My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 7 Connections

by Marita A. Hansen

  MY MASTERS’ NIGHTMARE

  SEASON 1

  EPISODE 7

  “CONNECTIONS”

  Marita A. Hansen

  Like a television series, My Masters’ Nightmare is broken up into seasons and episodes. A new episode will be published approximately every 3 weeks until a season has ended. There will be fifteen episodes per season.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Recap of Episode 6

  1 Honey

  2 Matteo

  3 Frano

  4 Honey

  5 Matteo

  About the Author

  Other Books by Marita A. Hansen

  Copyright

  My Masters’ Nightmare

  Season 1, Episode 7

  “Connections”

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013 © Marita A. Hansen

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Cover Photography by Nick Freund

  and sourced from http://depositphotos.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: marita.a.hansen@hotmail.com

  All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  I would like to say a big thank you to my beta reading team for this episode:

  Jahayra Lopes

  Carol Allen

  Rosanna Albani

  Andrea Braccio

  Elaine Makri

  Your help is greatly appreciated.

  In Episode 6 “Consequences”

  Frano starts training his two slaves, using Camila as a tool to get Rita to do what he wants. However, his mind keeps returning to Alberto, his guilt over killing his brother overshadowing everything. At Alberto’s funeral his guilt is amplified, but is cut short by a gun attack.

  When Matteo fails to shoot Frano, he heads to a market that Thierry frequents. He wants to use Jagger’s younger brother to get to the D’Angelos, but discovers Thierry is being protected by Landi soldiers. As a consequence, Matteo formulates a way to get to him through the Landi sisters.

  After Frano returns home, Camila offers him a profitable deal he cannot refuse, even though it means he has to marry her. He agrees, allowing Camila to leave the slave cell. Once she is gone, he returns his attention to Rita, who he discovers is Sophia Salvi. He is stunned, but still plans to marry Camila, which angers Rita/Sophia. An argument ensues that ends with Frano being knocked unconscious by Jagger, who walks in, mistakenly thinking Rita is being raped.

  Episode 7 “Connections” begins...

  1

  HONEY

  I didn’t know what to do or how to calm Jagger down. He was gripping onto a chair while yelling at Rita to get off the Don. The FBI agent was lying on top of the injured Don, trying to shield him from Jagger. I couldn’t tell whether he was unconscious or dead, the blood coming from his head flowing too freely.

  “Get off him!” Jagger yelled again. With his messy black hair and drug-addled eyes, along with his enraged face, he looked like a wild man. Earlier, when I went to get his meal, he had ingested a cocktail of drugs, leaving the evidence on the bathroom sink. I’d found him lying on the floor, screaming at an imaginary Alberto to get off him. I had tried to assure him that Alberto was dead, but he’d pushed me aside and rushed for the door, babbling about Sophia’s sister. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but I knew I had to stop him before he hurt himself. Unfortunately, he’d been far too quick for me, barreling down the staircase like a man possessed.

  “Why are you protecting him?” Jagger shouted at Rita.

  “Because I care about him,” she replied.

  “You can’t possibly give two shits about him.”

  “Well, I do. So back the fuck off!”

  Rita looked even wilder than Jagger, with her tangled brown hair, her crazy eyes, and blood splattered hands. I was worried she would attack Jagger if he didn’t do as she said, because every muscle in her body was tensing for a fight.

  The fear of Jagger getting hurt pushed me forward. I ran in front of him, extending my hands. “Give me the chair, Jagger,” I said.

  His eyes shifted to me, or tried to, because they were moving all over the place. He shook his head, looking like he was attempting to regain focus. “I don’t understand,” he said, appearing confused. “Why would she protect him? He was raping her.”

  “Frano wasn’t raping me,” Rita said.

  Jagger’s gaze moved back to her. Despite the fact he’d slept almost continuously since his attack, he appeared exhausted. The dark rings under his eyes also made him look haunted, undoubtedly caused by the ghost of Alberto, who continued to torment my lover even in death. I knew how it felt to be raped, but what Jagger had been through was beyond anything even I had experienced, and it tore me apart watching him fall to pieces.

  “You were pleading for Frano to get off you,” Jagger said to Rita.

  “We were just arguing, nothing more.”

  Jagger looked at me as though seeking support. He was right; it did appear as though the Don had been raping Rita. However, being around the D’Angelos had taught me not to take things at face value, even more so when it came to Jagger. At our first meeting, he had given me the impression he was a refined, confident man, but as our relationship progressed his facade slowly fell away, leaving behind a broken boy.

  “If Rita says the Don wasn’t attacking her,” I replied, “we must’ve misjudged what we saw.”

  Rita screamed out: “Stop wasting time talking, Frano needs help! The bleeding won’t stop.” She held out her bloodied hand.

  Thuds came from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder as two large men entered the room. Although the Don called the men soldiers, they weren’t wearing fatigues. Instead, they were dressed in black pants and white shirts, as well as holsters containing guns. We’d passed them on our way to the cell. They had been carrying a dead man, while another soldier had been receiving an earful from a naked woman with black hair. I had done a double-take, because it had looked surreal: a warped dream with a mishmash of strange characters.

