“My nipples. My throat.”
“My men gave you a good pummeling, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Speak up!”
I twitch. “Yes, sir, they did.”
“Did you like it? Did it make you wet?”
“No, sir.”
“Honesty from a whore? I like it. Go on.”
I guessed right. Whatever he intends to dish out, I’d be much worse off if I lied.
“My… scalp. My ass. My pussy.”
“Ah—” He strokes himself harder, faster. “Your tight little ass. Did I tear you?”
“S—some, sir,” I stutter, the memory making my stomach clench. I hope to God he won’t go there again.
“Good.”
I can’t help myself. “That’s not good. That’s just fucked up.”
Salvatore rises so abruptly I stumble back and barely manage to stay on my feet. The harsh slap on my cheek has me recoiling and tasting blood.
“Go lie on your belly on the bed. Spread your arms and legs.”
“P—please.” I shouldn't beg. It’s ridiculous. I’m here for this. I’m here for him to use me, but I feel as if I’m begging for my life and the remnants of my sanity.
He takes a step closer, towering over me. “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way, Carmen?”
Easy! Please. My chest tightens and I scurry to the bed, crawling up on it on hands and knees and then laying down flat in the position he demanded. My head spins, and my mind tries to escape to a better place, to Colombia, to my mother’s arms, to the scents of citrus and freshly fallen rain on earth.
I try to retract within myself as he wraps leather straps around my wrists and ankles and ties me to the four corners of the bed.
A slab of meat on the butcher’s bench.
“This might hurt a bit, young Carmen. Let’s see where your breaking point lies, shall we?”
He wraps one end of a belt around his fist.
“Why are you so cruel?”
Salvatore smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I like you. Sadly, it won’t benefit you.”
He flicks his wrist and the leather bears down on my butt, renewing the scorching fire. I scream myself hoarse as he keeps whipping me. I lose my voice, and my will to even live, and that’s when he’s got me. That’s when he finally stops. I stare at him as he pulls off his shirt, revealing a beautifully sculpted torso and a ripped stomach, his pants drop next, his thighs powerful. Everything goes until he stands naked before my broken body, his large cock rock hard and terrifying. I see him, and still it’s as if I’m not really here, as if it’s happening to another poor girl. He’ll hurt me more, I know it, and I can’t make myself care anymore.
Father, forgive me for I have sinned.
The mattress sinks as he kneels between my thighs. He caresses my butt and then leans in, whispering in my ear, “You’re not really hurt, Carmen. It just feels that way. I don’t damage my merchandise. I’m not stupid.” He sits back up and spreads my cheeks wide. It stings, but I push it away. Then he spits at the crack and puts the head of his cock against my tight aching hole. I inhale erratically, my stomach clenching, but then I retreat again, to that other place. I’m brutally jolted back to the present as he pushes past the clenching ring that tries to protect me from the intrusion.
“Please!” I wail. “Please! You’re hurting me!”
He pushes all the way in, I feel his hips connecting with my ass, his moan reverberating through me. Salvatore pulls back almost all the way and slams inside me again. My cries are wordless, and I can’t escape. I can’t find that other place again.
He grabs my hair and pulls back my head as he thrusts and thrusts.
It goes on forever and ever. My throat can’t produce more noise. All that is heard in the room is the beast’s grunting and the slaps of his hips meeting my ass. Suddenly he pulls out and comes with an animalistic roar, warm wet fluids covering my back. He smears it with his hand, then pushes his sticky fingers between my lips. He tastes of cum and iron.
“I hate you,” I whisper as he leaves my mouth alone and sits back up.
He chuckles. “I like you.” Then he stands, gathers his clothes and exits the room.
I’m cold, wet, ache everywhere, and tied to the bed of the most ruthless man I’ve ever met.
I like you.
No!
No, please don’t like me!
I don’t move. I don’t try to free myself. The cum cools and dries on my back, making my skin feel tighter. The door opens again and my heart jumps to my throat. Not again. Please.
