Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Miss Moreno is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, and I’m overcome with a protection instinct so heavy I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

  Carmen

  On the driveway waits a black limousine with tinted windows. A shorter version, not one of those ridiculously stretched ones. A man stands next to it, his arms crossed, leaning back casually against the side of the limo. He’s tall and blond, blue-eyed, tanned. He looks like a Viking to me. I’m his absolute opposite. Short, even though the heels make me somewhat taller, Colombian and dark. His nose looks as if it has been broken a couple of times and it gives him a bit of a brutish look, but he has kinder eyes than most men I come across. Well, the men I come across all want something from me, their faces hungry, sometimes vicious. I rarely meet anyone who looks at me as if I’m a person. This man does.

  “Carmen?”

  I nod.

  “I’m Lucas.” He opens the back door and gestures for me to enter, so I do. He sticks his head in. “Enjoy the ride. It’s not very far.”

  “It’s cold,” I say with a shudder. I’m colder on the inside than I am from the actual temperature in the car, though, but how can I tell anyone about that.

  “I’ll raise the temperature for you.” Even his voice is kind. He closes the door and I settle in.

  Black leather seats, and a mini bar that I immediately examine, curiosity getting the better of me. Sadly it’s only got a few bottles of water. Maybe it’s intentional. I could have used a shot of anything that is strong, that would numb me, but maybe Mr. S won’t allow that. I realize we’re moving, and that I never even noticed when he started driving. He’s good. The ride is incredibly smooth. And much too short.

  I gawk as we pass through the guarded gates to the mansion. Everything is beautiful and bright. Very non-threatening. The garden with neatly trimmed bushes, the white house, a fountain. Birds are singing and the sun is shining. Surely a man with such good taste can’t be all bad?

  My family lives in a shed that gets scorching hot during the sweltering days and freezing during the numbingly cold nights. We have to go to the common well to get water, but we do have electricity. I used to love to sit and read, but since we all slept in the same room, I was always shouted at to turn off the light and go to bed. An uncle was moving to the USA, with the promise of work at a farm. I wanted something more than a dirt floor, and calloused hands. I wanted a life, so I went with him. My uncle got his arm squeezed between a cow and a wall. The bones stuck out through the skin. He couldn’t afford to take proper care of it after the first visit to the hospital. It got infected, then it spread through his body and he died. We rushed him to the hospital, pale and sweaty, but it was too late, and his heart gave out. He kept trying to talk to me, but I never got to hear what he tried to say. I knew farm work, but I wasn’t needed so I ended up alone, at sixteen, with nowhere to go. A girl always has one merchandise she keeps with her at all times, so I began selling my body, my mind somewhere else, drifting to the stories I had read in the books. Heroes and heroines. Dragons. Witches. Happily ever afters.

  None for me. No happily ever after. Nothing but humiliation and filth. It was a blessing at first, being picked up by the matron after two years out there. I have nice clothes, a clean room, a shower. A blessing. Until today.

  I have run out of luck, and I know it.

  Chapter 2

  Carmen

  The driver, Lucas, the strong Viking, opens the car door for me. I step out as elegantly as I can, remembering to keep my knees together not to flash anything that isn’t yet supposed to be flashed. It’s meant for the boss, and no one else. The pebbles crush under the soles of my high heeled sandals as I walk the few steps to the marble stairs that lead up to a heavy, ominously dark, front door. Before I even knock, it swings open, revealing a heavyset guard. If he sat on me, I’d be crushed. I hope he won’t sit on me.

  “Miss Moreno, I assume?”

  I nod and straighten, raising my chin. “Yes.”

  “If you’ll come with me. Mr. Salvatore waits in his office.”

  I try to walk with self-assured steps behind the big man, but my knees shake so much I swear I hear the bones in them rattle in the silent entrance hall. I know there’s beauty around me by the way colored light plays on the floor, but I can’t take it in. The closer we get to the double doors on the right wall, one of them slightly ajar, the more jittery the butterflies in my stomach become.

