by Leah Holt
“Help me, what the fuck is going to help me? You're leading me to my death, do you need to drag it out? Just do it already.”
I felt the life draining away. Well, what life I had left. Remo had done a great job of breaking me down for this motherfucker. I was strong willed, but there was only so much one person could take.
How the hell I would ever get out of this, I wasn't sure.
And what was I going back to? Turning into a sex slave?
Fuck that.
“You don't sound like someone who's afraid of death.”
“Maybe that's because I welcome it.” Reaching the top, he led me into the first door on our right. “It's not like I have much to live for.”
Dante cleared his throat, yanking a chain out from behind the dresser. Wrapping it around my waist, he pulled it tight, and locked it. “Most people are begging for their lives by now. You should be crying for mercy and forgiveness.”
“I won't beg.”
“You're going to beg.”
“I won't, not for my life. If you were going to let me go, you would've by now.”
“If I was going to kill you, I would've by now.”
“Maybe you want more, maybe you want what those other assholes tried to get.”
His laugh came out full and thick, thumb tapping his jaw. “Maybe you shouldn't have met those other guys, maybe they were out of line.”
Rolling my eyes, I snarled. “Maybe. But meeting you hasn't turned out to be much better either.”
His face locked on mine, eyes settling over my lips. “Sit tight, I'll be back.”
“What? No. Don't leave me here like this.” Holding the thick chain in my hands, it felt like ice cold torture. I was trapped.
Why is he doing this? Why is he keeping me here like this?
His lips thinned as he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. I watched the handle jiggle, heard the clank of the lock setting in place.
My chest started to thud as my heart sped up. My pussy was hot, and I felt sick about it. I should be hating this man, but I couldn't stop the wetness from seeping down and coating my inner thighs.
Dante was evil, and pantie melting, cold, and filled with fire. His jaw was firm, solid, covered in light stubble that I couldn't stop from picturing between my thighs. A sick twisted need had started to fill my stomach, and buzzed over my most delicate parts, wanting him in the worst way possible.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Had I been so consumed by my hatred for Remo that the first man to sweep in and take me away had become my dark and horrid sweat dream?
My body was deceiving me, going against my mind and doing what it wanted. And I couldn't stop it.
Flicking my head down to the chain, I pulled on the metal leash. There were several feet of it hidden behind the dresser. The chain was long enough I could move around the room with ease, and not really get caught on anything. Flipping the leash over the mattress, I walked to the window.
It was the only other exit I could see. There was a door against the far wall, leading into a bathroom, and that was it. At least there was one viable way I could possibly escape.
The curtains were drawn and thick as a fleece blanket, sealing out the world. Coiling my fingers around the hem, I pulled them back. To my surprise, there were no bars. I was certain there would be bars to keep me in . . . Or anyone else who happened into this room.
The chain was bolted to the wall, so I wasn't the first person to end up here. I knew that much.
Tapping my lips, I felt the edge of the sill for a lock. There was nothing.
Could it be that easy? Could I open this window and jump out?
Leaning into the glass, I looked down at the dark ground. I couldn't tell exactly how far up I was, but I didn't care. I'd take a broken leg over being tortured or killed. It was a small price to pay for freedom.
Fiddling with the chain, I tried to shift it over my hips. I couldn't squeeze out, twisting and dipping my waist, I tried to force it down over my body. But it was too tight, locked, and unbreakable.
Glaring at the window, I looked back at the door and listened. There was nothing but silence and the occasional creak of the house. Pressing my palms to the glass, I pushed up. It felt stuck, not budging.
Taking a deep breath, I used my fingers to wrap over the top of the frame and pushed again. Grunting, I bent at the knees and used every bit of muscle I could find to open that window.
And still nothing.
I slipped to the floor, my back pressed against the wall, head falling into my hands.
Shit. What now?
Snapping my head up, I looked around the room. The walls were all bare, just like the downstairs. There were no knickknacks, or tiny decorations to give away whose room this might have been at one point in time.
What kind of house is this?
The room was blank, deprived of touch. The walls were so bare and placid that I found myself wondering what stories this room was hiding.
Was it filled with bloodshed and tears, people begging and merciless beatings?
Or was it once filled with the loud churning of children and laughing of a family that was enjoying escape from their reality?
Does it matter?
I was in a chamber; my last memory was this, and nothing about this was mine at all.
There was a single dresser against the wall near the door, a bed, and a wooden chair set in the corner.
As I sat there staring around the room, my eyes kept getting drawn back to the chair.
Break it. I can break it.
Standing quickly, I walked to the chair and ran my fingers gently across the smooth ridge. Then it hit me.
What good is breaking it if I'm still chained to the room?
Staring down at my leash, I tried to pry the motherfucker off my body. Pushing and rolling, the metal scraped against my skin, leaving deep red scratches. But I couldn't get it over my hips.
Laying on the bed, I bent my knees and lifted my ass up. I was determined to get this fucking thing off me. The pain was the least of my worries.
I wasn't going to die, not tonight, not here.
