Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2)

by Natasha Knight

  Like I said, I had no delusions about what I was.

  I took out the eggs and bacon and switched on a burner. My thoughts went back to the girl. No sound came from the room. All cried out from her whipping, she was probably sleeping off the rest of the drug.

  She was different than the others. She fought me; they all did to an extent. But they also begged for their lives. She’d done the opposite. She’d told me to get it over with if I was going to kill her. I wondered where she’d come from. Who’d had her, and who’d branded her. I wondered if her new owner would want that mark cut out. They usually liked them pure. Maybe he’d burn his own brand over top of whatever decorated her hip.

  There was one thing that bugged me, though. That kind of nagged at me. When she’d bitten my hand, I’d gone to slap her but stopped. I’d never stopped with any other girl before. It was something in her eyes that had done it. Not the fear, but something else. Something almost familiar.

  I lay strips of bacon into the pan and cracked two eggs beside them, the sizzle and smell making my stomach growl, and wondered who she was. It wasn’t just her looks but the look inside her eyes. She was different than the others. She wasn’t a random pickup off the street. And I had a feeling she was older than the usual girls by a few years. The girls I trained were between eighteen and twenty-one. I wouldn’t take them younger. If I had to guess, I’d say Gia was twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. The buyers usually wanted young flesh.

  Sick fucks.

  Sicker than you?

  I scrambled the eggs and told that voice to fuck off. Once everything was cooked, I plated it and set it on the table, grabbed my laptop out of its bag beside the door, and booted it up. I finished the plate of food as I checked my bank balance for the deposit—ten grand up front, the rest upon sale, the final price determined by the amount the girl brought in. Not bad money. But I guessed human trafficking brought in serious money. The auctions were always interesting. I enjoyed looking at the girls. Who wouldn’t? But I more liked watching the buyers, who were mostly men, some couples, and a few single women. The same ones seemed to turn up at every auction. I wondered if they were growing their stable of stolen women or if they needed to replace lost or damaged goods.

  That little bit of conscience that gnawed at me got shoved back down into its box and the lid locked down tight. I thought of the girl—the job—and how I could maximize my earnings. She was good-looking, even if she was older than the usual girl, but she had something most of the others didn’t: that arrogance. Nothing like breaking a cocky girl. I just needed to somehow preserve that during her training, make her bow down with just that hint of indignation.

  Once I finished, I cleaned up, then grabbed a granola bar and a bottle of water and headed toward Gia’s room. The cold inside gave me a chill. I saw how she lay sleeping huddled into herself on the bed. I set the water and the granola bar down on the small bedside table and walked back out. Tomorrow I’d give her a chance to earn back the blanket.

  4

  Gia

  I ate the granola bar and drank the water when I woke up. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had real food. Hot food. I had dreamt of bacon while I slept. I even thought I could smell it right now. It was like a mirage of water in the desert. I must be desperate.

  No light came through the slats of the boarded-up window, so I knew it was late. How late, though, I couldn’t be sure. And it was cold. Really cold. I was glad to have such dim lighting in the room. Sleeping on the bare mattress and knowing others had been here before me—well, I didn’t want to know what I’d find staining it.

  I stayed at the window for a while, knowing screaming would be useless. If anyone would have been able to hear me, he would have made sure to gag me anyway. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. I knew that much. But I tried anyway. I cried out the window, not caring if he could hear.

  “Hello? Hello, can anyone hear me? Is anyone out there?”

  Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of night. I went back to the bed and sat down, rubbing my arms to warm up.

  I wish I knew exactly what would happen to me. My captor—what was his name? I decided I would call him Death. He looked like an angel of death. That death mask hid his angel’s face.

  I needed to find out more information. Try to figure out where I was. How far from civilization. I heard no noise, and trying to look through the window slats had proven useless earlier. The room smelled musty and old, like it hadn’t been used in a while. The mattress and pillow—I didn’t want to think about what those smelled like. But if I went close to the window, in addition to the freezing-cold draft, I could smell pine. We were in the woods somewhere. Question was, where and how far from civilization?

  Death. He’d whipped me so easily. Hadn’t even had to hold me down to do it, although he had had to adjust my position a few times. I’d have to figure out how to not swallow the pills next time. I couldn’t be so out of control again. I needed to find an opportunity to run. But what if when I got that chance, it turned out there were more men out there? What if he wasn’t alone? What if I did manage to get past Death and got out there, only to find a second man? Or third. Victor had so many at his disposal.

  But did Death work for Victor? I guessed he’d have to. Victor would have to be making money off this auction. Was he doing this to me to keep his promise to Mateo? How cruelly he kept his word. How easily he twisted it.

  Mateo had begged him for my life.

  He’d been on his knees when they’d brought me in. He’d been beaten and bloodied, bound and kneeling in the middle of that horrible room with the scent of fresh blood, of death, overwhelming every other sense. When he’d seen me, God, his eyes when he’d seen me. The shock. The horror. Like everything they’d done to him up until that point was moot. Like me seeing him like that, Mateo, my older brother, my hero, the one who always took care of me, who saved me every time, me being there to see him on his knees had broken him in a way they hadn’t been able to break him before.

