thoughts washed into my mind, all the images of the trial as well as the hour spent with Cristiano. Unable to stop shaking, I curled into a tight ball, sliding closer to the bottom of the cage.
Please…
Humming, I walked into the restaurant, enjoying the scents of Italian sausage and marinara sauce, the odors creating a rumbling in my stomach. The tired and disgruntled face of the worker behind the counter forced me to glance at the old-fashioned clock over his head. It was late, so much so I hadn’t even realized the time. A portion of the lights in the dining area had even been turned off in preparation of closing. I’d buried myself in research and financials, perfecting a market analysis study that my boss had requested and hadn’t even thought about hunting down dinner until a few minutes earlier. I should have called in my order, but the little Italian place was so close to the office.
The fresh air would hopefully do me some good.
The long hours were supposed to be temporary.
Sighing, I raked my hand through my hair, the strand that had fallen from the bun I’d haphazardly positioned on the top of my head pissing me off all night. The heat inside the small space was sweltering, creating an instant line of perspiration over my lip. I hated the hot summers; the bugs and constant humidity, the constant dampness.
But I adored the city itself, the vibrancy calling to me from the small window in my tiny office.
After ordering, I moved toward one of the booths to wait, rubbing my tired eyes, appreciating the time away from the grind, the darkness a welcome change to the glaring computer screen. The numbers had all started to fade together anyway. Hopefully, Mr. Dublin would call it a day soon. If not, I might quit. I sat back, closing my eyes, barely acknowledging the ringing bell over the entrance or the hard thumping of at least three sets of boots.
Then I heard a voice, the deep baritone forming goosebumps down the length of my arms. Smiling, I opened my eyes, marveling on the sight of what had to be the most handsome man in the city. Tall and muscular, the tailored dark suit he wore was the perfect complement to his stunning physique. His angular jaw and high cheekbones accentuated a chiseled face, his features carved to perfection. Everything about him screamed of wealth, the kind of prosperity that I’d only seen in glossy magazines.
However, the words coming out of his mouth didn’t fit his opulent persona.
“Angelo, it would appear you made the mistake of fucking with me,” the stranger growled.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” the man said in a gruff voice, cursing under his breath.
The fear rolled off the man’s tongue and even from where I was sitting, I could tell he was shaking.
A moment of self-preservation kicked into my system and I slid very quietly all the way to the back of the booth, holding my breath.
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. You fucked with the wrong family.” As the stranger lifted his arm, I was able to see the glint of metal.
A weapon.
Oh, my God. The man held a gun in his hand.
Pop! Pop!
As he turned his head in my direction, the shimmer in his eyes was something I’d never forget.
Cold.
Soulless.
My mouth watered, which surprised the hell out of me. I hadn’t experienced a reaction to any man in months, maybe a solid year. Shivering, I pressed my hand over my mouth
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Jerking awake, I blinked several times in an effort to understand what I was hearing, vivid images of the nightmare plastered in my mind. I bit back a cry, still shaking from the ugly visions. Nothing made any sense, including the ache in my arms and legs. The second I shifted, the ugliness of my situation fogged over what was left of my sanity. My mouth was dry, my head aching.
My legs were asleep, yet I managed to push as far away from the cage door as possible, crowding against the back of the container. Then I heard the sound of his rumbling voice, although his reaction was unexpected, sending shivers crisscrossing over every inch of my body.
The roar was unlike anything I’d ever heard, Cristiano’s deep baritone reverberating all around me.
Then the clamoring echo of the area surrounded me being destroyed forcing me to hold my head in my bound hands. What the hell was going on?
Seconds later, there was utter silence.
Tick. Tock.
Had a few seconds passed? A full minute? Two? There was no way of being certain.
“Goddamn it,” he growled. He was closer. So close. “Fucking Mario.”
Mario? Was that the name of the asshole who’d groped me?
Keep it in the back of your mind.
I wanted to say that I was horrified by hearing Cristiano’s voice, but I wasn’t. The irony was disgusting, pushing me into a wretched mental state. Had the monster actually believed that my body’s reaction to him was anything other than attempting to save my life?