  The two soldiers stalked towards us, the men terrifying. One of them had a large facial scar, as though someone had slashed a knife diagonally across his face, while the other looked as though he was on steroids. I backed up into Jagger, knocking into the chair he was still clutching. He moved away from me, lifting the chair higher, probably just as scared.

  The bigger of the two men went to Rita. “Move, slave,” he said, his deep voice commanding.

  Rita got off the Don, allowing the man access to him. The soldier started checking the Don. “He’s alive, but I need to get him upstairs.” He removed what looked like a radio from his belt and barked orders into it. He clipped the radio back onto his belt, then picked up the Don as though he weighed nothing. He turned to the door as another soldier entered the room. “Move the slave to the next cell,” he said, indicating to Rita with his head.

  “No, I want to go with Frano,” she said.

  “That’s not happening,” the soldier replied, heading out the door.

  The new soldier removed a gun from his holster and indicated for Rita
to leave. He was a muscular bald man in his forties with a hard and uncompromising face. She glared at him, but still headed for the door. As soon as she neared him, she lashed out, moving so fast that the guard didn’t have time to react. His gun went flying out of his hand, skidding across the floor. Rita went for it, but the soldier spun around, knocking her down with a roundhouse kick. Before she could get up, he grabbed the gun. Although she looked winded, Rita rose to her feet, her body tensing for another attack.

  He pointed the gun at her. “Do that one more time and I’ll shoot you.”

  She pointed to the door. “Frano’s my responsibility. Let me go with him.”

  “Penso di no,” he replied, saying he didn’t think so, something that Jagger had said to me a number of times.

  “Then why would I protect him?!”

  The soldier raised the gun. “Last warning. I may not kill you, but a bullet to a leg or arm isn’t pleasant.”

  Her body tensed again, the woman nothing but muscle. She looked over at Jagger, who was still staring at the scarred soldier in front of us. The soldier was intimidating to say the least, because he was just standing there like a statue, watching us, paying no attention to the other two in the room. I knew the Landi soldiers were here to protect us, but if they were our protectors I would hate to see our enemies.

  “Jagger,” Rita said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Alberto.”

  Jagger turned his head to look at her, the expression on his face cutting me. I wondered whether Rita’s bruised face had been received while trying to protect Jagger from Alberto. My heart told me it was. I wanted to repay her with kindness—and when I had the chance, I would.

  She headed out of the room with the soldier, who kept his distance this time, the man learning his lesson. They disappeared around the corner. I looked back at the scarred soldier in front of us, who was still staring at Jagger. As soon as the neighboring door banged shut, he pulled out his gun and indicated for me to move forward. “Out of the room now, donna,” he said, saying woman in Italian.

  “What are you going to do with Jagger?” I said.

  “He stays here.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to leave Jagger alone with the man. “He needs to return to his room.”

  “He attacked the Don, so he has to be contained.”

  “The Don said Jagger’s my first priority, and I won’t allow you to lock him up like a prisoner. He has been hurt; he needs to be attended to.” I straightened, trying to appear important, even though I felt tiny in front of the man. “I am his nurse, and he needs to be in his own bed where I can attend to his injuries.”

  “Then I will station someone on his bedroom door, but Jagger will not be allowed to leave his room until further notice.”

  I nodded, relieved at his concession. The soldier stepped aside, indicating with his gun for us to pass. I turned to Jagger, placing my hands on the chair. “Let go, Jagger.”

  He shook his head, his eyes still on the soldier.

  “He won’t hurt you,” I said. “I promise; I won’t let him.”

  His face twisted. “No one keeps their promises and everyone finds a way to hurt me.”

  “I keep my promises, and I won’t hurt you. Ever.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then let go of the chair, allowing me to take it.

  I put the chair down and placed an arm around his waist, wanting to reassure him. “Let’s go back to your room,” I said, relieved he didn’t pull away from me.

  We moved forward, Jagger keeping his eyes on the soldier. The soldier allowed us to pass without trouble, shadowing us as we headed for the staircase. Wanting a barrier between the two men, I shifted Jagger in front of me. At the top of the staircase, Jagger stopped abruptly, making me bang into him. He stepped to the side, keeping his back to the wall, his gaze alternating between two more soldiers, the place filled with the intimidating men. There was one by the entrance and another one blocking our way to the main staircase.

  I grabbed Jagger’s arm, afraid he was going to panic. “Calm down, Jagger, they’re not going to hurt you.”

