His Brother's Wife

by Michelle Love

  “What do you want from me, Jackson?”

  He leaned over and crushed his lips against hers before answering her. “My wife. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  “So why keep Selima? Please, Jackson, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”

  Jackson studied her. “Prove to me you can be a good, obedient wife and I’ll consider it. I promise you that. But you need to be my wife in every way, Ama. Every way. Do you understand?”

  Ama closed her eyes and nodded. God, Enda …forgive me. She felt Jackson’s fingers unbuttoning her dress and felt the cold air on her bare skin as he undressed her. She took her mind out of the moment as he fixed his mouth on her breasts and her belly. Pretend it’s not him, she told herself over and over. She wanted to conjure a good memory of her and Enda, but then pushed that thought away. She didn’t want to forever link this rape—and that was what it was—to the glorious lovemaking she and Enda shared.

  As Jackson pulled her legs around him and thrust into her, a tear slid down Ama’s face. If it weren't for Selima, she would have rather died than give in to the repellent man inside her now. Jackson fucked her, grunting and shouting her name so loudly, she wondered with a pang if, wherever Selima was, she heard it and knew what was happening.

  That hurt the most. As Jackson finished, Ama could not help but burst into tears. Jackson grinned. “Yeah, cry all you want. Next time, I expect you to at least act like you enjoy it. If you do, I’ll take you to your sister, but, by god, Ama, you better give the performance of your life.”

  Enda couldn’t sleep. He was staying with Olivier, and his brother did everything to help Enda feel positive and hopeful. But even though he adored Olivier, his brother couldn’t lift the black cloud that stayed with him at all times. Enda missed Ama—her presence, her voice, her laugh, and her scent. He hated that he woke up alone. Now, in the early morning hours, he lay on his back and looked over to ‘her’ side of the bed. He pictured her sleeping on her stomach, her eyes closed, the thick, dark lashes sweeping her cheeks. Her green eyes opening sleepily, but softening when she saw him.

  “Hello, baby.”

  He would lean over and brush his lips against hers, then make her laugh by rubbing his stubbly chin against hers. She would stretch that heavenly body as he moved across the bed, his cock already straining and engorged for her, and she would open her arms to him, her legs winding around his hips as he slid into her velvety, wet cunt. They would make love slowly, savoring every sensation that rippled through them both, not caring about morning breath, just gazing at each other. Love. Such pure love. As they became more excited and his thrusts became harder, faster, and deeper, he would hear her gasps for air. When she came, back arching, her belly against his, her head thrown back, her pink lips parted as she gave a moan of release.

  Ama …

  The sorrow inside him was crushing him, and Enda got out of bed and dressed. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for the police to show up and tell him they’d found her body. Even if Olivier was right and Ama knew how to manipulate Jackson, the thought of what she might have to do killed Enda.

  He crept out of the house and got into his car. The police said the old Gallo mansion had been gutted in the fire; he was going to go there and see if he could find any clue, anything at all, left in the ashes of the place to tell him where Jackson was holding Ama.

  “No! No! Don’t. Please don’t. I did what you asked me to do!”

  Ama woke with a start. Lena …they’d killed her, but what had she meant by, ‘I did what you asked me to do?’ Was she in on the kidnapping? Ama felt sick, dashed to the little toilet in the corner of the room, and threw up and up until she collapsed, exhausted, onto the floor. For the first time, she noticed a small camera high in the corner of the room, trained on the bed. He was watching her. Ama’s skin began to crawl. How the hell was she going to escape him? More importantly, how was she going to protect Selima from him?

  Ama winced now. The wound in her side from the glass at the conservatory had been patched up by whomever had brought her back to Jackson, but the dressing felt heavy. She eased it off and moaned. The wound had been stitched, but the skin around it looked angry and red. Infection. Fuck. If blood poisoning killed her, Jackson would have no reason to release Selima or even keep her alive. Ama knew, with a sinking heart, she would have to ask him for help. She stumbled over to where the camera was pointing and indicated her wound to it.

