My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3

by Marita A. Hansen

  “I’d be happy to gun fuck you,” you fucking bastard!

  He kept on laughing, waving his hand at me as if he wanted me to stop.

  “What have you done to Frano?!”

  Matt finally stopped, although a few snorts escaped. “He was put into a forced coma, but came out of it today, all dazed and confused. Apparently, he thinks he’s got concussion from falling off a horse. Alberto really is a bastard to have as a brother. But it’s better this way, because Frano is none the wiser. And it makes both Alberto and his wife happy to play along with the game so they both can have a piece of Jagger’s sweet cherry pie. I know that boy is beautiful, but really, what’s the good of being beautiful when you get nothing but pain from it?”

  “Did you touch him?” I said, feeling sick.

  “Oh, no, the Padre only shares with Alberto, and of today Alberto’s wife: a bribe to keep her silent. Though, I have watched Alberto fucking the pretty boy, because I really do like seeing him at work. He is rather scrumptious. I always did prefer the brutes, especially since I don’t fuck people prettier than myself.” He smiled wide, telling me he didn’t think I was pretty, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s not entirely true, because I do fuck pretty males, but that’s just a hazard of my job.”

  “Why am I here?” I snapped. “Besides for your amusement.”

  He pushed his lower lip out, putting on a sad face. “I want a divorce,” he said, then started laughing again.

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “Yes, I am, and you can thank my father for that.” He pushed up and grabbed Red by the arm, his smile so bright I wanted to blacken it with my fist. “I’m going to get someone to fuck this one in front of Mario for my amusement, so bye, Rita, hopefully I won’t be seeing you again.” He pulled Red over to the door, stopping for the guard to open it, then left the room without a backward glance.

  The door closed, leaving me alone. I got to my feet and checked it, clasping the handle between my tied hands, and trying to turn it. As suspected, it was locked. I walked over to the window and looked out. I was on the third floor, far too high to jump out of, even if my hands were untied. I scanned the front yard. The property was huge with a long driveway disappearing into a row of trees. I looked down at the vehicles parked out front. Expensive Italian automobiles were lined up like the beds in the prostitute’s room, while several cheaper cars were parked further away.

  I spun around and sized up the room, wondering what I could use to cut the rope from my wrists, because there was no way I could wriggle out of it, the knots too tight, but other than the bed and a few cabinets, the room was pretty bare, without a single sharp edge in sight. I headed into the bathroom and checked through the cupboards, using my mouth and feet to open them, but only finding bandages and other first aid equipment—nothing that could help me. My smell hit me again, way too strong to ignore. I turned around and used my clasped hands to open the shower door, then stepped inside. I knocked the shower lever on, then started cleaning myself, using the wall and my feet to do the job that my hands couldn’t.

  Once done, I got out and jumped up and down on the bathmat, trying to shake the water off me, then went into the bedroom and wiped myself on the side of the bed. When I was dry enough, I sat down on the bed, knowing I was far from the best person for this job, making me wonder why Dan had really chosen me. He knew I was keen, but still, this was my first active assignment, one which right now was making me wonder whether I’d been set up by more than just Matt. I had a chip in my leg that was pretty much useless, and now that Federico was dead I had absolutely no support or means of communicating with Dan whatsoever. It just didn’t make sense to send me in so ill-equipped, something that I had questioned, although it did no good.

  My train of thought was cut short at the sound of footsteps approaching the room. The door opened and a massive guard walked in with a naked and bleeding Jagger in his arms. He laid Jagger on the bed, then walked over to me. “Clean him, bandage him,” he said. “Everything you need is in the bathroom. There is also a small freezer under the basin with bags of ice that you can use to put on his crotch. Now, turn around so I can untie you.”

  I did what he asked, the man cutting the rope from my wrists. My eyes went to the other guard standing at the door. He had his gun pointed at me.

  The massive guard finished untying me then left the room, the other one with the gun closing the door behind him, locking me and Jagger in together. I climbed onto the bed, checking Jagger. His face was unharmed, but he was bleeding around his nipples and in between his legs, plus his nipples, cock, and balls were all swollen and red.

  “Jagger,” I said.

  He moaned, but kept his eyes closed.

  I ran into the bathroom, pulling out bandages, a tube of salve, and a towel from the cupboards, then returned to the bed, placing it all on the side cabinet. I went back for another towel and a bowl of water along with a bag of ice from the freezer under the basin. I placed them on the cabinet also, then wet the towel and I started cleaning Jagger’s nipples. He hissed but kept his eyes closed. Once done, I rubbed some salve onto them, then looked down at his legs, grimacing, but knowing I had to clean there too

  “Open your legs, Jagger,” I said.

  “No more, please, no more, it hurts.”

  “I’m just going to clean you.”

  He shook his head and curled into a ball.

  I touched his face, making him flinch away. “Sssh, I promise, I just want to help.”

  He cracked open his eyes, surprise coloring his golden-brown irises. “Sophia?”

  “No, it’s Rita. Remember, Margarita Kovak?”

