Sabato: The Cross

by Mj Fields

  I sit up and look around. I get out of bed and pain shoots up my leg. I push through it. I have felt pain before, true pain. Compared to that, this is nothing.

  I make my way to the bathroom and open the door. Valentina is naked, pinning her hair up.

  “Wow, you’re awake.” She smiles, not shy about her nakedness. She shouldn’t be. “How do you feel?”

  “Better,” I say as I push my boxers down.

  “Wow, so it’ll be just like that, huh?”

  “I’m hard, you’re wet, and the shower is running. Let’s take care of this need.”

  “We need to wrap your leg,” she says as I walk up to her.

  “I need to come. You need to come. Do you have condoms?” I reach to fondle her breasts.

  She arches against me, then reaches down and opens a drawer. “Plenty.”

  She hands one over her shoulder to me and I quickly put it on.

  “No games this time, I need to feel.” I push her forward and she moans. “Pleasure, to take my mind off the pain.”

  “Of course,” she purrs, and I ram into her. She cries out. I reach around and pinch her clit, fucking her hard.

  “Fuck, you are hot,” I groan, and smack her ass. I need more, harder. This is not the usual for me.

  “Again,” she cries, and I smack her ass again.

  I grab her hair and pull it toward me so I can see her face as I make her come.

  “More,” she growls. I strike her ass again, and again, and she cries out over and over.

  Within seconds, she comes. But I continue holding back. The agreement was two orgasms and I am built to please. I fuck her, tweak her nipples and pinch her nub between my fingers. She whimpers. I refuse to deny my release any longer, she screams and I come hard.

  The door flies open then, and I am snatched back by Franco, her bodyguard.

  “Leave us!” Valentino screams as she grabs a towel.

  “He is wanted!”

  “He is hurt,” she says. I jab out and my fist connects with his face.

  He stumbles back and I make my way past him, fleeing naked to the door. I look up and into the eyes of Melyssa.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Emotions flood her face and behind us I hear Valentino screaming in Italian to the man, Franco, to leave.

  “My medicine,” she says. “I came back for....” Then she turns and runs to the door.

  I grab my clothes and throw them on, adrenaline numbing my pain as I make my way out the window and down the fire escape. My wound throbs, but I don’t care as I jump to the ground. She is at the corner stoplight now and I push myself hard to get there. I needed a place to hide, to lay low and I will make sure she pays for fucking up my plans.

  I open the door of her car and slide in, just as the light turns green.

  “Get out!” She is crying.

  “Drive,” I tell her, pointing my gun at her. “Don’t do anything stupid, Melyssa. Just do as I say.”

  I am shaking, almost too much to drive straight.

  Sabato rests a gun on his leg, pointing it toward me and fear races through me. I look out of the corner of my eye when I hear him hiss. He is holding his leg with his other hand and there is blood everywhere.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” I try to sound strong, but my voice betrays me.

  “No. Take me to your home.”

  I put on the turn signal, immediately heading in the wrong direction. I will not let him know where I live. I will drive in circles until I run out of gas. I’ve read and seen it on TV, what happens when a crazed man with a gun gets into a woman’s car. It always ends badly and I do not want it to end badly.

  Especially not with him.

  “This isn’t the way, don’t toy with me, Melyssa,” he leans toward me, but my vision is only trained on his gun. He grabs the steering wheel, “Watch the fucking road. Better yet, pull over. I’m driving.”

  When I don’t do as he says, Sabato raises his voice. “Pull over.”

  I try to come up with something, anything, to avoid going to my place. “They’ll look for me there. They’ll look for you. It’s not a good idea.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I start to shake and choke back a sob.

  “Go back. Turn around. There is a parking lot a block—”

  “I can’t!” Tears start to fall and he moves the gun. “Don’t!”

  “Christ, Melyssa!” He waves the gun around and there is no control left in his eyes. I barely even recognize him.

  “Please, just don’t hurt me!”

