Those Boys Are Trouble

by Willow Winters

  “I need you to lie down.” I quickly obey, and fall to my side. My wrists immediately feel the comfort of the position. The heavy weight of the shackles is relieved as my body sags into the seat. The shackles don’t irritate me as much as they used to. I’ve grown used to them. But I still look forward to the relief when I’m given it. I see a movement in my periphery and I almost react. But instead I only tense slightly for the blow I’m sure is coming.

  The soft fabric lays on my body in a gentle wave. I expect it to cover my head, but instead he tucks it under my chin, covering the collar. I close my eyes as it moves against my neck. The collar digs into the cut, but I don’t say anything. I don’t react. I’m not sure if he’s aware, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything that would anger him.

  I won’t put myself in a position to be punished. I don’t know this man, but I’d rather stay obedient than risk his irritation. I tuck up my legs, knowing he’s going to shut the door, but beyond that I make no other movements. After a moment, he stands at the door, watching me. Waiting for something; I don’t know what.

  But after that long moment, he shuts the door and I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And then the driver’s side door opens and the car roars to life. I don’t know where he’s taking me and I don’t ask.

  But I know they’ll be back for me. And I’ll be ready for them.

  I won’t break until I’ve had my revenge.

  I wake up, pinned against a rock hard chest. My eyes pop open and my breathing stalls. But I don’t move. I stay still and pretend to be asleep. I can hear his steady heartbeat and his shoes crunching on gravel. I inhale his scent and resist the urge to bury myself into his shirt. A masculine woodsy pine fills my lungs. His strong arms are wrapped around my back and under my legs. I peek past him and see nothing but a field. A flat field.

  I rock in his arms as we climb up a step, one and then another, and then a door opens with a creak. We’re on a porch. There’s even a porch swing out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. He turns his body and to the left I make out what appear to be endless woods before he carries me into the house.

  “I tried not to wake you.” His deep voice jolts my body slightly. I don’t know how to respond. I’m quick to answer with an apology. Apologies have never stopped the beatings in the past, but I know I have to respond. Being quiet is much, much worse than saying the wrong thing.

  “I’m sorry.” I speak clearly. I know I must. When I started to pretend, when I decided submitting was the best way to survive until I had the opportunity to escape, I learned that whispers and mumbles are often accompanied by blows to the face. I’d like to avoid that as best as I can. If I can. I’m still not sure which type this man is.

  He sets me down on the sofa and I’m not certain if I should lie down or sit. When I switch owners it’s the worst in the beginning. Their expectations always change. He walks across the foyer and hallway to an open living room. It adjoins a large kitchen and dining room. Modern and clean. This place is dark. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. I settle down on my side, facing the room.

  I want to ask if this is his home. But that would be stupid of me. I know better. I won’t be foolish like I used to be. Instead I lie still and simply wait for instructions.

  “Stay there,” he says, as he turns his back and leaves the room. My heart beats wildly in my chest. It’s horrible when they leave. It terrifies me. They always seem to come back with more anger and ammunition. The faces of my previous owners flash before my eyes. I’ll never forget them. If I can, I’ll kill each one of them.

  But his face is the one that persists in my mind. The leader. The one who made sure that my father saw everything. He will die a slow death. The memory is vivid. I can still see the way my father looked as they came from behind me. It must have been hours before they finally beat him to death. I’d hoped they were going to kill me after. But that wasn’t enough for him.

  Tears don’t even threaten to fall from my eyes. I can’t feel them. My eyes almost feel itchy with dryness at this point. Crying is pointless and only gets me beaten. The more I cry, the harder the blows. So I hide the sadness; I hide every emotion, because it’s safer that way.

  It was one thing to be beaten, raped, and humiliated in front of my father and then have to watch as they murdered him. The image of his throat being slit is still clear in my mind. It was one thing to have that happen just before my death. I was waiting for it. Praying for it. It was another thing entirely to live through that nightmare and then be taken by my father’s enemy. Someone who wants to make sure I suffer.