Ivan appears before me, and it doesn’t calm me one little bit. Is he here for leftovers?
When he unties me, I still don’t move. He pulls me up, but my knees buckle, and I fall in a heap by his feet, unable to support myself. Ivan sighs and scoops me up. Wrapping a blanket around me, he then carries me out of the room.
I stare at the white ceiling, counting the lamps, wondering if I’m off to yet another shower before this man has his way with me.
I’m at twenty-one lamps, the last one a huge chandelier, when I lift my head, blink, and stare around me. We’re by the entrance.
“Can you stand?”
I try to speak, but my throat is too raw, so I nod instead. He lets me down, but I’m too weak. I fall against him, and he carries me again, out the door, down the stairs to a waiting car. A man stands next to it and opens the back door as he sees us. I’m put in the back seat and blissful silence and darkness surround me as the door is closed.
I search desperately for that other place inside me, but it’s gone. The pain keeps me rooted here, in this nightmare.
Mother, forgive me for ever leaving.
Lucas
At first, I don’t know what wakes me, but then the annoying chirping from the phone jolts me upright. I fumble for it on the bedside table as I look at the digits on my alarm.
Six thirteen in the morning.
It’s an unknown caller, but I know who it is.
“You can come pick her up now.” Ivan’s gruff voice cuts through my hazy head.
“Be there in thirty.”
I disconnect and pull the shirt over my head, hopping on one leg to the kitchen as I yank up my jeans along the other leg. I make a quick cup of coffee, and down it, much too hot, in a few gulps. My eyes tear up, but I can’t linger. They expect me to obey without delays or questions.
Taking the steps two at a time I rush down the stairs to my car and make my way the few blocks to the underground garage where the limo is parked. My stomach clenches, thinking about the girl. I’ve driven plenty of them, before and after. Some have cried. Some have had dead, empty eyes. I wonder what state she’ll be in.
The city is barely awake. It’s early Saturday morning. The rising sun hasn’t chased away the fog yet, and the skyscrapers look as if they have no foundation, their feet drowning in the mist. It’s beautiful. I love San Francisco and I’ve saluted myself many times for coming back here. Things are looking up. I’ll get to be in on the next hit. I’ll be one of the guys. More cash will come my way. It’ll be good. Gotta do some dirty work, but it’ll be worth it.
The guards nod at me, and I drive past the gate as soon as the opening is wide enough. I park right outside the entrance, turn off the ignition and hop out. The air smells clean, birds chirp. The sun hasn’t begun to heat the day yet and I enjoy the crispy slight chill.
The door opens and the giant that is Ivan comes down the stairs, carrying a little shape, wrapped in a yellow blanket. I twitch to life and open the back door so he can get her inside. Ivan puts her on the seat, slams the door shut and looks at me as if he dares me to speak.
“Got a bit rough,” he mumbles.
I look at his broad back as he ascends the stairs and disappears back inside the house of horrors. Rough. I turn and regard the tinted window that hides the girl, Carmen, remembering the whimpers. I bet it got rough. Fucking monsters.
I dread
hopping into the car, I’m afraid she’ll cry, need comfort. I won’t know what to say. When I get back behind the wheel, the first thing that meets me is the stench of semen. I wrinkle my nose. Oh for fuck’s sake.
As the engine hums to life, I glance in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t stir. Maybe she’s asleep? That would be a relief. Then my chest clenches. Maybe she’s dead? Do they expect me to get rid of her? What in the flying fuck?
I pull up by the side of the road, on a little patch of gravel in a pocket with a steep slope on the other side. The view of the valley is breathtaking, but I have tunnel vision. Putting the car in park, I turn it off and twist around so I can take a better look.
“Carmen?”
A little grunt from under all the fabric has me exhaling with relief.
“Are you all right?”
She scoffs. “No.”
“Oh… I’m—I’ll drive you home.”
“I can’t ever go home.” It’s no more than a whisper, but the words carry such sadness it’s like a blow to my stomach.
