by DD Prince
“The brat is gonna get beat and fucked right out of you,” he sneers. “Then you’ll know. Maybe I’ll let someone else do it. Maybe I’m already fuckin’ done with you.”
I shudder.
He flips me and then we’re both on the bed, me on my back, him hovering over me, my legs still covered with my half-down jeans and panties, and my boots still on.
Why haven’t I just moved on with life here with my sister and the family she’s given me? These people are amazing. I’m crazy to not embrace that. But, I know it’s temporary. And I don’t know why. And I don’t know what’s next for us. I can’t stand all the unknown.
If I told them about the things he did, they’d go to war with him. And someone would lose. No. We’d both lose, me and my sister. Either way, we’d both lose in some way.
“Pull those up,” he orders, gesturing at my clothes. “Stupid fucking games you’re playing.”
I get up on my knees. He’s glaring into my eyes, not looking at my nakedness as I pull my undies and jeans up. I scramble backwards against the headboard.
“You gotta keep fuckin’ provoking me, don’t you?” He gets out of the bed.
I thrust my hands into my hair and close my eyes. I curl into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest and planting my face into my knees.
I actually like my hair like this. It’s just to my shoulders and has all these little flippy layers. It feels so light and healthy. And I didn’t do it totally just to get his attention. That was just a nice side effect. Or maybe not so nice. This isn’t turning out very well.
I look up at him. He’s standing there drinking booze. I lift the length of my hair and inspect it and then I look at him. He’s watching me.
“It’s getting made into a wig for a six-year-old girl who lost her hair to chemotherapy.”
His expression drops.
I put my face back to my knees and let my emotions go. I’m not loud but the tears are flowing into the knees of my jeans. I’m not holding back. I’m feeling things about my situation, about his, whatever it might be, and for little Cara who is six years old and who used to be blonde before she lost her hair.
She fell in love with my hair when I volunteered, doing a little art class and story time in her ward and she kept telling me how much it was like her hair used to be and so after I left, I went to Bianca’s hair salon and got her to cut my hair. She knows a wig maker who is making a wig for Cara.
“Clothes off,” he barks and I look up from my knees at him. His eyes are cold, his jaw is hard, and his lip is slightly curled, like I disgust him or something.
My eyes widen in shock and surprise.
“Now,” he snaps.
I stare at him. “How many times do my pants have to go up and down today?”
He moves to me and puts a knee to the bed beside me.
“Take them off or I rip them off.”
I’m taken aback, so much so that I continue to just stare, like a deer in the headlights. He just made me pull my pants back up and now that I’m making him feel things, he’s gonna punish me again.
“Last warning.”
I’m so shocked at his anger, at his demeanor, his complete disregard for the things I just said, that I don’t even move.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m a cold heartless bastard.”
Suddenly, he’s on me, I’m on my back. And he rips open my blouse and then it’s off me. He tosses it in the direction of my coat, which is half hanging off the chair beside the bed. He yanks my boots off my feet and I’m just open-mouthed and frozen.
His phone rings.
“Fuck,” he barks and freezes, his hands are at the fly of my jeans.
I’m staring, tears drying on my face, probably mixed with mascara. My eyes feel sticky and they’re burning.
His phone stops and immediately starts again. He reaches into the inside breast pocket of his blazer and looks at it. His lip curls.
He answers.
“What?”
And then he points at me in some sort of warning and waves his finger as he gives a curt shake of his head. I take it as ‘don’t move’, ‘don’t talk’. He disappears out of the hotel room and into the hallway.
I’m there in my bra with unbuttoned jeans. I don’t move. I stare at the ceiling.
He doesn’t want me to make him feel things. That’s why he keeps trying to reduce me to a sexual thing only. But yet he can’t bring himself to take my virginity and he’s got me stashed away somewhere safe. He needs therapy. But bad guy criminal leaders of sex slavery rings won’t get therapy, will they?
