by W Winters
Maybe it’s a lie that I’ve never felt it before. But it’s been so long, and I don’t remember my heart pounding like it is now.
My hot breath makes me feel faint as I try to breathe steadily. My eyes open even though all I can see is darkness with the bag still wrapped around my head.
I have to be smart. As much as I’d love to fight, I have to be smart or I’ll die.
It’s impossible to be smart when you’re terrified though.
The dry lump in my throat feels scratchy as I swallow, opening my eyes to see nothing but the scant light that seeps through the burlap. I can’t make out anything but I can hear everything. My erratic heartbeat blasting in my ears, the sound of several men in the room, and the scraping of chairs across the floor. One of them is named Romano and I’m fully aware that he’s a man who hates my father. I’m in the hands of the enemy. I know I’m on a plastic tarp. I can feel the slickness beneath my fingers. It almost feels like a trash bag beneath me.
That’s what scares me the most. I’ve never seen my father kill anyone, but I know they line the floor before they go through with it. It makes it easier for cleaning up.
I try to swallow again, gently lifting my head because I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I don’t breathe.
“Bitch is up.” My breathing hitches at the gruff voice coming from somewhere in front of me.
I tried and failed, not to let them on to the fact that I’m awake. Even when the cigar smoke woke me, and I thought I was in a fire, I was still. A few minutes have passed at most; I haven’t learned shit that’s going to help me though, other than that I’m lying on a floor and helpless.
Someone else responds, “Just in time.” And then rough laughter erupts in the room.
My aching body stiffens, my hands clenching and making the cuffs dig deeper into my broken skin. I’m so terrified, I don’t react to the pain shooting up my arms.
Every second that passes is agonizing. They speak calmly, softly, and in Italian. A language of which I know very few words.
I know baldracca though. It’s the word for whore and hearing that makes my shoulders hunch in a useless and pathetic effort to hide myself as a new sense of fear overwhelms me.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m being held captive by one of my father’s enemies. Romano, and he’s one of many. I would give them anything to be able to run back home and stay there forever.
“Please,” I can’t help the attempt to bargain that slips from me. “My father will pay you whatever you want.” The tears come without notice and my voice cracks on every other word. The warmth of my breath makes my heated face feel even hotter.
I’ve never thought of myself as such a weak person. But tied up and knowing my fate includes death or being a whore, the desperation outweighs anything else.
“There is no saving you Talvery trash,” a man sneers as he walks closer to me with deliberate steps. His heavy footfalls get louder and quicker. Instinctively I try to back away, despite being on my side with my ankles and wrists cuffed behind my back. The struggle is useless. With my back against a wall and nowhere to go, all I can do is hunch my body inward as the heavy boot kicks brutally into my gut.
The air leaves me in a harrowing instant. Pain bursts inside of me, radiating outward but coiling in my stomach. It sinks deep inside of me, making me want to throw up to get rid of the agonizing pain.
I sputter and heave, trying my best to remain quiet. Bastard tears leak from my eyes and I can’t stop them. I can’t do anything.
This is a hell I’ve been terrified of for so damn long. A nightmare that I knew could be a reality. Helpless takes on a new meaning.
My body trembles and the fear is overwhelming. But then I remind myself, be quiet. Be smart. There is always hope. Always. I’m smart enough to find a way. The idea is soothing for a moment until I hear the boot rise again and my instinct to cower is greeted with laughter in the room.
I pray that maybe I’ll wake up. Although I know it’s not a possibility I’m asleep, because pain doesn’t follow you to your dreams. Not this kind.
But the thought gives me a heady comfort that allows me to stay quiet as the men talk and laugh, their banter mocking me and my helplessness.
My father will come for me. That last thought I nearly whisper to myself. My lips mouth the words and I stay in the fetal position with my eyes closed.
He will save me.
It’s his pride at risk. If for no other reason, stealing me is a sign of weakness for him. He won’t allow it. My breathing slows at the thought, the adrenaline in my blood seemingly ebbing away from me. He has to save me.
“Do you think we should torture her first? Get any information out of her?” The two questions are asked by another man farther away from me and on my left. One with a casual and lighthearted way about the fucked up questions which leads to the room being filled with Italian comments and some amused chuckle from my right.
Sweat covers my skin. Turning hot and cold as the air smothers me.
The laughter is silenced with the sound of the door opening and greetings are exchanged. Only three men speak, and I can’t make out the words until the door is shut again.
Something’s changed. The air in the room is different. I can feel it.
“Is that her?” a deep, rough voice asks. The velvet cadence of the man who interrupted the jovial laughter makes everything still. Goosebumps flow over every inch of my skin.
There’s no answer for a moment, but I imagine someone may have nodded.
Again, my heart beats and I wish it would stop. I need to hear. All I can think is that I’m going to be slaughtered.
I can’t be. Not like this. Please, God, not like this.
My adrenaline spikes and I can’t help that my head turns to hear better. Everything in the room is still and so quiet that I can hear the puff of a cigar. It’s so clear I can imagine his lips as he exhales, the deep breath overshadowing everything else.
