by Sam Crescent
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2020 Sam Crescent
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0196-7
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SLAVE GIRL
Sam Crescent
Copyright © 2020
Chapter One
Raphael Giavanni knew he’d fucked up. No one ever stole from a Giavanni and even though the head of the mafia was his family, he’d stolen from them. It hadn’t been drugs or money; no, it was a girl.
A young girl with no name.
Born into slavery.
A few years ago, when he first noticed her, he’d asked her what her name was. She didn’t have a name, not a real one. She’d once told him her name was Useless, but he knew without a doubt she had no name.
Born into this life. Given to Romeo Giavanni, his father.
This girl, no, woman now, had no idea what life was like outside the boundaries of her prison. Life with his father was a prison.
She worked.
That was all.
No money. No identity. Nothing.
Raphael had been surprised when his father didn’t sell her. In their world, slave girls were kept for only a couple of purposes: sex and work.
She wasn’t an ugly girl. He knew she was a virgin, untested. For a long time, she’d been in his father’s employ but he’d yet to actually see his father abuse this girl.
Sometimes, when she was out in the garden, being ordered into the cold to help the gardener, he’d catch her with a glimpse of a smile on her lips. It was so rare to see a smile in their world, but he’d caught it and found her completely beautiful.
Now, he paced outside the room as the doctor he knew and trusted attended to her wounds. One in the leg, another in the shoulder.
What he’d done had been a mistake.
Would his father notice her gone?
Would he care?
Running a hand down his face, he waited as Timothy did what he did best. No one could rush him.
After going over to his drinks table, he uncapped the whiskey and poured himself a generous shot. There was no reason for him to have a fancy decanter. All he needed was the bottle and a glass to drink out of.
He waited. The time ticked by. No one came to his house to retrieve her.
His father had a lot of slaves, a lot of men. Surely, he wouldn’t miss this one. There was no coming back from this fuck-up though. He knew that.
As he finished off the shot of whiskey and poured his third, the door opened and out stepped Timothy, looking as pristine as when he walked in.
“I wouldn’t advise alcohol at a time like this.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. How is she?”
“She’s stable. I gave her enough sedative to knock her out. She’s passed out on the table for now. You might want to move her to a bed in case she moves.”
Raphael nodded. “Do I need to be concerned with your word of honor on this?”
“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, I only wish to have one payment. My loyalties do not lie with your father. They never have. He’s wanted my services but I don’t hand them out to just anyone. He’s been content with second-rate doctors and medical care. When can I expect my payment?”
“Soon,” Raphael said.
Timothy wasn’t just any doctor. He was a damn good one with an impeccable healing record, and all of his patients adored him. Timothy, though, had a certain need for death and destruction which came in the form of hurting those who really didn’t need to be saved. Rapists, murderers, or Timothy’s personal favorite, child molesters. He liked to take his time with them. It wasn’t always so hard to find them for him.
Once Timothy did something for him, Raphael found the perfect candidate and delivered them to him at a secure location. From there, Timothy did what he liked. They had discussed it and Raphael had even asked to see what he did. Never again. He’d seen a lot of torture in his world. Being a friend of Antonio, who happened to be the Giavanni torturer, was enough. Timothy was a monster in disguise. Only, he really didn’t have any desire to hurt just anyone. He’d gladly wait, months, if not years, to play. His words.
“Excellent. If there are any concerns about her wounds, please do not hesitate to call me. As usual, until she is healed, I consider this one client for a prize, understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. As always, a pleasure doing business with you.”
“My father cannot know about this.”
“I saw the brand on her, Raphael. What you’re doing is dangerous.”
He finished his fourth shot of whiskey. “Tell me, Timothy, what would you do with a man like my father?”
“Oh, Giavanni would need some special kind of care. His brand of monster could only come with the highest form of punishment.”
Raphael knew his father was a monster. He peddled in women and girls to the highest bidder. It was a division of their business not many people knew about. He doubted even Antonio knew about the trafficking. If he did, he made no mention of it. It wasn’t like his father had been doing it for long, only the past couple of years.
Blood soaked his clothing. His father had almost died today and he’d been so fucking happy, wishing that man dead. It was no shock that he hated his father. Most men in his situation did. Isabella, the woman his father wanted him to marry, was also dead. It wouldn’t be long before he found someone else, someone more fitting to the name.
Finishing off his fifth glass of whiskey, he made his way through to one of the spare bedrooms he’d set up as an operating room, or as close as it could be. It held a great deal of medical equipment. Being Giavanni’s only son, he had to make sure he was prepared for all eventualities.
Stepping into the room, he saw Slave Girl. A sheet covered her, and she looked pale, almost as if death had claimed her.
