Monster in His Eyes

by J. M. Darhower

  He's sipping on his fourth beer as I lounge back in my chair, watching him quietly. He's beautiful, in a dark sort of way, the kind of beauty that's natural. He doesn't try, and I think that's what I love most about him—he just is. Naz, with his rough edges and slightly sinister smile, is pure passion and genuine grit, the kind that makes the hair on my arms stand on end while my spine simultaneously tingles. He can be frightening, but he's downright fascinating. I've never been around someone who wields so much influence.

  How can someone surrounded by an air of danger make me feel so downright safe?

  "You're quiet," he says, raising an eyebrow as he stares back at me. "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm just thinking about how beautiful you are," I admit.

  He laughs as he sets his beer down, pushing it across the table to me, offering the last little bit. I pick it up, chugging it, grimacing at the warm bitter taste. Naz pulls out his wallet and throws down a wad of cash, not bothering to wait on the bill—our waitress is backed up, so busy we haven't seen her in a while—but it's more than enough to cover what we owe.

  He stands up, fixing his tie. I follow his lead, slipping my arm around his as we start for the exit, strolling out onto the casino floor.

  "You know how to play blackjack?" he asks.

  "No."

  "It's pretty basic," he says. "You add up the value of the cards. Closest to twenty-one without going over wins. Got it?"

  "Uh, sure," I say, eyeing him peculiarly. I really don't. "Why?"

  "Because we're about to go blow a lot of money playing it."

  I gape at him, and start to argue that I'm not legally old enough to gamble in Vegas, but yet again it's pointless. He bypasses all the tables around the main floor, taking me to an entire other part of the hotel—a casino within a casino. This place is upscale and exclusive, so much so we have to be escorted in. We're taken to a back room, to some private blackjack tables. As soon as we step inside I recognize a voice, looking around and seeing vaguely familiar faces. Everyone from the plane is here, laughing and carrying on, gambling the night away.

  Naz takes a seat at a table beside Raymond. As soon as he sits down, a man working approaches, hesitant, a twinge of fear in his eyes as he stammers. "Mister, uh, Vitale, sir… your friend…"

  "Girlfriend," Naz says. The word makes me stall, heart thumping so hard I grow dizzy. Girlfriend. It's the first time he's ever called me anything like that. A strange sort of silence falls over the room, voices hushing. I glance around at the men, seeing their curious gazes. They seem as affected by the word as me. "I'm well aware she's not old enough to place bets, but she's my good luck charm, so if you're going to deny me her presence, then I'll be forced to take my money elsewhere."

  "No problem," the man says, backing off at the threat. "We're happy to accommodate you."

  I pause behind Naz, nervously following the lead of the others. A few women linger in the room, off to the side. Raymond's blonde stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders attentively, while he seems to barely remember she's there. Naz grabs my arm, though, tugging me to him. I blink a few times, startled, when he pulls me onto his lap. I settle onto the chair with him, leaning back against him, trying to shift around so I don't block him from seeing what he's doing. A few of the guys cast him peculiar looks, but nobody says anything as he's dealt in.

  Despite him telling me the rules of the game, I have a hard time keeping up with what's happening. These men are obviously big time, everything moving swiftly, white, yellow, and brown chips tossed around worth thousands of dollars, very little spoken in the way of game playing. They chatter about nonsense, using their hands to signal how they want to play. I watch Naz, trying to count up his cards, but he distracts me, his breath fanning against my cheek, his lips finding my neck periodically between bets.

  I don't know how the hell he can concentrate.

  Drinks flow to the men. Naz offers me sips of his, and nobody says a word. They play and play, joking around, throwing away thousands of dollars that none of them seem to bat an eyelash at. The night wears on as he whispers to me, asking me what he should do a few times. I know he knows better than me, but I play along, giving him my opinion. He listens every time, laughing when I cost him damn near everything, like that amuses him.

  The alcohol gets to me after a while, my ass numb from sitting in this chair. I have to be heavy on Naz's lap, so I stand up. Naz stalls mid-game to look at me questioningly.

  "I need to stretch my legs," I say, glancing around. "Where are the restrooms?"

  "Ah, just down the hall," Naz says, motioning toward a door.

  "I'll show her," the blonde chimes in, eyes seeking out mine as she smiles. "I'll show you."

  Naz turns back to his game. "She'll show you."

  I follow the woman out of the room and to a bathroom just down the hall like Naz said. I could've easily found it myself. The woman lingers in the bathroom, checking her makeup and fluffing her hair. I'm trying to pee in peace as she tries to hold a conversation through the stall door. "So you and Vitale, huh? That's interesting."

  "Yeah… why's it interesting?"

  "I don't know, it just is," she says. "He doesn't bring women around… never has. I've been with Ray for five years now and I've never seen Vitale with one."

  I like to think I'm above gossiping, but my interest is piqued. I stroll to the sink to wash my hands. "Naz is just a private person."

  Her eyes widen. "Naz?"

  "Yeah, Naz," I say. "Isn't that what everyone calls him?"