  The guard knocks on the door. “Miss Moreno here for you, sir,” he booms, his voice so loud, I jerk. There’s no answer, but he motions for me to enter, pulling the door open for me.

  I can’t feel my face when I step over the threshold into the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. I barely register it, though. In front of me, in the center of the room, sits the man I’m here to see. Whose every whim I’m to obey, whose every dirty pleasure he wants to pull from my body, I’m to give him.

  I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. I’m not hardened like the other girls, despite everything I’ve been through, the thousands of men I’ve let between my legs. I’m not ready for this man, so beautiful my gut clenches, his eyes so dark they’re like voids that will swallow me, his power so great he can crush me with a flick of his finger. I’m nothing and he is everything.

  The injustice strikes me. We’re both born out of the womb of a woman. We were both wrinkly little infants with a future unwritten. I have a heart, lungs, hopes, and fears. So does he. But in here I am nothing. My life isn’t worth even the clothes on my body.

  I stand indecisively right inside the door, hearing it whisk shut behind me.

  “Miss Moreno. Don’t be shy. Come closer.”

  His feet are propped up on the desk and a slight fog from a lit cigar hovers in the air between us, the odor suffocating, heavy. My uncle loved his cigars. I always hated them.

  I approach him, one step at a time. His fierce eyes flame hot and ice cold at the same time as he regards me.

  “Closer. Aren’t you a shy little one? Stop right there. That’s good.” He stands and walks around the desk with slow steps, never letting go of my eyes.

  When he gets so close I have to bend my head back to still see his face, I realize how incredibly tall he is. I have high heels, and still I’m more than a head shorter. If I leaned in, my ear would be level with his heart. If he has one. What would he do if I actually lay my cheek on his chest? I chase away the silly thoughts that flit through my mind and instead I stand with my hands clasped behind my back, jutting out my chest. I have natural breasts, and they’re large, uncomfortably so. Men tend to go wild over them. The matron told me to use what I have, to take control, so I show him my best assets. Maybe I can make him wild for them too? Not too wild, though. Please.

  Salvatore makes a slow, slow circle around me. His presence prickles in my back, making my skin feel too tight.

  “How old are you, girl?”

  “Eighteen, sir.”

  He laughs softly, still behind me. “For real? Every bitch in the universe says they’re eighteen.”

  “I—I have papers.”

  “Sure you do. Lift up your arms.”

  My nipples harden from the surge of sudden fear. I hate that I can’t see him. I let go of the cramped hold and raise them straight out to the sides. My breaths come out erratic, and I can’t calm down enough to hide it. When something strokes along the naked skin on my back, a finger, slowly from my nape and then down, I can’t help flinching.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No, sir.”

  He leans in, his chest warm against my back, his breath fans my ear. “Yes, you are. You’re terrified. I love it.”

  His hand disappears only to land on the inside of my thigh, gripping my flesh hard, then it moves up, all the way, pushing up my dress, connecting with my naked pussy. His growl makes heat shoot to between my legs despite the trepidation.

  “Why are you afraid, Miss Carmen?”

  I begin to turn, to look at him,
but he grabs my shoulder and pushes me forward until my hips connect with the hard edge of his desk making me whimper from the pain. He keeps the pressure, forcing me to bend over until my cheek lies flat against the cold wooden surface.

  “Don’t move. Not one fucking inch.” He shakes me. “Do you understand?”

  I nod, unable to connect my voice with my brain.

  “And she disobeys me.” He sighs. Then a smack so hard it robs me of my breath lands on my ass. “Will you move again?”

  I’m about to shake my head but manage to whisper instead. “No.”

  “Good girl.”

  A second slap lands on my ass, not as hard as the first, but the surprise makes me jump.

  “Oh, I love it when they jerk. Spread your arms, lay them on the desk. You have a beautiful ass, Carmen, a real fucking asset.” He laughs.

