I try to pull back, I want to tell him what a sick, fucked up person he is, but he lodges himself so deep that I can’t breathe, stabbing back and forth, gripping my hair so hard it hurts. He groans when he comes, his hot come filling my throat, forcing me to swallow it.
When he releases me, I fall forward and throw up everything right in front of his feet. Salvatore takes a step back.
“Seems to me you don’t want that food anyway.”
“No, please!”
He’s silent.
“Sir!” I choke out.
Fuck him!
Everyday it’s more of the same. I beg to suck him. I get one meal. I’m constantly hungry and faint. I’m losing muscle mass. My bruises fade. I think I’ve been here a week. I don’t know. There are no days and no nights. I’ve come to long to see him. He’s my only contact with the outside world, and even his company is better than no company. He always hurts me. Always. Always grabs my hair rough, stabs deep into my throat, always pushes me away when he’s come. I’m still naked. I haven’t brushed my teeth in a long while and I reek of sweat. I shit on a bucket that is miraculously emptied when I wake to a new day, or night. I have no sense of time. I feel like an animal. He doesn’t touch me, and I’m not surprised. I’m disgusting. I don’t know what he wants me for.
The doctor comes by, twitchy, his eyes haunted, his glances at Ivan are even more nervous than they were before.
“I, uhm… I need to give you another injection. Every three months.”
My mouth falls open, then I just give up. It’s no use trying to fight it. I won’t give in to Salvatore, but he may very well just take me one day and I sure as hell don’t want to get pregnant with his child.
The doctor holds up a syringe. “Buttock,” he says and I turn to my side, obediently. I’m not broken, that’s not why I let him stab me with his needle, I just know to choose my fights.
“How long have I been here?”
He doesn’t answer but begins to cut up my cast. I’m horrified at the implication. I’m supposed to have healed?
“Weeks?”
He still doesn’t answer, packs up everything and darts out of the room as if he has the Devil on his heels. Ivan throws me one glance and I think I see a fleeting pity in his eyes before he lets the door fall closed.
I don’t ask for Salvatore that day. And not the next day. I have water that I drink as little as possible from, but I won’t play his fucking game anymore.
Luciano
I’m not happy with my little project. It’s been three weeks. She’s starving, naked and dirty. Her blowjobs are mechanical, and I’ve begun to lose interest. It’s not that hot. She needs an incentive, or I’ll lose her. I expected it to be easier and I’m still motivated to do this, to break her in and make her my obedient slave. My clean obedient slave.
I honestly don’t want to see her like this. It doesn’t bring me pleasure. I gotta fucking make right with this mess before she perishes before my eyes. The Chloe I saw on that picture the day I decided she needed to die, the cocky, radiant beauty, the thief and the tricky little lady who forged a new identity, that’s the one I want back.
Throwing one last glance at the monitor, I spin the seat around and call Ivan.
“Sir?”
“Get our dentist here, and someone to groom this chick, and get me Elena. I need fucking Elena. Now!”
Ivan never shows a single emotion, but I almost hear him twitch. “Yes, sir! Eh… groom?”
“Waxing, nails, hair, that kind of shit.”
“A beauty therapist?”
“Whatever the fuck it’s called. Yes!”
“I know someone, sir. I’ll send for her.”
“Good. Also, have the cook make her three meals a day from now on. Lots of protein. And Matteo. Have Matteo call me.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“No,” I growl. “That’s all for now.”
I’ll fucking wake her up, and wake her up good.
I can’t stand to look at Chloe. Somewhere deep inside there’s an uncomfortable gnawing feeling that I fucked this up. Admittedly, I didn’t think it through for shit, and maybe I should have asked someone. Ivan has given me dirty looks lately but, like everything with him, so subtly that it’s taken me awhile to get it. He’s pissed with me.
