Dirty

by Ella Miles

  3

  Gia

  Mr. Conti.

  That’s the name of the man I put my faith in. I don’t even know his first name. But I risked my only hope of escape on him. I thought he would go to the police. Call my brothers. Figure out who I am and realize the reward my brothers would give him would be more than generous. Instead, I’m pinned in the back of the SUV with Dante and his men.

  I thought I saw kindness in Mr. Conti’s eyes when I stepped out of the SUV. I knew I couldn’t outrun the idiots who drove me. My guards may not have much of a brain between their ears, but they are built. All muscle. I couldn’t outrun them with my hands tied behind my back and my high heeled shoes, so I chose a man; a man with tired, gray eyes and what I thought might be warmth hiding behind those eyes.

  I was wrong.

  Whatever I saw, it wasn’t kindness. Mr. Conti is friends with the devil.

  I made the worst mistake I could. I trusted a stranger because I thought I could sense something more than cold indifference oozing off of him.

  Mr. Conti turned me over to Dante without a second thought. I am nothing to him. Not even a woman, just another way for Mr. Conti to show his loyalties to Dante.

  I swallow down my regret, trying not to think too hard about the gorgeous man sitting back at the quaint coffee shop I’ve been to hundreds of times before. Amante. I love the place. I never realized monsters hung out there.

  Beautiful, handsome, dark beasts. Mr. Conti may be evil, but if I were free, he would have been precisely the type of man I went after. Tall, muscular, wealthy, and hiding a dark past beneath his grimace. When his eyes soaked into me, full of want and desire, I saw the hunger in his eyes. I even let myself feel it for one second. One full second, and then I stopped myself.

  It might have been the last time a man looked at me with a hint of lust where I had a choice in what happened afterward. From now on, if any man looks at me that way, I won’t have a choice to say no. They will take whatever they want from me.

  Mr. Conti was supposed to be my savior. But he won’t help me.

  My brothers don’t have a clue I’m missing. And by the time they figure out I’m gone, it will be too late.

  I have to save myself.

  Dante grabs my chin and forces me to look at him again.

  “Such a beauty.”

  I growl and jerk my head out of his grasp.

  He grabs my chin and pulls me so close to his face I can smell his breath; a disgusting mix of coffee, cigarettes, and rotting flesh.

  I glare at him as I lean away from him.

  “I will enjoy breaking you, whore.”

  “My name is Gia,” I say, although I don’t know if he used my name if I would feel any better. Gia feels more personal. But it’s better than ‘whore.’

  Dante cocks his head to the side and glances up at the man in the passenger seat, perplexed, as if to say, “Can you believe this?”

  “I’ve never had a woman quite like you. Usually, the women I take are in too much shock to say anything, especially nothing that snarky.”

  “That wasn’t snarky. You haven’t seen me be snarky yet.”

  “I don’t doubt that. I will enjoy slowly snuffing the fire out of you as the days pass. Usually, I need a new woman within a week. None of my previous conquests have lasted long, and I’m not into necrophilia. I once had a woman last a month. She had a man she was living for, fighting for. You don’t have a man you are fighting to get back to, do you, whore?”

  I don’t react when he calls me a whore. It’s just a word. I need to prepare myself for much worse.

  “No, I don’t need a man. When I escape, I will be returning with an army to kill every single one of you. But don’t worry, I’ll kill you last, slowly, for payback for everything you do to me.”

  His eyes blaze, and his nostrils steam. I’ve just turned him on.

  Shit.

  “So you have relented I will have my way with you then, whore?”

  “No.”

  He strokes my hair slowly and gently, before grabbing my hair forcefully, jerking my head back as his lips hover over my ear.

  “I will have my way with you, whore. Lucky for you, I don’t have any clients to see this week. So you and I will have an entire week to get to know each other. And you can wish you had a man in your life who might rescue you, or at least to cloud your memories when I fuck you.”