  He’d begged them, then. I knew he hadn’t begged before. Victor said so.

  Victor.

  Victor had looked so smug upon hearing my brother beg.

  I would kill Victor with my bare hands. I would do to him what he’d done to my Mateo.

  I wiped hot tears from my face and steeled myself. But remembering…remembering what he’d made Mateo do to promise to keep me alive. What he’d made me watch.

  I leaped off the bed and ran into the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time as that granola bar made its way back up. I’d had nothing to eat in so long. I didn’t even know how long.

  When I stopped retching, I opened the medicine cabinet in search of a toothbrush. I did find one, a small travel-size one, but no way was I going to brush my teeth with a used toothbrush. And before he made me do it, I flushed it down the toilet. At least there was a tube of toothpaste. Squeezing some on my finger, I brushed my teeth as best as I could.

  I needed to focus. To find some way out.

  Using the night-lights, I searched both rooms again, and like the first time, found nothing. The chest where he’d kept the crop was locked tight, but I knew if I could get in there, there might be something for me to use, some sort of weapon. Something to use to escape, or at least to hurt him long enough to get out of here. He had to have a phone. I would take it and make the call to David Lazaro, Mateo’s contact. I’d memorized his number. But was he in on it too? Had he set Mateo up?

  It didn’t matter, not right now. I needed to get out of here first. He had to have a car. I mean, if we were in some remote location—and I knew we must be—he’d need a car to get here. I could take the car. The rest I’d figure out. I just needed to get out of this room.

  I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I tried the door for the hundredth time, growing so frustrated that this time, I pounded on it with both fists, screaming out for him to let me out.

  A light went on in the outer room. I scrambled backward to t
he bed, climbed on, and waited, my back pressed against the headboard.

  The lock slid, and I found myself hugging my knees, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair. When the door opened, I lifted my head. Death stood there without the mask, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. His damp hair told me he’d recently had a shower. I guess he’d built up a sweat whipping me.

  My ass hurt, and I shifted my weight.

  He didn’t close the door.

  Without a word, he entered. I studied him.

  He watched me, his gaze as effective as chains keeping me locked to the spot.

  Then he changed direction and reached into his pocket for what I knew was the key to the chest. It was like as soon as he looked away, he released me. Like the bonds holding me stupidly to the bed while the door stood open had been broken, and I ran. I bounded up faster than I thought I could move and bolted straight for the door. I didn’t trip, I didn’t think, I just ran. It wasn’t a big room. It would only have taken five or six steps to get to it. But I didn’t make it. And I knew from the look in his eyes that he’d expected me to do just what I did. That he’d left the damn door open on purpose, testing me. I knew it the instant he shot his arm out and caught me just before I could set foot outside the door. Just a breath away from that other room, that brightly lit room.

  Death wrapped an arm around my middle and slapped my ass hard before hauling me kicking and screaming back to the bed with the bare stained mattress.

  “Let me go!”

  He threw me with enough force that I bounced. I scrambled to get away from him.

  “You’re so predictable,” he said, his voice calm.

  I slid off the bed opposite him and planted my hands on it. I shifted my gaze from him to the door and back.

  “Get on the bed.”

  We both danced from foot to foot, him mimicking my movements as I bounced left then right, looking for the opportunity to run.

  “Just let me go! You don’t have to do this.”

  “Get on the fucking bed.”

  God, he sounded bored of all things. Fucking bored.

  “I don’t know what you’re being paid, but I can pay you more.” It was a total lie. I had no money.

  I took two steps, then stopped when he matched them, standing opposite him on the other side of the bed.

  “No, you can’t. Now get on the bed, and I’ll take your obedience into consideration when it’s time for your punishment.”

  My ass throbbed at the word. I shook my head and this time, went for it. I just went right for the door even though I knew I wouldn’t make it. He was faster. He was bigger. And he was stronger. So when the door slammed shut almost catching my fingers between it and the frame, I wasn’t wholly surprised.

  I whirled around, feeling him so close. Close enough to knee? He hadn’t locked the door yet. If I could—

  But he must have anticipated it because he caught my knee between his thighs and pressed himself up against me, holding me tight against the door. We stood like that, watching each other, breath coming fast, my naked chest heaving against his with the effort to keep taking in air as he squeezed it out of me. I felt this strange sort of pull to him, this sort of…attraction? No, not that. He may be beautiful, but he was evil. He was no better, no different than Victor. The draw, though, I knew he felt it too. I saw it in the way he looked at me, now that he wore no mask.

  But sexual attraction was a thing of the bodies, not the mind. Not the heart. If it was that, it was mechanic. That was all.

  There was more. Something else. Something different.

  Sometimes, things we can’t remember carry emotion with them. That feeling—good or bad—it’s the thing that’s present between two strangers. And we were strangers. It’s just, this feeling…no, I was confused. Maybe it was a sort of Stockholm syndrome, although it would be too soon, wouldn’t it? When did Stockholm kick in? Maybe because Victor had held me for…how long had he held me? Days? Weeks? Hours? How long ago had I witnessed Mateo’s execution?

