Greeting the people mingling in the common area next to the dining room, I decide to do the latter. I’m good at improvising. Young Chloe will learn this very soon.
Chloe
“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely heard over the clattering of water on the tiles.
Ivan gets his shirt sleeve wet as he reaches in and turns off the stream. “Get up.”
“I don’t want to do this,” I sob. “I can’t!”
“Get up, miss.”
“Please!”
I scream as he grabs my good arm and pulls me to my feet, then I try to dig my heels into the cold, slippery tiles as he pulls me with him. “Ivan, no! Please, let me leave. I’m Chloe, I shouldn’t be here, I can’t be here, please don’t do this to me!”
Ivan grabs the remaining towel and throws it to me. “This is the only kindness you will see in a very long time, Miss Becker. Savor it.”
I scream then. A wordless wailing as he drags me into the office. His grip around my upper arm is vice-like, and impossible to fight, but when he pulls out a drawer that contains tools that look like something you’d use for torture, I renew my struggling. He picks up a black leather collar and tries to fasten it around my neck. I throw myself from side to side, whipping my head and shaking it. Ivan quickly changes his grip and grabs my broken arm instead, his fingers making deep indents in the soggy cast. I scream and go absolutely still to not worsen the sharp, paralyzing pain that sears through my limb.
“I have no intention of hurting you, Miss Becker. I don’t get off on violence, but I will do what’s necessary to follow Mr. Salvatore’s orders,” he says as he fastens the collar and pulls out metal cuffs and a chain. Looking over my shuddering, still dripping wet, body, he frowns. “Not sure what to do with your arm.” He holds up the cuffs.
“I can’t use it,” I say quickly, already planning to try no matter how much it hurts.
“I can’t risk it,” he mutters and clicks a cuff closed around one wrist and then the other. “Guess I’ll have to leave your arms in front.” He looks me over, then hooks a cold, heavy chain around my waist, tightening it, fastening it to the cuffs like I’ve seen them do with prisoners. My heart sinks. That’s what I am. I’m their prisoner.
“Please, you can let me go. I’ll disappear. I won’t talk to anyone, I promise.”
Ivan meets my eyes, grabs a black fabric out of the drawer of horrors and throws it over my head. It’s a hood and it falls to my shoulders.
“No!”
“Shut up, or I’ll stuff your mouth too.” He tugs at the chain, making me stumble forward a step. “Come.”
“Please!”
I hear rattling, then he lifts the hood, holding a rag in his hand. I widen my eyes. “I’ll be quiet,” I gasp. “I promise!”
He narrows his eyes as silence builds between us. “There will be repercussions, Miss Becker, if you make even one sound.”
I nod. I can barely breathe, every intake of air hitching on the thick lump of fear in my chest.
He drops the hood again and my world turns near-black.
“Now, mind your step.”
I sniffle, trying to choke it down, but I can’t help the tears that stream down my cheeks as he leads me through the house. We’re passing through too many rooms to count. There is talking and laughter that goes silent as we walk past them. The temperature and the scents shift. Finally everything is silent except for the sound of our steps. Ivan stops and tugs at the chain, making me come to an abrupt halt, almost falling.
“I’ll carry you,” he grumbles in his deep baritone.
His arms snake behind my thighs and my back and my mind spins from the sudden change of position as I’m lifted. It somehow goes even more silent, and his steps are muffled. It also gets colder, and I’m covered in goosebumps, my teeth chattering.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper, hoping I am allowed to speak now that we seem to be very much alone.
He doesn’t answer, puts me down and pulls off the hood. I take a deep breath and squint against the light from a single lamp in the ceiling. Ivan stands in the doorway, the only way out. My heart almost stops and a wave of renewed panic surges through me.
“No!” I run toward him, trying to push him out of my way, but it’s like trying to move a boulder.
“Don’t make me hurt you again, girl,” he growls, tossing the towel to the floor a few feet into the room. “You better learn to obey, and fast, or you’ll be in for a world of pain.” He shoves me back. I stumble to remain standing and charge toward him again, but he slams the door closed. Our eyes meet through a little hatch in the door.
