I drop the tea at my feet. Steaming liquid splashes up on my bare ankles, but I barely feel the burn. I jump to my feet, and bang on the window. I can see Rick making a sandwich for a young woman with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Neither of them hear the racket I’m making. I stop for a moment, studying the door. It’s not wood, but a thick steel. It’s probably soundproof, and the window darkened on their side.
Who are these people? What is this place? I feel the room closing in around me. There’s so much I don’t know, don’t understand. What does Bruno want with me?
I press my forehead against the window, defeated, then slide down to the floor. The realization that I’m never getting out of here settles in my stomach, making me numb.
Despite knowing that it won’t do me any good, I bang on the door and scream the entire time I’m in there. I watch customers walk in, then walk out with bags of sandwiches. I watch Rick slice fresh bread, and meats and cheeses. I watch him make espressos and sling Italian sodas. I see the slanting light of dusk through the front windows, then the light disappear altogether. It’s nighttime when Bruno walks in.
He looks terrifying, more terrifying than usual. His face is swollen and bruised. His hair is slicked back with sweat. There’s blood on his knuckles and shirt. I know with certainty that some, if not all, of that blood isn’t his. What has he been doing? Who is this man?
Bruno says something to Rick that I can’t hear. Rick points at me. I lunge away from the window, pressing my back against the wall. I scold myself for being impatient. Why had I tried to escape? There’s no telling what punishment is in store for me.
Clunk. The heavy door opens. Bruno enters. A smell fills the room, of sweat and blood and testosterone. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me shivering against the wall. When he holds out his hand, I obediently give him mine.
As we walk through the store, I want to shout something biting to Rick, the fucking twat, but I’m too smart for that. I’ve fucked up as it is. There’s no point in pissing Bruno off further. Bruno stomps up the stairs in front of me, not slowing down at all for my sake. I stumble up the steps behind him.
He drags me into the apartment and closes the front door behind us. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand. I grip the countertop while Bruno inspects the bedroom door. He bends down, looking through the ragged hole I kicked into it. His chest expands and constricts with a few breaths.
Bruno walks slowly towards me with predatory eyes. I’m a weaker animal, trapped, with no hope of escape. He comes to stand in front of me, so close I can feel the beating of his heart in his chest. It’s racing.
For someone his size, Bruno moves fast. He doubles over, rams his shoulder into my stomach, and hugs the back of my thighs with one arm. He lifts me so easily, like I weigh as much as a feather. When he stands up, I’m dangling over his shoulder, staring at his massive back. He carries me into the bedroom, and throws me back on the bed.
As if I wasn’t already petrified, Bruno leaps on top of me with surprising agility for someone his size. His steel like fingers wrap around my wrists, pinning them over my head. The bed frame groans beneath his weight. I sink deeper into the mattress beneath him. My breath is heavy, but it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any oxygen. His body is unbelievably hard, with sharp, jutting muscles that dig into my flesh. I feel something else hard, right at my pubic bone. Oh God, is that…
Bruno pauses on top of me, letting me feel his weight, his power, reminding me of how weak I am against him. The corners of his lips turn up in a slight smile. The sick fuck is enjoying this.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. His breath is hot against my face.
No fucking shit, I want to spit back, but I’m not sure if I remember how to speak.
Bruno leans down closer to me. His nostrils flare, smelling my fear. “Maybe I need to punish you. Snip off your finger and send it to your father.”
A tear rolls down the side of my face. “No, please.” There it is, my voice, groveling and shaking.
Bruno lets go of one of my wrists to run his hand down the side of my hip to my thigh. His smile deepens, sickeningly.
“I have a better idea,” he whispers against the darkness. “Maybe I should see how you feel on the inside. I bet you’re warm, wet, and tight.”
Alarms go off in my brain, telling me to panic. I shouldn’t try to fight him, but I will not lie here and be raped. With my free hand, I make a fist, and bring it down on the top of his head, as hard as I can while yelling, “No!” He grimaces, but I couldn’t have hurt him much. It’s like throwing punches at a brick building. Still, he gets a dazed look in his eyes. My heart stops in my chest. You’ve done it now.