  “Pull the fuck over and get out.”

  I do as he says. I pull over and jump out. I’m ready to run, but with his jungle cat-like speed, he is in front of me immediately.

  “There’s a cop car coming this way,” I threaten. “He’ll see you. Please, just take my car and go. I swear, I’ll scream. I will scream and you will go to j—”

  His mouth crashes against mine, hands riding up the back of my shirt. I feel the barrel of the gun against my skin. When I try to pull away, his free hand captures the back of my head and his tongue enters my mouth. I cannot move away. I don’t want to move away—but I have to. With a feeling like a cold bucket of water hitting me in the face, I remember why I ran. Sabato was inside another woman, just a few minutes ago.

  I pull my lips from his and he doesn’t fight it. His hand leaves my face. Suddenly exhausted, I go to rest my head against his forehead. He steps back. When I look up, he looks away.

  “Now get in the damn car.” His voice is sharp, hard, like a slap.

  “No,” I say, trying to be strong.

  “You seem to forget I have a gun,” he reminds me.

  He does. I can still feel its pressure against my back.

  “Now climb in, across the seat.”

  “No.” I repeat, hands shaking.

  “I promise you,” he says quietly, dangerously. “That word will get you nowhere with me, but bent over my fucking knee.”

  I decide then to do as I am told.

  He slides in behind me and winces as he pushes on his wound, “When we get to the car, you’ll get out of this one, without a fuss and into the vehicle I tell you to. Then you and I are going to spend some time together.”

  “They’ll look for me.”

  “Not where we’re going, they won’t.”

  He pulls out onto the street and drives. He drives perfectly, just below the speed limit, using his traffic signals and never looking at me once. I know he’s in pain, but he doesn’t seem to let himself feel it, or even acknowledge it.

  “You can’t force me to stay with you?” I don’t mean it to, but it comes out as a question.

  “I can,” he laughs. The sound is conceited and cold and I hate it.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere nicer than your place.”

  A chill goes down my back. “How do you know where I live?”

  “I make it my business to know the business of the people who peek in my windows. Now enough questions. Or so help me God, I will gag you.”

  “If you gag me, how will you shove that...that, big, intrusive tongue in my mouth?”

  My boldness surprises me. I hold my breath as I wait for his response.

  He looks at me briefly, out of the corner of his eye.

  “I don’t intend on doing that again.”

  I know I shouldn’t want it, but it doesn’t take the sting out of the fact that he seems unaffected by a kiss. Our first kiss. And our last, I’m now sure.

  “Good, that wasn’t a ten for me either, you know,” I say, just above a whisper.

  He shakes his head. “It served its purpose. The cop who drove by saw amanti, and not a wanted man and a sassy little girl, who seems to be hiding around every fucking corner.”

  “You kissed me because....” Oh.

  “Of course I did. What, did you think....” He laughs. “Incredible.”

  My head is flooded with emotions. I’m scared,
turned on and embarrassed at the same time. Sabato Efisto is a wanted man. And I am a stupid, naive, dirty girl.

  He is a suspect in killing his father. I just returned from being sent back to my hometown in Georgia, to be ‘kept safe’ by Nikki’s fiancé, Abe and his cousins. Apparently, Sabato’s father was not just a random crime boss, but the head of the Sicilian mafia. Like ‘The Godfather.’ But in real life.

  When I was tricked into having drinks, then whisked away from Valentina’s place and put on a plane three days ago, it was scary. I questioned myself and swore I would never put myself in the position I had been in that night at Sabato’s club.

  I told myself I fell into wanting that experience by pure accident—or impure accident. I tried to feel shame and regret and all the things people tell you to feel. I wanted to feel like the woman in those videos felt. Yes, I Melyssa Chance, was once addicted to online porn. I suppose I will always be drawn to the darkness.