Taking my frustration out on the weights in my gym, I wait for Matteo to call, and Elena to get here. When my phone chimes, sweat drips off me and I’m naked from the waist up. I’ve never been in better shape than I am now, at forty-five. I wipe off my face, throw the towel over my shoulder and pick up.
“Man, it’s fucking five in the morning!” Matteo sounds less than happy, and as if he hasn’t slept at all.
“Time to get up.” I try to keep the growl out of my voice.
“What’s up, Uncle?”
“I want you to make preparations to get the girl’s brothers out of prison.”
He’s silent a few moments. “Oookay… Feeling goody two-shoes?”
I scoff. “I got my reasons. Give them a place to live. Nothing fancy, just a bed and somewhere to drop their bags. There’ll be conditions. They are to stay in San Francisco, and always at my disposal.”
“Jeez. Fuck. Okay. I can make that happen. Give me a few.”
“A few what?”
“Weeks.”
“You’ve got one week.”
He inhales as if to object. “Do it,” I snarl and disconnect as a soft knock on the door makes me spin around. “Enter!”
Elena, without makeup, in a simple white blouse and a dark gray skirt, her hair in a strict bun, peeks in through the door as she pushes it open a sliver. Her eyes travel my body and then she looks back up.
“You asked for me?”
“Go make us coffee. I’ll shower. Find you in the kitchen.”
She raises an eyebrow and disappears without further questions. Fifteen minutes later I follow the tantalizing scent of freshly brewed coffee and find her in the adjacent lounge, curled up on the couch, her shoes kicked off and her legs pulled up, folded to the side. She still has the body of a much younger woman. I make a detour to the kitchen, pour myself a cup and then steer my steps back to my old partner in crime, my mentor, and the only one I can unload on.
I sink down on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. “I have someone.”
She’s silent, waiting for me to continue.
“A captive. A girl.”
She’s still silent.
“I’ve fucked up. I need your help.”
“That’s… new.”
I shove my fingers through my hair and take a sip of the coffee. “To be candid. She was supposed to die, but circumstances made me decide to keep her. Seems I suck at taking a hostage, and I think I’m killing her anyway.”
“What’s your intention with her?”
I give her a deadpan look that she has no trouble interpreting. “My girls aren’t making you happy anymore?”
“My motives are none of your business.”
“What do you need me for?”
“I need someone to give her some clothes, babysit her, bring her back to life and make her someone I actually want to fuck.”
Elena regards me, then she nods. “I’m very busy, Luciano, but I can put one of my girls on it.”
I think it over, narrowing my eyes. I did want Elena herself, but I also need her to run her business. “That’ll do. I trust you to make a good choice.”
“Of course.” She puts down the cup and stands. “When do you want this to happen?”
“Last fucking week. But today will do,” I mutter.
“Not a problem. I’ll have someone here later this morning.”
“Good.”
She sails out of the room with her usual grace. She’s the only woman I ever considered for a girlfriend, but that was a long time ago, and I know I was too cruel with her. She’s in my service, but I don’t know how she really feels about me, and I really don’t care as long as she does what
she’s told. And she always does.
I head back to my personal chamber, fall on my back on my bed and bring up the feed from the camera down below. Chloe is awake, hugging her knees, staring emptily in front of her. I don’t have feelings. I don’t do pity or remorse. I don’t care about other people, but there is a twinge of something in my chest as I look at her. Conjuring up the defiant woman who stood before me, thinking about how I’ll heal her and bring some of that back makes my cock twitch. I’ve been cruel. It backfired. Time to be nice.
Chapter 12
Chloe
I jerk when the door opens. My head has been so foggy lately and I don’t have the energy to stand anymore. I know I’ll die down here and I’m too weak to even care.
A woman enters, a curvy brunette in her thirties with light makeup and warm brown eyes. She is a stunning beauty and oozes sensuality even in her simple, rather demure flowery dress. What game is he playing now? Is she a new captive?
She comes up to me and crouches, cocking her head, looking me over as she hands me a bottle with some fluid. “Chloe?” Her voice is husky and a little uncertain.