***
Either time is dragging or he’s been gone a long time. It feels like it has been more than an hour. I finally get up, needing to pee. As I’m coming out of the bathroom, buttoning my blouse up (if he wants it off, he can take it off again) I come face to face with Tino, my bodyguard. He’s Bianca the hairdresser’s brother-in-law, a tall and wide Italian guy in a perpetual bad mood who looks like he could be in the NFL. He’s huge. He’s Bianca’s husband’s twin but I think of Nino as the good twin and Tino as the evil twin. He’s grouchy.
“Oh,” I stumble a little. He catches me, preventing me from falling on my face.
“Get ready to go.”
“Where’s---” I start.
“Unexpected emergency. He had to fly out fast. He’ll call you later.”
“What emergency?” I ask.
“No clue. C’mon.”
I get myself together and grab my bag and follow him out, thinking that I was saved by that bell.
Or maybe Alessandro was.
I know I’m seriously messed up in the head for it but God, I hope everything, whatever he’s dealing with right now, whatever it is that is making him keep me away, that he’s okay.
Month Three
Alessandro
It’s three and a half weeks later and I’m watching the building that housed my father’s office get torn down, a smug smile on my face, satisfaction in my chest, with all the shit I’ve had to endure in that building, when I get a text from Tino and a text from Dario Ferrano at almost the same instant.
Tino - “I’m off H duty this weekend. D says he’s got her, no worries, FYI.”
Dario - “Hey. The 3 of us are on a quick trip to AK. Txt you when we’re back.”
AK?
I text him back,
“AK?”
He writes back,
“Alaska. Thing for my flight school & the girls came to see their mother.”
Oh, hell no. I’ll send someone else to watch her at home.
“When do you go? I’ll arrange someone to watch her at your house.”
“We’re here. Prob heading back tomorrow night.”
I’m infuriated. A quick text is not asking permission to take her so far away. I told him I didn’t want her leaving his city unless he cleared it with me first. And what the fuck kind of bullshit will involving her mother cause?
I initially relied on Delgado’s word when he said the family wouldn’t miss her. After he and I fell out that final time, I did a quick background check on her myself and it was confirmed that he’d been telling the truth about that.
Holly’s mother Felicia Mooney didn’t seem too bothered by Holly’s disappearance or the disappearance of her elder daughter.
But seeing them both in the flesh? What kind of heat would that bring? Besides, Dario Ferrano did not have my fuckin’ permission to take her there. It was time to remedy this kind of shit.
“Rocco! Book me a fuckin’ flight.”
Rocco doesn’t answer. He’s not in earshot.
I book my own fuckin’ flight. At this rate, it’s getting to be time for me to think about buying a jet.
Or, relieving the Ferranos of their Holly duty.
I don’t think, until later, about how those texts obliterated what was happening from my priority list. Something I’d been looking forward to for a fucking long time suddenly meant nothing. I’d had a big cigar in my pocket, plans to li
ght it when the last brick had crumbled. Guess I’ll save the cigar for the day my father is brought to his knees instead.
Though no matter what sort of punishment the universe deems as fit for his many crimes, it won’t be enough justice. It’ll never be enough to erase all the damage he’s caused. All the damage I’ve not only had to cause, but also chosen to cause.
***
I’ve checked into the same hotel as they’re at, and I’ve brought no luggage. I’ve paid someone a ridiculously low amount of money to tell me when Holly’s alone as well as to get me a copy of her room key.
Shortly after I check-in, I’m sitting on the bed watching news, and I get a text that tells me the blond guy and redheaded girl just went to the hotel’s indoor pool and the blonde girl was still in her room. They’d gotten back twenty minutes earlier from dinner. They’re in separate but adjoining rooms.
I meet the maintenance guy I’ve slipped the infuriatingly small amount of cash to give me a key card to Holly’s room in the stairwell.
“Nothing’s gonna happen that mean the cops’re called, right, man? I mean---”
“The cops won’t get called,” I assure him. He shrugs and hands me the keycard. “Just surprising my fiancée, bro.”