“Never!” I scream.
“Then I pity you,” he says and closes the hatch, leaving me in deafening silence.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I stare in disbelief at the closed door, then I throw myself at it and slam my fist on the cold metal surface. “Don’t leave me here!” I scream to no one, my voice weirdly muffled, as if the noise is somehow swallowed as soon as it leaves my mouth. Glancing around me, I take in the padded ceiling and walls and my blood runs cold at the implications. No one will hear me scream. This part of the house already seemed silent and abandoned, and to top it off the room is soundproofed. Kneeling, I pick the towel off the floor and try to wrap it around me. Twisting and jerking, I finally manage to get it up over my chest, clenching it under my arms, still cuffed. The chain hangs heavy across my ass and I can’t stop shaking.
The room has no windows, no light switch, nothing to sit or lie on. The floor is somewhat soft, though, like a gym carpet. A shudder runs through me. I doubt it’s to make the room comfortable. It’s probably also meant to muffle any sound. In the floor in the center of the room sits a sunken down small metal square with tiny holes. I squint, looking at it, then I widen my eyes as I realize it’s a drain. What… would they need that for? I make a slow lap along the walls, nausea rising in me as I stare at the rings that sit high up on three of the walls, and the hooks in the ceiling. I think of the drawer of horrors in Salvatore’s office. This must be the room to go with it. A sob rips through my chest and bursts out as new tears fall. I feel sick and the little stomach content I have threatens to make its way back up.
When nothing happens, no one comes for me, I finally sink down along the far wall, in the corner, somewhat grateful for the padding. It’s not soft, but it’s not concrete either and the difference is huge.
My mouth is dry, my stomach is a gnawing hole. I can’t remember when I last drank or ate anything.
In the silence, my heart finally calms a little and the tears dry on my cheeks. Waves of panic crash through me, but my mind can only take so much and finally I curl up on my side, holding my broken arm in its deformed cast the best I can. The cuffs have chafed the skin on my wrists, but it doesn’t hurt badly. My arm pounds, a dull pain that comes and goes. My ribs feel as if the broken ends gnaw at my insides, an ever-present company. But that’s not the worst pain.
The worst pain is the agony of not knowing what lies ahead, of fearing I’ll never get out of here, that I’ll be raped, beaten, and killed, and no one will ever know what became of me.
I don’t care to try to wipe my dripping nose, or the tears that fall again.
Chapter 9
Luciano
I’m distracted through dinner. My mind is pulled in two different directions. The girl in my little play chamber, and the fucking weasel who’s locked up a few rooms away. I listen with half an ear to the conversations around me, answer when appropriate, but my cock is semi-hard the whole dinner at the thought of first having a go at Mr. Jones, and then taking a look at my captive. She’s pretty fucking damaged, and I can’t really play with her yet, but I can push her, condition her, drag her down to the edge of sanity and keep her balancing there until she’s clay in my hands.
Ivan’s gaze seeks mine during dessert and I give him an almost invisible nod. Jones has been locked up for four hours. It’s time.
“Gentlemen,” I
say as I stand. “My bar is open, as always. Help yourselves to a good time. I’m off for another kind of good time.”
Several leery grins tell me they have an idea what I’m talking about. Ivan stands too, wipes his mouth, drops the napkin on the plate and moves around the table. One of the men glances warily at him and I narrow my eyes. Joachim. What reason does he have to worry about Ivan moving behind his back? We’ll look into that. I curl my lips as I stride out of the dining room. There’s always something.
“Boss,” says Ivan, “what are we doing with him? He said he’s got the money.”
“Cash?”
“I don’t know this.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He’ll learn not to be late for meetings.”
“Are we offing him?”
I shake my head. “Not if he has the money.” Nodding to the door, I motion for Ivan to unlock it.
“Devon,” I exclaim and slam my palms together. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Devon Jones looks as if he’s swallowed a lemon spiced up with capsaicin. His face is flushed, the corners of his mouth pulled down to his knees, and he paces back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists. When he sees us, he explodes.
“What the fuck, man? I’ve been fucking locked up for hours! I need to pee. You have no fucking right to treat me like this.”
