IMPERFECT MONSTER

by Jennifer Bene

  “A girl?” He chuckled. “So?”

  “It’s…” I trailed off, remembering that Nicky could hear me. Shit. Maybe I should have left her downstairs for this.

  “What is it, Andre? Is there a problem?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to tell me this girl is in trouble or something?” Nathan sounded irritated, and I wasn’t far behind him as my teeth ground together.

  “Yes. That is what I’m saying.”

  “Well, maybe the bitch shouldn’t have shown up at Paulo García’s house.” His handler made a disgusted noise. “If you’re trying to suggest getting her out of there—”

  “You don’t understand, Paulo is focused. This won’t end well.”

  “You’re fucking with me, right?” Nathan turned his TV on in the background. “We’re not wasting three years of work on some random girl. Deal with whatever the problem is and stay focused on the mission.”

  “I can’t.” Glancing back at her, I found her wide blue eyes on me and that only made my voice more intense, because I wanted her on her knees looking up at me like that, and I wanted to do a lot more than that — she needed away from me as much as she needed out of this fucking house. I was going to destroy her if someone didn’t stop me. “Give me something here.”

  “Not fucking happening. It could blow your cover. Do what you have to do, Andre. But I don’t wanna know, got it?” Nathan ended the discussion before it could even begin, and as images of the basement flashed in my head, I knew exactly what kind of shit Nathan didn’t want to know.

  It had been a gamble, a Hail Mary — and it had failed. I swallowed hard, and felt the darkness purr deep in my chest. “Yeah. I got it.”

  “Don’t seek contact again unless it’s a real emergency, or you’ve got what we need. This is too important.” The line went dead a second later, and I stared at my phone, clenching my jaw.

  Thirty-one months of my life and they couldn’t even give me this.

  Couldn’t even save one fucking girl from Paulo García.

  Wouldn’t even save her from me — because God knew I couldn’t resist her. I’d tried so hard in the basement, tried to be the good guy, the hero, but I wasn’t. I had fucked her even though I’d told her I wouldn’t. Ignored her pleas, held her down, taken her like any other monster in the house would have.

  And now she’s mine, and on my fucking bed.

  Slamming the laptop closed, I laid my phone on top of it and stood up to face her. “Strip.”

  “Who was that?” She shifted on the bed like she knew what kind of threat I was. “Are you trying to help me?”

  “There’s no helping you, belleza. I’m the only thing standing between you and the rest of the guys here, so… do you want to strip, or do you want me to put you in the hall?"

  Nicky stood up, ripping her shirt over her head. Now wearing just a bra, those little shorts, and her multi-colored shoes. Not naked, but definitely pissed off. “Who were you talking to? You told someone I was here. Who was it?”

  I moved closer, reveling in the way she twitched back and then chose to hold her ground. Still afraid of me, yet so damn brave at the same time. “No one.” Running a finger under one of her bra straps, I pushed it off her shoulder. “And I think I told you to strip.”

  “I don’t deserve to be here,” she whispered.

  “None of us do.” Grabbing her hips, I shoved her back to the wall, pressing close to her. “But I just spent a lot of money keeping you away from those fucks downstairs who you are so afraid of, and that means I want my money’s worth.”

  A dirty ploy. Conniving. Evil. And it worked.

  Nicky’s blue eyes were fierce as she unbuttoned her shorts, shoving them down over her hips along with her underwear. She toed her shoes off to rid herself of the clothes that pooled next to us, and I reached behind her to unsnap her bra, drawing it over her arms. Then I stepped back to look her over. My golden Valkyrie, so stupid, so brave, and so irresistible.

  Scooping her up, I tossed her onto the bed, and she let out a squeak as she bounced. Her knees parted, showing me the still glistening petals of her pussy. When I pulled off my shirt, I heard her gasp, and I wasn’t sure if it was from all the ink, the scar across my ribs, or the abs — but no matter what, it made me smile. Pants, boxers, and everything else was on the floor, condom tucked in my hand as I climbed between her thighs.

