by Sophia Gray
I swallowed, my eyes darting around him in hopes of finding a way out.
The door remained open behind him, but I saw the guards and Santos was blocking that means of exit anyway, so I knew there was no chance of getting out, but hope springs eternal and I just couldn’t help wishing it.
When he began to unbutton his shirt, panic really began to set in. I had figured out by now just what his plans were and they had my stomach roiling in protest, bile trying to climb its way up my throat. I needed to get around Santos and out that door, but if I did, the guards would stop me and then drag me back. Maybe they’d even hold me down for him.
I shuddered. Santos saw and it made his grin widen.
He shrugged his shirt off, exposing a chest that was muscular and covered in tattoos, but somehow not as pretty as Nester’s. Maybe it was because I knew Nester, knew that inside he was a good man no matter how disgusted with me he was or how angry. In the end, Nester did the right thing because it was the right thing, not because I deserved it.
That idea seemed at odds with his lifestyle, but people just didn’t understand Nester. He had boundaries and rules that he both followed and insisted his men follow, too. Rules like no prostitution.
I shuddered again as I watched Santos.
His hands went to his belt and I let out a whimper as I saw him undo it.
“Don’t worry, my little slut,” he said to me, licking his lips. “I’m coming. Are you ready for me, whore? Are you ready to give me what’s rightfully mine?”
I trembled with fear and disgust and was shaking my head in earnest now. I felt the tears burn and sting my eyes, doing my best to fight them back and failing miserably. “Please, don’t do this. Please, Santos—”
“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” he snapped at me angrily, coming closer. “Don’t act like you don’t want to spread your legs and let a long, hard dick slide into you, because I know that you do. All that time you were feeding me bullshit excuses—I want to wait, Santos; I want this to be right, Santos; not until we’re married, Santos. Did you let all of the Berserkers fuck you like a good little whore? Were you their little mascot, your pussy dripping and quivering? Or was it just Nester who got to fill your hole up? Or maybe you had them all at once, eh? Did you like having all your holes filled at the same time, you filthy, nasty bitch?”
The tears fell and I knew that it was now or never. If I didn’t make a break for it now, I’d never get another chance. Right now, Santos was berating me, doing his absolute best to get under my skin. His words hurt, but they weren’t true. I had only been with two men in my life and Nester was the only one I’d been with since I met him. Santos could call me what he wanted and say that I did whatever he wanted, but it didn’t make any of it true. And I wouldn’t let it be true if I could help it. But that meant I had to go now, because I knew that soon he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
I braced myself, then I ran. I tried to dive around Santos, and got halfway to the door, but no one was going to let it be that easy. One of the guards came in through the open door, effectively blocking it, though he needn’t have done so. Santos had grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back already.
I cried out as he threw me to the bed. I landed heavily on it, grateful for its softness one second and feeling terrified of it the next. Now that I was here, there was no way Santos was going to let me up from it, not until he’d had his fun with me. My stomach twisted into terrified knots as I grew sick with the thought.
I tried to scramble off of the bed, desperate to get away, but Santos was already on top of me, pushing me back into it. He straddled me, a knee on either side of my hips, and his hands were holding my wrists in a vicelike grip. I struggled, but it was no use. I wasn’t strong enough to get Santos off of me and gravity was on his side to begin with.
The guard who still lingered in the door asked, “You want me to hold her for you, boss?”
I felt sick at the calm, only half interested tone of his voice. Like this was fine. Like he didn’t care that his boss was about to rape some poor, helpless woman. It didn’t matter if he knew me or not, surely he could find it in his cold heart to at least feel a little bad about that.
But he didn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Not yet,” Santos answered him, anger finally showing through in his face, in the glinting of his eyes. “But maybe after I’ve had my fun with her, I’ll let you have a turn, too. Whores like getting pumped, don’t they? I’m sure she’ll enjoy having you—and every other member of Wicked Titans—fuck her until she’s begging me to kill her. Maybe when Nester gets here, I’ll let him watch, too. He’ll probably fucking like it.”
By this point the tears were actually falling, blurring my vision—a soft, horrid mercy. I tried to buck Santos off of me, desperate and terrified, but it was no use. I glanced past his shoulder, my tears making it difficult to see much, but I could make out the outline of the guard. And worse still, I could see well enough to just make out the curve of his mouth in a sick, disgusting smile.
He was enjoying this—they all would. There was no help for me, and even if Nester did come to help me, he would be disgusted by the used, destroyed ragdoll he found in my place.
I prayed for the first time that Santos would simply kill me. It would be better than this.
Santos backhanded me suddenly and I let out a cry. “Bitch! Look at me!” Using only one hand, he pinned my hands above my head. With his now free hand, he began grabbing at my clothes, tearing at them. The buttons of my shirt popped off, sending them flying across the room. I didn’t have a bra beneath, having lost it somewhere during my tryst with Nester, and now my breasts were bare before Santos’s malicious, hungry gaze.