  I’ll make sure he suffers as well.

  My eyes dart to the hallway Kane left through. I’m not chained to the ground. I’m not tied to anything, or locked away. I can see the front door. I could run. I bet I could even get the door partially opened before he gets back to me. The old me would’ve taken the risk. The old me would’ve ended up scarred and bruised. Now, I’m a good girl. I’ll wait.

  Why am I a good girl? Because it may be a test. I’ve failed so many times before. I won’t fail. I won’t disappoint him. At least not in this way.

  Even if it’s not a test, if I leave now, I may never find him again. And I can’t let that happen. I won’t run. I’ll simply wait. My chance will come. I only need one chance.

  I hear Kane's heavy steps coming down the hallway and I focus my eyes forward. I would school my expression to be impassive, but it’s already set. I haven’t dared to show emotion in so long. I don’t know how long it's been actually. Now that I think of it, it’s a strange feeling to realize I have no idea how much time has passed. I spent a very long time in a basement and then even longer in his bedroom. Learning proper technique.

  I can tell Kane’s entered the room, but I force my eyes to stay straight ahead and my body to be still. It’s only when he comes closer that I want to move away. Only when I see the pliers in his hands do I want to run, hide, or show fear. But I resist. I can’t do that.

  I can only imagine what he’s going to do with the pliers. I remember their threats, to cut me up and ship parts of me one by one to different family members. But I thought they were all dead. I know some are. They showed me pictures. Or simply took me with them as they hunted them down. Maybe this is just for enjoyment though? My eyes want to close, but I force them open. I know if I try to hide, he’ll force me to look. I can practically feel him fisting my hair and shaking me until my eyes are wide open. It’s happened before. I’ve learned.

  I wait for orders as he stands above me. The large pliers are in his right hand; his muscles corded. His left hand reaches down and he firmly lifts my hands up to the pliers. They’re bound by a shackle. It's the same type as the one on my neck. The leash has always been on the collar though, so there’s not much bruising on my wrists. I want to close my eyes as he opens the pliers, but I don’t.

  I stare straight ahead and expect the cold metal to clip around my finger. That would make sense. Maybe I still have family alive. Maybe I’ve angered Felipe more than I thought and this is the price to pay. I thought I was more valuable whole, though. That’s an argument I’ve heard before, when they wanted to leave more marks. But they weren’t allowed to do anything permanent.

  Perhaps after all this time I no longer hold that value. I hear the snap of the pliers and feel my right arm fall. Snap! The metal clicks again and then my left arm falls as well. The muscles in my arm scream. It’s been so long since they’ve had the freedom to move at this angle.

  I steady my breathing and try to make sense of what’s happening. I wish I could ask, but I can’t.

  “Hold still,” he says, as he moves the pliers to my neck. I don’t want to, but my eyes close. I try to resist, but I pray he’s only cutting the lock on the collar. My heart hammers in my chest, and when I hear the loud snap and feel the metal give from around my throat, I can’t help the emotions that wash over me. I hear the chains clinking and open my eyes. I watch his back as he lea
ves the room and walks into the kitchen. I shouldn’t, though. I know better. As he drops the chains into the trash and turns, my eyes snap forward. I stare straight ahead and resist the desire to put my hands to my throat. He walks back to me and stands over my body.

  I wish I knew what he wanted. I wish I knew how to react.

  His hand slowly lowers to my neck and he squats down in front of me. His finger brushes along a cut on the side of my throat. I try not to, but I wince from the pain. I know better! I shouldn’t have winced. I knew the pain was coming. I school my expression and wait. He lays his hand on my shoulder and lets his eyes travel down my body. I wish I could hide. I used to be beautiful. Now I’m thin and bones poke through where they shouldn’t. I’m scarred, although they did try to keep the whips on skin that’s normally hidden by clothing. Most of the bruises have faded and not many are new.

  He stands up slowly and continues to watch me. “I want you to look at me.” At his command, my eyes reach his. My heart stops and for a moment, the world tilts on its side.

