Beware the Beast (Mafia Soldiers Book 2)

by Samantha Cade

  Bruno pushes the towels into my chest, shoving me into the bathroom. He slams the door and I hear it lock. The first thing I look for is windows. There are none. My heart thuds with disappointment.

  Everything else is shockingly average. It looks like any other man’s bathroom that I’ve ever been in. There’s a single bar of soap in the shower, and a razor lying next to the sink. The familiarity of it all is a bit of comfort. I’ll take any comfort I can get right now. The human brain has evolved to be this way. In times of great stress, the mind hyper focuses on random things to distract itself from the current trauma. I know that’s what I’m doing as I sniff the soap, inhaling the everyday scent of Rainforest Fresh.

  But Bruno isn’t a normal guy. I would do well to remember that. I have to treat this situation like the scholar I am, with cool rationality. Even though it’s difficult, even though I want to dissolve into tears, I have to keep my head. It’s my only chance.

  While I lather up, I think of my mother. It would kill her to know what’s happened to me. It would wind her up so tight she might burst. But it’s also frustrating. She always knew something terrible was going to happen, that I was going to get in an accident, or be abducted by some terrifying man. If she knew what was going on, she’d think she’d been proven right. And I’ve spent many years trying to prove her wrong.

  These are petty thoughts, but I’m glad to have them. They make me feel more like myself.

  I enjoy my shower, but I make it quick. I don’t want to make him nervous. I have to play the part of the obedient prisoner to make him comfortable. When people are comfortable, they’re vulnerable.

  I wrap a towel as tightly around my body as I can, and rap lightly on the door. Bruno opens up immediately, and catches me in his gaze. His eyes drift down to the towel, and the droplets of water streaming down my chest. Panic rises up in my throat again. He’s going to rape me, and then he’s going to kill me. I know this with almost certainty.

  Bruno grabs my wrist with terrifying urgency, and leads me back to the bedroom. There are clean, folded clothes on the bed. When did he get those? When I was in the shower? He shoves me inside, then stands in the doorway, blocking it. “Get dressed,” he says, pointing to the stack of clothes.

  It’s immediately clear that he’s not going to give me any privacy while I dress. With one hand clutching the towel at my chest, I lift the T-shirt on top of the stack. It’s huge. It must be his. It has a freshly laundered scent.

  This is it, I think.

  I try slipping the shirt over my head with one hand while I grip the towel, but it’s too awkward. I let go of the towel, and it comes undone, dropping to my waist. My breasts are exposed for a split second before I catch the towel, and quickly pull the shirt down over my body.

  I have to pause for a moment. My heart’s racing. I can barely breathe. The fear of the inevitable is almost too much to bear. Is this how Mom feels all the time?

  I chance to look up at Bruno. He’s smiling, not a real smile, but more of a sinister upturn of his lips. What am I, a toy to him? A plaything? Anger tempers my panic. I glare at him.

  If you’re going to do something, do it, motherfucker.

  My chest expands with fierce breaths. I can feel my nipples getting hard beneath the shirt. I’m sure he sees them too. But defiantly, I make no effort to cover myself. Bruno’s eyes linger on me a few moments longer. Then, abruptly, he leaves. I count the clicking of the locks.

  One, two, three.

  I’m alone in this room again. My fear dissipates in an instant. At first I feel relief, but as I collapse on the bed, I feel empty. I lie on my side and curl into a ball. I’m still, for how long, I don’t know. It could be minutes, hours, days, even. Time doesn’t exist to me anymore. I close my eyes, but I’m not sure if I sleep or not.

  Noise outside of the door startles me to attention. I sit up straight, listening. Bruno is walking around, making his own floors groan. I hear the tinkle of car keys. I hear a door open and close. He’s gone.

  Is this my chance?

  Chapter Ten

  Bruno

  I’ve got an hour before the fight. Snake and I are in the makeshift gym set up in the backroom of the warehouse where these fights are held. I caught a glimpse of my opponent when I walked in. Sure, he’s a bulked up Irishman, one of those redheads who are always angry, but I already know this won’t be a challenge. Guys like him get too worked up, too emotional to think straight in the ring. When I walked by, he blew me a kiss, as if that’s going to piss me off. I just looked away and chuckled.