I raise an eyebrow, amused. “Brave words, Devon.”
Devon flinches and looks behind me as Ivan locks the door and walks up to stand a step behind my left shoulder. The weasel’s eyes dart between us and he looks less furious and more twitchy.
“I hear you have the money.”
“Yeah, man.”
“Cash?”
“Fifty-five thou? I don’t think so.”
“Fair enough. Transfer it.”
Devon glances around him at the almost empty room. In the center stands a desk and a chair. I motion for Ivan to go ahead and watch as he unlocks a drawer and pulls out a laptop.
“Sit,” he growls.
I cross my arms over my chest as Devon, with a glance at me, hesitantly sits down in front of the laptop as it chimes to life. Ivan taps at it, then Devon for a long while, then Ivan. I’m present in body and mind, but annoyingly unfocused. Another kind of game calls for me. A new game. A naked and bruised girl in the basement.
Needing this to be over with, I clench my hands into fists and crack my knuckles. Devon flinches and his eyes dart up to meet mine. I keep my face neutral, impassive. Beads of sweat pearl at his hairline and the sadist in me flares to life. He’s weak, showing his fear. This is the fucking reason I get up in the morning. This is what I live for. Power. Ivan gives me a glance and a barely-there nod, then he closes the laptop. We’re done. Devon leans back and dares a smile, sighing with obvious relief.
“Well, that concludes our business,” I say and step aside, as if to let him pass. Devon looks between Ivan and me and rises slowly. It’s as if he can’t believe his luck. He’s right to doubt it.
Ivan hauls up the key to the door out of his pocket and Devon puts his hand on the doorknob. He freezes as I speak.
“How come you were late?”
He widens his eyes. “I, eh…” He rubs his nose and licks his lips. “I had some last-minute arrangements.”
“You broke our deal, Devon.”
“No, I—I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I obviously can’t let that slip. You understand this. Yes?”
I don’t even have to look at Ivan. We’ve played this game for twenty years. Ivan grabs Devon’s arms and pulls them up on his back. Devon screams, a scream that is abruptly silenced as I slam my fist into his midsection. He gasps for air, his face turning beet red as he folds forward.
“Boss!” he wheezes.
“I’m not your boss, Devon.” I uppercut him, splitting his lip, then I punch him in the stomach again. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare. You do not break a deal with Luciano Salvatore.”
“I didn’t!” he squeals as his knees fold and he sags. I hit his face again, and probably crush his balls as I knee him in the groin. Ivan lets him go and Devon falls into a heap on the floor, tears streaming down his swollen bloodied face. He holds out a shaking hand, as if trying to pacify me, then he bends over and vomits. I grab his hair and force him to look at me. The puddle before his knees reeks but I’m pretty used to the foul odors a human can produce. They pee themselves, shit themselves, bleed, and throw up. It’s worse for them than it is for me.
Devon’s face doesn’t look like it did a few minutes ago. It’s swollen, with fresh blood glistening in his eyebrow, dribbling from his nose, over his lips and down his chin.
“Don’t kill me,” he cries.
I laugh. “I can’t kill everyone I do business with. There’d be no one left. Now, will you ever be late to a meeting again?”
“No, sir!” he whimpers.
“Good,” I say and push his face into the vomit, grinding his cheek in the sticky substance. Devon retches and flails while I laugh. I’m not particularly amused, but it’s part of the show. He’ll forever remember Salvatore, the psychopath you should never cross. He’ll tell others and they’ll all cower before me. I straighten and nod for Ivan to let me out. I’m done with business for tonight. It’s time to play.
From far away comes the sound of laughter and music. I steer my steps in the opposite direction, away from the lively party in my club room. There’ll be hookers, cocaine, bragging, brawls. Normally, I’d sit in the middle of the mayhem and breathe it in, savor it, but tonight I have other plans. For the first time in a long while I feel a sense of excitement.
My private hallway is dead quiet. There’s nothing indicating that another person breathes nearby. I wonder if Ivan followed my directions. I wonder if she went and died on me. That would be a bummer, but it would of course solve the issue with her being an annoying as fuck witness.