  “It’s infected,” she said, not knowing if the room was bugged or if anyone could hear her. “I need antibiotics.”

  She sat back down on the bed, feeling feverish and sick. Ten minutes later, the door unlocked, and Jackson entered, followed by a smaller, nervous-looking man.

  “This is Dr. Harris,” Jackson said shortly. “He’s here to help you.”

  Ama nodded and tried to smile at the doctor. “My wound is infected.”

  Dr. Harris sighed and looked at Jackson. “I told you, Mr. Gallo. That wound is deep. I tried my best, but I’m not a surgeon. She needs to be in the hospital.”

  Jackson’s face was blank. “Not going to happen. Dr. Harris, I assume you realize what will happen if Ama dies of this infection?”

  The doctor looked sick, but nodded. “I will have to take some blood, though. I will try to get them processed quickly and anonymously. In the meantime, I’ll clean up the wound and give Mrs. Gallo some antibiotics.”

  “You do that.”

  While he worked, Ama looked at Jackson. It had been three days since that first time they had slept together, and Jackson had demanded sex multiple times a day ever since. Ama had tried to act as if she enjoyed it, while dying inside, and Jackson had responded. He’d brought her extra blankets and pillows, extra food and drink, and some books. She wondered if, now, she could ask for the thing she wanted most.

  “Jackson …may I see my sister, please? Even for five minutes? I’ll …make you happy later.” She flushed scarlet as the doctor gave her a strange look, but Jackson nodded.

  “Fine. Five minutes.”

  She was locked up alone while Jackson took the doctor out, then he returned to her. He tied her hands behind her back. “Just in case you decided suicide is an option and try to attack me,” he said. “I’ll untie them when you’re with Selima. You can have an hour with her today, but I expect you to be ready for me with a smile on your face this evening. Understand?”

  Ama nodded, nothing but the excitement at seeing her sister in her mind. Jackson led her through the corridors of the facility. Ama couldn’t see any windows anywhere and quickly realized they were underground. The thought made her miserable. How the hell was anyone supposed to find them?

  As they walked, the corridors began to look more polished, and by the time they reached Selima’s room, they could have been in a four-star hotel. Jackson opened the door, and Selima turned, the shock on her face when she saw Ama obvious.

  “Ama!” Selima burst into noisy tears as Jackson untied Ama’s hands and left the room. Both of the sisters heard the lock click, then they were in each other’s arms.

  “I can’t believe he’s got you here,” Selima said. “What happened?”

  “He had someone on the inside, I think. God, it’s good to see you, but I wish I weren't, if you know what I mean. How are you? Has Jackson …?”

  She couldn’t get the words out, and Selima, seeing her distress, shook her head. “No. He hasn’t touched me, I promise.” She looked bleak. “He killed Chase, Ama. He killed my boyfriend.”

  Ama shook her head. “No. Chase is alive, Selima. I swear. He’s in a bad way, yes, but he’s a fighter, and god, he loves you. He’s a great guy.”

  Selima’s tears returned, and Ama hugged her while she cried with relief. “Oh, thank god. Thank god.”

  Ama buried her own tears in Selima’s hair. “I’m so sorry, boo, about all of this. It’s my fault. I should never have married him …we could have found another way to get you away from that disgusting ex of yours.”


  Selima sniffed back her tears and wiped her eyes. “You know that’s not true. He would have killed me rather than let me go if Omar’s men hadn’t made sure he couldn’t find me.”

  “God,” Ama said, fierce now. “What the fuck is wrong with these men? We’re not objects to own, assholes!”

  She yelled it out loud, and Selima smiled. “That’s more like it.” She sighed. “I’m glad Chase is okay. At least no one else got hurt.”

  She must have seen something in Ama’s face, then, because she paled. “Who?”

  Ama hesitated. “Inca. Jackson had her attacked. She almost didn’t make it.”

  Selima looked sick. “Inca? Why the hell?”