  I had never seen a man in real life—meaning outside the computer—who made me feel that way, until I saw Sabato Efisto in person. He is dark, clearly dangerous, and I am a strong, educated young woman who carries the moral ideals of a nun—aside from the closet porn fetish, that is. Then again, who knows what those nuns do in their spare time? Yet, I am so enchanted by the darkness that I find myself wanting to embrace it, ready to be taken in the way I know only he can take me.

  Every way, any way, body and soul, corrupted. Claimed.

  While I was home, I dug down deep into the bottom of my heart, my soul. I cried, sometimes for hours at a time, I even knelt and prayed at one point. That was when I realized what a hypocrite I was being. I wanted him to claim me, but only on my terms. I wanted to be pure, but only in the way I thought I was supposed to be, because of the way I was raised. I half-assed sex, wanting it to be clean and controlled, like a fantasy—or a video. I didn’t want it to be messy, or scary, or God forbid, kinky.

  Even if that was how, deep down, I know I would secretly like it.

  So, I sat in front of my father’s old home computer and I obsessed. I searched ‘Salvatore Efisto,’ and not just pictures this time. What I found shocked me, more than I’d thought was possible. There was never an arrest made against the man, but he certainly was a suspect in a lot of truly horrible crimes.

  Then I saw him. I saw him at seven years old. I read his story and I cried again. Not because I was forcing myself to, or because I thought I should feel guilty, but because my heart was breaking. My heart broke for seven-year-old Sabato. Then it broke again for eighteen-year-old Sabato and the girl he’d loved and lost, Luciana.

  Now, knowing what I know, even though I want to, I can’t hate him. I try, but I can’t. Even if he is a monster now. Because it’s true, that saying: sometimes monsters aren’t born, but made.

  So I keep my mouth shut and I let the monster drive.

  *.*.*

  The next day, Salvatore Efisto’s body is found in the woods behind Sabato’s club.

  We’ve been driving for almost an entire day, stopping only long enough to eat and pee and buy bandages and pills for Sabato’s leg. I’ve kept my mouth shut, meekly going along with his unspoken plan, the entire time. But when the news comes on the radio, I can’t keep silent any longer.

  “Did you kill him?” I burst out. “Your father, did you kill him?”

  The tires squeal loudly, as Sabato jerks the wheel. We go off the road, dust kicking up and wheels spinning as we almost go into a ditch at the edge of a dirt-filled parking lot. I scream, terrified, and then immediately start to cry. It’s true. He killed his father and now he’s going to kill me.

  I had this coming, I realize. The minute I let him near me, let him into my head. He’s a monster and I knew it and I fell for him anyway. I brought this on myself.

  “No, no, no, no. You are not to cry.” Sabato’s voice is softer now, gentler, but still firm.

  For some reason, that makes me cry harder.

  “Melyssa, we don’t have time for this.”

  Sabato’s eyes dart around the parking lot, nervously taking in our surroundings.

  “You and I are going to get in this car over here,” he says, more calmly now. He points to a new BMW in the next spot over. “Then we are going to go have a chat about what our expectations are of each other. Come now.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “That’s just not in the cards today, but maybe tomorrow.”

  The word tomorrow brings hope.

  “You aren’t going to hurt me.” I don’t ask him, I tell him.

  “No,” he says as if he’s annoyed by my question. “Let’s go.”

  “Do I get a say in—”

  “No.”

  I get out of the car and for some reason, I believe he won’t kill me, even though the gun is still shoved in his waistband.

  He grabs a key fob out of his pocket and hits the unlock button, his limp intensifying as he makes his way to the passenger door.

  His hand has not left his waistband and I am aware that it’s meant as a threat.

  “Let me drive.” He starts to speak, but I bravely cut him off. “Your leg, Sabato.”

  He tries to read my face, my intentions, looking for any sign of rebellion. “If you don’t do as instructed, I promise you—”

  “I understand.”

  Once in the driver’s seat, I adjust it to my height. It is a beautiful vehicle, brand new and luxurious. I adjust the mirror and fasten my seat belt. I look over at him, waiting.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Your seat belt.”

