Beware the Beast (Mafia Soldiers Book 2)

by Samantha Cade

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olivia

  The human mind is a complex, and strangely terrifying thing. I like to think of it as a powerful computer, which it essentially is, just synapses and electrical pulses in the place of code. I may only be twenty-nine years old, but the brain in my head is the product of thousands of years of evolution, with layers of ancient programming that protected our ancestors from the challenges of their primitive life; beasts of the jungle, food scarcity, and the most frightening threat, each other.

  Evolved psychological mechanisms, or EPM. That’s what the textbooks call it. It’s postulated that, like the physical body, the brain changes with natural selection, constantly updating to adapt to our current environment. But unlike computers, those updates are slow and don’t happen all at once. There’s still plenty of code leftover from our hunter-gatherer forefathers. I like to think that everyone has a primal human living deep inside of them that’s concerned only with meeting basic needs; food, shelter, and security.

  Perhaps that’s why I feel safe here. Safe, maybe that’s not the right word. Comfortable. Complacent. Bruno definitely meets my basic needs. Food, check. Shelter, check. Security? Check, I guess. I know that if anyone ever threatened me, Bruno would put them down in an instant. He’s the only threat I have to worry about, but I’m fairly certain he won’t hurt me. He hasn’t yet. He’s threatened me with sexual violence, though I think that’s his strategy for keeping me in line. His masculine bravado is also an EPM. Strong, dominant males are more likely to attract a female mate. And females? We eat that up. When we see thick muscles and a towering height paired with an assertive personality, our primitive instincts tell us that this is a man who can provide for and protect not only ourselves, but our offspring.

  Knowing all of this is no benefit to me. I still can’t stop my mind from falling into those traps. My muscles tighten when I think of his powerful body lying on top of me, how heavy and strong he was. I’ve never been in a situation where I had no choice but to submit. Luckily for me, Bruno did the honorable thing, and backed off. But that’s not what made me more comfortable with him. It was how he acted the next day, how he carefully extracted the splinters from my arm, brought me strawberries for lunch. He felt guilty about what he did. I could tell.

  Reverting back to my primal mindset is also a coping method. If I concentrate too hard on the fact that I’m a prisoner between these four walls, and beyond, I slide into panic. It’s better to focus on the here and now. I’m not starving. I’m not out in the cold. And I have a huge, muscular protector to fulfill my needs.

  My protector. If I’m to believe Bruno, he did protect me from the guy who drugged my drink. I remember him more clearly now, the guy Erin brought over for me to talk to. I wasn’t interested in him, but I got the vibe he was very interested in me. He was such a creep, trying to put his hands on me even after I gave him clear, nonverbal messages not to. It disgusts me to think he drugged my drink, and what he was planning to do me.

  Most of that night is black, wiped from my memory, but in my quiet isolation, I can recreate the part where Bruno stepped in. I picture my limp, unconscious body being dragged into the parking lot, the creep with a self satisfied smile on his face. It gives me great pleasure to imagine Bruno knocking his lights out.

  My captor and I develop a predictable routine. I like it. It helps me keep track of the days. Otherwise, time would be a foreign concept. Every morning, he leads me to the bathroom so I can use the toilet and shower. After that, it’s breakfast, then another bathroom break. A few hours later, it’s lunch. There’s a few more bathroom breaks and dinner before bed. Other than these breaks in the day, I’m alone in the quiet solitude of this room that’s growing uncomfortably familiar. I’m not suffering, but I’m fucking bored. There’s nothing to stimulate my mind, hence, the reason my heart leaps with morbid excitement when Bruno enters my room.

  In the late afternoons, Bruno brings me my cell phone so I can keep in touch with the people who would notice I’m missing.

  Though he reads every text message I type before I send it, I enjoy these few precious minutes with my phone, where I can talk to people in the outside world, Erin, Mom, and faculty advisors. I pretend that I really am in San Francisco doing research for my dissertation. A part of me believes the lie I created.