  Ama’s mouth hitched up in a small smile. “Jackson doesn’t like it when beautiful women piss him off and treat him like a child. He is that petty and that dangerous. He hired two men to stab Inca to death and it’s a miracle she survived …again.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but she’s out of danger. I think, anyway. I’ve been here for three days and I’m not sure how long I was unconscious.”

  She told Selima of the circumstances of her abduction, and then her confusion about Lena’s involvement. Selima listened with a grim expression on her face.

  “That fucking bitch,” she spat. “I don’t think there’s any doubt, Ama. That two-faced …”

  “They killed her, Selima,” Ama’s voice broke. “In front of me. He slashed her throat, and I saw her die. She’s been my assistant for years …I don’t know why she would have done this. Until I know the reason, I can’t condemn her …I just can’t.”

  Selima hugged her sister tightly. “Right. I know. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Look, it’s my own fault I’m here. Enda wanted me to have protection, but that night, I just wanted to be alone with Chase, so I gave them the slip. Stupidly. Chase was shot and I was taken. If I had just …”

  “I think we can go round and round on what we both should have done, but the person to blame for all of this is Jackson.”

  Selima studied her sister. “He’s making you sleep with him, isn’t he?”

  Ama nodded. “It’s a small price to pay for your safety.”

  Selima gagged and dashed into the small bathroom of her suite. Ama, nauseated too, followed her, looking around the small room. No windows. Ama was beginning to feel claustrophobic. “We’re underground, aren’t we?”

  Selima nodded. “Yes.” She glanced up at the camera and mic above them, then grabbed Ama’s hand, leaning into hug her to hide what she was doing. She traced a word onto Ama’s palm, just like they had when they were young and keeping secrets from their parents.

  Fresno.

  Ama was shocked. God, they were so close to home … She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Selima shook her head. Right. They were being watched.

  For the rest of the hour, they lay together on Selima’s bed and talked about neutral things …food and their uncle’s house in Hyderabad where they had spent many happy summers growing up. Ama didn’t talk about Italy, or Enda, or their life there. She picked up from Selima to keep all their discussion’s neutral and inoffensive. Maybe if Ama ‘behaved,' they would be allowed to stay together more often. Maybe even permanently. If they could spend the night together, when the lights were out they could communicate via their childish language and figure a way out.

  Later, the guards took her back to a different suite, not too far from Selima’s, which was again like a hotel room. On the bed was a box containing a note, some expensive-looking lingerie, and a beautiful dark red evening dress. Ama read the note.

  Bathe and change into these items. Tonight, we will dine in your new suite, and then you will show me how grateful you are. If you please me, we will talk about your living arrangements and those of your sister.

  Ama wanted to cry. She closed her eyes and sat on the bed. Was this actually happening? Forced to have sex with a man and pretend it was all she wanted in exchange for the lives of those she loved. Really, how did Jackson expect all this to turn out? It was then she realized—or rather, acknowledged—what she already knew. She, Ama, wasn’t meant to get out of this alive. Jackson would make her subservient to him until he grew tired of her, and then he would kill her and move on to his next obsession.

  In that case, she thought fiercely, I will make sure Selima gets home, and I will do anything to make that happen. And if I’m destined to die …I will make damn sure Jackson comes with me.

  She went into the bathroom of the suite and ran the water into the tub. A selection of toiletries were lined up. She had to admit that, when she stepped into the warm water, it was a relief to be clean again. On the countertop were some packages of new underwear and fresh dressings for her wound.

  She lay back in the water and let her mind drift to a happy memory. Back in their villa in Italy, their own tub was a vast iron antique that took a half hour to fill, but was the most comfortable she’d ever been in. She and Enda would soak there, kissing and talking as the evening moved into night. Often their lovemaking would begin in the tub.

  The night she remembered what happened a few months back. Enda had been late home from work and Ama had been composing a new suite for her students to study when she returned to work. She had forgotten the time, and it was only when she looked up that she had realized it was past eight o’clock. As she always switched her phone off when composing, she’d checked her messages and realized she had missed a call from Enda. She’d called him back.