“I didn’t think you’d do it,” the new man’s voice says calmly and in control. The others had an accent to them, but this one is from here. American descent, born and raised. Still, his voice commands fear. There’s something about it, the intonation that feels like power in and of itself. He says, “It’s very rare that I’m proven wrong.”
Fear and hope flow through me. The fear I expected, but hope doesn’t make sense. It’s alive in me though. Some part of me urges to beg the smooth-voiced man to save me as if it knows he’s my savior.
“Aria Talvery.” He says my name with reverence, but even so, as he steps closer to me, the tread of his shoes on the floor not nearly as heavy and foreboding as the man who kicked me, I instinctively move away.
I don’t even notice how calm my heart is until he says the words that create utter chaos.
“The deal wasn’t meant to be taken literally.” A slew of Italian fills the room. Not everyone’s yelling, I know that, but several are and their anger ricochets through the room.
“You said you’d do it; you’d side with me in the war in exchange for her. Are you going back on your word?” One voice is louder than the rest. Deeper and raspier. It sends a sickening chill through my bones.
“I didn’t, actually. And terms need to be negotiated.”
The man with the raspy voice responds quickly and doesn’t hide his irritation as he retorts, “You’ve known about this for three days. Three fucking days!” He yells the last three words and they make me jump as much as I can in this position.
Speaking with nothing but control, the man who sent for me answers him, “Like I said, I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“Bastardo,” a new voice spits and it’s followed by the crunching sound of a punch.
“Fuck!” another man yell, but I don’t recognize his voice, and the sound of guns being cocked fills the room.
“Jase, no need.”
My eyes are wide open as I lie helpless on the ground. My fingertips search for something, anything to help me but the only progress
I’m making is pulling at the plastic beneath me.
Without any warning, three heavy steps come closer and the burlap bag is ripped off my head, taking a bit of my hair with it and forcing a scream from me. The bright light blinds me as I’m pulled up by the nape of my neck, clear off the ground and then hurled down to the floor.
I have no hands free to catch myself, they’re still cuffed behind me and so my shoulder hits the ground first, then my face. The hint of blood fills my mouth, and pain shoots up my shoulder.
Fuck, it hurts. Everything hurts.
I rock onto my back as I cry out.
Please, make it stop. Please. I wish I could take myself away from here. I wish it were only a dream. But as my arm twists and scrapes on the cement in an effort to right myself, I know this is real. I can’t escape this. I whimper and give into the pain. There is no nightmare to wake from. This is my reality.
“You said you’d back me if I gave her to you!” A violent scream tears through the small room. My neck cranes to see the man who spoke over a table. A rough and splintered, unfinished wood table. The man’s dress shirt looks damp with sweat and his face glistens with it too. Dark, black eyes stare across the room toward me, but not looking at me. The anger on his face is undeniable and I can’t look anywhere else as he screams words that make my body shudder with fear. “I won’t let you go back on this!” My eyes close tight.
I’ve heard the whispers of war for years from man after man. It’s been so long since I’ve actually feared the hint of it. Maybe that’s where I made my first mistake. I forgot that I should be terrified and that the dangers are always lurking and waiting to strike.
Please take me far away from here. I can imagine this going wrong so quickly. I could be shot and never even given the chance to escape. My heart races wildly and the terror makes my body tremble.
“And now you’ve damaged her,” the man, the one with control, says quietly and calmly but with an uncontained anger that’s brimming with threats. The deadliness of his simple sentence silences the room once again. It’s only then that I dare to open my eyes, slowly peeking up through my lashes.
Dark eyes stare deep into mine as a tall man crouches down in front of me. Not black like the other man’s, not so darkened. But a mixture of browns and amber, like a piece of burned wood from a raging fire.
There’s no heat there though. His eyes are so cold they make my blood freeze and instantly the air turns to ice. There’s a hint of something in his gaze that speaks of inexplicable things. My body tenses, my lungs fear to move and I stay still like prey caught in the beautiful hunter’s gaze.
Time passes slowly as he considers me. And I find myself hoping and praying that he’ll save me. How ridiculous that I would, but there’s something about his eyes. I can’t refuse the pull, the electricity surrounding him that seems to bend the air between us, making me feel closer to him. So close that he could save me.
His intentions aren’t any better than these men. But there’s only one of him and he’s a man of control. I prefer that to the chaos I’m currently in.
I know it. He can save me.
Even if it’s only by killing me right now in this moment and ending the pain. And I’m acutely aware he could do it. There’s not a thing about him that could hide the fact that he’s a ruthless, cold-hearted killer.
His fingers brush along his stubble as he tilts his head, considering me. The sole light overhead, a bright light in the middle of the room casts a shadow down his face that somehow makes his chiseled and hard jaw look even sharper.
His presence alone speaks of a power that steals the air from me. I’m nothing beneath him as he towers over me. My eyes close slowly as he reaches out and gently brushes the hair from my face. His hot touch melts everything inside of me. It’s tender but deliberate. The soothing caress makes me weaker as his fingers travel down my chin and to my throat.
His masculinity is undeniable, the fear of his power only adding to the forbidden desire that rages through me. The man is everything I’ve been taught to fear, although the sensation is mixed with something else entirely. Something I’d never admit.