If I could get away, I could run. I could run for help, I could run and keep running until I was far away from here, far away from Remo, far away from hell.
Gritting my teeth, I forced the chain to move down my hips. It hurt like hell, feeling like I was being squeezed in one of those old-fashioned clothes dryers you'd see from the twenties. The metal pinched my skin, tearing it at the surface and turning it raw.
With one final push, I felt the leash pop, loosening its hold as it passed onto my thighs. The pressure faded, and I wanted to yell out with excitement. Biting my lip, I held in my joy and focused.
I need to get out.
I can celebrate when I'm free from this.
Slipping free, I picked up the chair at my side and softly stepped back to the window. Holding it out to the side, I took in a few heavy breaths. I was going to slam this thing so fucking hard that I knew it wouldn't be quiet.
But I'd have a few seconds before Dante was able to make his way back in. He'd have to unlock the door and that would slow him down for a little blip of time.
As if a light went off inside my head, I flicked my eyes to the dresser.
I can get more time if I block the door.
Gently placing the chair back down, I tried to not make a sound. I didn't want to draw any attention to myself. At least not until I was ready.
Tip toeing across the wood floor, I tried to avoid making the ground speak to my movements. Standing next to the dresser, I wasn't sure how the hell I planned on moving it across the floor without it making a shit ton of noise. Just pushing it would definitely draw attention.
Holding the corners, I attempted to see if I could lift it. It was heavy, but it felt empty, so there was a bit more give to it than I expected. Holding up one side, I shifted it around side by side, until I had walked it in front of the do
or. And it was a lot easier and quieter than I thought it would be.
Thank you, thank you.
I had this surge of power flood my veins. I was taking control of this, I was working the situation and going to make it out. Dante had underestimated my abilities, and left me in here alone.
No matter what feelings were floating around inside my body, he had taken me. I couldn't forget that, I wouldn't forget that. In my head, I was giving Dante and his family the middle finger.
Fuck you Pisanis.
Fuck you.
Stepping to the window, I picked up the chair again, gripping it like it was the last thing I would ever touch in my hands. Holding it with a death grip, I swung.
The sound was deafening. The pop the wood made against the glass as it shattered into bits around me was unmistakable. And as I lifted my head, brushing the hair from my eyes, I stood in sheer panic.
The glass was still whole. There wasn't even a fucking crack, a split, nothing. It was crystal clear, gleaming at me with an unbroken smile.
Fuck! No! No!
The buzzing in my head was growing softer, the pounding of the door behind me filled the empty space between my ears.
“Ivy! Fuck, Ivy!” Dante's fists rained down on the door, the weak material breaking away with his rage. Busting through, the dresser fell forward with a loud bang.
Throwing himself inside, his eyes were wide and shining like glass. “What the fuck are you thinking?!” His yell came out thick and fierce.
My body ignited, prickles lifting off my skin and taking me hostage. I was afraid and hot, scared and turned on by the way his voice slithered to my core.
And I felt sick about it. I couldn't honestly be excited by him, his demeanor, his hard muscles and rippled chest.
The control he possessed over my body's reaction was like nothing I'd ever felt before. My heart was racing and excited. A deep need to feel him punish me however he saw fit was strangling my brain.
But I was afraid—afraid of how much that thought warmed me on the inside.
Raising my head high, my shoulders shot back. “What? Did you think I would seriously just give up?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I held my chin towards the ceiling. “I warned you.”
Anger painted his face, his brows furrowed, nose wrinkling as his lip curled. “You warned me?” Lunging forward, he grabbed the remaining fabric of the shirt on my shoulder. “You warned me?”
“Don't touch me!” I yelled, trying to step back. I refused to let fear take me, I refused to let him think he scared me.
If I was going to die, I would do it trying to escape, I would be the one who set my demise. Not him, not Remo, not anyone else.
Me.
And if he did it now, at least I went out trying to get free.
His mouth went razor thin, nostrils flaring. “You—you don't fucking speak.” Throwing my body onto the mattress, Dante hovered over me. “You are going to listen to me.” Grabbing my wrists, he yanked them painfully above my head.
“What are you doing?” Trying to wiggle free, I bent and twisted my arms to break his grasp. It was fruitless, I wasn't escaping his hold.
He didn't speak. His eyes were enraged, the color draining to black. Yanking hard on my wrists, I felt the cold first, followed by the sealed clank of metal.
He had cuffed me to the bed.
Standing over me, Dante's chest heaved breaths of hot air. His jaw cocked out to the side, lids expanded. “This is where you get to spend your night now.”
“You can't leave me like this!”
Drawing a hand over his jaw, he shook his head. “I can.”
“Fuck you!” Screaming, I tugged my arms, trying to yank them free of the bed.
“I don't want to hurt you, Ivy, I don't. But if you keep defying me, keep pulling this bullshit . . .” Dragging his fingers through his hair, his lips parted. “I won't have a choice. Don't make me choose.”
Staring at him, I couldn't stop my eyes from shifting over his body. His muscles were perked, fighting against his shirt, his massive hands were open, resting by his sides. And again, a wave of heat washed over me.