  “Ciao, Bella.”

  She’d grinned. “Hello, gorgeous. I’m sorry I missed your call. I was writing.”

  “I thought you might be. Listen, I just called to say I’d be late and I wondered if I should pick up a pizza for dinner?”

  “As long as we can eat it in bed.”

  Enda had laughed. “That’s what I was hoping. God, what a day.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Good, but busy. Raff and I might have a track on some investors who are interested in the music schools.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Ha,” Enda had chuckled, “Fun will be the building of the schools. This is the boring, but worthwhile part. How’s the writing going?”

  “Okay …I’m not overly happy yet, but it’s getting there. Where are you now?”

  “Outside Lucio’s,” he’d said, mentioning their favorite pizza place.

  “Good, so you’re on your way home.”

  “I’ll be there in a few, cara mia.”

  She’d met him at the front door, wearing only one of his white shirts. He’d grinned as he’d carried the pizza inside, stopping to kiss her. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  “You bet you are.”

  The pizza had gotten cold, while they were kissing, they’d tumbled to the floor, Ama stripping his jacket and tie off and Enda’s hands pushing his short from her beautiful bod. He’d pinned her down on the cold, hard tile of the lobby and taken her there, Ama screaming his name as his cock plowed into her, her hips burned as he pressed them further apart.

  Afterward, they’d eaten pizza in bed and then soaked in the bath. It hadn’t been long until Ama, who had been laying back against Enda’s chest, turned and straddled him in the water, stroking his cock and then impaling herself on it. She’d gazed at her lover, his dark curls wet and sticking to his face, his smile and his green eyes so full of love for her. God, he was glorious.

  “I want to marry you, Enda Gallo. Someday. When I’m free from Jackson and when all of this is over. No big ceremony. Just you and me on a remote island, away from everybody else. It doesn’t even have to be legal—just enough that you know how much I love you and how much I will love you for as long as I live …”

  His arms had tightened around her, and his kiss had been fierce and full of passion. “I can’t wait, Amalia, my Principessa. As far as I’m concerned, I’m already your husband.”

  If only that were true, Ama thought miserably as she dressed for a ‘romantic�
�� dinner with the monster who was legally her husband. She pulled on the lingerie he had bought her absentmindedly, then changed the dressing on her wound. She hoped the antibiotics would kick in soon. At least a decent meal would do her good.

  She was ready when Jackson arrived, followed by one of his guards pushing in a trolley loaded with covered plates. The guard left immediately, and Jackson locked the door.

  He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful, darling.”

  Ama gave him a half-smile, trying to make it look genuine. “The dress is lovely. Thank you, Jackson.”

  He beamed. “See how much nicer things are when we are civil? Please sit, Ama, and I will serve.”

  She sat down obediently, and Jackson put a covered plate in front of her. He made a flourish as he pulled the cover off, but then laughed—almost a giggle, like a naughty school boy. A small handgun sat on the plate. “Oh, silly me, wrong plate.” He leaned in so his face was next to hers and Ama tried not to cringe away from him. “That’s what I’ll use on you if you do anything—anything—to displease me during this dinner, darling. You’ll get three and your sister will get the other three. Now, can you promise me we will have a good time tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Louder.”

  She met his gaze. “Yes, Jackson.” You had better pray I don’t get my hands on that gun, Jackson, because if I do, you’ll wish you’d never been born. She gave him a wide smile and kissed him lightly.

  Jackson drew back, smiling. “Good.” He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband and swapped the plates over. This time, when he lifted the cover, Ama nearly swooned at the smell of the food underneath. A perfectly cooked T-bone steak oozing with garlic butter, a baked potato, and some lightly-cooked vegetables. Despite her fear and anger, Ama’s mouth filled with saliva. Jackson seemed pleased at her reaction. He sat at the opposite end of the table while they ate, the handgun resting next to his hand.