I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. My mind drifts away from the current trauma. I’m back in the campus library, articles stacked on the desk in front of me. I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.
Suddenly, I feel the tremendous weight come off of me. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, something I couldn’t completely do with him on top of me. The mattress breathes too, expanding with me on top of it. The vision of the library dissolves around me, and I’m back in my stark reality.
Bruno has already left the room when I open my eyes. I don’t dare move. I hear him walking around outside of my door, and drawers opening and closing. A few moments later, he returns. A pair of handcuffs dangles from his hand, the metal glittering in the moonlight.
He’s going to make sure I don’t fight back, I think, dreadfully. He’s going to take away what little power I still have left.
Bruno doesn’t look me in the eye when he approaches the bed. I don’t fight him when he grabs my wrist and pulls it towards the bed frame. He’s impatient. He jerks my arm as he stretches it, making me wince audibly. I clamp my mouth shut in terror, expecting him to retaliate. But Bruno loosens his grip, giving my arm more slack so it’s more comfortable, before cuffing me to the bed.
What a fucking gentleman.
Chapter Twelve
Bruno
I leave Olivia cuffed to the bed and storm to my room. My cock is rock hard and throbbing. How I kept from sinking inside of her, when it would’ve been so easy, I’m not sure. I’ve never raped a woman before, never even considered it. I never had to. Pussy is an abundant commodity, and easy to come by for a guy like me. But I can’t stop thinking about Olivia, tied up and helpless in the bedroom next to mine. I whip my cock out and jerk off to the thought of her yielding beneath me. In my fantasy, she’s not struggling, or hitting me. She’s begging for me.
After I explode all over the floor, the pressure is released, both from my balls and my head. Snake would flip the fuck it out if he knew what I’ve just done. I always knew I was a monster, but not the kind of monster who’d hold a woman down and threaten rape. But the fact that she’d tried to escape pissed me off deeply. I know I have no right to, but I’ve started to think of her as my possession.
And it gives me a certain satisfaction to think about violating Vince’s precious daughter. After what he did to Anthony and his wife, it would serve the fucker right. I bet she’s been protected by Vince her entire life. He’d probably never let her get around a guy like me.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands folded between my knees. It’s so much easier when my opponent is in the ring. I don’t have to talk to them, or fucking feed and care for them before I knock them out. I don’t have to empathize with them. This situation is different. It’s much more involved, and I don’t know how to handle it.
I chalk up my brutish behavior to the fact that I couldn’t get any pussy after the fight. As soon as I put the Irish ginger to sleep and walked out of the ring, Rick’s message was waiting for me on my phone. There was no time.
But I’m just making excuses. Snake’s right. Olivia might be complicit in her father’s crimes, but she’s still not at fault for what happened to Anthony. When we make the trade, she’ll be back in Daddy’s protection, back to her charmed life, like none of this
ever happened at all.
I’m too hopped up on adrenaline to sleep well. And I’m not used to this feeling, the feeling of guilt that gnaws at my stomach, crawling up my veins. I get up with the sun. I’m sore, finally feeling the blows the Irishman had managed to land. There’s a nasty one right under my rib cage. I lift my shirt to see the mark he left, bruised and swollen.
I go to check on Olivia. In my rush last night, I’d left the door wide open. I inspect the damage she’s done, the hole she put in the door through sheer force of will. I have to admit, I’m impressed.
Olivia is still asleep. She’s on her back, her cuffed hand stretched over her head. My T-shirt she’s wearing is bunched up across the tops of her thighs. My eyes graze her smooth skin to the dark shadow between her legs. My stomach fills with heat. My dick twitches. I look away quickly, stopping myself.