He closed the distance between them and stared down at her. She had long, brown hair that fell to the curves of her ass. Many times he’d admired the length, which she often pulled back into a bun or a ponytail.
Unlike most of his father’s slaves, this girl had a great deal of curves, and he knew it was because she was always a good person. She never stepped out of place. Food was a reward. If a slave was naughty, his father didn’t feed them. She had always been an exemplary slave.
Reaching out, he touched her hair. For the longest time, he’d only ever watched her. Never touched. Never felt her against him.
She didn’t stir or make a sound as he stroked her hair back from her face.
Tonight, she’d been afraid. Rather than try to save his future wife, he’d jumped into action for this woman.
Lifting her up in his arms, he noted she was naked. Her weight dead. He got to the room and placed her on the bed, thankful for his empty arms. Her dead weight made her seem heavier than she was.
Peeling back the sheet, he stopped and looked at her. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with her. Flawless skin, but he flicked on the light, and lo and behold, he saw the markings on her body.
Burn marks, old knife wounds.
His slave girl may have been good, but she’d not had an easy life. He wondered if this was why she rarely spoke. If she’d been as good as her body suggested, why did it show punishme
nts, abuse?
He lifted the blanket up and decided all these questions would be relevant for another day. For now, he needed to get his shit together. His father would be expecting him at some point for a debrief and also to talk about his wedding that wouldn’t be taking place.
Fuck!
Everything was so messed up.
Running a hand down his face, he tried to steady his thoughts. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around this woman and make himself believe everything was going to be okay, only it wasn’t. There was no way this was going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.
He’d stolen from his dad. Most kids stole the car keys or the liquor. No one stole a person. A living, breathing person, but he couldn’t stand by and not feel for Slave Girl.
She was more than a person to him. The only reason he kept going back home as often as he did was to keep an eye on her. Several years ago, he’d been taking a piss in his father’s precious flower beds when he’d heard her pained cry.
Staring down at her now, he was catapulted to the memory.
His father was an asshole. Rather than let him live his own life, he’d treated him like vermin.
Washing the precious plants in piss, he hoped his father came and plucked one, pressing it against his nose. He’d be inhaling his piss. It would serve the bastard right.
“Let me go!” The cry came suddenly and Raphael paused in his pissing streak.
He listened to the sound of a slap, and he should know, he’d heard enough slaps to last him a lifetime. This one was followed by another feminine burst of pain.
“You’re nothing, whore. You’re useless. The only good thing about you is your cunt. It needs to be filled with spunk. No one cares about you. You’re going to get sold soon, anyway. Then you’d be wishing I’d taken pity on you. Now though, you’re going to suck my dick, right here, and you’re going to swallow all of my cum like a good little slut.”
Raphael had zipped his pants up and moved toward the sound.
A soldier pressed on a young woman’s shoulders and she tried to fight him. As he lifted one of his hands to punch her, the other rested against the wall.
Instinct took over. Raphael pulled out his knife and slammed it into the hand that rested against the wall.
The soldier began to scream. He couldn’t move his hand because Raphael kept the pressure on it.
“Now, now, now, I don’t like the sound of your tone. It’s not very nice.”
Pulling out of the memory, Raphael remembered he had killed that soldier. When his father had questioned him, he told him plain and simple the man was interested in stealing one of his father’s slaves.
The matter had been dealt with, and his little obsession had been born.
This girl, no, woman, she captivated him, and he had no idea why.
****
Pain was the first thing Useless remembered.
She opened her eyes and groaned, closing them again. Why hadn’t her alarm gone off? Why had her body been on fire?
The shooting?
Jerking her eyes open, she came to the realization this wasn’t her bedroom back at Giavanni’s house. This wasn’t even the room he made her wait in for him. The bed was comfortable.
Comfort didn’t come to people like her.
As she sat up, the blanket slid down and she quickly picked it up to cover her breasts. Pain exploded in her shoulder and she winced, seeing the bandage that covered her. She’d been shot.
Lifting the blanket up, she saw the mark on her thigh as well. She thought she knew what pain was, but after being shot, she realized she didn’t even have a fucking clue.
Where was she?
Raphael?
Glancing around, she didn’t recognize the room. She’d been inside every single room at Giavanni’s house. This wasn’t one of them.
Where had she been taken?
The threat of being sold always hung over her head.
Had it finally happened?
The bedroom door opened and Raphael stayed on the threshold.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She nodded.
“I’m making you some breakfast. Or attempting to. I can’t guarantee it’s anything decent, but I try. If you want to get dressed, I can wait for you.”
“Dressed?”
