I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, tears breaking free. After what felt like forever, I finally began to drift, wanting to escape into sleep’s forgiving arms.
A bang woke me. I looked up to see Jagger entering the room. He was now dressed in loose-fitting linen pants which hung off his hips, while his button-down shirt was left open, displaying his beautiful torso: a slim but muscular body. He frowned at me, then headed for the bathroom, coming out a few seconds later.
“Where’s Honey?”
Still groggy from sleep, I sat up, trying to get my thoughts together. It almost felt like what had happened to Honey was a nightmare, and now I was waking up to a beautiful daydream, the man before me surreal.
“Where’s Honey?!” he yelled.
I jolted, everything returning in a rush, nothing a dream, just cruel reality. “Alberto took her,” I said.
He turned to the guard. “Where did Alberto take her?”
“I couldn’t stop them, boss, Frano’s the don; he said I answer only to him.”
“Where has he taken her?!”
The guard flinched. “She’s on the flight to Spain.”
Jagger started shaking his head rapidly. “No, no, she can’t be; I told Frano she was mine.” He brought his hands to his head. “I told him I loved her. I told him!”
The guard shrank back as Jagger stormed towards him, but Jagger kept on walking, heading out of the room and up the staircase. Jagger yelled out for Alberto and Frano. Things went quiet for a moment, then crashing sounds started up followed by another man’s voice, Alberto shouting at Jagger to back off.
More shouting erupted, then Jagger came tumbling down the staircase, Alberto barging after him. I watched through the doorway as Jagger went to push up, the man yelling out as Alberto kicked him in the stomach. The guard said something to Alberto. Alberto shoved him aside and continued to advance on Jagger, who was scampering backwards, trying to get away from him. Alberto went to kick him again, but Jagger rolled to the side, avoiding his big boot. As he pushed to his feet, Alberto grabbed him from behind, flinging Jagger onto the bed. I quickly shifted out of the way as Alberto launched himself on top of Jagger, jamming a meaty arm across his neck.
My eyes shot to the door as Frano ran in, yelling at Alberto: “Get off him!”
Alberto glanced over his shoulder. “He attacked me!”
“He took Honey!” Jagger yelled.
“You knew that was going to happen,” Frano said, his glare focused on Jagger.
“No, she’s mine!”
“You think every woman is yours.”
“Honey is, so get her back!”
“I can’t, she’s halfway to Spain.”
“No!” Jagger yelled, struggling to get free from Alberto.
Alberto pressed his arm harder into Jagger, making him choke.
“Let him go, Alberto!” Frano yelled.
Alberto pushed up, then, as though he’d changed his mind, he grabbed Jagger and yanked him around, pushing him face-first into the bed. He climbed on top of him, growling “Puttano,” the masculine version of whore, although I’d heard it used as a gay slur before.
“Get off me!” Jagger yelled, the man’s face panicked as Alberto started rubbing his groin against him.
“The puttano is enjoying my fat cock,” Alberto laughed.
“Get off him!” Frano yelled.
Alberto jammed a meaty hand over Jagger’s head and pushed up, then grabbed the back of Jagger’s pants and ripped them down, exposing him. “You’re not made to fuck women, Gabriel, you’re made to get fucked by men...” He smiled, the expression malicious. “...especially priests.”
Jagger spun around and leapt at him, his expression wild, almost crazy. Alberto shoved him back onto the bed, then grabbed his own crotch. “Pretty puttano wants a man not a woman.”
Jagger leapt at him again. Alberto grabbed him, putting him in a stranglehold. Jagger’s face started turning red, his hands grappling at Alberto’s monstrous arm, the look on his face now desperate to get free, his slim build no match for Alberto’s bulk.
“Let him go!” Frano yelled. “Now! Or I’ll shoot you in the foot!”
Alberto’s hand moved to Jagger’s cock, giving it a squeeze. Jagger yelled out, his eyes bulging in horror. Alberto shoved him onto the bed then turned on Frano, yelling at him in Italian for siding with Jagger.
Frano swung at him, hitting the brute in the face. Alberto staggered back a step, then righted himself. “I am your brother!” he yelled, spitting blood at Frano’s feet. “You support me, not that puttano!”