“Cool. Have fun. Saw her. Nice goin’.’” He tries to give me a high five. I snarl at him. He shrugs and backs away. “No offense.”
I give him a look and he fucks off.
I’m incognito in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt plus a baseball hat with a heavy bomber jacket. Fuckin’ cold in this place. It’s gorgeous but who could live in the cold like this? Holly did. She lived here until she was almost sixteen. I despise the cold. It reminds me of the past, of how much I fucked things up.
But, I’m looking forward to seeing her, to seeing if she’s gotten angrier at me. Maybe she finally just hates me.
I slip into her room and hear the water running in the bathroom. I lean against the door with my arms folded across my chest.
Four seconds later, she bursts out of the bathroom in a tiny little baby blue fuckin’ bikini and I simultaneously want to grab my cock and grab a gun and shoot everyone who might see her in that.
Her hair is up in a ponytail high on the back of her head and she’s showing far too many curves in those tiny scraps of fabric. She’s put on a few pounds since Mexico and it looks fuckin’ good on her, too.
She’s focused on her suitcase, which is on a valet rack on the far side of the room. She reaches into the case and grabs a pair of black flipflops and as she turns, she clutches her chest in shock as she’s caught my reflection in the long mirror that’s on the wall.
She spins and her eyes meet mine.
She’s wearing my locket and my engagement ring. She’s had my fucking heart somewhere, too, this past two months, because the sight of that, of her, and then the instant change in her expression makes me feel like it’s back in my chest temporarily.
She runs for me and it throws me off guard.
She collides with me and bursts into tears.
I catch her. I’ve got a loose hold on her, my arm around her waist, but her arms are both tight as a vice around my neck and she’s bawling into my chest.
My free hand goes to the back of her head and grasps the ponytail. It’s much shorter than it’d be if she hadn’t cut her hair, but even still, there’s plenty to grab onto. My hand tightens.
“Baby,” I hear myself say and I’m surprised at that.
“You didn’t call. It’s been another month longer! I didn’t know what the emergency was. Are you okay? What was that phone call?”
She smells so fucking good. She feels so fucking good.
I figured she’d be more pissed this time than when I picked her up at the art school because of how I left things. In no way was I expecting her to be flooded with relief at seeing me because she’d worried for almost a month about what had called me away.
I was threatening to lock her in a basement with a bunch of sex slaves and she greets me like this? Like she couldn’t be more relieved to see me? Wondering if I’m okay?
I frown and steel myself against emotion. This fucking girl.
“What the fuck are you wearing and why on earth are you here?”
She lets go of me and looks up at me, her blue eyes huge with concern. Still wet. Fucking beautiful.
“I’m here because Dare is doing something for his bush pilot classes, so me and Ang decided to pay a visit to our mother. Well, I decided… I talked Ang into it and yeah, not my most brilliant idea ever.” She rolls her eyes.
I open my mouth, about to snap about how she shouldn’t be here when her tears start again.
“She’s a waste, Alessandro. Such a waste. She…she looks like she’s 75. And tired. She’s only in her 40’s. She was so smashed and wasted and she doesn’t even care that she’s alone. She called us awful names. I should never have put Angie through that. Ang told me, she fucking told me. She knew that it was a waste of time, but I just … I…”
She doesn’t continue, but I know the answer. She always thinks the best of everyone. I don’t say it but that’s the net of it. It’s why she looks at me with stars in her eyes, why she throws herself at me out of worry today when I sneak in and glare at her like she’s about to get her ass beat.
“It hurts so, so much that she doesn’t even care that she hasn’t seen us in years. The house is a shambles outside. I can’t imagine what it looks inside. She wouldn’t let us in. It was this awful scene on the porch. Even the porch is falling apart. And she looks sick. She called Ang a bitch-faced c-word.”
I grind my teeth. I’m pissed off at her. So many chicks think they can turn on the tears and it’ll melt you. It doesn’t do that for me. When she cries, it does one of two things:
It pisses me off. This happens when she’s crying because of how she’s feeling for someone else. Me. Little bald kids with cancer. Esmerelda, who betrayed me and who betrayed Holly.