  I throw a few punches at the bag, then hit the foam roller. My thoughts aren’t here. They’re back at the apartment with Olivia, back with those perky, full tits and tight brown nipples that I only got a glimpse of. A glimpse, that’s all it took to drive me crazy. Common wisdom says to avoid ejaculating a couple days before a fight. I wonder if in this case, I should’ve bucked that rule. If I’d fucked Olivia, I wouldn’t be distracted by constantly thinking about fucking her.

  But how could I fuck her without raping her? I’m the dude that locked her up. Surely she wouldn’t be willing. I’d stayed in her doorway to watch her undress because I wanted to, and because I could. But I left before I could see everything. It was hot, but it didn’t feel right.

  What does it fucking matter? I take what I want. If I want to use her, I will.

  I lean over the foam roller, stretching my hamstrings. That way of thinking doesn’t feel right either. I shake it off. I’ll find a nice piece of ass after the fight, maybe a brunette with dark brown eyes, someone who’s begging to taste my cock, just how I like them. Why am I stressing about that coddled bitch anyway? I need to forget her, knock the Irish guy out, then fall cock first into some wet and willing pussy.

  Snake’s distracted too. He’s staring out of the door at the gathering crowd. The poor fuck looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

  “Every mobster and gangbanger in town is here except for them,” Snake says. He turns to me with a haggard look. “I’d hoped we’d reel in a Lombardi tonight.”

  I grasp the foam roller, going deeper into my stretch. “They’re too smart for that.”

  No one from the Mariano family has seen a Lombardi face since we got Vince’s sweet little package. They don’t show at any of the mob hangouts. Snake has sent soldiers to the headquarters, and other Lombardi properties. They’re always empty. No Lombardi’s, no Anthony.

  Snake slams the door shut and walks into the room, his hands shoved into his pants pockets. He gives me a serious look. “We should take one of their guys. Chop off his finger and send it to his wife.”

  I look numbly towards my toes. If he only knew what I had locked away in his old apartment.

  Snake sighs. “I don’t know what to do. Jamie’s freaking out. I think the stress is going to kill her. And Franco’s on my ass. He refuses to give Vince what he wants, yet expects me to get Anthony back. I talk to Jess about it every night. She keeps telling me to find Sal. She’s probably right, the sneaky fuck always has something up his sleeve, but I can’t go to him.”

  I stand up slowly, avoiding Snake’s eyes, and take a swig from my water bottle. Jess, Snake’s wife, would be right about Sal. But I can’t tell Snake I talked to him. “What do you think Franco would choose? Anthony, or business?” I ask.

  Snake doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face says it all. Anthony is Franco’s grandson for Christ sakes. But I wouldn’t put it past the old fucker to sacrifice Anthony for his business. Franco didn’t get to where he is today by having a soft heart. The Mariano’s say they’re all about family. In the end, they’re all about money and pride.

  “What are we going to do?” Snake asks, defeated.

  I shrug. “That’s family business. I’m not family, remember?”

  Snake’s upper lip curls. I almost think he’s going to hiss at me. He steps towards me, jamming his finger into my chest.

  “Made or not, Anthony’s your brother as well as mine.”<
br />
  I puff my chest out, glaring at him threateningly. Snake keeps his finger where it is, daring me to try something. But he and I both know I won’t. He’s right, Anthony is my brother. I don’t know how long Vince will let him live while Franco’s being stubborn. I’d meant to keep Olivia a secret for longer, but maybe I need to go ahead and play this hand. I’m also anxious to get her out of my apartment, and my life, quickly. The truth is I wanted to fuck this chick from the moment I saw her picture. To do that, I’d either have to rape her or treat her like a human being. I can’t see myself doing either of those things. I have to get rid of this complication.

  I reach out and pat Snake on the back, getting us out of this standoff.