  Kane De Rocca. I heard his name earlier. I make sure to listen. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. And I know that’s this man’s name. Kane. He’s stunning. His jaw is stubbled and hard against the sharp lines of his high cheekbones. His shoulders are broad and his chiseled chest pulls the crisp, white dress shirt he’s wearing taut against his body. His dark eyes stare into mine with such passion and emotion that I feel a pull to look away.

  But he commanded me to look at him. And I’m a good girl. I will obey him. For now.

  I wish I knew what the look in his eyes means. But I don’t.

  “What’s your last name, Ava?” he asks.

  I’m quick to respond, “Ivanov.” I will never forget. That name is why I’m here. Why all of this has happened to me. I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t want it.

  “I see. You’re Alec’s daughter?” he asks. Hearing my father’s name causes a stir of emotions in the pit of my stomach. I’ve heard his name before, over and over. Accompanied by hateful slurs, or laughter and cheers of his death. But not like this. Hearing his name spoken calmly. With respect. That’s something I haven’t heard in a long time.

  “Yes,” I answer, still holding his gaze.

  “Ava Ivanov,” he says, with reverence in his tone. He repeats it in a murmur I almost don’t hear.

  “Come, Ava,” he says, and turns his back to me. I stand quickly to obey.

  As I watch him move with dominance and power through the hallway, I feel a stir of emotions I haven’t felt in some time. I feel hope.

  I know I shouldn’t, though. Hope will destroy me.

  Kane

  I don’t know shit about this house. I fucking hate this. Vince sent me here. This is where I can stay on his territory. I feel like this is a fucking trap. Like this place is wired and they’re watching me. I know a safe house when I see one. And this is definitely the Valetti safe house. I looked for bugs when I got here, but I couldn’t find shit.

  Ava was passed out, but I still didn’t want to leave her alone for too long though. If I lost her… fuck. That’d be bad. Who the hell am I kidding? This is all fucked. I’m not a member of Petrov’s crew. I don’t belong on Valetti soil, and I know I’m not fucking wanted here. Even worse, this job is a fucking nightmare. I don’t want to do this shit. I can’t stand the fact that this is what I’ll be doing.

  Anxiety races through my blood. I don’t like this insecurity. I never should’ve gotten myself into this shit.

  Fuck it. It’s not going to happen. I’m not doing it. I’ll hold on to her until they come back. But I’m not doing this shit. It’s not what I did for my famila. This is fucked up and wrong.

  The thoughts fly through my head, but I know better.

  If I tell Petrov no, I’m a dead man.

  I need to figure something out. The Valettis didn’t look so keen on doing business. Not this kind of business, anyway. Maybe I can get in with them. My gut churns. Would they take in the nephew of a rat? I can hear it now. The disrespect. The dismissal. No one takes in the last member of a tainted name. I’m on my own and that means I’m at the mercy of these fucks.

  I climb the stairs and listen for her footsteps. For Ava Ivanov’s footsteps. She was practically royalty. Untouchable. And now she’s in chains and being sold as a slave. Passed around. She’s so fucking scared. I know she’s trying not to show it. She’s doing everything she can to obey and disappear into the background. I can sense it though, deep down.

  She’s terrified.

  There are so many scars on her body. Multiple small scratches over her hip and her shoulders. There are bruises of all different colors on her thighs and arms. A silvery bite mark on her shoulder. The sight of it infuriates me. Worse is the large cut on the nape of her neck. The metal dug in and rubbed her skin raw. It has to have been like that for a while to look so fucking bad.

  I need to stay calm and think of this as just another job until I can get through it.

  I stop at the top of the stairs. I look to the left and there’s a small hallway with a large door at the end. To the right is a hallway with more doors. The left has the largest room, so we’ll stay there.

  I don’t care what they say about the chains being gone. I know they’re going to be pissed about it. I don’t give a fuck though. I’m not doing that shit. She’s in my care, so she’s mine for now. I’ll do what I want with her. A shudder runs through my body and I’m sickened by the thought that ran through my mind. She’s gorgeous, but it’s wrong to imagine her as mine.