  I get the lame pun, I just don’t find it funny, and I already hate this man who owns my life, my flesh, and my every breath. I grip the sides of the desk so hard my knuckles must be white. He’s gonna fuck me here, like this. And it’s all good. I can take a pummeling.

  He presses against me, his hard bulge against my naked pussy, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against my sensitive flesh. He pushes a button on a panel on his desk, a few inches in front of my nose, and a disembodied voice comes to life.

  “Sir?”

  “I need you, Ivan. Get in here.”

  My heart rate doubles. Two. Okay. I can do two. I just hope it isn’t the giant by the door. I hope I at least get to be on top if it’s him. Salvatore takes a step away, and I find myself missing the heat of his presence as cool air wafts against my naked skin. The door whispers open and close. Steps.

  “Where do you want me?”

  His voice is a deep baritone, rough, as if he’s unused to talking. It’s almost sexy.

  “Hold her wrists for me.”

  My eyes shoot open, but I remember not to move. I do nothing as my wrists are clasped in giant paws, held tightly, stretched over my head. I can’t see who it is, and I don’t dare to look. I’m pretty sure this Ivan is the same man who opened the door, though, and the thought isn’t comforting.

  “Are you afraid yet, young Carmen?”

  He’s just talking. It’s just words. “I’m here for your pleasure, sir.”

  Salvatore barks out a laugh. Then the first rap of fire hits my butt and I scream from the shock.

  “She’s never tasted the belt before,” he says as scorching agony hits my behind again, a little lower this time, right where my thighs meet my ass. I buckle, but I’m held firmly in place.

  “Seems so, sir,” says the other man.

  “I like it,” says the monster behind me, and connects his belt with my skin again. And again. And again. A series of punishing hard smacks raining down on tender skin.

  “Please,” I scream, my whole behind feeling like it’s going to melt off my body. “It hurts!”

  He does stop then. A large palm covers my butt, caresses back and forth, the touch making shivers race across my back. He dips his fingers in the cleft between my ass cheeks, past my tight little hole, to my pussy. As he rubs his fingers up and down my slit, heat floods my cheeks when I realize I’m wet. Like really fucking wet.

  “Your hurt is the point, Carmen. It’s what gets me off. And your job is to get me off tonight. Again and again.”

  My stomach clenches at his words and my head spins. I didn’t sign up for this! I expected fucking, probably brutal, probably with more than one man, but not to be beaten. Yet I don’t dare to move. I have no right. I’ve sold myself to this man and his whims.

  Salvatore is almost tender, his fingers rubbing over my clit, making me gasp, then along my folds, a long finger pushing deep inside. I whimper and arch. Beating aside, maybe this will be enjoyable after all? The brute holds my wrists numbingly hard. I wish he would ease up. It’s not like he needs to be that rough with me. I am here to obey, aren’t I?

  “Miss Moreno, I believe I’ve failed. You fucking like it.”

  I shake my head. “No—” Then I remember myself and jut out my ass instead, wiggling it. “Of course,” I say in the most sugary voice I can manage.

  Salvatore pushes his finger in and out of my pussy, then adds another. He’s rough and I force myself to relax. It could be pleasant. It’s borderline pleasant, if I look past the feeling I have that he actually wants me to hurt.

  “Is it no, or is it yes, Carmen?”

  “I—” I don’t even remember the question. Yes seems like a safe bet in this situation, whatever it is he wants. “Yes.”

  He pulls out his fingers and slaps my ass again. A wail rises from my throat. I feel flayed, like there’s no skin left.

  “I hate it when they lie,” he growls. “I hate it when they say whatever they think I want to hear.” He slaps me again, and again. I rise on my toes, squirm, try to get away, but I’m pressed flush against the desk, my arms held down, a hand heavy on my lower back.

  “Please,” I scream hoarsely.

  “Do you still like it?”

  “No!”

  The rain of hurt stops.

  “Good.”

  I hear a rustle of fabric. A zipper. The thick head of a cock pushes at my entrance, resting there, rocking a little back and forth.