  “Say I have a plan,” I say. “A good one.”

  Snake studies me closely. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I take a step back in case Snake decides to take a swing at me, not because I fear his fist, but because of what I’d have to do to him after.

  “I have something Vince wants,” I say. “Something he’ll trade for.”

  Snake’s eyes narrow with a mix of hope and skepticism. “What did you do, Beast?”

  “Before I tell you, remember that this is about getting Anthony back. You’re right. He’s my brother. I’d do anything for him.” I pause to take a swig of water before adding, “And you.”

  Snake lowers his forehead towards me. “What did you do?”

  An image of Olivia flashes in my mind, her on the bed, wearing my T-shirt, waiting for me.

  “I have his daughter.”

  Snake steps back, rubbing his face, taking this in. “I didn’t know Vince has a daughter.”

  “He does,” I say, though it occurs to me that Sal could be full of shit. I’d trusted him blindly, when I could be part of some fucked up scheme of his. But it’s too late now. I have to own it.

  Snake stretches his neck back and forth. “What do you mean you have her?”

  “I have her,” I say, coldly. “I took her. She’s locked up in the apartment.”

  Snake steps away, nodding, then hurls his fist at the punching bag, making it swing wildly. “This crew doesn’t fuck with family. You know that.”

  “They didn’t fuck with Anthony’s family? They sent his severed finger to his sick wife. We have to play tough, Snake. Bend the rules a little.”

  “I think sometimes you forget I’m your fucking capo. I’m the one in charge here. Just because we grew up together doesn’t mean you can ignore my orders.”

  I pick up the water bottle and crush it in my fist. “I’m working for you, you asshole. Not Franco, not the other capos, but you. Think about it, we trade Olivia for Anthony, and we don’t have to give Vince any of his demands. Win, win.”

  Snake’s shoulders relax. He’s finally considering this reasonably.

  “I’ll have to talk to Franco about this,” Snake says.

  “Why bring him into this?”

  “He’s the boss. I can’t go behind his back. If he’ll let Anthony get killed, no telling what he’ll do to me for ignoring the chain of command.”

  We spend the next few moments in silence. I throw some punches at the bag, jump rope a little to get my heart pumping, while Snake paces around the room. I throw the jump rope to the side and approach him.

  “We good here?” I ask.

  Snake doesn’t look at me. “For now. Just don’t touch a hair on her fucking head. Feed her, treat her well. Do you hear me, Beast?”

  “Of course,” I say, with only a bit of sarcasm.

  He turns and walks towards the door.

  “Yo, Snake,” I yell to him, making him look at me. “When you talk to Franco, ask him if this is something to open the books for, you know, singlehandedly saving his grandson and the family.”

  Snake chews on his tongue, and bangs his palms against the doorframe.

  “You have a fight to win,” Snake says, before leaving.

  Chapter Eleven

  Olivia

  I sit on the edge of the bed long after I hear the door close, expecting him to return at any moment. I never knew I could be so utterly still. I’m a busy person, always running from one thing to another. But now, my life depends on my stillness.

  Patiently, calmly, rationally, I count the seconds, and the minutes in my head. I even include the state to keep from getting ahead of myself.

  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…thirty-six Mississippi, thirty-seven Mississippi… all the way to sixty, and I start again.

  I count up to twenty minutes. Bruno still hasn’t returned. My eyes focus on the door. I wish I could melt it with my mind, but no, I’ll need something much stronger. I walk over to it, make a fist, and tap on the wood. It doesn’t seem that thick or strong. I pull my fist back, then hit the door as hard as I can. Most of the force is absorbed by my hand. I hold my throbbing knuckles to my chest, fighting back the tears.

  Stop being irrational, I think to myself.

  I slide my left leg back, bending the right in front in a fighting stance, though I’ve never been in a fight in my life. I swing my back leg forward and kick the door. The wood bends a little, but doesn’t break. I try again, this time making contact with the broader part of my foot.