  I open the door and walk into a fairly barren room with a decently sized bed and a dresser. The closet doors are open and the closets are empty. The room is light and airy, with a soft pale blue paint on the walls and a grey bedspread. There are black and white abstract paintings scattered around the walls of the room. It’s not too bad for a safe house. There’s a door to the right and I’d guess that’s the bathroom. Good. She’ll have everything she needs in here.

  I start thinking about how I have to go and get supplies, and then I curse under my breath. I’ve got nothing to make sure she stays put. I just cut off the chains and it’s not like I have anything on me to make sure she stays here. If I was her I’d take off the second I could. And if she does that, I’m fucked.

  Fuck! How did I already mess this shit up? I sigh heavily and walk farther into the room. There’s gotta be something in here. Maybe I can use the closet. I can put something in front of the door. My heart sinks in my chest. I don’t want to do that. That’s so fucking shitty. But I have to make sure she doesn’t leave.

  I don’t know how to do this shit. I turn around and run a hand down my face as I shut my eyes briefly in exasperation. “Ava?”

  “Yes?” she answers quickly. When I open my eyes, her light blues stare back at me. Thank fuck. I couldn’t stand her looking at nothing, avoiding my gaze and looking as though she’s trying to fade from existence. I’m glad she listened.

  “How does this normally work for you?” I ask, and cross my arms across my chest. I don’t really give a shit that I’m asking her. I’m sure as hell not calling up one of those sick fucks and asking them. I know a bit about this. I’m not proud to know, but I do. I can be her caretaker for a few days. I can do that. But I’m not fucking training women. Breaking them into submission. That shit’s not for me. I don’t want any part of that. But for now, I have to deal with Ava.

  I’m not giving her the upper hand and giving her an option to take off. I can’t let that shit happen. I can’t piss off Petrov by losing her, even if I fucking hate what he’s doing. I’ll figure this shit out. If worse comes to worst, there’s the option of the closet.

  Her mouth opens, but then closes quickly. Her eyes dart to the floor and then back to my face. Her fingers wrap around each other nervously. “I’m not sure how to answer,” she says in a calm voice that doesn’t match the anxiety she’s showing at all. Fear and apprehension wash off of her in waves.

  I don’t like
it. I fucking hate how hurt she is. “How about we take a seat?” I cock a brow at her and walk forward. I keep my movements slow. I half expect her to take a step back, to flinch. But she doesn’t move. She lets me place my hand on the small of her back and guide her to the bed.

  I pat the comforter with my right hand. “Hop on up.” I sit my ass down and the bed dips with my weight as she climbs on and settles herself. Her shoulders turn inward, but she looks back at me expectantly, waiting for another order.

  Jesus. I hate this shit. I know they trained her to behave like this. But I can’t handle this shit.

  I’m staying far away from her. I can’t get attached. Can’t lose her, either. I’ll do what I have to so I can survive this, and then I’m cutting my ties. This shit isn’t for me.

  “I need to head out and grab some things. I want you to stay here.”

  “I understand,” she answers immediately. Like it’s that fucking easy.

  “I’m thinking I should tie you up or put you in a room.” I don’t say it like a question, but that’s exactly what it is.

  She nods her head slightly. “I understand,” she repeats. I take a deep breath.

  “Which would you prefer?” I ask. I guess that’s the least I can do.

  Her hand wraps around her wrist and a sad look crosses her face. “I would rather be locked in a room.”

  “It’ll have to be the closet.” Her face falls at my words. I’d put her ass in the bathroom, but I can only imagine the trouble she’d get herself into. I could see her shattering the mirror and trying to stab me with a shard of glass. I’ve seen a lot of shit over the years. I’m keeping her ass away from anything that could be used as a weapon. And that means it’ll be the closet.

  “I think I’d rather be tied up, if you’d allow it,” she responds. She swallows thickly and adds, “Please, sir.”