“He’s famiglia!”
“A cousin.”
“He’s still famiglia. You don’t touch blood sexually, and he’s not a puttano!”
“A puttan-a then,” Alberto said, emphasizing the feminine a used for a woman.
“Show some respect!” Frano yelled.
“Respect is earned,” Alberto turned and spat in Jagger’s direction, “not a birthright.”
I looked over at Jagger as he curled into a ball. He was still exposed below, but he didn’t seem to notice, the man lost in his own world as his cousins continued to argue. I shifted over to him, not sure what to do. Jagger ... or was it Gabriel, looked like he was hurting badly, Alberto’s abuse shocking. No matter how much it horrified me, I was prepared for the women to be attacked to the extent that I knew it was going to happen, but I wasn’t prepared for one of their own to be treated in the same manner, and especially not a man, not sexually anyway. I was starting to think that Honey was right: that Jagger was being forced to train the women.
“Are you alright?” I placed a hand on his back.
He curled up tighter, his voice soft: “Don’t touch me.”
I removed my hand and looked over at Frano as Alberto stormed out of the room, shooting off Italian curse words. Frano pointed at me. “Take her out,” he snapped at the guard.
The guard headed my way, indicating for me to get up as Frano sat down next to Jagger. I rose as Frano started talking softly to Jagger in Italian, sounding like a father trying to soothe a hurt child, telling him that he wasn’t a puttano and that Alberto would be disciplined for what he’d done.
I glanced behind me as I neared the door, what Frano was saying appearing to be getting through to Jagger, the man uncurling, his eyes locked onto his cousin as though Frano was a lifeline.
I entered my cell and headed for the bathroom, ignoring the clank of the door as the guard locked me in. I turned on the basin tap and splashed water over my face, wanting to wash away everything that had happened, but the image of Alberto on top of Jagger came back, followed by Alberto raping Honey. I had desperately wanted to help Honey, even Jagger, but all I could do was watch, observing like a fucking CIA agent. I wasn’t CIA, I was FBI. I couldn’t sit around and wait while people got hurt, that wasn’t me, yet how could I do anything with them armed to the tits and me showing mine? A bullet moved faster than a punch, and if I did manage to take them out, what next? How would that get me to the Black Russian? It wouldn’t. Instead, I had to shut my mouth and keep my violence locked away for both my own sake and the people who were relying on me.
“Don’t make a sound,” a low voice rumbled behind me.
I jolted, so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard anyone approaching. I turned around slowly, my eyes going wide at the gun pointed at my face. The guard stood before me, his jaw set, his dark eyes hard, his hooked nose making him look more Arabic than Italian.
“Get on your knees,” Federico said.
I held out my hands, my heart thumping like crazy. “Please don’t do this.”
He tapped my head with the barrel of the gun. “I need you on your knees, so do it quick.”
I lowered myself slowly.
“Unzip me,” he said.
I shook my head.
He pressed the gun into my forehead. “Unzip me.”
With shaking hands I reached for his fly, then pulled it down. He smacked my
hands away, my eyes bulging as he slipped his cock out.
“I’ll bite it off if you force me,” I said.
“I know...” he moved the gun around to the side of my head, “Rita Kovak.”
I froze at my name.
He stared down at me. “Do you know what the mafia do to FBI agents?”
Episode 2 Coming Soon
About the Author
Marita A. Hansen is from New Zealand. She loves writing, creating art, watching and participating in football, and running. She ran her first marathon in 2012 and is now planning on completing many more. For more information on Marita check out these links:
Author Facebook Page:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marita-A-Hansen/113130742120676
My Masters’ Nightmare Facebook Page:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/My-Masters-Nightmare/167338690126962
Blog Site:
http://maritaahansen.blogspot.co.nz/
Goodreads’ Author Page:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5129673.Marita_A_Hansen
Artslant Page:
http://www.artslant.com/global/artists/show/74433-marita-hansen
Twitter Name: @MaritaAHansen
Other books by Marita A. Hansen
Behind the Hood
Graffiti Heaven
Behind the Tears
Behind the Lens
Don’t Peek (The Diaries of a Teenage Girl)
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 1 Page 7