I take the bottle and meet her curious gaze, licking my dry lips. “Yes,” I whisper. I don’t know when the last time I spoke was.
“I’m to clean you up and give you something to wear. Start drinking that. Slowly. It has salts and sugar.”
It’s as if a gust of wind suddenly moves across a field, clearing the mist in an instant. “What?”
“Can you stand?” She gives me her hand. I take it and she pulls me to my feet as if I weigh no more than a bird. My mind spins sickeningly and I drop the bottle as I put a hand to the wall to steady myself, wincing. My arm still feels weird and vulnerable where it used to be broken, but it looks pretty normal, so I guess it’s more in my mind than an actual physical issue. The woman snatches up the bottle, grabs me around my waist and half lifts me. “We need to get up a set of stairs. Can you manage?”
I nod. “What’s going on?”
She gives me an uncertain gaze. “I’m not supposed to talk with you.”
Anxiety rolls over me in thick, heavy waves, tightening my chest. The first person to be kind to me in a very long time, and still I stay in the nightmare. I’ll let her off the hook, though. I have no reason to blame her. At least I don’t think so. She is probably caught in the monster’s web too. “Okay.”
She half-carries me up the stairs to a hallway I vaguely remember and opens a door right across it, gently pushing me into a stunning bathroom with black tiles on the floor and dark brown, tiled walls with tiny specs of gold. It has a masculine feel and is actually tasteful. I expected him to be tacky. I would have wanted him to be tacky but from the little I’ve seen so far–the garden, the office, this bathroom–he’s got a sense for beauty. Pushing the bottle into my hands, she waits until I’ve had a few sips while I hold her gaze, still wary of the contents and what is going on. It tastes of lime and when I lick my lips they taste slightly salty, like she said. She turns on the faucet, and soon a warm mist fills the space as she steers me into the stream. I close my eyes and sigh with contentment as she lathers and rinses me, shampoos my hair several times, massaging my scalp, being so, so tender the whole time. I can’t deal with tenderness, it gives me hope and a longing I can’t afford. Turning my face up against the stream, I hide my tears.
“Oh my God, you’re so thin,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my reflex to apologize beyond my control.
The rest of the day gets weirder. Wrapping me in a thick dark beige towel, she then leads me through the carpeted hallway, the walls simple and white with nothing on them, and into some kind of sick bay. She stays by my side the whole day. A dentist comes by, has me gaping, snickering as he examines my mouth, scraping my teeth, making me taste blood. A prescribed mouthwash, an electric toothbrush, and a lot of instructions that pass through one ear and out the other. A beautician removes all the hair off my body, takes care of finger- and toenails. Finally, the woman next to me pulls a bag to her and rummages around in it, digging out a large white shirt and a little pink thong. She looks embarrassed as she hands me the clothes.
“What is this?” I ask. “Is he being nice only to be cruel later?”
“You’re beautiful,” she says, “He’ll adore you. Put on your clothes.” She nods at the now half-empty bottle. “And keep drinking.”
I obey and take a sip, studying the thong. “Not much to put on.”
“Better than before.”
I’ll give her that. I don’t want to get her into any kind of trouble, and despite my ever-present fear that this will be another one of his cruel games, I put on the shirt and panties. The panties fit perfectly, but the shirt looks like I borrowed a boyfriend’s, and reaches to my lower thighs.
“How do you feel?” she asks as she fluffs my hair so that it falls over my shoulders. It has gotten back its golden blonde hues that I used to love so much. Now, I don’t want to be pretty anymore. I wish I could just chop it off.
I’m surrounded by a musky, spicy scent from the lotion that was rubbed on my hands and feet and the fruity scent from the soap. I’m clean and my teeth don’t feel like a rug. My body feels great, but my mind is a mess. “I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything about that.” She pulls up a phone from the bag and taps on the screen.
“It’s Vanessa. We’re done.”