  One afternoon, Erin regales me with a story about a hilariously awful date she had recently. She wants to talk, but I tell her I’m in the library, so I have to be quiet and can only text. Bruno sits next to me on the bed, stone faced, while Erin describes dinner at a local Chili’s where her date had one too many margaritas, and threw up chips and salsa on her shoes in the parking lot. I laugh, even though Bruno’s looking over my shoulder. I miss Erin so much. I regret not taking her up on her offers to hang out more, though the one time I did I got myself kidnapped.

  How’s the research going? Erin asks.

  Amazing, I respond, my fingers flying over the keyboard while Bruno watches closely. The library here has a cache of Dobzhansky’s early writings. I can see his progression of thinking regarding genetic drift and population gene variances.

  I look to Bruno. He’s squinting at the screen, his brows scrunched. Finally, he nods with approval. There’s a pang in my chest when I hit the send button. What I wouldn’t give to be in San Francisco, breathing the fog laced air as I walk to the library, spending my days immersed in the voices of the old scholars, finding the truth in the past. Instead, I’m here, locked away and twiddling my thumbs.

  Fascinating, you egghead, Erin responds. Do yourself a favor and get laid. I’m off to class. Bye, gorgeous.

  I tell Erin goodbye, then obediently hand the phone to Bruno. He’s looking at me, like he’s just seeing me for the first time, like I’m a puzzle he’s putting together in his head. The mattress shifts beneath us as he squares his body towards me.

  “What was all that you were talking about?” he asks. “Gene variances and shit.”

  I pull away from him slightly. He’s so big, he seems to have his own gravitational pull. “It’s part of my research for my dissertation. Well, it was.” Bruno’s eyes narrow. I straighten my spine. “You told me to make it believable.”

  Bruno relaxes a little, and slips my phone into his pocket. “You’re smart.”

  No shit. I’m a doctoral candidate, I want to say, but smartly keep it to myself. Whenever I’m tempted to step out of line, I conjure the helpless feeling of being pinned underneath him and straighten myself out.

  Bruno seems surprised that I am, in fact, smart. Who, exactly, does he think I am? And does it have anything to do with the him Bruno mentioned? I want to ask Bruno who he is. I want to bang my fists against his massive chest and demand an answer. But I’m compelled to tread lightly. We’ve reached a sort of unspoken truce since my breakout attempt. I’m more docile, cooperative, and he’s less terrifying.

  Then, Bruno does something that surprises me. He reaches over, and grabs my hand. This isn’t intimidation. He isn’t forceful. He just holds my hand gently in his. He doesn’t say anything, but I can see it is his eyes. This isn’t forever, Olivia. You’ll go back to your life eventually.

  Or maybe, more likely, that’s what I hope he’s thinking.

  *

  One night (I know it’s nighttime because Bruno just brought me dinner), we have a visitor. Bruno’s standing at his usual spot by the wall watching me eat a cheeseburger and french fries from a take out container. There’s a knock at the front door, three firm, assertive bangs. Panic roils in my stomach. I put the cheeseburger down, and look at Bruno, begging him with my eyes to keep me safe. Who is that? Does it have something to do with me?

  Bruno senses my fear. He walks over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he promises.

  Bruno leaves the room. I hear the front door open, and the muffled voice of a man who isn’t Bruno. I’m wearing Bruno’s T-shirt that’s approximately one hundred sizes too big for me. It goes al
l the away down to my knees so there’s little need for pants. My panties I was wearing the night he took me are long gone, so I wear his boxers instead. While Bruno and the strange man talk in the hallway, I adjust the shirt, trying to cover myself more.

  Suddenly, I freeze with realization. What if the man doesn’t know Bruno is keeping me here? Maybe I should scream for help? It annoys me that the idea didn’t occur to me as soon as I heard someone knocking on the door. How comfortable am I getting here?

  I hear footsteps approaching, and immediately break into a cold sweat. No, whoever it is knows I’m here, and they’re here to see me.

  The man who enters my room isn’t as big as Bruno, but he’s just as intimidating. He has slick, dark hair, and wears an expensive looking black suit. He has an aura of authority, and danger. His dark eyes find me immediately, looking me up and down like he’s appraising a piece of furniture. I look down at my folded hands in my lap, trying to make myself as small as possible. I wish I could make myself disappear. What does he want with me? Is he going to take me away from here? I’d rather stick with the devil I know, thanks very much.