“What do you mean? It’s just down the hill.”
“You’re so stupid.”
“I’m not stupid! You’re not very coherent.”
Suddenly the blanket flies off her and on my backseat lies a naked, bruised girl. Her eyes flare. She’s bruised beyond anything I’ve seen and yet there’s such fire in there I can’t believe it.
“I’m not coherent?” she rasps. “You want to fuck me too? I’m nobody anyway. I’m nothing. I’m meat.”
There’s not one single cell in my body that wants to touch this girl sexually. All I want is for her to feel safe. I hop out of the car and get into the back with her, sitting on the opposite seat. She flinches and stares at me, her eyes widening.
I hold out my hand. “I’m… I’m not gonna touch you.”
She relaxes but makes no effort covering herself back up. Carefully, one inch at a time, I lean over, grab the edge of the blanket and pull it back up again.
“Disgusted to even look at me?”
“No, well… I just wanted you to have some privacy.”
Her short laugh is tainted with bitterness. “Privacy.”
“Do… do you need Tylenol? Something?”
“Do you have a gun?”
“No… Why?”
“What kind of a mobster are you? You don’t have a gun?” She scoffs and opens her eyes, meeting my gaze.
My cheeks heat up. “I’m just a driver.”
“He’ll call for me again, you know.”
“No, he won’t. No one goes there twice. He likes the fresh faces. You’re good.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lucas.”
“Lucas.” It’s as if she tastes my name. It sounds exotic from between her lips, a hint of a foreign accent to it. “Lucas. Trust me. He will. It can’t happen. I need to die before that. Can you help me?”
I lean forward and stroke a patch of her forehead that isn’t black and blue. “No, I can’t, and no, he won’t call for you again. What makes you say that?”
“I saw it in his eyes, Lucas. He knows he didn’t break me. For a long while I thought he did, but in those last moments, I knew I needed to live.”
“Then hold on to that, Carmen, whatever it was that made you feel it.”
She nods. I wipe off a tear, along with some snot, that hangs from the tip of her nose.
“You’re right. I will. Thank you.”
I motion for the door, unsettled by this strange girl with the fiery dark eyes. I want to hold her, and I want to escape her, both at the same time. “I—I’ll drive you back ho… To the house. Okay?”
She nods and pulls the blanket tighter around her body.
I stare at her petite form, at her ravaged body, and remember how I pictured Salvatore fucking her last night, how it got me off. Shame, raw and scorching, blackens my soul as I hop into the driver’s seat again and take her to her not-home.
I have a bed, but I feel homeless too. I lack purpose. There’s no meaning to my life.
In a way we’re maybe not so different.
Chapter 6
Carmen
Even with my eyes closed, I recognize the sounds, the scents, the gravel under the wheels that makes the car rattle. I’m back at the house.
The engine stops. A door opens and closes. I have no energy to even raise my arms, and even less to try to get out myself, so I remain in my cocoon, on the backseat of the fancy limo that drove me to my fate last night, the same that has now taken me back to my prison.
It’s silent, then I hear a door open, muffled voices. There’s a cool draft as they open the door by my head.
“Carmen?” The matron’s voice is soft, almost tender.
“She’s pretty out of it,” says the driver.
“Is she conscious?”
“Yeah, I’ve talked to her.”
“Carmen, can you move?”
I crane my neck and manage to see them, hovering in the door opening, two concerned faces. The matron isn’t a bad person per se. She’s strict, but fair. Her hands are as tied as any of us. Salvatore has her in his claws just as he has me, the other girls, Lucas, those men from last night.
“I’ll carry her, ma’am.” He climbs in. “Carmen. I’m not sure where I can hold you. I wanna help you inside, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
I look at his kind eyes, blue as the early morning sky, and caress his cheek. “Nowhere. Everywhere. It doesn’t matter.”