  “Do you think she can take it without screaming? Or will she lose it when I ram it to the hilt?”

  “I think she will scream, sir.”

  My heart rate doubles in an instant. Wait? What? Why? Does he have thorns? In the next second it feels as if I’m ripped in two as he thrusts his enormous cock all the way, deep, too deep, hitting things inside me that shouldn’t be savaged so brutally.

  He rests there a moment. I gasp, clenching my hands into fists, my wrists numb from the vice-like grip. Now I know why he wanted the guard. I’d have tried to claw his eyes out. Or at least tried to run. Now I can do neither.

  “She screamed. No one surprises me anymore.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit.

  I gasp as he pulls out and shoves his cock back inside again. It feels as if he hits my tonsils.

  “Do you know why I fuck whores like you?”

  A tear trickles from the corner of my eye, dropping on the surface of his desk as he thrusts again.

  “Because you’re property. I own you all. You have no say.”

  “You’re a monster,” I grit out between his thrusts, praying he’ll be done soon. As tight as I am to him, he can’t be able to hold it much longer, can he?

  Salvatore laughs, and grips my hips that are already pressed bruisingly hard against the edge of the desk, his thrusts intensifying. Then he goes still. All that is heard is the sounds of our combined labored breathing. I suppress the ache, try to float away, to separate mind from body.

  “Yes, little girl. I’m a monster.”

  Chapter 3

  Lucas

  Nurturing a second bottle of beer in the common room at the far end of the mansion, my eyes rest on the pool table in the center. By the bar stand two casually clad men involved in a quiet conversation. They barely spared me a glance when I entered. In the evenings this place is filled with anywhere between five and twenty men and a few women, some of them might be girlfriends, but most I suspect are hookers. Not many sane women care for men like us: hardened murderers, rough and cruel. I’ve had my share of girls, but only outside the organization. I wouldn’t touch the kinds they bring here with a ten-foot pole.

  My mind is yet again, inadvertently, drawn to the scared girl I drove here tonight, her deep brown almond shaped eyes so dulled with trepidation. She didn’t look like the rest of them. She didn’t look like she belonged here. I wonder what she’s being submitted to right now. My cock stirs a little at the thought, at the images of Salvatore fucking her hard.

  I down the rest of the beer and slam the bottle to the table, making one of the men throw me a glance. What the fuck’s wrong with me? Am I just like him? Isn’t that exactly what I want, though? I want
his power, to have everyone by my feet. My dad was a loser, my mom a depressed wreck who could never keep a job. I was always dirty and hungry, until my grandparents took me in at sixteen. They have a small farm in Iowa, and I learned how to handle horses, cows, and sheep, to sow and harvest crops. Really useful. Not. I hated every minute and couldn’t wait to get old enough to get back to the city. At eighteen I hitchhiked all the fucking way back to San Francisco, leaving them a note, with no explanation and no way to reach me. I wanted to start over. I want a life, a house, a car, cash, girls, and power. I want to decide my own fate.

  I twitch as the double glass doors slam open and one of Salvatore’s butlers appears.

  “Get out of here. There’ll be guests tonight. You’re not on the list.” He’s in his sixties, bald and clean shaven, never a speck on his black suit.

  Of course I’m not on some fucking guest list. I stand. “When does he want me to drive the girl back?”

  “When someone contacts you, now get lost.”

  “Yeah, fuck, fine,” I mutter, grab my phone and my jacket and breeze past him, passing through one large room after the other on my way to the front door. Some are offices. Some are common rooms, a couple of them dining rooms. The private chambers, living rooms, bedrooms, are all in another wing of the house. Few people are let in there.

  Ivan isn’t at his usual place, which I find odd. As I stride through the hallway, I hear a woman whimper from behind the office door. I clench my jaw and slam open the door to the outside world, taking the steps down to the driveway two at a time.

  As I put the key in the ignition, I glance up at the window to his office, a curtain covering it, and a slew of images run through my mind, one fantasy wilder than the other. Tonight, I’m glad I’m not her.