  “Rita?” he croaked out, rubbing his eye.

  “Yes, so open your legs so I can clean you.”

  He uncurled himself and spread his legs, the trust there making me feel sick that he would do that for me, showing just how much he’d been hurt.

  I wiped down his legs, again noticing how swollen his genitals were. “Turn onto your stomach,” I said. He rolled over without complaint, the man making my heart hurt. “Open your legs again.”

  He did as instructed, but flinched when I placed a hand on his ass.

  “I won’t hurt you; I’m just going to clean you up. But I need to look at your butt to do this. I will also need to touch it to clean the wounds. Do you give me permission to check?”

  “No one needs permission with me,” he croaked out. “They just take. So clean, you can fuck me with whatever you want and it will make no difference.”

  My heart tightened. I hesitated, then moved between his legs, running the towel over his crack. When he didn’t move, I placed my hands on either side and pulled his cheeks apart, hissing at the angry red I saw between them. Jagger went rigid as I cleaned it, his muscles tensing, what I was doing obviously causing him pain. I wondered what had been used on him to cause the bleeding, then quickly shut down my thoughts, not wanting to know, just hoping that whatever it was he could heal from it.

  I took the bloodied towel into the bathroom, soaking it in the sink, then returned and rubbed some salve over the inflamed area, Jagger hissing at the sting. After I was satisfied I could do no more, I washed up in the bathroom, giving myself a better clean now that I had my hands free.

  Feeling satisfied that I no longer smelt of piss, I went back into the bedroom and rolled Jagger onto his back, the man no longer resembling the arrogant person I had met. Oh, he was still beautiful, the sadists not taking that away from him, but instead of arrogance I saw vulnerability.

  I went to pick up the bag of ice to place on his genitalia, but stopped, Jagger’s voice making me turn back to him.

  He reached out for me. “Hug me.”

  I shook my head, not comfortable due to our nudity—or at all.

  “Please,” he said. “I don’t want sex; I just want someone to hold me.” When I didn’t move, he screwed up his face and curled into a ball, covering his face with an arm.

  I swore under my bre
ath, not wanting to cause the man any more pain. I climbed onto the bed and wrapped my arm around his waist, wary of pressing my breasts into his back. He slowly unfurled, then turned around and pulled me in close. He buried his face in my neck, making me think of Frano doing the same thing. I’d hurt Frano because of what I thought he’d done to Matt. But he’d done nothing, yet I’d punched him ... no, he had done something—he’d raped me. But I’d raped him too, what Matt had said true. I may have only seen it as vengeance at the time, but regardless I’d done the same to him as he’d done to me. I was no better than him. Nor Jagger.

  Upset at the thought, I buried my face in Jagger’s wavy black hair. Jagger sighed, sounding content, which I didn’t understand considering everything he’d been through. Instead, I thought he wouldn’t want to be touched after what had happened to him.

  “We need to escape, Jagger,” I said.

  He pulled his head back, the pain on his face making it hard to look him in the eye. “We can’t, they will kill my whole family.”

  “Then I will escape and bring help back. I don’t have family, other than my bastard husband, and they can kill him for all I care.”

  “You still can’t escape.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they say you are Salvi and will kill them if you run.”

  “I’m not Salvi, I’m a Kovak.”

  “It doesn’t matter; they will still kill a whole family if you escape. They’ve done it before.”

  “I’m not giving up my life for people I don’t even know.”

  “I know them and I love them,” he said, running his hand over my hair. “Sophia’s parents are lovely people, they don’t deserve to die, nor do the rest of their famiglia.”

  “They killed your parents.”

  He stopped stroking my hair. “No, I thought so at first, but it was the Donatelli. They manipulate and tell so many lies that people confuse the truth. They were the ones responsible, although I was responsible for Sophia’s death. If it weren’t for me, the Padre wouldn’t have killed her. I now owe her parents.”

  “That wasn’t your doing, and we don’t deserve to be in here.”

  He frowned. “Is there anyone you would sacrifice yourself for?”

  My mind went to Matt. “No.”

  “I would have for Sophia, but she is gone, so I’d do it for her famiglia, as I would my own, Alberto the exception. I would throw him to the lions in an instant.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I deserve this, deserve everything that is done to me, but the Salvi don’t.”

  “You don’t either.”

  He opened his eyes, his gaze piercing. “What’s done to me is what I have done to others, so don’t feel sorry for me.”

  “Did you have a choice?”

  “I did what I was told.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t get a choice, that’s if I wanted to stay under the protection of the D’Angelo house. Though, I did try to run once, it was near the beginning when my uncle killed a slave because I didn’t train her to his standards. He found out I was going soft on her so he slit her throat in front of me. Alberto talked me out of leaving, which was the only time he was nice to me. Now I know why.”

  “Sounds like you are just as much a victim as the women are.”

  “I am now, and regardless of what you say, I still deserve it. I knew what it was like to be raped, yet I still trained slaves instead of leaving. I know the Donatelli would’ve caught me if I ran, but still, I would’ve been without guilt.”

