For Him: The Complete Series

by Farrar, Marissa

  Angelo was different. Even though I knew he was an adult, I struggled to see him as anything other than the boy I’d grown up with. He still had the unruly dark hair that flopped in curls over his forehead—hair that once upon a time I hadn’t hesitated to touch, pushing it back from his face, or tugging at one of those curls. That had changed once he’d gotten older. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when I no longer felt comfortable touching him, but I guessed it must have been when he became an adult. One day, everything had been fine between us, and the next he’d gone away for almost a month with his father, and when he came back, everything had changed.

  I left the master’s office. While I would have liked to go back to my room and read, I had jobs to do. The quarters where I lived were also the living quarters for the staff that took care of the house. They cleaned and cooked, providing meals for both the master and the women, though we never all ate together, unless Master was putting on one of his functions. During those times, the women were dressed up in gowns like princesses, and they would serve and fawn over the men the master had invited.

  That was one of the things that divided me from the rest of the women. While they all had to pay their way through their work, my board and keep had already been paid for. I had my regular chores to do, but that was to keep me busy as much as anything else. Keeping me inside the house, instead of giving me one of the rooms that used to be the old stable blocks was the master’s way of protecting me.

  He needed me whole. Pure. If I didn’t have that, I would be worthless to him.

  I stepped out into the courtyard just as the big gates that divided us from the outside world opened.

  It wasn’t unusual to have people coming and going. Men who worked for the master stood, armed with guns, to check who arrived and who left again. A year or so ago, a visitor had tried to sneak one of the women out. He’d had her in the trunk of his car. Whether she’d gone willingly or was taken, I’d never quite figured out. Though they’d been caught, they were taken into the forest outside of the walls, and I’d never seen either the man or the woman, Suki, ever again. The other women didn’t talk about it. These things happened. Sometimes women were here for years, like Yolanda, who had been there at my birth and now was the head of the women, but others appeared, mainly at night, skinny and dirty and crying, until they were advised to get themselves together, or they might not get to stay here at all.

  The two men guarding the gates now ducked down toward the large black car that pulled into the courtyard. They smiled and nodded at the driver, one of them tipping his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute.

  I sucked in a breath and pushed myself closer to the wall of the building, while still craning my neck to see. The walls had sucked up the heat of the late fall sun, and now that warmth spread through the thin cotton of my dress and warmed my back.

  It wasn’t often I saw the guards look almost... jovial. Pleased to see whoever had just arrived. Normally, they scowled, doing everything they could to look as though they weren’t people to be messed with—which they weren’t. Their reaction only heightened my curiosity.

  The car door opened.

  “Pleased to have you back, sir,” one of the guards, who I knew as Rufus, said.

  Long legs unfolded from the driver’s seat.

  “Will you be staying with us long?” the second guard, Paul, asked.

  The man stood and straightened his suit jacket. Sunlight bounced off his dark hair. It was still too long, with thick, luscious curls, but now pushed back from his face with some kind of product. His eyes were hidden by a pair of expensive sunglasses, but I didn’t need to see them to know what they looked like. They were the same eyes I’d looked into every day as a child.

  Angelo. The man I’d accidentally nicknamed Angel as a child.

  What was he doing home?

  My heart pounded hard against my ribcage, and my palms prickled with sweat. The heat from the wall behind me and the sun overhead suddenly lit a fire inside me, and I felt almost dizzy from it. I should probably step back inside, into the cool, dark interior of the house, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from him.

  Why was I so nervous? It was only Angelo, the same boy I’d grown up with.

  Had he always had this effect on me? I remembered being excited and pleased to see him, even when I’d been tiny. He’d seemed so big, though he was just a boy himself back then. He hadn’t grown into a particularly big man either—a little taller than his father, but not as broad—but he had a charisma about him that made you just want to be near him. Or maybe that was just me? No, watching the reactions of everyone else at his arrival, it wasn’t only me who felt that way.

  Movement came beside me, and I jumped guiltily. Yolanda emerged from the house, catching me.

  “Catalina!” she hissed. “What are you doing hiding here?”

  Yolanda was the oldest of the women, though I doubted she’d even hit forty herself yet.

  My cheeks burned. “I’m not hiding.”

  “Aren’t you going to say hello to Mr. Angelo?”

  “Yes, I will.” I nodded. “He looks busy right now, though.”

  Yolanda had been there the night I was born, but she’d also been much like a mother to him, too. Just like me, Angelo had never known his mother. Of course, he’d been told that was simply because she’d never wanted him. Was that better or worse than knowing you’d killed your own mother simply by being born? I’d never quite decided.

  She threw me an exasperated look and hurried over to greet Angelo. She threw her arms around him and then leaned back to look into his face, grabbing his cheeks and shaking her head. I already knew she was telling him he looked too thin and wasn’t eating enough, and I held back a smile. Yolanda might not be either of our real mothers but she was the closest thing we had to one. Besides, Angelo’s face always looked thin. He had a set of cheekbones that would make any runway model green with jealousy.