The last few steps down the carpeted stairs to the basement, my heart rate quickens and my cock twitches to life at the thought of a naked, brutally beaten woman, locked in and crying helplessly. I still don’t know how to play this, and I can’t believe in all these years I’ve never done this before.
It’s eerily silent. The deep red steel door reveals nothing. I pull open the hatch and glance inside. In the far corner lies a shape, curled up in a fetal position, covered by a white towel. Her blonde hair is splayed in a mess of knotted tresses. She doesn’t stir. She’s fucking sleeping. Dark anger boils up inside. She’s supposed to be a blabbering mess, not peacefully asleep. I unlock the door, step inside and slam the door closed behind me with an ear-splitting bang. Chloe flies up with a whimper, her eyes unfocused and confused at first, then she sees me and if she could push further back, she would have.
That’s better.
I step up to her and crouch, then I rip the towel off her body and toss it aside. “Things like these, you earn,” I growl.
A warm scent of strawberries wafts up and I inhale deeply, savoring it. Her hands fly up to cover her chest, then she doubles over and cradles her arm, crying out. I narrow my eyes as I take in the cast that is skewered and has slid down. She won’t heal well like that. I want her mind bent, not her arm.
“Please,” she whispers, looking up at me with the one eye she can open properly, the other still swollen and the skin around it discolored. Her iris is a startling blue and her eye is bloodshot. Fresh tears begin to form and silently trickle down her cheek.
“Please what?”
“What do you want?”
I grab her hair and pull up her head, making her whimper. “Please what?”
She stares at me in confusion. I smirk as I see how it dawns on her, how she fights it, how she decides to refuse.
“Let me out of here, please.”
“Please what?” I roar in her face, leaning in as I twist my hand in her hair, forcing her to let go of her wounded arm, and try to dislodge my hand instead. Big fat tears stream down her cheeks. I shake her. “You can make life e
asy or you can make it difficult. See, I’m not that bad. I’m giving you a choice.”
“That’s the same fucking shit your hitman said. How fucking cookie cutter mobster of you,” she grits out.
My hand darts out on instinct and I slap her cheek. Hard. “You dare to be mouthy with me?” I snarl.
She touches her cheek, wincing. “I’m not gonna play your game!”
I let her go and stand, looking her over. “Spread your legs.”
She looks aghast and shakes her head repeatedly, her eyes locked on mine.
“Spread your legs for me, Chloe. I have a room full of frustrated, horny, violence-prone men up there who’d love to meet you. Give me five minutes and I’ll have them lined up outside, waiting to have a go at you. You think you’re in pain now? Wait until they’ve ripped your ass.”
A nearly inhuman cry rips from her throat and her legs shake as she bends her knees and lets her thighs fall apart. A small patch of light red hair partly covers her slit. I’ll definitely have that taken care of. I let my gaze travel from her cunt past her flat belly, her bruised chest, her tantalizing full breasts, and back up to her face.
I wink. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now you’re playing my game.” I turn and snatch up the towel off the floor, unlocking the door.
“Please!” she screams. “I’m thirsty! And hungry. I’m in pain!”
Spinning on my heels I thin my lips as I give her a hard stare. “Please. Fucking. What?”
When she doesn’t answer I turn back to the door.
“Sir!” she cries. “Sir! Please, sir.”
My cock stirs from her desperate screams, her tears and her reluctant submission. I grin and turn toward her again, tossing her the towel. She just earned it back. “I’ll have someone bring you some water.”
Chapter 10
Chloe
I scramble to cover up again, shaking from the fear and humiliation of the meeting with the mob boss. He’s the Devil himself. Why the hell did I decide it was a good idea to come here? I cry helplessly, feeling dirty for being so quick to obey, for spreading my legs, for calling him… sir. Nausea rises in me every time I relive it. Every time his words flicker through my mind, his threat to have me raped, something inside me shrinks, pulls back, builds protecting walls. I think of the sky, of the ocean, of having a latte in a cafe downtown, trying to escape in my mind and not dwell on his promise that he’ll keep me locked up forever. He can’t mean that, can he?
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