  I suck in a breath. I hate how his hot breath breathes down my neck. My body freezes, hoping he will stop. But I need to fight my urge to stop moving. Not fighting back won’t get me anywhere. I need to fight to get free. Even if it means I might get more injuries until I finally break free.

  Dante jerks me away from his mouth so he can look me in the eyes.

  “I think you are going to be my greatest conquest of all, whore.” Dante turns his attention to his men in the front seat who have largely ignored our conversation. “How long do you think my new whore will survive?”

  “You are the greatest master, sir. You will tame her within the week, and then how long she survives will be up to you.”

  “Two weeks, sir.”

  Dante licks his bottom lip slowly as he turns back to me.

  I squirm back against the door, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

  “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you two months. I think you are stronger than the rest. You have spirit and fight, and you fight all for yourself, not for the love of a man. I admire that, whore. But in the end, it won’t help you. You’re mine now. The sooner you learn to behave, the sooner this will all end.”

  End.

  He means this will only end when I die.

  I may have made some mistakes in choosing my escape, but this will not end with my death. Even if I do die, Arlo and Matteo will never stop until Dante is dead. They will get my revenge. He underestimates the Carini bloodline if he thinks he will survive this.

  I don’t say any of that to him. It won’t help. For now, I need to prepare myself for what’s next. Good thing I’ve had years of practice.

  The car slows, and I stare up with wide eyes at the house which, I assume, will soon become my prison. It’s a large house, almost as big as the Carini mansion, but unlike the warm, ancient, and inviting Carini mansion, this house feels cold and indifferent. The building has high, light-gray brick walls. The front door is a dark wood that looks like it’s meant on a dungeon cell, not the front door of a home. But then again, this isn’t a home; it’s a prison.

  I swallow and feel my heart beating rapidly. Maybe I’ll die of a heart attack before I even get inside. That would be the easy way out. No suffering.

  I’m used to suffering; I remind myself.

  Whatever Dante has planned for me, I can survive. I always survive.

  I don’t realize the men are already out of the car until my door is thrust open, and I almost fall to the concrete ground below.

  A burst of thunder sends a jolt through me, almost as if restarting my heart. I take a deep breath, and I feel stronger than I’ve felt in a long time. My heart rate slows to a much steadier pace.

  I’m a Carini. There is nothing I can’t face.

  I step out of the car as hands clasp around my bicep again. I won’t be forced into the house. I won’t be dragged. I will walk in proudly like I own the place. I’m different than his other whores. And therefore, I have an advantage. I can’t change and start acting scared.

  Raindrops pour down as I walk the few feet to the front door. I feel every drop. I love the rain, but today the rain mirrors my mood. Thunder rolls again, but this time I don’t jump. It sounds more like a chorus beating loudly in the background, reminding me I have someone on my side. I’m as strong as the thunderous sound.

  Dante opens the door, and I step in with one of his men still gripping my arm. I quickly scan everything in sight. I need information if I’m going to survive. I need to know every exit. Every security camera. Every guard. I need to know every person in this house. Every car
. Every weapon. Only then will I be able to escape.

  “You never cease to surprise me, whore,” Dante says as he takes over for his guard, whom he quickly dismisses.

  I raise an eyebrow. It’s just him and me.

  He either thinks he can easily overpower me. Control me. Or he has more security guards waiting to take me out if I run.

  Dante isn’t stupid, unlike his men.

  He won’t leave himself vulnerable. He wants me too badly to give me a chance to escape. He’s testing me. Seeing if I will run so he can punish me.

  Think differently.

  My instinct is to run, but that’s not what I need to do. He wants me because I’m a spitfire, and he would enjoy breaking me.

  I won’t let him win.

  I need to be different.

  I need to pretend I’m into him. That I want him to fuck me. That I’ve been so desperate for male attention, I’d even fuck a man like him. It’s going to suck, but it might be the only way for freedom. I can pretend. That’s all this is, pretend.