  He could be back any minute. What would he do if he caught me trying to break out? But I have to try. I kick wildly at the door. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I quickly work up a sweat. My left leg gets tired, so I switch to the right. When that one gets tired, I switch again.

  Finally, deliciously, I hear the wood groan and snap. This is where I get kind of out of it. My rational mind dissolves, and the primal need to escape takes over. It’s a powerful, consuming force. With no rhyme or reason, I use my fists and feet, kicking, punching and screaming like it’s the beast himself in front of me. I stop to catch my breath and survey the damage I’ve caused. There’s a ragged, narrow slit going up the center of the door. It’s just wide enough that I can squeeze my arm through. Jagged bits of wood sink into my flesh as I grope for the deadbolts.

  “One,” I whisper, as I manage to unlock the first one. I stretch my arm further up for the second one. Dozens of slender, razor sharp splinters embed in my arm. “Two.” To reach the third, I have to almost dislocate my shoulder, and bite through the pain of the sharp wood that’s now drawing blood. “Three.”

  The door swings open and fresh air hits my face. I breathe it in fiercely, allowing my instinct to take over. I turn to the right, sprinting into the kitchen, then search the area ravenously for the front door. When I see it, I run, flinging myself into it.

  I can see right away that this door is much heavier than the one in the bedroom, and it’s locked from the outside. Kicking and punching doesn’t do anything but wear me out. I can feel the minutes ticking by. Panic rises up from my stomach, and comes out in desperate screams.

  “Help me,” I yell, beating on the door with both fists. “He kidnapped me. Help! Help me! Please!”

  I scream until my throat hurts and tears are rolling down my face. Please, I beg to some invisible force, please let someone hear me.

  I hear footsteps. Someone approaches. I scream louder. But the sound of the locks clicking open startles me into silence. Only he would have the keys. It’s him.

  I step back slowly, wondering what I should do here. He’s coming for me, and I’m trapped.

  The door opens. I can barely believe what I’m seeing. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them to make sure I’m dreaming.

  It’s not Bruno. It’s another man. He’s around my age, with a medium build, not a giant like Bruno. He wears an apron, and a name tag that says Rick. I laugh with relief, dry the tears from my eyes, and run and jump into his arms.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I grab his apron, imploring him with my eyes. “Get me out of here.”

  Rick puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me down the hallway. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur under
my breath.

  We walk down the stairs to the first floor. It’s an Italian grocer with a sandwich counter. How many people have been in and out of here while I was locked away? It’s empty of customers. I’m glad for that, since I’m only wearing Bruno’s white T-shirt, and must look insane. Rick leads me through the aisles stacked neatly with marinara sauce, to behind the sandwich counter. I eye the front door and start towards it.

  “I need to get out of this building,” I say.

  “You’ll get out. Don’t worry,” Rick says. He opens the door to the stockroom and leads me inside. “I can’t, in good conscious, let you leave without calling an ambulance. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

  “No coffee,” I say, scrunching my nose. “And I don’t need an ambulance. I just need to get the fuck out of here.”

  “Calm down,” Rick says. “Take a breath. You’re safe now. No coffee, okay. How about tea?”

  He gently pushes downward on my shoulders and I sit into a chair. It feels good to sit. It feels good to breathe.

  “You’re in shock,” Rick says, gently. “I can’t let you loose on the streets. You’re likely to run into traffic. Sit here a bit and catch your breath while we figure out what to do.”

  He’s right. I need to calm down. I’m out of Bruno’s apartment. There’s no need to be scared anymore. I don’t even know which part of the city I’m in. I have no money, no wallet. I can’t go running down the street like a crazy person. And I might run into Bruno if I do.

  Rick brings me a blanket and a hot cup of black tea. I sip deeply. The strong tea brings my tastebuds to life.

  “I have customers,” Rick says. “I’ll be back.”

  I nod without looking at him. I can’t believe I did it. I actually broke free of a man like Bruno. Maybe I’m stronger than I think I am.

  Rick closes the door behind him. I go for another sip of tea when I hear a clunk. My heart stops with it. He locked the door. From the outside.