  After a few moments of hot, panicked blood pulsing through the veins, the man looks at Bruno and nods. It’s a small gesture, but I can feel the importance. Bruno seems relieved. Before leaving, the man takes his phone out, and snaps a quick picture of me.

  Oh god, I think. He’s going to take me. He’s going to throw me in his sex dungeon and enslave me. That’s what this is all about. Bruno’s a middleman in the sex trade.

  Bruno and the man leave the room. I try to control my breath and listen to what they’re saying. They keep their voices low. Are they discussing a price?

  I won’t go with that man. I’ll beg Bruno to let me stay, to keep me safe.

  “See you, Snake,” I hear Bruno say.

  Snake? What kind of man has a name like that? I shudder at the thought. A few seconds later, I hear the front door close, and it’s quiet again.

  This man, this snake, is gone. Bruno didn’t let him take me. In my confused and primal mind, that’s what I believe, that Bruno somehow saved me from this man. My chest swells with gratitude.

  Bruno enters the bedroom and walks to his usual spot by the wall. I can’t stop staring at him. And want to run to him, jump in his arms and have him cradle me against his brood chest. I want to whisper in his ear, thank you for keeping me safe.

  Bruno gives me a questioning look. “Finish up,” he says, gesturing to the food in front of me.

  “I’m not hungry anymore,” I say.

  He approaches me with his head cocked to the side. I lean back as Bruno inspects the contents of the take out container. “You didn’t each much.”

  “I ate enough,” I counter.

  He raises an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not trying anything.”

  My chest constricts with despair. I don’t want him to think that. I want to stay in his good graces so he will continue to protect me. With a rush of adrenaline, I reach out, grabbing Bruno’s arm with both hands. His eyes turn on mine with wild surprise.

  “I’m not trying anything,” I say desperately. “I promise, I’m not. The food you bring me is so delicious. I’m…grateful.”

  Though my primal brain has taken over, my modern sensibilities are still there. Are you really thanking your captor? Modern Me screams. Fuck him.

  I look down at my hands and realize what I’m doing. I’m touching him. It’s not like we haven’t touched before, but it was always him grabbing my arm, him lifting me up or pinning me down. Never have I touched him. It feels intimate. Not to mention dangerous.

  I pull my hands away quickly and slide them under my thighs. Bruno doesn’t move. He’s watching me closely. The warmth from his flesh still lingers on my palms. I can still feel the course hair, and the hard muscles beneath his skin. I want to reach out and touch him again, but this time, I’m too scared.

  *

  That night, I dream of him. We’re not here, in this apartment. We’re all alone in the UCLA library. I’m not wearing my clothes. I’m wearing his T-shirt, but no boxer shorts. Bruno and I stand at opposite ends of a long aisle lined with books. Everything is so visceral. I smell the wispy combination of coffee and aging paper. I feel the cold draft blowing around my bare legs. The light is dim, so I can’t make out Bruno’s features. His figure is an outline, his face obscured by shadows. I have a strong need to be closer to him, to see him, really see him.

  I take a step forward, and so does he. There’s an electric tingle between my legs. It makes me take another step forward. Bruno does too. I walk faster. Blood pulses to my lower stomach, making an epicenter of heat in my core. The yearning spreads through my veins. I need to be close to him. I need to see him. I need to touch him.

  We meet in the middle, colliding desperately against each other. Bruno wraps his arms tightly around my waist, drawing me into his chest. His solid arms create a steel cage around my middle, trapping me.

  No, no, this isn’t right, a tiny voice says, but it only makes my heart beat faster.

  I snake my arms around Bruno’s neck, and look into his eyes. He’s looking at me, really seeing me. His gaze burns into my soul. My sleeping brains tells me there’s more to him, that there’s so much I don’t understand. And he’s realizing the same about me. My stomach tightens as he lowers towards me. He grabs the back of my head, and his lips crash against mine.