  “Going to fight me?” I asked low, and she bit her bottom lip. “It’s okay if you don’t want to fight me right now, I’ll figure out something to make you struggle tomorrow.”

  Nosing my way into her hair, I breathed in summer and let it push back the darkness for now. No Paulo in this room, no more handler shit, no undercover BS for a case they’d never make — it was just Nicky’s sweet skin, her tight cunt, and the noises she made. I nipped her just to make her yelp, and when she tried to twist away I dropped my weight over her, pinning her to the bed.

  “See? I’m already figuring out which buttons to push.”

  Golden brows pulled together as she looked up at me, pretty pink lips pouting. “I remember what you said downstairs, and I heard you on the phone. You’re trying to help me.”

  “You don’t know what you fucking heard.”

  She caught my face between her hands, and I clenched the condom in my fist as her blue eyes locked on me. “Who are you, Andre?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions.” I tore the foil on the condom, flipping her to her stomach as I rolled it on. “I’m going to make one thing very clear, Nicky.” Pulling her hips high, I lined up with her cunt, eyeing the little star of her ass with a smile. Next time. “I’m not a good man. I can’t save you, and honestly, now that I have you, I don’t really want to.”

  Reaching forward I grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched her head back, her back arching as she whined in pain.

  With that pretty little cry, I thrust deep, and she groaned. “Fuck, yes…” I growled, feeling her sweet pussy grip me, pull me deeper. “So, I made a phone call… that doesn’t mean shit. You belong to me, and I belong to Paulo García. Welcome to hell.”

  Another hard thrust and she whimpered, her hands braced on the bed to try and ease the grip I had on her hair. “Paulo?” she managed to croak out the name through the strain on her throat, and I rewarded her with another stroke, feeling her slick cunt tighten down.

  “That’s right, belleza. That was one of the agreements I had to make when I bought your debt.” I slammed into her to drive the point home. “If he ever decides he wants you, he gets you.”

  She started crying again, and I released her hair so I could hear it better. Nicky folded forward, and I bruised her hips with how hard I gripped them, the soft sound of her sniffling interrupted by every thrust. I wasn’t sure how I’d react if Paulo said he wanted her. It was a fifty-fifty chance that I’d finally snap and shoot him myself… or hand Nicky over like a good little soldier.

  All I knew for sure was that she was mine, and neither of us were getting out of hell any time soon, but with my cock buried deep inside her — for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.

  Eight

  Nicky

  I woke up hot, covered in sweat, and it took a second for me to recognize the heavy weight of a man’s arm draped over my ribs. He was pressed against my back, approximately a million degrees of male body heat. I moved my legs under the sheets, feeling the tender ache between my thighs just as everything from the day before slammed into me like a fucking train.

  Taking the money out, driving to Paulo García’s house, and then… everything else. The men, the threats, Paulo, José, Diego…

  Andre.

  Twisting at the waist I leaned up just enough to look at his sleeping face, slightly less terrifying in the dim light drifting through the wooden blinds. Still, my stomach tightened when I remembered that I was trapped here. In a fucking drug dealer’s house, in the bed of a man who might be trying to help me, or could just as easily use me and
kill me.

  Andre wasn’t exactly making his intentions clear.

  First, he’d protected me from Diego, told me to fight him, to make it believable as he’d rubbed his cock against me — but then he had fucked me. Which was confusing enough because it had been good. Too good. And then he’d, what? Bought me? Was that what he’d fucking done?

  I had the strongest urge to find something to stab through his throat, but then I’d still be two floors up and in the house with a bunch of killers.

  My bladder nudged me, threatening, and I went to get out of bed when his arm tightened and pulled me back. His voice was rough with sleep as he spoke. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to pee.”

  Andre huffed and lifted his arm, rolling to his back so that the sheet slid down toward his waist. Firm chest, rolling abs, all of those muscles and tattoos shifting as he groaned and stretched. “Bathroom is by the door.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, all too aware of my nudity as I scrambled for the door and shut myself in. It was a small bathroom. A tub with a plain white shower curtain, a sink with cabinets underneath, and then a toilet beside it. As I settled on the toilet I could hear him moving in the room, and it made me want to hide in the bathroom until… until what? No one was going to look for me until Christopher was out of the hospital, which would be another week at least.

