Dirty

by Ella Miles

  I don’t turn around or glance behind me to see if I’m right. I keep moving, running fast.

  I haven’t been to the garage. I don’t know if Matteo keeps the keys in the cars or nearby. I don’t even know how many cars he has in the garage, or if there are any left, but it’s my only hope.

  I turn down another hallway and see the door at the end that I think leads to the garage.

  I can make it.

  My feet carry me faster as I fly down the hallway. I grab the door, hurl it open, and flip the light on.

  I pause for a single breath when I see more than a dozen cars in the expansive garage. I’m clueless when it comes to cars. I don’t know how expensive they all are or how fast they go. I run to the nearest one and fling the door open, begging for the keys to be inside.

  Please, please, please.

  The car doesn’t have a spot to slide the key in. Instead, it has a button you use to start the car. I have no clue where to search to see if there is a key somewhere in the car or not.

  I push the button and exhale deeply when the engine roars to life.

  I press the clicker at the roof the car, and the garage door opens.

  I step on the gas and speed out of the garage, clipping the side mirror of a black car parked near the exit.

  I remember the long driveway that leads off the property and I know I’m not anywhere near safety yet, but getting the car makes me feel unstoppable. There is nothing Armas can do at this point to stop me.

  The driveway curves and I see Armas. He’s standing in the middle of the driveway, his red sports car sits behind him parked sideways across the gravel. Hundred-year-old oak trees line both sides of the road.

  He’s blocking my exit. There is no way out, except to run him over.

  I smirk.

  I don’t have a problem killing him if it means my freedom. I’ll hit him with my car first. Then I’ll take his car if that is what I need to do to get out of here.

  I step firmly on the gas making my intentions known. Armas can move or get killed.

  He turns to his car, opens the back door, and grabs a woman by the arm, jerking her out. He holds her by the arm next to him in front of his car.

  I squint trying to get a better look at the woman and realizing it’s one of the cooks. She made me breakfast most days. She probably has a family; people that love and depend on her.

  Shit.

  I keep my foot on the gas, hoping if I play chicken with him long enough he’ll move her out of my path. As my car inches closer, I know in my heart, he won’t. I’ll have to run them over and kill them both if I want a shot at getting free.

  Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. I hit the steering wheel trying to figure out what I should do.

  I swerve the car just before I hit them, stomping on the brake. The car doesn’t stop. I was going too fast.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see the tree the car is about to crash into.

  My body slams forward, the airbag deploys and launches my body backward, and the air is knocked out of me for the second time since Matteo entered my life. I’ve never been in a car accident before, and it makes me never want to ride in a car ever again.

  All I feel is pain as the airbag slowly deflates. Pain in my head, my stomach, my leg. I should get out of the car and start running, but I can’t. I can’t move, the pain is intense.

  Instead, I have to wait for Armas to come to me. I try to think of what my next plan is and how I can cause the most damage. But at the moment, I’m out of ideas. The self-defense classes I took never covered how to defend yourself against someone when you’ve spent your night drugged and were in a car accident where you couldn’t physically move.

  I hear twigs breaking and leaves crunching, his presence looming nearer and nearer.

  I close my eyes, pretending I’m anywhere but here. I’m back in my office going over a new case. Or I’m in the courtroom after winning a verdict.

  I can’t.

  I hear the door pop open, and I’m brought right back to reality.

  “Good thing I like my women feisty.”

  I gradually turn my head to him, and give him my worst death stare. “Go to hell.”

  He grins. “I think I’ll fuck you first.”

  He pushes the airbag down and reaches over me and undoes my seatbelt. He grabs my arms and starts yanking me out of the car.

  I cry out.

  “My. Leg. Is. Stuck.” Each word comes out with a cry of pain. Like somehow talking is making the torment in my leg worse.

  “Stop being dramatic and get out of the fucking car,” Armas says.

  “I can’t,” I cry again, trying to wrench my leg loose. I glance down and realize the front of the car has smashed in and trapped my leg. There is no way I’m going to be able to get it out, not without damaging my leg or something that can cut the metal.

  He grabs me by both shoulders and begins tugging me violently, trying to get me out of the car.

  I cry out again. “Stop! My leg is stuck, you idiot!”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” He pulls forcefully, and my skin scrapes across the jagged metal as he heaves me loose.

  We topple to the ground.

  I don’t wait for the agony to stop or to catch my breath. I get up and try to run. My left leg works fine, but my right leg is useless. I collapse to the ground after only a few strides.

  I’ve never broken a bone before, and I never want to again. The pain is fire, burning throughout my entire body. It overwhelms me. I can’t budge it. I can’t think. I can scarcely exist.

  I stare down at my useless limb. I have a huge gash on the top of my shin where blood is spilling out. Not fast enough I’m worried about dying, but enough to warrant going to a hospital to have it cleaned and stitched up. The laceration looks awful, but the damage is much deeper in my leg. My leg is red and swollen. Broken, possibly in multiple places.

  My eyes drift up, and Armas is standing over me. His eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen, his lips curled up into an evil grin, and his face hot with desire.