  I don’t expect for his mouth to be so soft, so velvety and warm. When he pries my lips open with his tongue, I can clearly taste him, the sweet and metallic mixture of blood and sweat. He kisses me deeply, devouring me, while his hands explore my body, grabbing handfuls of flesh in the most sensitive places; my breasts, my ass, my thighs.

  The heat in my middle is pounding now, begging to be relieved, drawing me closer to Bruno. Suddenly, I’m on my back, staring up at the sweeping ceiling of the library. He’s on top of me, pinning my arms over my head. His body is heavy on top of me. His face is bloody and swollen, just like the other night, but his eyes are different. He’s not threatening me, or trying to scare me. I’m able to look into his pupils and see his pain. Is it physical pain, or something else?

  Bruno plants his warm lips against my neck. I throw my head back, letting him taste my skin. He pulls up the T-shirt, and a thick finger explores up my thigh.

  You’re getting warmer, I think as my core pulses with lust. He slides his hand down the valley of my hip crease. I bite my lip. Hotter.

  That’s when the dream starts to slip away. The library disappears, replaced with the back of my eyelids and filtered sunlight. The weight on top of me is gone, and I feel cold. But the heat is still there in my middle, angry and unsatisfied. I slide my hand between my legs, where Bruno’s hand was before I woke up, and turn on my side.

  “Bruno,” I murmur.

  I hear the floor groan, and I go still. When I open my eyes, he’s standing there, watching me. He holds his hands in fists by his side, his head jutted forward, his eyes dark and burning. The energy he emits is palpable. Through the thin gray pants he wears, I see the physical evidence of his arousal.

  This isn’t a dream.

  I’m suddenly aware of my appearance. I’m not wearing boxer shorts. The T-shirt is bunched up around my hips. My hand is between my legs. I sit up quickly, covering myself. Shyly, I glance back at the bulge between Bruno’s leg. It’s gotten bigger.

  Bruno takes slow steps into the room, the floor creaking every time he puts his foot down. He sits on the bed beside me. Thanks to his immense body heat, I’m not cold anymore.

  The surreal feeling of the dream is still there, invading my brain. In my half woken state, I believe that what I felt, what my subconscious told me, is real. There’s something beneath Bruno’s muscles and domineering attitude, and little by little, he’s showing it to me.

  A coping mechanism, Olivia, a voice in my head screams. DO NOT NORMALIZE HIM.

  My heart is beating so fast it drowns out this rational voice,
and the pull between my legs isn’t helping me think clearly either. Bruno’s eyes are zeroed in on me. He sits as close to me as he possibly can without touching me. He’s watching, waiting, wondering what to do next.

  I’m so starved for human connection, I’m desperate to feel the warmth of his body. I’ve never craved someone like this. Most of my sexual encounters were born of opportunity. I was there, they were there. We were both, perhaps, a little drunk. It was something to do, and I never much enjoyed myself.

  I raise a trembling hand and cradle his cheek in my palm. Just the touch of someone else’s skin is enough to kick off a flood of endorphins through me. It’s the most pleasure I’ve felt in a long time, probably even before I came here. I close my eyes, savoring the sparkling warmth that rolls down my spine.

  Bruno grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from him. He studies my face for a moment, then hooks his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I feel his pulsing heart against my chest. I feel the breath traveling through his body. His intense energy permeates my flesh. It’s the pleasure I felt from touching his cheek times one thousand. It leaves me weak and breathless. When he presses his lips against mine, I’m scared I’ll faint.

  But I don’t. Bruno holds me tightly against him. Like the dream, his mouth is surprisingly warm and soft, but the taste is different. It’s not blood and sweat, but something sweeter and more satisfying. I can feel how much he wants me in the way he paws at my body, the way his mannerisms become more animalistic. It’s like he can’t control himself. I wondered if I’ve unleashed something inside of him that can’t be put back.

  I could also say the same thing for myself. I really shouldn’t be kissing this man, but it feels too good to stop. The rush of adrenaline makes me open my mouth wider so his tongue can slide deeper inside. My phone dings in another room, but I barely register the sound. I don’t care about my phone, my studies, or the outside world. Right now, I only want one thing, and it’s the massive beast in front of me.