She’s smiling in her sleep. Is she dreaming about her life before I stepped in and snatched everything away from her? I tighten my jaw. I can’t think like that either. Balancing between the cold monster and caring captor is a tightrope walk, and I haven’t found my footing yet.
Olivia’s eyes eventually bat open. The smile is still on her lips as she squints through the sunshine. I see that smile die with confusion as she tries to sit up despite the handcuffs, then the horrible realization that overcomes her. Her eyes get shiny and wet.
She senses my presence and jerks her head towards me. Her entire body shakes. The fear in her eyes makes me feel like an asshole.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything as I unlock the handcuffs. She never takes her eyes off me. She watches my every move. Every muscle in her body is tensed. I notice the dried blood dotted on her arm, and the slender black marks of splinters. Her knuckles are bruised and swollen.
She’d fought like hell to get out of here.
“Do you need the bathroom?” I ask. I’d meant to say it gently, but my voice came out raspy.
Olivia presses her lips together, blinking, then gives a slight nod. She doesn’t give me any trouble as I lead her to the bathroom. I give her fresh towels for a shower, and she slips inside. I wait outside the door, thinking of all the things I should say to her.
I’m sorry for how I acted last night. I’m sorry for all of this. None of this is your fault, and it will all be over soon.
But, of course, I can’t say any of that. I can’t show any weakness. Then, she might try to escape again, and there’s no telling what I’d do. What if I lose control? I came very close to doing just that last night.
The shower cuts off. A few moments later, there’s a timid knock on the door. I open it to see Olivia standing there, her hair damp, clutching the towel at her chest. I’m careful not to let my gaze linger for too long.
Olivia obediently follows me back to her room. Something’s different about her. She’s meeker, broken even.
I broke her.
I tell her to wait there, and she does, while I fetch fresh clothes. This time, I don’t stick around to watch her undress. I walk down to the grocer and pick up rubbing alcohol, bandages, and a pair of tweezers.
When I return, Olivia’s sitting on the bed wearing my T-shirt, despite the door being left open. She looks up at me, her face white with fear. I approach her slowly, but I still hear her teeth chattering. Sitting next to her, I unpack the supplies from the white paper bag.
“Give me your arm,” I say, holding out my hand.
She hesitates for a second, then carefully lays her wrist against my palm. Her hand trembles against mine. Her flesh is covered with goosebumps. I want to stroke her skin with my thumb to comfort her, but I hold back.
Using the tweezers, I pluck out the splinters, one by one. There’s a particularly long and nasty one embedded deep into her skin by her elbow. I have to dig with the tweezers to get it out. Olivia winces, bites her lip.
“It’s okay,” I say, my eyes meeting hers.
Olivia’s eyes widen with fear. She looks away quickly, nodding.
After I get all the splinters out, and there’s so many it takes awhile, I swab her arm with the alcohol, and put bandages on the bad places. When I’m finished, I let go of her arm. She jerks it into her lap.
“What’s your favorite fruit?” I ask while packing up the supplies.
She grimaces in confusion. “What?”
I glare at her wordlessly. She heard what I said.
“Strawberries,” she admits, looking at her knees.
“Strawberries,” I repeat.
*
For Olivia’s lunch, I slice up a few strawberries and put them in a bowl alongside her chicken noodle soup.
Might as well use that knife to chop off your balls too, I think, carrying the tray to her room.
Olivia sits up straight when I enter, her gaze far off in the distance. I set the tray on the small table, and clear my throat.
“Time to eat,” I say.
She jumps up at my order, and makes her way to the table. I watch her face while she scans the tray of food. Her eyes soften when she sees the strawberries. She feels me watching her, then hardens her face again.
I stand by the wall, watching her eat. She keeps sneaking glances at me. Sometimes she pauses between bites of soup, resting her spoon inside the bowl, like she wants to say something. While watching her, I try not to think about the warmth of her body pinned beneath me, how soft her thighs felt against my throbbing cock, how good it would’ve felt to spread her legs and sink inside of her.