  She shakes her head, regarding me like I'm unstable. "It's always Vitale… or Ignazio, if they're close. Never Naz."

  My brow furrows. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive," she says. "Ray sometimes calls him that in private, old habit, you know? But not to Vitale's face. It's sort of a raw wound, I guess, so they tread lightly. I wasn't around back then when it happened…"

  Her words only confuse me more. "When what happened?"

  "When he lost his family." I just stare at her, having no idea what she's talking about, and that seems to dawn on her. She blanches, taking a step away from the sink as she forces a smile on her cherry red lips. "We probably should get back."

  I want to ask her more, ask her what the hell she means by that, why it's such a raw wound and what happened to his family—a family he never talks about—but I know she's right. We should get back. And Naz wouldn't like her talking about this, whatever it is…

  We're strolling back to the room when she offers me another smile. "I'm Brandy, by the way."

  "Karissa," I say. "So you and Raymond have been married for five years?"

  She laughs. "Oh, we're not married. We've been together that long, though."

  "Oh… I figured he was married."

  She pauses at the entrance to the room as we are welcomed back inside, casting me a peculiar look. "He is. I'm just his girlfriend."

  Brandy takes her place back at Raymond's chair, her hands on his shoulders. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, but he brushes it off, too focused on the card game to pay any attention to her.

  I hesitate for a moment, watching them, my stomach in knots when it strikes me that this girl is his mistress. She seems nice, and it's not my place to judge, but it worries me.

  A lot.

  My gaze shifts to Naz.

  I wonder what being his girlfriend means.

  As if he can sense my gaze, his head turns my direction. His brow furrows as he stares at me, questions in his eyes. I smile and start toward him, pushing back my worry, but he's already noticed my mood shifted.

  Tossing his cards down, he stands up. "I'm out."

  "Already?" Raymond asks, surprised.

  "I'm down over thirty grand," Naz says. "That's probably a sign."

  "A sign your good luck charm isn't as good as you thought?" a guy jokingly calls out, a guy I recognize from the plane, the same one who upset him on the way here. Naz doesn't humor that with a response as he's cashed
out. He slips his money away, not bothering with any goodbyes.

  Naz is halfway to me when Raymond laughs dryly. "Strike two."

  That makes Naz's expression soften a bit.

  He reaches me, taking my hand, and pulling me with him toward the exit. He says nothing until we're out in the hallway alone, away from prying eyes. He stops, turning to me, raising his eyebrows. His expression is so serious I balk. "What did she say to you?"

  "What?"

  "You're looking at me like you think maybe you don't know me," he says. "What did that girl say to you?"

  It stuns me how easily he reads me.

  I stammer for a moment until he reaches out with both hands, cupping my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. "Tell me."

  "Nothing really. She just said nobody calls you Naz, not since… you lost your family."

  I expect anger—toward her, or me, or somebody. Instead, what I see is hurt, a slight flinch before his eyes close, like what I said stings him so much he can't even look at me.

  He stays that way for a moment, but it fades when he opens his eyes again. He lets go of my face and grabs my hand, bringing it up to press it against his chest. "I told you what happened."

  The scars.

  My chest aches at his words. Guilt nags at me for bringing it up. I start to apologize, start to change the subject, but he silences my words by leaning down and kissing my lips. It's soft and sweet, unhurried, as his tongue sweeps along my bottom lip before meeting mine. I moan into his mouth, earning a soft chuckle when he finally pulls away.

  Naz is quiet as we head upstairs, so close I can smell his cologne, yet he feels a thousand miles away. He's lost in his mind, consumed by thoughts I can't begin to understand.

  When we make it up to the suite, there are chocolate covered strawberries waiting on the table and a bottle of champagne chilling in a fresh bucket of ice. He obviously planned something, but it's disregarded as he strides right by and heads upstairs.

  Wordlessly, I follow him, keeping my distance to give him some space, but we eventually meet in the master bedroom. He steps toward me, quiet as he speaks. "Do you love me?"

  "You know I do."

  "Say it," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you love me."

  "I love you."

  He cups my cheek. "Say it again."

  "I love you."

  His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. "Again."

  "I love you."

  He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. "Again."

  My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. "I love you, Ignazio."

  His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants to come out. He wants me to play with him.

  He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower, down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls them off of me.

  Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.

  It makes me dizzy.

  "If you could read my mind..." He pauses, laughing darkly. "You'd be trembling."

  I nearly tremble from the insinuation. "What are you thinking?"

  He steps around me, stopping behind me, and sweeps my hair out of the way. A hand grasps my hip, pulling me back to him as he leans down to kiss my neck.

  "I'm thinking the only way you could possibly be any more perfect right now," he says against my skin, "would be if I were fucking you so hard the people in the lobby could hear your screams."

  That does it.

  I shiver, but he isn't finished yet.

  "I want to push you to your limits, Karissa. Push you so hard, so far, that you hate me for it."

  "I could never hate you."

  As soon as I say it, his hand is around my neck again, pulling my head up, forcing me to look back at him. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

  "I mean it," I whisper. "I love you."