  “I don’t need it,” he says with displeasure.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s the law.” He starts to interrupt and I raise my voice. “If I am going to be subjected to your demands, could you at least give me the kindness of bending, on just a few little things?”

  “I have a gun and yet you think that you have any—”

  “Please.”

  He looks a bit stunned, but then quickly shakes it off and buckles his safety belt.

  He bends over and plugs some directions into the car’s GPS.

  “You’re to drive straight there. If you waver off course, I will know. If I fall asleep, do not think that gives you an excuse to pull a stunt. I am a very light sleeper. Can I trust that you can follow instruction and do the right thing?”

  “The right thing?” I can’t help making a face.

  “Just do as I say,” he snaps. “You’ll be rewarded. This will all be well worth your time. Just a few more days, and this will all be over.”

  “But, I have class!”

  “Desperate times calls for,” he cringes as he adjusts his leg and continues, “Desperate measures.”

  “That’s unfair,” I whisper.

  “Life isn’t fair, Melyssa,” Sabato says, as he leans his seat back.

  “Can I at least know where we are going?” Following the GPS’s annoyingly calm voice, I pull out and turn left.

  “All in due time,” he says. “Just get us the hell out of this city.”

  *.*.*

  It has been totally silent for two hours.

  Sabato is asleep and I am driving down US highway 1. I look over frequently, almost staring at him. He is even more beautiful when he sleeps, I’ve decided. He looks younger, more innocent, and sweeter. But no less mind-blowingly alluring.

  His eyelashes are thick, long and dark. All those words can be used to describe every part of his body. His skin is tanned, he is tall and his body has more ripples and waves than the Atlantic Ocean on a stormy night. A stormy night.... I find myself thinking about that night, long ago.

  “Watch the road,” he says, not even opening his eyes.

  “I am,” I use a defensive tone, one I probably used a time or twenty with my parents when they asked if I was doing homework while I was messing around with my smart phone. Not the tone one should take to a man with a loaded weapon.

  Then out of—hell, I don’t know where—I reach over and to
uch his forehead. He flinches and tenses up. Stone cold.

  I quickly take my hand away. “No fever.”

  “That broke yesterday.” He groans as he sits up.

  “Will you tell me where we are going?”

  “Are you tired?”

  “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted. I feel restless, like a little kid on Christmas Eve. Except, you aren’t Santa Claus and I’m pretty sure this doesn’t end in hot chocolate and presents.”

  “We’ll pull over around four in the morning, when no one is around.”

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Pull over now, then.”

  “And do what? Pee in a ditch?” I half laugh.

  “Right.” Sabato runs his hand through his hair, looking irritated. “All right then, find a rest stop. Actually no, I like the ditch idea better.”

  I huff angrily. “I’ll just wait.”

  “You’re going to hold it for five hours?”

  I shrug. “I’m also thirsty.”

  “What plans have you conjured up?”

  “I have been driving. I haven’t had time to devise an evil plan, Sabato.”

  His eyes meet mine in challenge, but I hold.

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  He lets out a malicious laugh, one I suppose is to intimidate me. So I laugh, too. Then we both fall silent.

  After another twenty minutes, he points to a sign.

  “Two miles. Little café with bathroom facilities. Melyssa, I am telling you. Do not fuck this up. This is not a game, this is my life.”

  “So, did you kill him?”

  There is no break or regret in his voice when he answers.

  “Yes.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that. About two miles later, I spot the diner—or café as he called it—and my skin immediately crawls as I pull in. I hate public restrooms.

  “If I get an STD, it’s your fault.” I quickly unbuckle my seat belt, jump out and run towards the restaurant.

  I reach into the back seat and grab my gym bag. Inside is a pair of drawstring pants. I kick off my boots, preparing to change.

  My fucking leg is throbbing and I am stuck inside this little vehicle trying to change my clothes because I honestly don’t know if she is in there calling the police. I need to hurry and be ready for anything.