She picks up a slice of strawberry and takes a small bite. She chews slowly, her eyes on the floor.
“Thank you,” she says in almost a whisper. “For the strawberries.”
I don’t say anything. I just keep my cold stare on her. She pops the rest of the strawberry into her mouth, closing her eyes as she savors the taste. She picks up another.
“What did you give me?” she asks quietly.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap. Does she really think I poisoned her food?
“The other night,” she explains, starting to tremble. “When you…” Her eyes meet mine for a brief second before she looks away. “When you took me.”
I crack my knuckles and look to the side. I don’t like hearing her say that.
“I didn't give you anything.”
Olivia puts the strawberry down, and smooths her hair, sitting up straighter.
“Bullshit,” she says.
That gets my attention. I kick off the wall, walking towards her. “What the fuck did you say?”
Olivia loses her nerve. Her shoulders creep up to her ears and she cowers away from me. She shakes her head.
“You gave me something, I know it. I never black out, not like that, just from drinking.” She looks at me accusingly. “What did you do? Slip a roofie in my drink?”
My breath comes hard and heavy. My heart starts to race. My fingers curl with anger.
“I didn’t give you anything,” I say through my teeth. “That scumbag you were dancing with put something in your drink. He was dragging your unconscious body through the parking lot when I intercepted.”
Olivia recoils, then raises an eyebrow. “You saved me?” Her voice is tight with sarcasm.
I nod slowly. “That’s right. I knocked the guy out. He’s walking around with nasty black eye. Spoiled brats like you never think anything bad will happen to them.”
Olivia picks up another strawberry, dangling it from her fingers like it’s something she can hold over me. “Why should I believe you?”
I laugh, a dull sound that comes from my chest. “Because I don’t fucking lie.”
She turns back to her tray. I think that’s the end of it, but it’s not.
“So you saved me,” she says. “Then you took me. Why?”
I shrug off my annoyance at this question.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I say.
She blinks, shaking her head nervously. “Are you serious? I have no idea why I’m here, why you’d want m
e.”
I breathe out slowly from my mouth. I’m trying really hard not to get fucking angry here.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “You’re trying to protect him. It won’t work.”
Olivia’s eyes light up. She starts to stand, but I take a step towards her, making her sit back down. She grips the seat of the chair.
“Him?” she says. She looks crazed. “Who are you talking about?”
“Stupid little bitch,” I say to myself. Who the fuck does she think she’s talking to?
I stalk out of the room and into the kitchen. There, I grab one of the cabinet doors with both hands and pull until I’ve ripped it off of the hinges. I grab a hammer and some nails from the drawer and walk back down the hall.
I stand in the doorway holding the cabinet door and hammer. Olivia looks at me with scared eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
I ignore her groveling and close the door, making her disappear, and get to work fixing the door she fucked up.
Spoiled fucking brat, I think as I hammer the cabinet door into place. She benefited from her father’s crimes all her life. Did she really think she’d never have to pay? Everyone pays eventually. I did. My mother did. And I’m still paying to this day. Our family had a nice life before my father turned into a rat, then it all went to shit.
I’ll never forget the day Franco, who was just a capo then, came to my aunt’s house where my mother and I were staying. My dad had been on the run for three weeks. Mom shoved me into a bedroom. But I pressed my ear against the door, listening to them talk. I can remember, like it was yesterday, when Franco said, “We got him.”
My mother started crying, and I remember being so pissed off. Why was she crying for him? He deserved what he got. He turned on the family and fucked up everything for us. It’s his fault that I’m in the position I am now. When I got a little older, I made myself useful to the Mariano’s. I did everything they told me to. And they still don’t fucking trust me, all because of him.
I pound the last nail into the door and stand up quickly. It makes my head spin. I bring my hands to my face and realize I’m sweating. Olivia is quiet on the other side of the door. I hope she stays that way. I hope this trade goes down soon. I need to get rid of her.
Beware the Beast (Mafia Soldiers Book 2) Page 6