  “You feel guilty?”

  “Of course.” He let go of me.

  “I’m still going to try to escape. I didn’t get sent here to be a slave. I need to help the kidnapped women, and now you.”

  “But I’m mafioso.”

  “And a victim.”

  “Again, don’t pity me, I deserve this.”

  “No one deserves to be abused. I was abused as a child, so I know it does things to your mind, makes you do crazy things. I committed crimes before I got into law enforcement, crimes that should’ve got me sent to prison and stopped me from getting into the FBI—”

  “You’re FBI?” he said, looking shocked.

  “Yes, I thought everyone knew.”

  He shook his head. “Not this fool. And who abused you?”

  “My first foster father. I was removed from his home and put into the care of an Italian family. I continued to lash out, but they eventually got through to me and helped rebuild my life piece by piece until I could function and remember some of my past. They’re dead now; they died in a car accident. I would’ve sacrificed myself for them.”

  He frowned. “I remember every abuse done to me.”

  “I don’t. I can’t even remember small things like how I learned to read. They even showed me a picture of the man who had abused me and I don’t remember him at all.”

  “That sounds like amnesia.”

  “It is. Apparently I fell and hit my head during his attack on me. Afterwards I woke with very few memories. Through therapy I managed to get more back, mainly my earlier years, but unfortunately not with my parents. I can’t remember them either; I’m missing a huge chunk out of my life.”

  “I wish I could forget my life.”

  “I’d rather know. The not knowing is horrible. I can see someone and think I know them, but I can’t figure out how.”

  “Knowing isn’t worth the pain or the nightmares.” He pushed up and winced, then smiled sadly. “You really do look like my first lover. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  He frowned. “You can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you look my age. I’m twenty-three.”

  “People think I look like a teenager. Personally, I think they need glasses.”

  He smiled sadly. “Maybe Sophia would’ve looked like you now if she had lived. I loved her. I haven’t loved anyone since. She was lovely both inside and out.” His expression turned wistful. “Even when she did something wrong she would always apologize, and would do things for others even if it hurt her. I didn’t deserve her.” He looked down. “Which is why she went to Frano that day.”

  “What day?”

  “The day I lost her.” He exhaled. “Ignore what I said before, I’ve changed my mind. The Salvi would choose to die if you were her. And anyway, they wouldn’t go out without a fight. They are mafioso after all.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Escape if you can, you have no obligations to anyone.”

  “I have to you, which is why I’ll bring people back to help.”

  “I don’t want help, I want to die.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Why? Because I’m sure that the Hell I will be going to will be better than this one.”

  I shook my head. “I will get you out of here and I’ll also make sure that the Donatelli pay for what they have done.”

  “No, Frano will pay.” He breathed out. “And my half-brother too. I don’t want Theirry to suffer like me.”

  I stared at him, the realization of who he was talking about dawning on me. “Is that servant boy your brother?”

  “Sì.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Eighteen. He only recently came to live with us, because his mother was a deadbeat who overdosed on heroin. He’s half French, and doesn’t know Italian very well, but he’s a sweet kid, always wanting to please. And now the Donatelli have taken over I’m terrified they will realize who he is. He looks too much like me, and if the Padre sees him, I know what will happen.”

  “He was setting the table when the Donatelli came,” I said. “He smiled at me.”

  Worry colored Jagger’s eyes. “Have you seen him here?”

  “No, I was put in a cell with women.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “Maybe they haven’t noticed him. He does shy away from men, and runs when he sees Alberto.” His face dropped. “If that bastardo t
ouched him!”

  I placed a hand on his. “He’ll be alright; it’s you that you need to focus on.”

  The door opened, Jagger’s body going stiff. He relaxed as Bianca, Alberto’s wife, stepped inside.

  Her face darkened as her gaze fell on me. “Get away from him!”

  I pushed off the bed. “I was just talking to him.”

  “You had your hands on him!”

  “I was comforting him, he’s been injured.”

  Bianca’s attention shot to Jagger. She rushed over to him and climbed onto the bed, giving him a big hug, Jagger not returning it. “I was so worried about you.”

  “Why?” he said. “You hate me.”

  She pulled back. “No, I love you, and I only said that because I was mad at you.” She looked down at his body. “Oh God, what have they done to you?”

  His jaw clenched. “Your husband raped me.”

  Her head shot up to his face. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Bianca shook her head. “But Alberto loves women.”

  “No, he loves Jagger,” I said, leaning against the wall.

  “That’s impossibile,” she said, glaring at me.

  “I’ve just cleaned the evidence off Jagger. He was bleeding badly below.”

  Bianca refocused on Jagger. “Tell me it isn’t so.”

  “Alberto doesn’t love me.” He grimaced. “He lusts after me. It’s why he sold our family out.”

  She shook her head.

  “Why are you here, Bianca?” he added.

  “Alberto agreed I can see you if I agree not to tell Frano about what happened.”