Or
It makes me so hard I’m almost in pain, desperate to come. When I make her cry, it wakes something in me that I can’t explain. Like a feral jungle cat roaring in triumph over defending his territory. She’s mine to command; mine to reduce to tears.
Right now, her tears are sorely pissing me off. She’s crying for her lost mama. Her waste-of-space mama. When some of us don’t have the luxury to cry for our mamas who are worth their weight in gold.
“Pack your shit. We’re going,” I snap.
I’ve had enough of this shit. All of it.
“We’re…” she looks at me quizzically.
“Going. Now.” I grab the shoes and toss them in the direction of the suitcase. They land on their target. She’s looking over her shoulder at that and then her neck snaps back to me.
“Where?”
I grab her face rougher than I intend. She winces.
“No fucking questions. Just, now. Fuck. Move it.”
I shove her in the direction of her suitcase and I head to the bathroom, grabbing the clothes she must’ve just changed out of, her make up bag, and toss them all at her. She catches some of it. The rest scatters on the rug.
“Move your ass.”
She shakes her head, confused. “Where…what? My sister is waiting for me at the pool.”
“Fuck that shit. Move it. Get dressed.” I move to the suitcase and start zipping it. She’s throwing her black hoodie and yoga pants on over her bathing suit and pulling fucking ridiculous purple suede moccasin boots onto her bare feet.
I finish zipping the case.
“We were gonna try to see my Gran tomorrow in Anchorage before we go, too. We---”
“Your grandmother’s dead,” I snap without thinking. “She was dead before you landed on my doorstep.”
Her mouth drops open.
Fuck. I’m such a fucking asshole.
She stands, frozen a second. Her shoulders start to tremble, like she’s gonna lose it and dissolve into another puddle of tears. I cut it off before that happens.
“Move it,” I demand.
She comes unstuck and grabs a couple things from around the room and is shoving them into her bag and then we’re out of the room and I’m storming down the hallway, holding her hand.
“Alessandro, I have to talk to---” She stops talking and I realize it’s because she sees her sister heading toward us, walking down the hall in a swimsuit coverup and flipflops and she’s holding a keycard.
I stop, tightening my grip on Holly’s hand.
“Wh-what? Hey?” Angel Ferrano stops and her mouth drops open.
“Uh hey,” Holly says, “Look who’s… um… here.”
Holly’s sister’s eyes are wide and she glances behind herself and I know she wants to be able to get her husband’s attention. He’s not anywhere in sight and I’m hoping that I can get the fuck outta here before he is and this has to turn bloody. Because it will if anyone tries to fuckin’ stop me.
Her eyes move over Holly and I know she can see what’s going on. She takes in Holly, disheveled-looking, me pulling her by the hand, and her suitcase in my hand.
“What’s, uh…” Angel starts.
“Unforeseen situation. We gotta go. We’ll be in touch.” I move past her.
“Wait.” Angel puts her hand on my bicep. “No. You can’t just… Where are you going?”
I lean in and she backs up, looking timid suddenly. I must be giving off a scary vibe. Good. She needs to move the fuck out of the way.
“I’ll be in touch. We have a flight to catch.”
Angel’s eyes dart to Holly.
“It’s okay,” Holly says. “I---”
“Dare!” Angel lets out a blood-curdling scream.
Fuck.
I pull Holly with me and Angel tries to stop us. She grabs my arm again. I shake her off.
“Back. Off!” I snap and grab Holly and throw her over my shoulder and Angel runs behind, trying to grab me, but I drop the fuckin’ suitcase and she trips on it and lands on top of it. We’re out the door and in my rental car before she catches up.
***
After I get to the plane, I text Dario.
“You should not have taken her to Alaska without my permission. She was unguarded when I got to her. $100 bought me entry into her goddamn room. Not cool. I’m taking her with me. I’ll make sure she gets in touch with her sister soon.”