  Some of the other women who knew him as well walked over to greet him. Those newer girls, who had never known Angelo as a boy, stood in the doorways to their rooms, their shoulders back and breasts thrust out, wiggling fingers at him, and smiling and giggling to each other. A flush of red hot anger raced through me. They should show him more respect. He was the master’s son. Did they believe he’d ever truly be interested in any of them?

  I couldn’t hear the words of what was being said, only their voices, but Angelo pointed toward the house, indicating he needed to go inside. I wondered why his father hadn’t mentioned to me that he was arriving today. Did he know, or was this a surprise visit?

  He glanced over, as though sensing me watching him, and we locked eyes. I sucked in a breath, not daring to look away. He was the only man I’d ever felt comfortable looking directly at, but right now I was weighted down under the strength of his stare.

  A smile twitched at the corners of my mouth, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. I wanted to go over to him, or even smile fully in return, or lift a hand and wave, but my body refused to comply.

  Then he glanced away again, and the moment was broken.

  My Angel put his head down and walked toward the grand entrance of the house, as though I didn’t even exist.

  Chapter Three

  Present Day

  IT WAS EASIER TO PRETEND I hadn’t seen her—at least that was what I kept telling myself. She belonged to Elliot Torres, and he was not a man to be messed with.

  I couldn’t reconcile the heartbreakingly beautiful young woman who had been standing in the doorway of the staff quarters with the chubby toddler who had followed me around year after year when I was growing up.

  The night Catalina was born, I’d hidden outside of the room and listened as her first ever cry cut through the night. My main feeling from that night had been fear, but that had turned to irritation when I realized the baby would be staying around. She was passed between the women to take care of, and cried at night, and often in the day, too. They did their best to keep her qui
et, knowing the men who visited this place weren’t the kind to appreciate their experience being ruined by a screaming newborn. But after a few weeks, the crying had stopped, and she’d morphed into a chubby, happy baby. Still, she hadn’t even really crossed my radar. It was a baby. What did I want as a six-year-old boy with a baby? But then she’d started walking, and things changed. All of a sudden, my lonely, self-reliant heart realized I had someone to play with.

  Trying to put thoughts of her out of my head, I walked through the tiled ground floor and took the stairs up to my father’s office where I knew he’d be waiting for me. He’d summoned me back here, but wouldn’t give me a reason over the phone. All I’d been told was to clear out my next week’s schedule and get over to the compound. When my father ordered someone somewhere, that person showed up. There was no exception for me because I was his son.

  I reached the closed door of his office and came to a halt. I could picture him sitting behind his desk, brow lined in concentration as he studied something on his computer.

  I sucked in a breath and clenched my right hand into a fist at my side. I fought against the compulsion for a moment but quickly gave in. It was better that I do it now, just to get it out of my system, than spend the entire time speaking with my father struggling not to do it. Sometimes, I could miss whole conversations because I was focusing so hard on not giving in to the urge.

  I extended my fore and middle finger and tapped them against my thigh in a repetitive beat. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Pause. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I mouthed the numbers as I counted. I didn’t know why I had to reach seven each time. It just felt like a good number. A safe number.

  I repeated the counting and the knot of anxiety in my chest loosened.

  Relaxing my fist, I lifted my hand and rapped my knuckles against the door.

  “Come.”

  I opened the door and stepped through. It had been two months since I’d last seen him, but still my father didn’t bother to rise to greet me. Instead, he looked up and gestured to the seat opposite, as though I was an employee he’d requested a meeting with, instead of a son who he hadn’t seen for a while.

  “Father,” I said, the first to speak. “You’re looking well.”

  He was, too. Though he was in his early fifties now, he kept himself trim and well groomed. Money helped when it came to looking good, of course. Expensive clothes, a top-range hair salon and facials, and regular gym trips all helped to ward off the aging process. At least that was what I assumed. I was twenty-four years old. My father’s age felt like a lifetime away.

  Silas Cassidy nodded to the chair. “Sit.”

  I slid into the seat and inhaled deeply through my nose, trying to remain calm. My father wouldn’t appreciate me counting while he was trying to talk to me. “What’s all this about?” I asked.

  “You know Catalina is turning eighteen next week.”

  My stomach knotted. Yes, of course I knew that. I felt like I’d been counting down the days ever since she became a teenager. I did my best not to allow my emotions show and feigned indifference instead. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

  “I want you to train her.”

  His words shocked me. “What?”

  “It’s come to my attention that she may be too inexperienced for Torres’s liking. While it’s vital she remains a virgin, the other women have come to me and mentioned she may need to be taught the arts of pleasing a man. Mr. Torres is ruthless, as you know, and should she do something that displeases him, purely because she is unaware of what is supposed to be done, then he will not hesitate to beat her. It’s not that I believe there is anything wrong with a little corporal punishment, but if she’s unable to give him what he wants, I’m worried about how far he may take the beating.”

  Was my father actually concerned for Catalina’s wellbeing? I’d always believed he had a heart of stone, but he’d watched her grow from a newborn baby into a young woman. With those long dark curls, that rosebud mouth, big blue eyes, and quiet but inquisitive nature, it was hard not to fall for her. Of course, I didn’t think for a moment that he thought of her in a sexual way—she was more like a daughter to him—but he was obviously worried she’d be hurt.