Hell, no.
A few seconds later, a splash of light filtered over the cage, the harshness enough I was forced to hide my face and eyes.
After taking several exaggerated deep breaths, he hunkered down, immediately unlocking the cage and swinging the door open. When he reached inside, I cowered as far away as possible, studying him intently.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Emily. You weren’t supposed to be dumped into this hellhole.” He growled, forcing a series of chills racing down my spine. “Fucking Christ. Did Mario hit you?”
“What does it matter?”
“Fuck. Fuck!”
I wasn’t certain whether he was telling the truth as well as feigning concern, or merely playing a game in order to get me to trust him. Then what? I continued to hold my hands in front of my arms, my teeth chattering from the cold as well as the rush of adrenaline. I’d never felt so sick in my life, my stomach churning. When I didn’t respond, he rubbed his eyes, slightly shaking his head.
“My Capo didn’t follow my instructions,” he added, cocking his head as he looked at me.
It would be so easy to get lost in his eyes, to drown in the sexiness of the man as I had no doubt scores of other women had. But I wasn’t like other women. I had a backbone. When my reaction was to laugh, his eyes turned cold for several seconds.
After exhaling again, he reached into his pocket, and to my horror, he pulled out a large pocketknife, flipping open the serrated blade.
“No!” I managed, my voice barely audible, a lump forming in my throat.
Cristiano lifted a single eyebrow and leaned forward, struggling to reach me.
“No! No!” I fought him, smashing my fists against his arms.
“Stop fighting me, Emily. I’m going to untie you. That’s it. But if you continue to cross me, then I might change my mind.”
“How the hell can I trust you?”
“You can’t.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
Snorting, he gave me an incredulous look. “Do you think I brought you here to dispose of your body?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
This time, he yanked at my arms, tugging me forward by several inches, holding my arms in front of him. “You obviously have no clue who I am.”
The darkness pooling in his eyes was the color of black granite, hard, cold, and calculating.
“And I don’t want to.”
He laughed softly then gave me a stern glare. “Don’t move, Emily.”
“Stop saying my name.”
“You have a beautiful name.”
“Not when you say it.” I turned my head away, unable to watch what he was doing. When my wrists were suddenly freed, I folded my arms against my chest, taking gasping breaths.
The hesitation only fueled the ugliness swimming in my mind. I studied the basement as he grumbled under his breath, almost laughing from seeing gardening tools and several labeled boxes, even cleaning supplies. Just like a normal person would have instead of a monster.
“Crawl to me, Emily.”
His command was full of edge, the same huskiness as I’d heard before just as enticing, but I ignored him.
“I said. Come here. I need to get you out of that cage.”
“Then what?” I shot back, twisting my head until I was able to look him directly in the eyes.
His voluptuous lips pursed, the coldness in his eyes continuing. Then he moved to a standing position. He was going to leave me in the cage after all. I watched as he moved toward an old wooden table of some kind, leaning against it and crossing his arms.
Was the bastard playing a game of chicken?
I was incensed, furious, another round of rebellion sweeping through every molecule in my mind. I couldn’t give into his game. No, I refused to play it his way.
Cristiano studied me intently, his intense eyes burning a hole right through me.
This was little more than a crazy standoff of some kind. I hated that he looked so damn sexy, the ruby red color of his lips reminding me about the kiss. A flush of embarrassment crawled up from my neck when I involuntarily pressed my fingers across my lips.
My God. What was I doing?
The man was a killer, which is exactly what he’d do to me. This wasn’t some game of fantasy. This was real life, filled with irrefutable consequences.
Sadly, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He’d removed his jacket, the crisp white shirt now unbuttoned, the tailored fit only highlighting his muscular physique. The stark color accentuated the olive tint to his skin. I shifted my gaze to his powerful forearms, the cuffs rolled up past his elbows. I’d been able to gather the scent of alcohol on his breath, another sick reason to remember the kiss.
“You and I are going to have a conversation,” he said quietly.
“I’m not talking to you.”
“Yes, you are and if you lie to me, I’ll know. Then I’ll use that mouth of yours for something other than talking.”
