Once freed, Marc waited for instructions before massaging his sore arms and shoulders. Permission didn’t come.
“Strip.”
It’s just Adam.
He removed his outer shirt and khakis then his undershirt. Standing in his boxer briefs, he hoped Adam would be satisfied and not demand the full monty.
“What part of strip don’t you understand, you devil dog?”
Being naked definitely would increase his anxiety level and vulnerability. Marc sighed and shucked them off. He wasn’t sure what Adam wanted him to do next, so he waited. After what felt like maybe twenty minutes, Adam grabbed his forearm and pulled him backward. Marc fought to remain standing, having no idea where Adam was taking him until he felt something pressing against the backs of his knees.
“Sit!”
Marc hoped there was a seat behind him as he eased down. When his naked ass slapped against a cold, hard surface, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if this was part of a mindfuck and not an actual chair at all, at least he hadn’t wound up sprawled in a heap on the ground.
Adam tied his ankles to what must be the legs. He jerked Marc’s arms behind his back, and Marc’s fingers latched onto the slats in the back. Definitely a chair. Adam soon had him restrained so that he couldn’t move.
“What’s your name?”
“Marc D’Alessio.”
“You sure about that?”
Marc thought a moment. Sitting here, stripped naked, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I think I might have been born Marco Solari, Sir.”
“Where were you born?”
“Milan, Italy. In Lombardy, Sir.”
“You sure?”
Slap!
Marc paused a moment too long, and Adam slapped him on his thigh with what felt and sounded like a tawse. He didn’t like that implement. Wouldn’t even use it on Angelina when she’d asked him. Without a warm-up, the hard leather strips stung like the dickens, but Marc wasn’t going to give Adam the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I asked you a question, grunt.”
“Yes, Sir! It’s what my birth certificate says.”
“You’ve been sold a bill of goods. You were born in Brescia, same as Gino.”
Certainly possible. It wasn’t all that far from Milan. Marc certainly had been told other lies surrounding his origins. What’s one more? Or had Mama and Papa had more than his name changed on his updated birth certificate after the adoption?
Wait. How did Adam know where he was born? Had he gotten access to Marc’s and Gino’s military records? How? Through Grant’s connections, no doubt. She’d tracked down Adam’s mother.
“That’s where we lived when we were kids, before we emigrated.”
Slap!
What the fuck did he do to deserve that one?
“You don’t open your fucking mouth unless I ask you a direct question. Got that, chickenshit?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Natal—no, Emiliana. Emiliana Zirilli Solari.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’m sure of nothing. Mama, my adopted mother, told me so.”
“You believe her?”
Marc didn’t know if she’d told the truth or not. “Not sure, Sir.”
“Any siblings?”
“Yes, Sir—Gino is my full brother. Then I have two cousins, Alessandro and Carmella, who I was raised with in my adopted family. They’ve been my brother and sister…until this year.”
“Who changed that status?”
“Melissa told me I was adopted.”
“What’s that got to do with your relationship with Alessandro and Carmella?”
Nothing. “I guess I just put distance between us. I didn’t feel like I belonged in their family anymore, Sir.”
“What kind of relationship did you have with Gino growing up?”
“Typical brothers. Played hard. Fought hard.”
“Fought over a woman.”
“Biggest mistake of my life.”
“I didn’t ask a question, and I don’t want you making observations with that fucked-up mindset of yours. Just answer direct questions. Got that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So you let some conniving bitch come between you and your brother?”
Shame washed over him. “Yes, Sir. I did.”
“What do you plan to do about it?”
Do? What the fuck can I do? Gino died more than a decade ago.
“Nothing I can do. It’s too late.”
“What’s the worst thing you ever did to your brother?”
Marc drew a blank. “I can’t think of anything, Sir.”
The tawse slapped his ass. “Try again.”
Marc was the one wronged. Gino’s the one who had fucked Marc’s girlfriend, not the other way around. What did Adam want to hear him say? Why was he focusing on Gino? Marc’s problem was women, not Gino.
“I’m going to leave you here a while to think about how you’re going to solve the problem with your brother.”
What the fuck was he talking about? Hell, Adam had retrieved the body after Gino had been killed in an ambush in Afghanistan. How could he expect Marc to do anything about fixing that relationship? He’d come here to deal with the issues revolving around Angelina, not Gino.
The clock ticked loudly. Marc heard the door to the dungeon open and close. Rule one in a safe scene was never leave a restrained sub or bottom alone without supervision. But SSC rules didn’t apply in this scene where safe and sane weren’t guaranteed or even expected.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Marc thought back to that early September day in 2001 when he’d brought Melissa home with him from college to meet his family. He’d left her alone at his apartment and returned to find her naked and on top of Gino, fucking him.
Marc’s blood began to boil as he found himself back in that bedroom. His big brother had deliberately gone after the woman Marc intended to marry.
“Gino, get the fuck out of here!”
Marc launched across the room at them, and Melissa scrambled across the bed to the opposite side.