  Four broken ribs, bruised organs, a concussion, a fractured jaw, a broken nose.

  He’d looked like some kind of extra in a zombie movie as I’d sat in his hospital room, with his brain swelling, in and out of consciousness. I was already stressing about the medical bills that would show up — and then he’d started babbling. About Paula García, about his debt, so many useless apologies that didn’t mean fuck all.

  Twenty thousand. That was what he’d said. Not twenty-five, and we didn’t have that much anyway. I had maybe another twelve-hundred in savings, three hundred in my bank account, could possibly borrow a few hundred more from friends, but five grand? Impossible.

  Without my parents’ life insurance even the twenty thousand would have been unreachable, and now I was trapped in this fucking house. All because I’d wanted to get him out of trouble, again.

  The bathroom door opened and I clamped my knees together with a snap. Andre’s eyes roamed over me, and then he blinked against the light in the bathroom. “Finish up, I need to piss.”

  “Sure,” I mumbled as he walked away, leaving the door open. Quickly wiping and flushing, I was washing my hands when he walked in behind me wearing dark jeans and a heather gray shirt.

  “You need to not draw attention to yourself.” Andre mumbled while staring down at the toilet, the loud sound of liquid hitting the water telling me he was peeing right next to me. I felt the heat in my cheeks as I stepped out and sought refuge by leaning against the bit of wall between the bathroom door and his bedroom door.

  “How do you expect me to do that? I never tried to draw attention to myself.”

  A rough laugh came from the bathroom just as the sound of him flushing the toilet obscured the end of it. “Sure, showing up at Paulo García’s house, shouting at everyone, that wasn’t going to draw attention.”

  “I was trying to help my brother, asshole.”

  “Well, how did that turn out?” he asked as he leaned out of the doorframe.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Watching your mouth would be a good first step to not drawing attention, belleza. Paulo and José are pretty sensitive to disrespect.” Leaning back into the bathroom, he kept talking. “And I won’t tolerate it either. Come brush your teeth.”

  Stepping inside, I paused next to him and looked over the counter and only saw the single toothbrush at the edge of the sink. “Do you have another toothbrush?”

  “No,” he replied as he walked out of the bathroom.

  Glaring at the sink, I scrubbed his toothbrush with toothpaste first, rinsed it, and then reapplied to brush my teeth. It felt good to rake the toothpaste over my tongue. The memory of gun metal made me shudder, and I kept scrubbing until the urge to vomit passed. Andre wasn’t good, but he had still protected me from Diego and José. Had taken me out of the basement.

  But he also said that if Paulo wants you, he gets you.

  Just the idea made my stomach turn again and I spat out the suds of toothpaste, gathering water in my hand to rinse before I cleaned his toothbrush and set it back on the side of the sink. Staring at myself in the mirror, I winced. There was a bruise on my ribs, a pale one on my left cheek, and my wrists had small dime sized bruises over the bones.

  Still, I knew if Andre hadn’t intervened it would have been worse. Much worse.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to walk out of the bathroom and found my clothes picked up from the floor, draped over the end of the bed. Andre was sitting in his desk chair, playing on his phone, not even looking at me. I grabbed my bra and put it on, then my underwear as the silence stretched. I was waiting for him to speak, to explain what was going to happen, but he just continued scrolling through something on his phone, which reminded me... “So, José has my phone.”

  “And?” he asked without lifting his eyes.

  “I want it back. I want to check on Chris, to see if he—”

  “You’re not getting your phone back.”

  “You can’t keep me like some prisoner here!” I snapped.

  Andre was out of the chair in an instant, towering over me, and I stumbled back a step before I remembered to hold onto my anger, to stare into his hard face and hide my fear. He reached forward slowly, brushing his thumb across my jaw before he rested his grip on the side of my neck. “Do you even remotely understand your situation?”