  What he was suggesting, however, was unthinkable.

  “Can’t the women help her with that? They can teach her how to kiss, surely, and how to use her mouth... down there. Licking a woman can’t be too much different than licking a man.”

  My father’s lips compressed in displeasure. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say, and you know it.”

  I flapped a hand, feeling helpless. I didn’t like the way my father had the ability to reduce me to a child. “But it’s their only role in life. Surely, if anyone can teach Catalina about how to pleasure a man, it’s them. Can they not bring her in to help with one of our guests?”

  Even as I said the words, I regretted them. This was Catalina I was talking about. The girl I’d always called Kitty-cat. Did I really want her pawing over one of the men who came here to use the women for sex? Just the idea of her down on her knees in front of one of them made me hot and trembly in a way I didn’t like. I’d always known she belonged to another—a wealthy and powerful man who’d bought her at the age of ten with the promise that he would collect her when she came of age. But somehow that idea had always felt so distant, it almost wasn’t real, and while the other women in the compound spent their lives sucking men’s dicks and getting fucked, Catalina had always been removed from them. Of course, she knew what was going on, but she knew no other way of life. She’d remained innocent and pure, and I hated to think of her in any other way.

  My father shook his head. “I can’t allow that to happen. I do not trust those men the way I trust you. It would only take one moment for them to lose control, and we will not be paid what she is worth. The moment her virginity is taken from her, she might as well just move into the rooms with the other women.”

  My heart twisted. Catalina, my Kitty-cat, as some common whore. I couldn’t stand the thought of that either. I saw what these men did when they came to the women. They did all the things they were never able to do to their wives or girlfriends.

  I bit my lower lip, trying to contain my emotions. “I don’t want that either.”

  “Then do as I say. I know I can trust you to only teach the girl what she needs to know. You will leave her intact. You know what is at stake if you don’t.”

  My mind raced. “I’m not sure I can do it...”

  I wanted some way I could get out of this, but I couldn’t see one. I cared about her—of course I did, I’d grown up with her—but I also hated the idea of being the first to steal away her innocence.

  Could I even look at her that way? There was no doubt that she was a young woman now, and very nearly eighteen, but to me she would always be the little girl I’d grown up with.

  “What would you prefer?” he snapped. “That we send her to Torres with no experience, and for him to beat her if she displeases him? Or for her to be raped by one of our guests, so she becomes nothing more than a worthless slave?”

  I shook my head. “No, Father. Of course I would not prefer that.”

  “Then do as I tell you and teach her what a man likes.”

  I nodded, knowing any arguments wouldn’t get me anywhere. “When should I start?”

  “You can start tomorrow. I’ll be going away for business for the next few days, so you’ll have the house to yourself. Of course, Bruno and Rufus will still be here to keep the place running, so you won’t be completely alone, but at least it should provide you with some privacy. Make the most of your time. Torres will be here to collect her the day after her eighteenth birthday.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  I rose to my feet and turned and left the room, my heart thumping and adrenaline coursing through my veins. No one said ‘no’ to him, but what he was asking of me sickened me. How much had he told Catalina? Did she
know I was to be the one who would teach her these things? How did she feel about that?

  I’d done my best to distance myself from her over the past few years. I was six years her senior, and when she’d been twelve and just starting to lose the skinniness of childhood, developing breasts and hips at an alarming rate, I was eighteen years old and ready to leave the compound for good. I’d had a tutor while I’d been growing up, and then later had gone away to school, but it had been time for me to learn more than just English and arithmetic. I needed to learn my father’s business and how to become a man.

  Catalina had been my friend. My only friend and best friend when we were children, but I’d left her far behind several years ago. I didn’t want to reconnect with her—especially not in a physical way. It was far easier to put her behind me and move on with my life. I didn’t want to have to think about what her life would be like as Torres’s slave.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t even know how to talk to her anymore, never mind do anything more. I let out a growl of frustration and covered my face with my hands. How the hell was I going to do this?

  She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a young woman who was about to belong to someone else, but how could I see her as anything other than the little Kitty-cat who had followed me around all those years ago? The same little girl who’d given me the name of Angel.

  Chapter Four

  Sixteen Years Earlier

  A LITTLE SING-SONG voice called out to me, “An-go, An-go, Ang-go.”

  I paused from where I was walking across the yard and turned to see the small girl chasing after me. It was the final days of summer, but the weather was still warm, and her chubby legs poked out from the bottom of her cotton shorts, sandals strapped onto her little fat feet.

  My life was all about routine. I had chores to do in between my lessons with my tutor. I was up at a set time, had breakfast at a set time, needed to be sat down and ready to work at a set time. If I missed out on any of those things, my father would make sure I was punished for it. Things like lunch prep and cleaning up afterwards weren’t part of my chores. My father saw them as a woman’s job and too demeaning for a man to do, but that didn’t mean I was ever allowed to go idle.