And that’s when he grips me, his fingers wrapping around my throat and forcing me to open my eyes, staring back into the dark abyss of his gaze.
Chapter 5
Carter
“I asked for her, yes,” I finally answer Romano although I’m still staring at Aria’s face, those lips of hers parted and swollen from the fall as I tighten my grip just slightly. Anger ripples through me at the sight of the fresh wounds. That fucker put his hands on her. They hurt her. They hurt what’s mine. The tic in my jaw spasms again as the rage intensifies. They should know better than to touch what’s mine.
I force the boiling rage down to a simmer; I’m not a fool. There are six men in this room and only one is on my side. I’m not just outnumbered. I’m not prepared to fight. And I don’t intend to either.
I want to take my gift and leave this prick to his war. I want that feeling back, humming in my veins. The sheer power of having her at my mercy, feeling her breath cut short and her blood rushing beneath my grasp. She’s mine. Finally.
“But not for a beaten and broken version of her,” I grit the words through my teeth and they come out lower than I expected. I’m barely contained as I loosen my grip, allowing her to break eye contact and suck in a deep breath.
If I hear another plea or whimper from her in reaction to this fucker, I know I’ll shoot Romano without a second thought. And that can’t happen. Not yet. The second I get my hands on Aria, her father will be after me. I need Romano to distract him just as much as Romano needs me.
Romano doesn’t answer, and I imagine it’s because my back is to him as I look over Aria. But he’ll have to fucking deal with that. So long as she’s here, she’ll be looking at me and no one else.
I scan every inch of her and each time I see an injury, my teeth clench, and my muscles coil. The cut on her swollen lip. The scratches and scrapes around her wrists. There’s a bruise on her arm and I’m sure there are more I can’t see.
“We just got her two hours ago. She’s not broken. You better not fuck me over.” Romano’s words are rushed and desperate as I stand tall, leaving the girl where she is.
My heart races, but I don’t let on. To them, she’s only a girl I randomly chose. A girl who was harder to kidnap. Just a challenge for them and nothing more.
“This isn’t a fight or debate,” I tell Romano with my back still to him. I want him to know in his truest of hearts that I’m the one helping him, and it’s only out of my desire to do so. He’s fucked over more than one of his allies in the past. I’m going to make him think twice before he decides I can be used as a pawn.
Even knowing how much is at stake in this very moment, I can hardly think.
I can’t pry my eyes from Aria. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she rolls onto her side. Her lips are a gorgeous hue of red. Her hair tousled and flowing over her bare shoulder. But what’s better is how she keeps looking at me with a mixture of both fear and hope swirling in those striking hazel eyes. I didn’t imagine she’d look like this. The sight is addictive.
“Plea-” she starts to say – to me - but Romano cuts her off. His sickening and desperate voice hushes the soft sounds of her speaking to me. My fists clench, nearly splitting the tight skin across my tense knuckles and instantly my suit feels like it’s suffocating me. His ignorance will be the death of him.
“We had a deal and it will benefit both of us, Cross.”
As I loosen my collar, walking closer to him in the filthy room, he continues, “You don’t have to do anything but give me that territory, Carter.” He raises his hands in defense when I stare daggers at him. “Only for a little while, just so we can strike first. You’re closer to Talvery. You don’t want your men to do the work, so what other choice do I have than to take it over?”
My gaze sweeps over a pile of crates in the corner of the room. There are three o
f them on top of empty pallets. The wooden table is etched and weathered. I can only imagine the blood and sweat and drugs that have seeped into the wood. Even over the smell of smoke, the stench is revolting.
Each man in the room is dressed similarly, except myself and Jase. I always wear a suit; it’s better to overdress than under. Romano’s attempt at an ill-fitting suit didn’t last long. His wrinkled jacket is a puddle of cheap fabric laying across the back of his chair. The others wear nondescript hoodies and shirts with faded baggy jeans. Each of the thugs looks at me as I survey them, and each one of their questioning gazes falls without a word uttered from their insignificant lips.
And then I look back to her. Back to the soft curves of her waist, the messy halo of dark hair around her pale skin. Her slender throat that’s so exposed as she writhes quietly and hopelessly on the ground. This beautiful, broken creature. She’s all mine.
“Your men are positioned between Fourth and Weston, give that territory to me so I can take his men down.” Romano starts to speak terms. “We’ll take them all down at the same time on every edge of his territory. Any man who stands against us after that will die. It’s simple. They back us, or they die like the rest of them.”
“I’ve heard this all before,” I mutter. He says he’ll kill them all. Erase any trace of Talvery from our existence. It’s related to unfinished business started a decade before me. All in the name of greed.
“Just give me access to that territory and the suppliers for the guns.” He reeks of desperation as he adds, “That’s what you agreed to!”
I expected a lot of things when I came here. But this amount of irritation is something I never accounted for. As the seconds pass, I imagine how I could kill each and every one of the men in this room. How long it would take. How many shots they’d get off. Jase is behind me and I know he could hold his own.
I have to will away the temptation and eagerness to get Aria alone. Leaving the image of her beautiful figure crumpled at my feet, I focus on the business at hand.