“She’s mine, you bastard!” Marc straddled Gino and began pummeling his brother’s face until Gino heaved his body upward, knocking Marc to his ass on the floor. Gino had always been bigger, stronger. Marc had more of a skier’s wiry body. While Marc had bulked up some later while training with the Marines, he probably never would have been able to take his brother down.
But he’d never seen Gino alive again after that morning when Marc had severed all ties.
Gino, why’d you have to be such a fucking bastard?
His brother had everything—their parents’ love, the career he wanted. He could have had any girl in Aspen with their family’s money and his good looks. Okay, neither of them had done a lot of dating because the resort kept them so damned busy. Marc had spent less time with his nose in a textbook than Gino and more time instructing female guests in the techniques of skiing, hiking, and submission.
Most of the women seeking BDSM training were older, not to mention married.
Marc didn’t want to think about those days anymore. He couldn’t change anything about his past or his life with Gino.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Time passed slowly, as far as Marc could tell. He didn’t know what time it was or how long he’d sat here thinking.
Having had so little sleep the past week, he let his head drop back and decided to catch some sleep while he could.
“Who the fuck told you you could sleep, grunt? You think you’re back at your family’s resort?”
Marc sat up straighter. Adam hadn’t left him. He’d seen Marc dozing off quick enough. Almost too late, he realized Adam had asked a direct question. His responses were slow. “No one, T—Sir.” He’d almost slipped and called Adam Top.
“You’re not going to sleep until we get to the bottom of every fucking thing you need to figure out to get your sor
ry life back on track.”
So they would be using SERE resistance tactics. Sleep deprivation. Hell, he was halfway there already. Should speed things up.
Adam didn’t say anything more. Marc listened for movement but didn’t hear anything. He got the impression Adam was staring at him. Waiting for him to slip up or nod off.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Time. Nothing but time on his hands. Marc had been ordered to figure out how to unfuck the problem with Gino, so he’d better damn well focus. But on what?
His mind wandered to an unfamiliar kitchen, yet he felt at home there. Terracotta tiles on the floor, a weathered table that would seat only two comfortably, four including children. On it sat a Mediterranean blue ceramic bowl filled with pears and plump red grapes. The smells of coffee, garlic or onions, and rosemary permeated his senses. His stomach growled. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? The fast-food lunch on his way to meet Adam had worn off. How long had he been here? Surely only a few hours.
Gino’s voice as a young boy, speaking Italian, filtered into his consciousness, calling out to Marc from beyond the grave. “Marco, andiamo alla nostra tana!” Marc hadn’t thought of the lair in what seemed like a lifetime. Tears stung his eyes.
They’d been happy as kids back in Lombardy. No worries. He missed his homeland sometimes, although he loved Colorado and being an American.
Marc heard his own voice speaking his native Italian. “Go play with Gino?”
The pretty lady he didn’t recognize dried her hands on her apron. “Put on your coats first! It’s still May, you know.”
Wait! What was the woman’s name? Dio, he hadn’t thought of her in forever. She babysat for Gino and him. As best he could remember, he and Gino had spent a lot of time there as young children.
Gino helped him put on his coat, and they ran out the kitchen door into the yard. “Let’s take our rifles in case we find enemies.” Gino led him to the place at the back corner of the yard where they kept their secret weapons stash. He handed Marco one of the tree branches they pretended with, and the two squeezed through a hole in the fence, soon to scamper off to their favorite place to play.
“Drink this.”
Marc came back to the present with a jolt, feeling a tug on the hood as Adam uncovered his mouth. He pressed something cold and hard against Marc’s lips, which opened to accept what turned out to be water. Dio, he was thirsty. He gulped it down, not caring that some trickled down his chin to his chest. He quickly drained the contents of the bottle but wanted more.
“Stand up.”
Marc stood, surprised the ropes had been removed from his arms and legs. When had Adam done that? Had he been sleeping? Adam allowed that?
Marc’s legs shook with the effort of holding his body upright. How long had he been sitting in the chair? Adam had gone relatively silent after asking questions about Marc’s past. How much time had passed while he’d gotten lost in memories of Gino and their childhood?
“Here’s your chance to piss in the bucket, if you have to go.”
Adam led Marc several steps to what he assumed was the bucket he’d seen when he surveyed the dungeon after he’d first come down here. Adam held Marc’s cock like a mother might when training her toddler. It took him a long while, but Marc finally heard the stream of piss hitting the bottom of the bucket.
Adam knew what had to be done to break him—humiliation and demoralization would play a part in it, for sure. Marc would gladly forego food and water if it would help him reach the breaking point faster, not that Adam had offered him anything to eat. Food he could live without, but he’d been given the bare minimum of water he’d need to survive without having his kidneys shut down.
No way did he see how this scene was going to accomplish anything Marc wanted to uncover. He trusted Adam too much to suspend belief and see him as a heartless inquisitor. How was he supposed to dig up answers if Adam asked so few questions? He’d spent a lifetime burying shit like that memory of Gino and their lair.
A lair? Who called their childhood hideout a lair? He wondered what it had looked like and regretted that Adam had disturbed the memory before he’d seen it again with his mind’s eye.