  No, I was confused. There was no emotion. No feeling. There was only confusion. Confusion and hate.

  We stayed like that, our eyes locked, and I felt him, I felt his cock at my belly, hard and thick and ready. He was aroused. I knew he’d been aroused before too. After he’d whipped me, I’d seen how tight his jeans had stretched across his crotch.

  “You get off on this.” I said, my voice somehow a controlled whisper, wanting him to know I despised him. Wanting him to believe I felt repulsed by him. “You like it. You like chasing naked girls around this decrepit room, wearing your little mask.”

  He grinned and pressed his cock against me once as if to say yes, yes he did.

  “I’m not wearing my mask now.”

  “You like scaring women half your size? Who could never stand a chance against you physically?”

  In the next moment, he circled my wrists with his hands and drew my arms overhead. He leaned down, so his forehead rested against mine.

  “I do, Gia,” he whispered.

  His eyes roamed over my face and settled on my mouth.

  “I like it very much.”

  I swallowed and felt the hardening of my nipples against the fabric of his shirt and hated myself for it. Hated my body for it.

  “I like a little fight too.”

  He brought his mouth to my ear, inhaling along my cheek as he did so.

  “It makes my cock hard,” he whispered.

  He leaned his face down to where my pulse throbbed against my throat and slid his tongue over it, one long, drawn-out taste to tell me he knew I was terrified, he knew how my heart pounded, and he knew, despite the bravado in my talk, I was scared shitless.

  But he didn’t know that didn’t mean I was done fighting.

  He brought his face to mine again. His right cheek dimpled when the corner of his mouth turned upward as he looked at my slightly parted lips. He thought he’d won. He thought I wanted him. His eyes declared his assumed victory.

  He leaned his head in and kissed me. He took my lower lip between his and moaned as he sucked on it, and I stood there, feeling my body go limp against his, letting it, using its traitorous reaction to my advantage. And when I tilted my head back and he kissed me full on the lips and slid his tongue inside my mouth, I struck. Even knowing full well I’d be punished, I struck. I drew my head back and banged it into his nose. A break would be painful enough to give me the second I’d need to get out.

  I didn’t break it, though. I knew instantly because his grip on my wrists tightened and he slammed them hard against the door.

  “You’re a bitch.”

  He lowered my arms and twisted them behind my back into one of his hands, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his other hand. He turned me so he stood behind me, then walked me toward the chest where, without a word, he unlocked and opened it to take out three sets of leather cuffs similar to the ones that had shackled me when I’d gotten here.

  I struggled against him as he led me back to the bed. I didn’t ask for freedom. I didn’t beg. But I fought because he was right. I was a bitch. And I wasn’t going to make this easy. Even if that meant I’d pay.

  He didn’t speak either, didn’t tell me to be still, didn’t do anything but keep his steady hold on me, tightening it a little. When we got to the bed, he released my wrists and took hold of one arm, pushing me to sit on the edge. I struggled against him as he drew it out and attached the leather to the wrist before fighting me for the other and binding them together. He met my gaze afterward, and I knew this was a show of who was in charge and just how in charge. And I hated myself for the little scream I let out as he drew me backward on the bed to attach the cuffs to a ring on the headboard. He was nothing if not prepared.

  He released my arms and stood, looking down at me.

  I tested the bonds, knowing they’d hold but needing to anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the clanking sound of it, of metal on metal, of my louder scream, of the desperation
in it as he took one ankle and stretched it toward one corner of the bed and bound it. His face remained empty of expression as he walked casually to the other side, and I found myself mumbling, muttering pleas as he stretched the other leg out and bound me so I lay spread eagle, exposed, at his mercy.

  He stood back and looked down at me, first at my face, my eyes, then down over my breasts and belly and to my sex. There his gaze hovered and when he moved to climb between my legs, I screamed and I begged. I begged for him not to rape me. I begged for my life. I begged for mercy. And he just watched me, watched it, and placed his hands on my inner thighs, softly trailing fingertips up and up until tears streamed down my face. His fingers settled on either side of my pussy and spread me open.

  “Please. Please don’t.”

  He stopped then, and his gaze met mine. I thought he’d say something, but he didn’t. He just watched me for a long time, as if he wanted me to know he held all the power. That he owned me. That he could do whatever he wanted to do to me. And then he bent his head and licked my pussy. He licked its length slowly and purposefully while his eyes remained locked on mine and my breath caught in my throat. He did it again, taking his time, tasting every inch of me, teasing the hard nub of my clit until I couldn’t take anymore, until I felt my back arching, my body moving without my brain’s permission. I couldn’t look into his eyes because I’d see my shame there, see how my body yielded so quickly, gave itself so easily to this man, my captor. My jailor. My keeper. My tormentor.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and lay there while he sucked on my clit and died a little when I heard the moan that came out of my mouth as he teased and taunted and tasted and made me gush, made me come so hard I thought I’d break apart. And maybe I did, maybe, in a way, I did.