  My arms start moving as I attempt to crawl away. It’s a useless endeavor, but I can’t lie here and let him take me.

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  I ignore him and continue crawling away, despite every movement feeling like I’m getting thrown on a fire and then stabbed repeatedly. Who knew breaking a bone burned from the inside out?

  My head is jerked back as he grabs my hair.

  I scream.

  A tear trickles out of my eye, overcoming my effort of doing my damndest to keep in. I hate crying in front of these monsters, but crying is the least of my worries.

  He starts dragging me across the rough, gravel road. I strive to grab him to right myself and soften the aching.

  I can’t move fast enough.

  Every pebble, every rock, every stick. I feel it all. And each one is like a knife being thrust into the most sensitive parts of my body.

  If Matteo were here, I would be pleading with him to jab me with his needle and give me the drugs to knock me out and make this go away. I would rather give up control than be in this torment for one more second.

  He pauses when we get to his car. I glance around for the women whose life I saved when I swerved and hit the tree instead of her. She should be here thanking me or on the phone with the police helping to rescue me, but she is doing neither. She’s loyal to Matteo, like everyone else here is.

  My heart turns dark. I should have run her over. I should have saved myself.

  No.

  I can’t let them win. I can’t become as evil as Matteo and Armas are. I will find another way to save myself.

  He opens the back door, and tugs savagely on my hair forcing me up onto my healthy leg while my mangled leg dangles uselessly.

  “I can’t wait to get you back to my place.”

  The car ride to his house is long.

  Either because he lives far away from Matteo’s mansion or because I’m in writhing p
ain. But as long as it is, I wish that the car ride would never end. Because I know what is coming when the car finally stops and as much suffering as I’m in now, it will be nothing compared to the torture I will be left with when he rapes me.

  I can come back from a broken leg, but I’ve prosecuted too many rapists. I’ve met with their victims. Once brutality like that happens to you, you’re never the same. For some, it makes some of them stronger. Others debilitated and timid. Either way, it always makes them afraid. Fearing other people. Scared of the violence. Terrified of life.

  I don’t want to live life afraid of getting raped again. I’ve spent the entire trip trying to come up with a plan. Some way to escape. I’ve tried finding a way to fix my leg so that I could run, but that would be impossible even with the best of equipment. I need a doctor.

  I’m surprised that Armas was okay with me bleeding all over his fancy leather seats. I guess he feels kidnapping me so that he can rape me makes it worth it.

  I’ve tried thinking back to all my training about how to defend myself against an assaulter, but even if I’m able to do some damage to him, all my instruction was around the fact that I could temporarily injure my assailant while I ran away to get help.

  I can’t run.

  And there is no help coming.

  Armas may not be as rich as Matteo, but judging by the mansion buried deep in the woods that the car stopped in front of, Armas has plenty of money. Money buys loyalty and silence.

  No one is going to help me.

  Armas steps out of the car and slings my door open. I kick with my uninjured leg, trying to fend him off. Adrenaline takes over and helps with the pain.

  He seizes my leg, and I fight in his grasp. He yanks my leg, and I’m pulled out of the car. I crash to the ground, not registering much of the new pain. My head hits the door, which should add a headache to the list, but a headache doesn’t even register on my pain scale.

  “You are just what I need.”

  He smirks.

  Bile rises in my throat as he undresses me with his eyes. He’s sick.

  I won’t let him win.

  I narrow in on his crotch and kick with all my might. I hit my target, but it’s not enough.

  He laughs, a high-pitched annoying sound. He takes a step back as he snaps his fingers.

  My eyes search around him, to see who he summoned with the snap of his fingers. A butler? His dogs? I could handle either.

  Two men, in dark suits, start running toward us.

  Damn it. I can now spot a guard anywhere. Even well dressed guards.

  Both men cower by their master’s side. He glances down at me, and they both automatically reach down and clutch my arms. I try unsuccessfully to get them off for only a second before they stand me up. I balance on my good leg while I glare at Armas.

  “I thought you only dealt with legal things? What would you need men like this for if you were on the straight and narrow? They are experienced in handling women if all they needed was a look to grab me.”

  Armas steps forward, standing inches from me, now that he has his men to hold me back and I can’t do anything to harm him.

  “I said my business was lawful; I never said that I wasn’t a monster.”

  “You’re a coward. You won’t even face me alone. I’ve got a busted leg, and you still couldn’t take me alone.”

  My stomach churns looking at his devilish grin.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have you alone soon.” He glances at the man on my right. “Take her to my bedroom and make sure she’s secured with handcuffs.”

  The man’s eyes widen as he stares down at my leg. “I’ll confine her, but I don’t think it’s necessary. She’s not going anywhere.”

  Armas glares at the man, who is going to be punished later for daring to speak out against him. “You need to use the thick handcuffs. She’s not as broken as she looks. She will do everything she can to escape, even when there is no hope left.”

  The man nods and both men start pulling me into the house while I hop on one leg, attempting to keep up instead of getting dragged again.

  They pull me inside the house, and I’m overtaken by the smell of sweet flowers. The whole house has vases of fresh flowers everywhere, sitting on almost every hard surface.