Gone. Again.
Adam said nothing. Marc stood, waiting. What if the scene was over? Would Adam give up on him? No! They hadn’t gotten anywhere! Disappointment flooded his senses that another attempt at getting to the root of his problems had failed.
“Arms in front.”
Adrenaline pumped through his veins instantly. This scene wasn’t over! Marc extended his arms in front of him, anxious to continue. His shoulders ached from having been in the same unnatural position for however long. He shook them out before presenting them to Adam. At least, he assumed Adam stood in front of him. That’s where his voice had come from on the last command. The room was still pitch black, his hood firmly in place.
Adam wrapped something around Marc’s left wrist and pulled tight. A cuff. Adam easily slipped his finger between Marc’s skin and the padded leather. Not too tight. He then cuffed the right wrist. A raspy noise and jerking motion with his hands told him Adam was threading rope through the D-rings.
“Lift your arms.”
Marc did so and soon found himself restrained from the ceiling, an eyebolt, he supposed. Adam adjusted the ropes until only Marc’s toes made contact with the floor. The strain on his arms hurt more, because this was the opposite of how his arms had been restrained so far.
Silence. No more questions. No commands.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Even the clock became white noise after a while. The quiet left Marc sinking slowly into his own dark thoughts. Only this time, memories of Gino with Melissa clouded his mind.
“She’s not worth this, Marc. Why don’t you think with your head for once, you asshole?”
Gino slammed him against the wall and restrained Marc’s arms above his head.
Somehow, Marc managed to shake him off, or perhaps Gino released him. Marc surveyed the scene in the bedroom, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Where had Melissa gone? After what he’d just seen, did he care? Marc grabbed his jacket and left Gino behind. If he wanted her so badly, then he could have her. Fuck them both!
Marc’s head nodded, and he jerked back into his stance.
Slap!
The sting of the tawse across his bare ass stung momentarily, but he soon grew too tired to care. Definitely a tawse, though. He’d felt it before. When?
How long had he been hanging in this position? Sleep wasn’t advisable if he wanted to keep from hanging by his wrists, so he fought to stay awake and try to keep his legs steady.
Adam made no sound at all. Was he even there? Surely, he was. Adam wouldn’t abandon him, not like so many others had done in his life. His birth parents. Melissa. Gino.
Angelina.
His chest ached at the thought that she’d walked away like all the rest.
Marc tried to adjust his position but had very little wiggle room. Surely Adam would cut him down soon. How long would he have to remain in this position? He fought the urge to call out to his friend, not wanting to mess with the scene. Adam would interact with him when the time was right. He knew how to break a man in an interrogation.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Crack!
The sting of something on his shoulder dissipated more slowly than that from the tawse. Merda, it stung. Marc fought his restraints, shifting on his toes again to relieve a bit of the strain on his shoulders.
Adam! It took a while, but Marc’s mind registered he was no longer alone. The sense of relief washing over him made the sting in his shoulders more bearable for a moment. Adam hadn’t left or, if he had, he’d returned. How long had Marc slept before Adam had woken him so abruptly? His arms ached from hanging.
“Enjoy your nap?”
He was told to answer truthfully. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good, because that’ll be the last one you’ll have for a while. Time for so
me music.”
Adam placed a headset over his ears. The padded headphones masked some of the ambient noise in the room. Marc waited, unsure what music his master sergeant had chosen. He expected loud and obnoxious if they were using sleep-deprivation tactics. Marc preferred Italian opera or…
The first chords of the “music” blasted forth. Way too loud. A demonic voice screamed into his ear.
Tangled in a web of reversed lies
and my reflection is the one that’s on my side.
Now lies the choice between regret and time.
Marc’s nerves, already on edge from a lack of sleep and time/space disorientation, screamed, too. One cacophonous “song” bled into the next. Damián had to have done this. Did that mean Adam had told him about the scene? Was he going to be involved? The man was into serious metal music. This crap made Marc’s jaws ache. How could anyone call this shit music?
Marc couldn’t always tell when one track ended and another began but needed to keep his focus. He guessed there had been eight or nine of them. If each lasted three or four minutes, he’d been listening for twenty-five to thirty-five minutes. Focusing on the number of songs could help him keep track of time. Not that he had any idea how much time had passed already. He needed to keep his mind occupied.
Focus.
Time—and the noise—droned on without a break. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen tracks.
I am a dominant gene – live as I die
Never say forever ’cause forever’s a lie
Was he a Dominant? He didn’t have a clue.
Slap!
The tawse this time slapping his thigh jerked Marc awake. How the hell had he fallen asleep with that god-awful crap blaring in his ears? Marc couldn’t think about the present, much less the past. Fuck. He’d lost count of the number of tracks. How long had he slept this time? Was Adam waking him up immediately or letting him rest some to skew his ability to judge the passage of time?
A memory’s a memory until it’s a fact
I can bury the hatchet and let some shit go
But I got too many grudges to hold!
He’d never let go of one grudge. Awfully hard to bury the hatchet with someone who didn’t exist anymore.
Gino, why did you betray me?
Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) Page 40