His eyes flicker over my body as he frowns, then he carefully pushes his hands under my back and my knees. I fight to hide the wince. I don’t want him to see how bad the agony is that sears through me at his touch. Pulling me out, he straightens and cradles me to his warm, firm chest. I look up at him, at his strong jaw with a light blond stubble covering it. He looks so young, so innocent. What is he doing in this business? Resting my cheek against his shirt, I listen to his steady heartbeats.
“Where to, ma’am?”
“Follow me, Lucas.”
We move up the stairs, the old wood creaking, complaining under our combined weight. This place has had its heydays, fought its wars. It needs a rest. It doesn’t need the troubled souls that reside here. We turn to the right, a narrow corridor with a row of white doors. The house is silent. I don’t know what time it is, but I don’t think any of my housemates are up yet. A door squeaks on its hinges and the scent of lavender-scented soap and old wood tells me we’re in my room. We don’t actually entertain the men here. The rooms are tiny, but we get to have that one sliver of privacy in our lives. It could be much worse. In the little filthy apartment I shared with two other working girls, I slept on the same soiled sheets that the men had drenched with their cum. I got the occasional rough customer, but this is something else entirely and I find myself wishing I was back there. In a way, I was free. Here, I’m owned, no matter how fancy the rooms are.
Lucas lowers me to the bed and I fall to my side, folding into a fetal position. The matron’s face appears before me. No makeup in the early morning hour, her long, gray hair tied in a bun that looks painfully tight. She hasn’t used Botox or filled her face into a faked youth and I’m looking at a naturally aged, graceful woman in her sixties, her pale eyes filled with concern.
“I need to look at you, honey.”
I nod.
She straightens. “I’ll take it from here. You’ve been very kind, Lucas. I don’t have much, but you’ll always be welcome to my house. No charge, hon.”
“I’m— Yes, ma’am,” he stutters endearingly, sounding shy all of a sudden. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The door closes behind him, and she turns her attention back to me, slowly uncovering my body, her face turning white. She looks me over and her lips tighten.
“I’ll be right back, love. Right back, I promise.”
The door squeaks. Did I see her eyes glossing over?
It doesn’t take many moments before she returns with another set of footsteps. “Mi
randa will sit with you. I’ve got some painkillers, love, and some water.” A straw appears before my eyes, and a hand with two white, oval pills. I part my lips, drink some water and obediently swallow the bitter medicine after she puts it on my tongue, wincing as it passes my bruised throat. “The doctor will be here in twenty.”
I flinch. “What? No… no doctor,” I rasp.
The matron sighs. “Sleep, if you can, Carmen. We’ll take care of you.”
No one mentions Salvatore. No one mentions that no other girl, so far, has come back as beaten as I am. My eyes meet Miranda’s. She looks aghast, her eyes wide and dark.
“What happened there?” she mouths.
“Don’t disturb her,” snaps the matron.
She quickly averts her gaze. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper and reach for her. She grabs my hand, careful not to squeeze. Our eyes fall on my flayed wrist, crusted, dried blood circling it. I pull my hand back and cover it under the blanket again. Tears well up in Miranda’s eyes. Mine are dry. I’m all cried out.
The room is quiet. Peaceful. I try to not feel, not to reach inside, not to touch my soul with the filth that is me.
The ache slowly subsides from an ever-present cloak of fire, to a heavy blanket of a dull strain. Occasionally I float, and I can almost reach oblivion, but then I move a little, or breathe too deep and am immediately pulled back to my bed, to the room in the whore house, to the reality in which I am damaged beyond repair.
Miranda doesn’t speak, and she has a hard time meeting my eyes. I know what she thinks. She’s lucky it isn’t her. She’s afraid she’ll be next. I could probably comfort her. I can’t claim to know Salvatore, but judging from which girls he usually picks, I don’t think the blonde, plus sized, twenty-eight-year-old before me is his type. I hope she never curses her curves. I hope she loves them.
The door opens and closes. Two sets of steps. Two people. I’m lying in the same position as when Lucas put me down; my back to the entrance, so I can’t see who they are, but I wanna bet Matron and the doctor.
Russo Saga Collection Page 49