I wanted to cover them up, was desperate to, but couldn’t do a damn thing as his hand grabbed at my breast roughly, tugging and pinching and squeezing without any care for what I felt.
I continued to cry and beg, struggling even though there was little I could do.
When his hand left my chest to undo his pants and pull out his hard length, I cried harder. “Please, Santos,” I said, not caring how pathetic I sounded anymore.
“Shut up, slut, or I’ll fill up your mouth with something long and thick to keep you quiet,” he threated, beginning to rub himself so that he was longer still. I looked away, horror seeping into my being as I continued to struggle. “Did you suck him, too? I’ll bet you did, you filthy whore. I’ll bet you sucked him off, maybe let him spray across that pretty little face of yours. I’ll bet you let him put it wherever he wanted. Well, don’t worry; I’ll show you the same courtesy.”
When he moved, his cock hard now, bringing it closer to me, I did the only thing I had left to do. I screamed.
Chapter Sixteen
Nester
I knew where Santos lived because I had kept tabs on him back when we were trying to be something like friends and were quickly turning into enemies. When he moved—around the same time he started to bring in a lot of money from his illegal activities, not unlike myself—I made a point of finding out where.
There was no question in my mind that he did the exact same thing with me.
I was in the lead on my motorcycle, followed closely behind by Wildcard, Schumacher, and Bones. The Bobby Boys were coming, too, but they were taking the back way just to make sure no one tried anything stupid—like try to run.
The rest of my guys were in the area at my behest, but I wanted them to still look like they were harassing Santos’s people. Keep most of the distracted, I hoped, but I still wanted my guys close enough to call if things got messy at Santos’s.
Which they probably would.
The neighborhood where Santos lived wasn’t great. It was one of those middle class places that was just a little too poor to actually be middle class and so far away from actual suburbia that it was kind of funny. All the same, the houses were at least interesting because they were older—and rundown for the most part—as opposed to the cookie cutter mons
trosities of true suburbia hell. I knew that Santos picked this area—this neighborhood—specifically because of those qualities. It meant he could have a nice house without paying out the ass, a means of showing his wealth and making him feel like the top dog without having to pull a Scarface and get all the gaudy shit that would be necessary to outdo any truly rich neighbors.
Santos had money, but he didn’t have that kind of money.
My bike whirred and roared as I sped down the road, not caring that I was likely waking up and disturbing everyone in the area. If Santos lived here, they were probably used to it anyway and I wasn’t in the mood to be generous as far as other people’s peace just then.
Santos’s house was at the very end of the road, the side of his house without neighbors was half overgrown, though it had been partially cleared out at one point to make room for the next level of development. It hadn’t gotten that far yet, the land slowly being cleared away, then trading hands before there was any time to do much.
When I pulled into the driveway—my boys came to a stop along the road—I saw that there were five bikes and potentially more in the garage, the door closed so that I couldn’t be sure. It meant that there were more than a few of Santos’s men here and I didn’t have to be told that there were likely more lurking around in the shadows, waiting for Santos to say “jump.” I slung my leg around, dismounting my bike. I motioned for Wildcard, Bones, and Schumacher to follow, the three of them doing so quietly, gravely. Even Wildcard seemed subdued.
I had the file I needed tucked away safely in the waistband of my jeans, my shirt pulled down to cover it. I’d taken several precious minutes to search through the file and make sure I had something, anything to use against Santos in it, praying that I hadn’t wasted what little time I had on a false start.
I hadn’t.
The file was all the details regarding the charity construction—the official documents that would show what they paid, how long it took them, who worked at the site, and so on and so forth—all of which was basically useless. It was drawn up to show that VCI wouldn’t be held accountable, because they’d done everything by the books. Those were the documents provided to lawyers and police and whoever else came sniffing around.
But what was behind that, sealed up with red tape and blacked out ineffectively with black Sharpie, was what I really needed.
And I found it.
Hoping it was enough to scare the fire out of Santos, I marched up to his front door. It felt wrong to do so, like I was stupidly just walking into a lion’s den without half a brain cell to spare, but I reminded myself that I had a meeting and they were expecting me anyway.
I knocked and waited. Schumacher lingered outside near the door as Bones and Wildcard followed me closer.
The door opened to reveal a big, burly man with shoulders almost as wide as the doorway and a shaved head that made his head look too small for the rest of his body, as though shrunken by magic or deformity. It wasn’t an attractive look and I felt like telling him that maybe if he grew it out just a shade, he wouldn’t look like some kind of voodoo shrunken head.
For the sake of civility and my own damn life, I kept my mouth shut as far as that went and said instead, “I’m here to see Santos.”