  He stares down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss my lips, tugging me back so far it's almost painful so he can reach my mouth. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll remember that."

  "I promise."

  "Good," he says. "Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."

  My voice is little more than a shaky breath. "Okay."

  "Remember your safe words."

  "I will."

  He lets go of my throat, lets go of me, as he takes a step back. I stand still, trying not to shake, and peek over my shoulder to see him unfastening his dark tie.

  "And if you really love me," he says, pulling off the tie before looking at me again. He looks furious. The sight of his anger, the icy tone of his voice, makes my knees weak. I'm definitely trembling now. "If you mean it, you'll fight back."

  My lips part, the response on the tip of my tongue knocked right out of me. I gasp, alarmed, when Naz roughly grabs a hold of me and drags me to the bed, pushing me onto my stomach.

  There's nothing gentle about his hold, nothing loving, or nice, about the man touching me. He forces my arms behind my back, wrapping the tie tightly around my wrists, knotting them together. I struggle as he restrains me, but he's too strong, too fast for me to physically stop him. The moment my arms are secure, I hear him fumble with his belt, my heart racing at the clank of the buckle.

  He won't hurt me.

  I know it.

  He loves me.

  I remember it.

  But it's hard to think, hard to submit, when you've got a man double your size, a beast, a fucking monster, pinning you down.

  So I don't think.

  I feel.

  And I feel like I need to fight him.

  I kick my legs, resisting and yelling for him to get off of me. It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't. In one ear and out the other. His hold gets stronger, his grasp rougher. I'm his favorite toy, I know it, and he's about to see what it takes for me to break.

  I won't let him, though.

  I can't.

  He won't break me.

  I manage to roll over onto my back, my hands beneath me, and push up into a sit before he can think to stop me. I'm about to stand up when he tears off his belt, making me tense.

  Making me flinch.

  My reaction forces him to pause for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to notice, before he comes at me again. He doesn't swing, doesn't strike me, instead forcing me back onto my stomach, the belt thrown aside, discarded. He pins me there with his body weight, overpowering me.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, a growl in my voice that surprises even me. He doesn't answer. He doesn't speak. Short of an icy gaze, he doesn't even acknowledge me.

  His body is heavy as I buck my hips, struggling against him. He yanks my panties down, not bothering to take them off, the fabric around my knees making it harder to kick. An arm slips around my waist, roughly pulling my hips off the bed, forcing me onto my knees with my ass up in the air.

  "Get off of me," I snarl, struggling in his arms and damn near escaping, but he tightens his hold.

  He fumbles with his clothes, not undressing, just pulling himself from the confinement of his pants. "Make me."

  "Fuck you."

  The words are barely from my lips when he thrusts inside of me—so hard, so deep, so abrupt, that I cry out because of it. My face is forced into the mattress again and again, muffling my shrieks, as he pounds into me. One arm stays firmly around me to lock me in place, his other hand pressed flat on my back, between my shoulder blades. I'm pinned but I wiggle around, shifting my hips, fighting him, until he thrusts deeply and pul
ls back too far, slipping out of me.

  I regret it as soon as it happens, feeling the void, the ache already growing, but I react instinctively. It's fight or flight, and fighting isn't working. His hold loosens, his hand leaving my back as he grasps himself to thrust back in.

  Before he can do it, I'm gone.

  I slide out from beneath him, panting, and force myself up, but I didn't think it through. Fuck.

  I'm fucked.

  I can't run. I can barely shuffle, making it only a few steps before I nearly fall. I cry out as I trip, but Naz grabs ahold of me, tossing me right back onto the bed before I can hit the floor, face-first.

  He laughs, forcing me back into position. "Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?"

  He's mocking me, like my attempts to escape are feeble, like I'm weak, like I hadn't just exerted damn near all of my energy doing what I just did.

  He might not hurt me physically, but fuck if that didn't sting.

  Adrenaline surges inside of me, my anger and embarrassment overwhelming. He wants a fight? I'll give him one. I struggle with everything in me, his tie burning as it rubs my wrists, the knots not loosening even the slightest bit.

  "Untie me," I demand as he pushes inside of me again. I want to say more, but the sensation renders me momentarily speechless. Fuck, he feels good…

  "Untie yourself."

  "I'm trying." I wiggle against the restraint some more. "Please? Just loosen the knots."

  He laughs again. Laughs. As good as he feels inside of me, he's starting to piss me off.

  "You know, fine, whatever," I growl. "You think you're so tough? You can't even fight fair. You're the weak one here. Fucking coward. Pathetic."

  I don't know where the outburst comes from, but it works. Naz grabs my arms roughly, pulling on the restraint as he unknots my wrists. As soon as my hands are free, he flips me around so I'm on my back and he's on top of me.

  I meet his eyes. Anxiety brews inside of me, mixing with a tinge of excitement. His expression is terrifying. He says nothing, but it's written all over his face.

  He's going to make me eat my words.

  My legs are hauled over his broad shoulders as he ruthlessly hammers my insides, pounding and pounding. His hand is on my throat, pressing against my jugular, making me lightheaded as he brutally fucks me.