  “I understand that you paid off the rest of my brother’s debt, and I appreciate that, but I think we’re even now. Don’t you?”

  He laughed. Fucking laughed, low and under his breath, as he traced his thumb over my lips until his hand wrapped around my throat and tightened. “Even?” he mocked.

  “You fucked me. Twice.” And I already feel like a whore.

  “And you think that makes us even? You think you’re worth five grand for a couple of fucks?” Andre pushed me backwards until I stumbled into the wall, and then I felt the constriction of my airway, the pressure building behind my eyes as his grip tightened further and my fear returned.

  “Stop,” I hissed.

  “You don’t make the rules here, Nicky. I do.” He shook his head a little before those dark eyes bored into mine again. “Paulo does. And if you don’t want to end up back in the basement, getting fucked by every dick in this house, you’ll fucking listen to what I say and maybe, just maybe, you’ll leave here in one piece. Understand?”

  I jerked my head in a nod and he let go of me, leaving me to slump against the wall as I coughed and dragged in air.

  “Put your fucking clothes on. We need to go down for breakfast. You’ll sit next to me.” Andre’s gaze roamed over my body, and then he pointed at me, his voice rougher. “Don’t lift your eyes from the table, don’t even look at anyone else. Before you answer anyone, you’ll look at me first to make sure I want you to answer. Got it?”

  “I get it.”

  “Good,” he growled, and then he walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  I was screwed. Totally fucked, and I had no idea how to get out of this situation. Would Andre kill me if Paulo García ordered it? Would he hand me over to him if the bastard, or someone else, asked? Those questions made my stomach sour as I pulled on the rest of my clothes.

  When he stepped out, he looked me over with only a flicker of the lust from the basement, and unlocked the series of bolts on the door. Finally, he held the door wide and I stepped out, only to watch him relock the single one visible from the hall.

  “Come on,” he summoned, and I followed him down the stairs. The sound of people talking in the kitchen preceded our entrance, and I caught sight of Paulo and José before I dropped my eyes. Andre slid into a chair near t
he middle of the dining table beside the main kitchen, leaving me an outside chair… directly across from Paulo.

  “Cuadro, how did you sleep?” Paulo smiled, vicious and cold, and Andre made a low sound in his throat.

  “Bueno, jefe, you?” Andre seemed perfectly comfortable as he took food from the family style dishes on the table to add to his plate and mine. I got a scoop of some kind of egg and meat scramble, and a sausage, before he put all of that and more onto his own plate.

  “Well. Very well.” Glancing at the older woman bustling around the kitchen, Paulo nodded to her, and then cups of black coffee were sat in front of both of us. Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t get the woman to make eye contact with me. Surely she knew I wasn’t here by choice? Wouldn’t she help me? Save me?

  As I watched her return to the sink to continue washing dishes, I realized it was hopeless, and dropped my eyes to the plate in front of me.

  “Did you have a good night with the girl?” Paulo asked, and I cringed at being talked about like I wasn’t there.

  “Yes,” Andre answered, short and abrupt before he pushed a forkful of food between his lips.

  “Does she have tan lines?” José asked, smirking, and I made the mistake of looking up at him just in time to catch his eyes glaring hungrily towards me.

  “Yes,” Andre replied, and I blushed, heat rising in my cheeks.

  “Shaved?” José asked again, and Paulo stopped drinking his coffee to listen.

  “No,” Andre answered quickly, like he had catalogued my naked body with his mind. More than anything I wanted to reach across the table and drive my fork into José’s hand, the one resting beside his plate, but just as I gripped my fork, Andre’s hand landed on my thigh and squeezed.

  “Well, not everyone’s perfect. She must be a good fuck for you to want to keep her to yourself.” José nudged his plate forward and sat back. “Maybe when you’re bored with her we can all have a go? See what she has to offer?”

  “Maybe.” The short word felt like a death sentence as Andre continued eating, offering the cream for the coffee like that would make this all okay.