The man looked me over first, then glanced behind me at Wildcard and Bones. I could guess the sort of steely glares they returned to him, but no one said anything. After a moment, the guy returned his attention to me.
“Yeah, come in. The boss is expecting you.”
He led us inside, showing a house that was large and opulent, but sort of lacking character. It wasn’t a cookie cutter place, but it wasn’t designed with personality in mind either. Instead, it was designed with the idea of making someone look like they had a lot of money. Or proving it, whatever.
The only reason I was looking around at it carefully was because I was searching for Santos—and Zelda. I saw neither.
A cold feeling of dread settled in my stomach. I covered it with anger, directing said anger at the man who met us at the door. “Well?” I demanded, clenching my hands into tight fists at my side. “Where the fuck is he?”
The man glanced over his shoulder at us. His eyes flashed and a sickening smile spread across his lips, making them thin and showing half rotted teeth. It was enough to make me know that something was wrong.
“He’s…busy,” he told me, still grinning like some twisted clown. “But I’m sure he’ll finish in a little while. You can wait for him down here.”
I was about to demand that he go get Santos right then and there when I heard it. A piercing scream tore through the house and I recognized it instantly as belonging to Zelda. Before the man had a chance to react, I was shoving him aside—Wildcard grabbed him somewhere behind me, preventing the man from following me—and running up the stairs towards the sound of her terrified, tortured voice.
There was no telling what Santos was doing to her, torturing her, and how long it had been going on. God, how late was I?
I picked out the room where she had to be right away, because there was a man standing right outside of it. His face was blank, deliberately so, probably in an effort to hide whatever he was really feeling about what was going on inside that room.
He turned just in time to see me coming.
“Hey!” he began, but never got anything else out. My fist slammed hard into the side of his face and blood and spittle left his mouth as he rocked back into the wall. I kicked him hard with my boot then, catching him square in the chin. He slid down then and didn’t move.
By this time, the second guard—I hadn’t seen him at first because he was actually standing slightly inside the room—had noticed me, too. He spun around, reaching for something tucked into the waistband of his leather pants. I punched him hard in the face before he could get it. The guy caught my arm as I tried to hit him again, but I just came around with a left hook and he cursed as he stumbled back, holding his jaw.
After that, I spotted Zelda.
Or more accurately, I spotted Santos on top of Zelda, pinning her to the bed, her chest bare as she cried and he fumbled with his pants to pull out his dick. I saw red. Hot anger washed through me more intense than anything else I had ever felt in my entire life. I moved without even thinking, as though I were just a visitor on the outside of my own body, watching in a detached sort of way as that body reacted to the situation.
I grabbed Santos by his shoulders, yanking him back off of her, taking full advantage of his surprise.
“Run!” I heard myself yell to Zelda as Santos stumbled off the bed. But Zelda didn’t move except to sit up, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her trembling arms around them, covering herself up as she stared at me with wide, wide eyes that were rimmed in wet red.
I would have gone to comfort her, wrapping her up in my arms, carrying her away from all this, but I didn’t have time in that moment. I had Santos to contend with and he had to pay before anything else happened.
My fist landed squarely in his face, and I felt something crack, maybe his nose. There was blood leaking from it, so I felt confident that was what it was. Good. The surprise had worn off of Santos by now and he just looked pissed.
“You fucking cocksucker!” he roared at me, his hand touching tentatively at his nose.
But I didn’t let him say more than that. In fact, I wasn’t going to let him breathe after what I had just seen. Santos was the kind of man who would have walked in on that and thought that Zelda was a whore, that she wanted to be in that bed with him on top of her, but I saw the complete helplessness and fear on her face as she cried and struggled. I’d heard her scream and there was no doubt in my mind that Zelda didn’t want it—and that made me mad.
Mad in a way that I couldn’t control. I wanted to kill something, needed to, but I also needed to protect Zelda and comfort her. The only way to do one was to take care of the other first. Which meant kill Santos, make him pay for what he did to her.
The bastard was
on borrowed time.
Santos had just enough time to zip up his pants—I was disgusted that they were undone and it only made me angrier to think that I really had gotten here just in time. If I’d been even moments later, what would I have walked in on? I shuddered at the thought of how much worse it could have been for Zelda and it was already very, very bad.
I wished she would go, run and get away from here, but a quick glance out of the corner of my eye told me that she was terrified and likely in shock. I would have to get her out of there myself, which meant taking care of Santos as quickly as possible.
Santos came at me then, his hands coated with his own blood which still dripped down from his nose, and raised a hefty fist. He landed it because I was still distracted by Zelda. I staggered back from the force of the blow and bit the inside of my lip, tasting copper. I recovered quickly, however, and when he came back at me, I was ready. I ducked out of the way of his next punch and threw one of my own, landing it on the side of his head instead of his face because he moved away at the last second.