  I took acting classes in high school. I was good. I can do this.

  “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Russo.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “Thank you, whore. It doesn’t have the views you are used to, but then again, you haven’t lived in a home like this for several weeks now. I’m sure you are aching to know what it feels like again.”

  He strokes my face, and I do everything I can to not react negatively to his touch. I don’t miss the double meaning of his words. He doesn’t think a man has touched me in weeks. He’s right. I need to let him know just how right he is.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I say, my eyes meeting his, challenging him to call me out on my words.

  He smirks, pleased with my response.

  So I continue. “You’re right. I haven’t been with a man in months. I thought Roman was the one. I thought he loved me and wanted me. I was wrong. Roman is half the man you are.”

  Dante doesn’t respond. His eyes deepen though at my words. He grabs my wrists, bound with rope behind my back. He spins me until my back is to him.

  I resist the urge to glance back at him. I need to show him I trust him with my body.

  So instead, I focus on studying my surroundings, but it’s impossible with him breathing down the back of my neck again.

  I feel something sharp and cold against my wrists.

  Shit.

  He’s going to cut me. I should never have turned my back to him.

  My breath catches as he cuts the rope from my wrists. My hands pull apart, and I rub them gingerly, examining the red bumps and abrasions which have formed a perfect circle where the rope used to be.

  I turn slowly, trying to show appreciation in my eyes, as I look at Dante.

  “Thank you.”

  He stowes the knife in his back pocket. I try not to look too eager to know where he hides a weapon. As much as I want to go over to him now and steal the knife, I won’t. It would be easy enough to distract him with a kiss while retrieving it from his pocket. I resist. It won’t get me anywhere. Even if I killed him, his men would attack me. I would never get out alive. And if I missed, I would have to deal with his wrath. I would have played my cards too early.

  No, I need to wait. Have patience. Get him to trust me and let his guard down.

  “This way, whore,” he says, snapping his fingers.

  I follow, still getting used to having my hands free again. When I catch up to him, I hook one of my hands around his arm.

  His lips curl up a little, but otherwise, he doesn’t react. I’m used to hanging onto men I don’t have feelings for. I’ve played the interested, hot woman too many times for my father or brothers. I know how to distract men.

  And I do just that as Dante leads me around his house, showing off various pieces of art or views he thinks are impressive. They aren’t. Nothing in this house is remarkable.

  “I have one more room to show you. I think it will be your favorite,” he says, his voice deeper than it’s been.

  I know what room he is talking about. A bedroom. I know what’s coming. Dante isn’t a patient man. He wants what he paid for. He wants to fuck me. This is the moment that will define our relationship. I need to jump on him, seem needy and wanting before he has a chance to rape me. I need to be the one to initiate the sex. Even if it destroys me to pretend.

  We walk down a long hallway, and I try to pretend I’m walking down a hallway in the Carini mansion. I try to think of my niece. How beautiful she is. I need to fight to get back to her. She deserves to have me as an aunt who will spoil her and take her shopping.

  But even thoughts of the most precious creature on the planet can’t hold my attention when he opens the door to the room at the end of the hallway.

  It’s not a bedroom.

  Well, there is a bed in the room, but I wouldn’t call it a bedroom. It’s a torture chamber.

  Whips line the walls. Ropes, chains, handcuffs. Poles topped with metal hoops stand throughout the room, for restraints to be tied to. Walking around the room, inspecting the equipment, I stop when I get to sharper, bloody devices. Blood from other women tortured in this room. I can’t think about this.

  Dante is darker than I ever imagined. He has a twisted soul. Fucking him won’t be enough to save me. I have to be willing to let him beat and torture me.

  I turn back to Dante, with a wicked smile on my face, and walk calmly toward him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and he raises an eyebrow while staring down at me. His eyes are burning with dark desire.