I freeze up. Whatever comes next, it happens now. She disconnects and looks me over as she stands, glancing between the door and me. When the door opens and the large blond guard, Ivan, appears, she snatches up the bag and hurries toward the opening. Throwing one last gaze at me, she says, “We all are.” Then she’s gone.
I meet Ivan’s eyes, light gray, almost friendly. “You look better,” he mutters.
I glance down at my skinny knees that stick out beneath the shirt.
It’s as if he reads my mind. “Food has been arranged.”
“What game is he playing, Ivan? Please, give me something. Please!” My voice is hoarse and barely obeys me, breaking on the last word.
He hesitates, then he grabs my elbow, surprisingly gentle. “There are always games, Miss Becker. He is not a nice man. I’m sorry.”
I blink from the unexpected words. He’s sorry? I thought he was the same as his boss. As he leads me through the hallway, I stare at the stairwell that leads to my prison, my insides shrinking, but we pass it and walk toward a heavy oak door at the end of the hallway. Ivan opens it and leads me inside a large, luxurious room, also with the same masculine feel as the bathroom. I flinch when the door closes with a heavy thud.
“I will leave you alone,” he says in his grave voice. “Go sit on the bed. Don’t try anything.” He leans closer and puts his mouth to my ear. “Or you will be punished.”
I recoil and stumble back, staring at him in horror. “I won’t. Please—” A knock on the door interrupts me. Ivan strides over, interacts with someone and then returns with a tray holding a small meal of deliciously smelling food that he puts on the floor in front of my feet.
“Eat,” he grumbles. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I stare at him one moment longer, then I sink down onto the floor, crossing my legs and throw myself over the plate. I shove in cod seasoned with a pinch of black pepper and bathing in melted butter, mashed potatoes, and a little pile of green beans. When I look back up, Ivan has disappeared without a sound. The food settles in my stomach like a slab of concrete, and still I’m far from satisfied. I lick off the plate, not caring if anyone watches. I need every last bit of energy I can get my hands on.
When I’m done, I stand and turn to take in the room. Is this the master bedroom? I stare at the bed and a shudder runs through me. I try the door. I must. It’s locked. Of course it is. I cross the room in a few strides and try the other door. It leads to a bathroom. No escape. A curtain catches my interest. Maybe a window? Pulling it to the side, I stare in horror at my finding. Canes of d
ifferent sizes, leather cuffs, whips, and chains. My insides clench up as I see myself in them. I have no doubt he’ll use them on me. I grab one of the canes on pure instinct, thinking I can use it on him, but it’s locked in place.
“Fuck!”
Snapping the curtain closed again, I aim for a cupboard at the other side of the room. All the drawers are locked. The rest of the room only contains a set of armchairs, and a little table. I dart back into the bathroom, my heart pounding. I’m partly excited at the thought of maybe finding something I can defend myself with, and partly terrified that I will find something and that it won’t go down well. I rummage through every cupboard and drawer, but there is nothing heavy, and nothing sharp.
Finally, I give up and sink down on the edge of the bed. No one comes. Nothing happens. If this is my new prison, at least it’s a million times more liveable than the old one. Weeks of too little sleep eventually get the better of me. I shuffle higher up on the bed and lie down, my eyes getting heavier.
Something jolts me awake. It’s as if the atmosphere in the room has changed, become darker, more sinister. I open my eyes and widen them, shrinking back. Salvatore sits on the edge of the bed. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
“Don’t move.”
With his skin on mine, I can’t, no matter how much I want to. His voice leaves no room for pleading. There’s no mercy to be found.
“I have your brothers.”
“What?”
“They are out of prison. I have them.”
“Please! Don’t hurt them!”
His thumb strokes the soft skin on the inside of my wrist. “That is entirely up to you, Chloe.”
I can barely breathe, terror lodging itself in my chest.
“You are to obey me at all times. No fuss. No resistance, no fucking glares when you think I’m not watching.”
Capo Page 9