“Yes, in clothes.”
“Where’s my uniform?”
He stepped into the room, rummaged in the drawers, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, along with a shirt. “You’re not wearing your uniform. This is what you’ll wear.”
He left seconds later.
After climbing out of the bed, she covered her nakedness as quickly as she could, not wanting anyone to see her. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she glanced around the room.
It was a nice room. Pretty.
She moved toward one of the doors. There was a closet, and at the second, she found the bathroom. Rushing inside, she used the facilities and flushed the toilet. Then she moved to the sink, began to wash her hand, and splashed water on her face. She was careful with her arm, not moving it too much.
The last thing she wanted was to be in any kind of pain. She hated pain so much. Yet her life was all about having it inflicted. She’d been born into this world.
Lifting her head up, she stared at her reflection.
There were no scars on her face or neck. Giavanni didn’t like to look at ugly women. His words.
Pushing those to the back of her mind, she found a toothbrush and brushed her teeth. Next, a hairbrush. She quickly ran it through her long locks, whimpering as it tugged on some of the knots. After five minutes, she gave up. The pain in her shoulder was too intense to keep on fighting like this.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at her reflection.
There was nothing good about her. She’d been told that many times.
Leaving the bathroom, she found Raphael in the kitchen, serving up two plates of food.
Her mouth watered. It had been a long time since she’d had food. Two days. Giavanni had raised his hand to her a couple of days ago and because she’d flinched, her punishment had been to go without food.
Flinching was natural, wasn’t it?
It didn’t matter. She’d been punished.
“Take a seat,” Raphael said.
He was the son of Giavanni, of her master. She’d been told in all aspects of life she must obey, serve. It was what she’d been born to do.
Sitting at the table, it felt odd as Raphael brought her over her food. She didn’t know this man very well. He’d saved her a couple of times. He was sweet, most of the time. At least, not when he liked to kill people.
He placed a breakfast in front of her. Eggs, toast, tomatoes, mushrooms. She offered him a smile and picked up her fork. Her hand shook.
They shouldn’t be eating at the same table.
This wasn’t right.
This was wrong but she didn’t say anything.
Eating some food, she closed her eyes as it landed on her tongue and she chewed. Food shouldn’t taste this good, but it did. She knew it was only because she hadn’t been fed for a long time, but still, it was good food.
She finished before him, and he handed her a slice of bread to soak up the juice. Her face was on fire with embarrassment. She never ate in front of anyone. If Giavanni knew she’d eaten, he’d be pissed. Only he was allowed to give the order for her to have food.
Sitting back in the chair, she sensed something wasn’t right. Being shot meant she should be dead. No doctor would be wasted on someone like her. She’d seen a couple of slaves in her time get injured. They were still forced to work until they died of the injuries. One of the girls had been up a ladder, fixing something. As a joke, one of the guards had kicked the ladder. She fell to the ground and something snapped. A bone, maybe? Either way, she’d been forced to keep working, even as the leg swelled and eventually went green. One of the other girls went to wake her up the next morning and found she’d died in her sleep
.
Dying in her sleep sounded like a nice way to go. She hated pain and the thought of dying any other way filled her with a terror she didn’t want to think about.
Keeping her hands in her lap, she waited as Raphael finished his breakfast. He nudged a coffee in her direction. “Drink.”
She used her good arm, lifting the cup, blowing over the surface, and taking a sip.
“Did you enjoy breakfast?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I don’t want you to be silent on my ass right now. Talk to me,” he said.
“It was very good,” she said. “Thank you.”
He sighed. “I know you don’t have a name but while you’re here, I’m going to want to call you something. Can you figure out a name?” he asked.
“You can call me Useless. Everyone else does.”
“That’s not a name. It’s what you tell someone when they don’t do anything right.”
“Oh.” Why was she called that then? She had an impeccable record for doing the job right. Shaking her head, she rubbed at her temple. It didn’t matter.
“Was I … did I … I shouldn’t be here, should I?” she asked. It was odd using her voice. She rarely spoke, and certainly not to her Master’s son.
Raphael sighed again. “No, you shouldn’t. I took you last night. You can’t go back. You’re going to have to stay here, and as far as anyone’s concerned, you’re dead.”
“I’m in trouble?”
“No, I mean, yes, if anyone ever finds out about you. You’re going to have to stay here. I will protect you.”
“What about your wife?”
“Isabella?”
She nodded. The pretty bride with the nice hair and makeup and dress. All of her clothes had been handed down by previous slave girls. She’d been told many times she was nothing special. It wasn’t like she believed herself to be anything different.
She was nothing.
No one.
Useless.
Born into a world of slavery.