  A woman lives here. There is no way that Armas would think to have flowers in his house if he lived alone. A tiny glimmer of hope flickers in my heart. If I can find the woman and convince her to help me, then I might have a chance.

  I glance at the man that thought it was pointless to tie me up.

  “Does Armas live here by himself?”

  “Yes.”

  I frown, not sure if I believe him.

  “Ow,” I moan. My injured leg hits the bottom step as they start leading me up the stairs.

  The men pause, giving me a moment to catch up with them. I do my best to lift my wounded leg up.

  “It seems like such a big house for him to live here all alone. And I’ve never heard of a man that has so many flowers.”

  The man chuckles. “Trust me. He lives alone except for the staff. The flowers were supposed to be for Gia, but —”

  The man stops when the man to my left clears his throat and gives him a look.

  I sigh.

  The men start moving quickly again, and I struggle to keep up. My leg hits more stairs than I can tolerate and when we reach the top, I collapse in their arms.

  They don’t let me rest though. It’s like a flip has been switched and gone are the men that didn’t want to bring me additional pain.

  I have no energy left. Nothing left in me to fight with.

  I let them drag me, despite the stabbing pain, down the hallway, and into a bedroom.

  I can make out the bedroom from behind the dark spots that have formed in my field of vision. There is a bed and some other furniture, but I can’t make out what color the items are or any details.

  My heart palpates so loudly in my chest that I’m sure both men holding onto me can hear it and feel it. My body trembles in their arms. I blink rapidly trying to clear my head. I’m desperate to figure out a plan to get out of here.

  But no matter how many times I blink, my eyes don’t uncloud, my head doesn’t focus, and the pain doesn’t leave my body.

  The men start dragging me toward the bed, and I dig the heel of my healthy leg into the ground, trying to stall them until I can come up with a plan. Once I’m tied to the bed, I will have no hope of escaping.

  The men exchange glances and pick me up off the floor entirely.

  I thrash in their arms determined to escape. They hold my arms and legs tightly, making it almost impossible to kick free. I move my head over to bite them on the arm, but I’m too slow. One of the men grips my head and holds it still.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t do anything to prevent this from happening.

  “Please, you don’t want to do this,” I beg. I can’t use my body, but maybe I can remind them that they have a soul. That they don’t want to work for a devil like Armas.

  One man laughs.

  “You think we care?”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Yes, I know you do. I’ve been held captive for weeks now. I know when a man has a heart or not. You both do. Help me escape. Find the kindheartedness inside you. I’ll give you whatever you want if you do.”

  The second man snickers.

  “We don’t need your help. We get paid handsomely for the work that we do. Mr. Espocito is a fair employer, better than Mr. Carini. He doesn’t ask us to risk our lives as Mr. Carini does. We deal with wine shipments and security. Occasionally, he asks more of us. Things you might call evil and wrong. But it’s not wrong. We’ve learned that bitches like you always deserve what is coming to you.”

  My eyes widen at the smug expression on his face. How could I think he had a heart? No man in Italy has a soul. No one can save me. All these men want is money. They will do anything their masters command of them for it
.

  They carry me to the bed and toss me down, not caring that I scream when they do. A sharpness shoots from my leg up to my spine as the soft bed hits it, but it feels like a sharp knife instead.

  My head is light, and the room spins around, making it impossible for me to fight, as they start holding down my arms and legs. I feel the familiar cold of handcuffs going around my wrists, as my arms are jerked above my head and attached to something. I don’t even bother testing the strength of the metal cuffs. If they had used floss to tie my arms up, I still wouldn’t be able to break through. I’m that weak.

  Metal goes on my left leg, and my right leg is spread wide, but I don’t feel the cold I’m expecting.

  I stare down at the man looking at my broken leg. He’s hesitating to put the last cuff on. He knows it’s useless, but his boss commanded it, so after a few seconds of hesitation, he puts it on and attaches my leg to the bed.

  I grimace as my broken leg is pulled tight like every other one of my extremities.

  The men leave without a word. I close my eyes as I hear the door slam shut.

  Sleep. I’ve never wanted to sleep so much in my life. My body needs rest to attempt to start healing. Maybe if I fall asleep, I’ll sleep through the whole thing and have no memory of the rape.

  Rape.

  The thought of the word causes my stomach to flip in my body. I’m sick. This can’t be happening.

  I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. My body won’t relax. It’s on heightened alert. Blood races through my body as my heart pumps way too fast. Nerves fire off, alerting every inch of my body to stay awake and ready. Alerting me that something dangerous is about to happen.

  The door opens, and Armas appears in the doorway.

  I narrow my eyes at him, as he walks to the edge of the bed. I will not let him see my fear or pain. I may not have a chance of escaping, but I’m going to leave with as much of me intact as possible.

  His hand runs over my wound, and I do everything I can to not flinch, but my leg twitches involuntarily trying to escape the discomfort.

  He smirks. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

  My lips tighten. I won’t answer him.

  He shakes his head, as his hand trails up my injured leg over my sex and across my stomach to my breast. He squeezes it tightly, attempting to invoke another reaction out of me.