  I run my thumb over his bottom lip. “You’re into BDSM. Good thing, I’m the queen of BDSM.”

  This goes well beyond a healthy BDSM relationship. This is a sick fetish. Even if he was doing these things to women consensually, there is something very wrong with a man that wants to torture a woman this badly.

  I continue my plan though, keeping my breathing and heart steady as I raise my lips to his and kiss him.

  I try to keep pleasant thoughts in my head so that he won’t sense my disgust.

  Mr. Conti pops into my head. He’s a good-looking man. He’s a fiend, but better looking than Dante.

  I pretend I’m kissing Conti. I drop the mister from my head because it seems too formal. Conti kisses me harder, sweeping his tongue into my mouth, letting me know how much he needs to be in control of my body.

  I can’t hold the image long in my head, and slowly I pull away when Dante returns to my vision. I keep my hand on his neck, trying my best to show affection. I bite my lip and watch his eyes burn into my lip.

  “I must admit, this is a fantasy of mine. Being taken by a handsome man like you. Tortured, fucked, like only a man like you can fuck. I want this. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it, master.”

  Dante grabs my wrist, and I think he’s going to give in to my words and body. His eyes and cock pressing hard into my stomach say as much.

  I smile seductively. Trying to force him to give into his desire for me instead of the darker, controlling side.

  Before I realize what’s happening, I’m thrown hard into the wall behind me, and I crumple to the floor.

  My head is pounding, and I feel the blood oozing down my back.

  I don’t know what I hit my head on, but it was hard and sharp.

  Dante takes his time strutting over to me. He has more patience than I thought.

  “Stand up, whore.”

  I don’t know how he expects me to stand. I can barely see. He’s merely a haze of a shadow in front of me.

  I try to scramble to my feet, but the dizziness drops me back on my ass, and I hit my head again.

  “I said, stand,” he commands.

  I try, but it’s an impossible task.

  He grabs my wrist, jerking me to my feet, and I swear I feel bones cracking in my wrist.

  “I don’t play games with my whores. You aren’t my first. I’ve had hundreds, and I know every game in the book.
You will not win. I will destroy you.”

  I nod because I think it’s what he wants, and I can’t take another hit. I know I have a concussion. Possibly a broken skull or wrist. I can’t think straight. I can’t see. I’m not even sure if I exist, or if any of this is real.

  I’m either dead or about to be raped. And I pray I’m already dead. Either way, I’m in hell.

  4

  Gia

  Days. Weeks. Months.

  I have no idea how much time has passed since Dante stole me.

  Time means nothing anymore.

  I thought I was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would fight every second of every day for my freedom. Dante taught me how mistaken I was.

  Most seconds I can’t even lift my head up off the ground. I can’t stand. I can’t see.

  Seconds are how I measure my life. I can’t think beyond that.

  This second, I’m lying on the cold floor of the torture room. I haven’t left since I arrived. There are no windows. No bathroom. No light.

  It’s a dark room, but I welcome the pitch-black. It helps me sleep at all hours of the day, which is the only reason I’m still breathing.

  Sleep has been my savior.

  I hear footsteps outside my door. Dante said he had a surprise in store for me when he returned. Was that hours, or days, ago?

  Dante’s surprises aren’t surprises. He’s given me half a dozen surprises already, and they all involved bringing in more men to share in the ‘fun,’ as he calls it.

  Dante talks like he hasn’t broken me yet. Like I still have a fighting spirit he hasn’t figure out how to tame yet.

  He’s wrong. I’m broken. Physically I know I have dozens of broken bones. My left wrist flops when Dante ties me up, my right knee shattered when Dante whacked me with a bat. I’m not sure I have any ribs left intact after Dante kicked me numerous times in the chest.

  I have nothing left to fight for.

  Even if I did survive, I would be a hollow shell compared to the woman I was before. I would go through my days staring into the abyss, my mind most definitely stuck in the dungeon my body is trapped in now.