My pussy pulsed, clenching and releasing with desire that was so wrong, and so hard to ignore. The air around me turned to searing pins, pricking my lungs as I tried to force the oxygen down.
I couldn't breathe.
His hand gripped the base of his neck, eyes static. “I killed one of my own to keep you safe. Don't make me regret it.”
Five
Dante
Twirling the glass in a soft circle, the smell of scotch breached the air. Taking a long sip, I let the liquid burn against my tongue before swallowing hard.
I could still hear her, still see her, and I wanted her gone. If anyone else had pulled the shit she just did, I would have fucking killed them without a second thought.
But this girl was different.
I didn't like the way she made me feel, I hated how she tugged at something inside me that I had shutdown years ago. Emotions didn't play well in my line of work.
They are not welcome. Ever.
People make mistakes when they start to feel shit. If you think about what you're doing, then you let it seep in and turn your dreams into nightmares. I refused to have nightmares.
It was bad enough that the memories were there to begin with. I didn't need to deal with my conscience too. It was easier to think of people as objects, an obstacle to jump in order to get what was needed.
Dragging my fingers across my forehead, I squeezed my temples. My head was pounding with a fierce headache, crushing and constricting my brain.
Ivy made me want to punish her, to fuck her. I wanted to make her scream, make her beg. I wanted the power to bring her so close to coming that she'd be dangling on the edge and wouldn't be able to take it.
Then I wanted to send her over that edge, watch her body tremble as the feeling washed across her body, and made her melt beneath me.
Fuck. This is going to be problem.
The cell in my pocket went off, the ring slicing through my ears, and helping to feed the pain in my skull.
Tugging it out, I hit the button. “Yeah.”
“Well, is it done?”
“Yeah.”
“That's it? That's all you have for me?” My father sounded pissed, and he didn't even know the half of it yet.
“What do you want me to say? Yes, we have her. There, you feel better now?” Sliding deeper into the chair, I took another long swig of the drink.
“Don't be an ass, Dante. Is it done?”
Letting out a loud sigh, I grumbled. “It is, but it wasn't smooth.”
“What happened?”
“Tony is a fucking idiot, that's what happened. So, now he's gone.”
“What the hell do you mean gone?”
“What the fuck do you think I mean, do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Fuck, Dante, what went wrong? This was an easy job, how the hell did you fuck it up?”
Of course he wanted to blame me. How convenient. He sends his stupid fucking men, but it's somehow my screw up. I told him what I thought, he didn't want to hear it.
“Me? I didn't fuck up shit. It was those two dumb fucks you sent.”
“You know what, I don't want to hear it right now. You have her, that's all that matters.”
“Is it? Because right now, I'm at the safe house with her.”
He didn't say a word. His breathing was thick and filled the speaker. I knew he was trying to figure out in his own way what the hell had gone down. But I couldn't tell him over the phone, and he knew it.
That was a conversation we needed to have in person.
“I'll be there in two hours.” The line clicked, and I was left with dead air.
Shit.
Standing quickly, I paced around the living room, unsure of what he would think or what he would want to do. My father ran things with a strict fist. Which should be expected considering his position. But this time it wasn
't all black and white.
My father had every excuse in the book for not letting me order the hit. Remo made us money, his business was a huge part of ours. Without his hand in the game, we wouldn't have access to the containers, and our shipments wouldn't come through as smoothly as they had been.
That was until shit went down a month ago, and we lost quite a few guys.
Remo owed us, he owed us more than I think he wanted to admit. But him and my father went way back, I think that's why he didn't want to whack him right off the bat. Since I was a kid, Remo and my father were as close as brothers.
That changed years ago, when he screwed with the wrong people. Now he worked for us. It was his fault that family had to go through what it did.
And for that . . . He didn't deserve second chances.
But for me, relationships didn't matter if you weren't blood. And even that ran thin.
Maybe it was how I was raised, maybe it was how I thought our business should be run. I wanted him dead, he didn't deserve any of our time.
Friend or no friend, brother or no brother . . . It should have been dealt with the right way.
He wouldn't give me a straight answer as to why we couldn't just take him out. There had to be a good reason, there better be a good reason.
Otherwise all of this was for nothing. And when I asked my father what would happen if Remo did this to him again, and again . . . His words were cold.
'You know whose fault this is. Dante, when I'm in the ground you can do shit your way. For now, I call the shots. Don't question me, I won't tolerate it. Don't make me lose another son.'
The faint scream of Ivy from upstairs made its way down into the living room. I needed her to calm down, she had to be on her best behavior when my father got here.
Placing the glass down, I stormed up the stairs. She needed to listen to me, I had to make her listen to me.
Throwing the shattered door open, her eyes gaped wide. Curling her legs into her chest, she tried to pull herself up on the bed, but the cuffs made it impossible for her to hide.
Her pussy was exposed, glistening and hot. I had the urge to jump her, take her for myself and let the entire night melt away into the heat between her thighs.