  His disbelieving gaze shot to the door that led to west wing staircase. A man emerged from it, though this one was obviously not a soldier. “What’s happening?” the man asked. He had spiky black hair with red tips and was only wearing a towel, and a small one at that. The rest of his skin was bare, except for some nipples rings and the scary tattoos covering his muscular arms, torso, and thighs. He wasn’t just sporting a six-pack; he had a frigging eight-pack. He turned to one of the guards, giving me a partial view of his back, and good Lord, there were even more tattoos, the colorful images glinting with body piercings. Although I hadn’t seen him before, I knew he must be the new slave trainer the Don had mentioned: Alessandro Santini, which meant he could help Jagger, because the soldier behind us wasn’t doing his job. Maybe he had tricked me, knowing there would be other soldiers up here ready to grab poor Jagger.

  “Please tell them to back away from Jagger,” I said to Alessandro. “I will help him to his room, the guards just need to be aware they can’t come near him,” I added, knowing Jagger’s fear of burly men stemmed from Alberto. After Alberto’s attack on Jagger, the soldiers had tried to move Jagger to his room, but he’d lost it, screaming at them like a terrified child. He’d only calmed down after Frano had offered to help him instead. Jagger had been too hurt to get there on his own, what Alberto had done to him beyond cruel. Although the bruises had started to fade on his body, the damage to his soul was irreversible.

  Alessandro’s gaze moved between the soldiers. “Why are you attacking the Don’s cousin?” he asked. His voice was low, almost threatening. If anything he looked scarier than the Landi soldiers, those tattoos of his depicting the fiery depths of Hell.

  The soldier who’d brought us upstairs stepped forward. “He attacked the Don, signor.”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” I spoke up as Alessandro turned his intense gaze on Jagger.

  “It doesn’t matter; if he attacked the Don he must be restrained,” Alessandro said. “Take care of it.”

  The closest soldier moved towards Jagger. Pulling free from me, Jagger dodged him and took off, heading through the opening that led onto the lounge and dining-room, my lover moving too fast for the soldier to grab him. Two of the soldiers took off after him. Jagger disappeared through the kitchen doors. I went to follow, worried that the men would hurt him. The scarred soldier who’d brought us up grabbed me, yanking me back. I screamed and hit out at him.

  Alessandro moved to my side, taking a hold of my other arm. “Return to your post; I’ll deal with her,” he said, leveling the soldier with a heated stare. He was as tall as the Landi man, but much more muscular.

  The soldier released me and headed out the front door, closing it behind him.

  I attempted to pull free from Alessandro, but he tightened his grip. “Ouch!” I yelped. “Let go of me!”

  He looked both ways, then pulled me over to the door that led to Jagger’s cells. I tried to yank free. “Let go!” I screamed.

  He turned and pushed me up against the wall, then bent down, his face inches from mine, the man having to stoop low.

  “Are you Honey?” he asked.

  Absolutely terrified, I nodded. He had violet eyes, a color I’d never seen on a person before.

  He smiled, the expression softening his face. “My father wanted to buy you.”

  I flinched. “I’m not for sale.”

  His smile widened. “Ask me why he wanted to buy you.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, the answer obvious. The D’Angelos sold sex slaves.

  Alessandro placed his mouth next to my ear. “If you don’t answer me, you’ll lose your liberties, fighetta, because you’re still a slave whether you tend to wounds or cocks.”

  “Sex,” I croaked out.

  “How nice of you to ask.” He kissed my ear, making me shiver. “I’d love to have sex with you. Let’s go to my room, it’ll be more discree
t.”

  I jerked my head to the side. “No, I meant your father would want to buy me for sex.”

  “Yeah, you were meant to be my birthday present, but Alberto refused to sell you. And now he’s gone, I expect you in my bedroom on the 29th wrapped in a red bow and nothing else.”

  “I’m Jagger’s.”

  “No, you’re mine in seven days, and if the Don wants to keep me happy, he’ll grant my birthday wish.”

  “He promised me Jagger.”

  “You won’t want him after you see this.” He stepped back and dropped his towel.

  My eyes shot to his cock. It was huge, rock hard, and had a large ring through its head.

  He took a hold of the monster. “Imagine what this would feel like inside of your tight figa,” he said, flicking the ring.

  My eyes shot back to his face. He was smirking at me like this was all a joke, as though Jagger wasn’t out there, scared half to death. “I’m not for sale, so leave me alone,” I said, going to leave. He shadowed me, blocking my way, that annoying grin on his face widening. “Stop causing trouble,” I snapped, my nerves now completely frayed.

  “Oh, you’re feisty. I like that.”

  “This isn’t a joke!”

  “I know; it’s foreplay.”

  “I’m a nurse, not a sex slave!”

  “My cock needs nursing, because you’re giving me blue balls.”

  “Treat yourself!” I tried to move the other way, but he continued to shadow me. “Stop doing that!”

  He laughed. “You’re amusing. Now, be more welcoming and drop your panties.”

  “What is wrong with you?!”

  “I’ve got a terminal case of I-needa-fuck-a-chick-every-hour or my cock explodes.”

  “I don’t care! Let me leave!”

  “You need to work on your bedside manner, and you should be wearing a tight nurse’s outfit that cuts off right below your ass and pushes your tits out.”

  “I’m a professional nurse not some prostitute.”