by K. J. Dahlen
Alzerro nudges me to follow his men up the staircase. I comply immediately and quietly. We walk down a long hall, passing numerous doors. I am not sure If I want to know what is behind them or not. We finally reach two French doors at the end of the hall.
“Leave us,” Alzerro simply says. I turn around to watch his men walk away like he had ordered them to. My heart sinks into my stomach. Have I made a mistake? Did I really know what I was getting myself into?
Stop it. You didn’t want them to continue hurting your father, and you know you wouldn’t be able to live without him. Without your dad, you’re as good as dead.
The voice in my head stops me from saying anything. I can’t possibly tell this man that I am having second thoughts, that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I watch as he opens the door and walks into the large room. His body relaxes as the tension within him seems to dissolve. It seems as if he is a completely different person in his surroundings. Almost like he’s really human. Almost.
“Come, Piccolo,” he demands. Piccolo - is that Italian? It sounds that way though I have no idea what it means. Without a comment, I obey him and walk into his room slowly. There is a king-sized bed sitting on the far side of the room that looks like it’s right out of an expensive hotel. It is large and lavish with big, fluffy pillows and beautiful, luxurious blankets.
An incredibly comfortable looking couch is centered in the middle of the room. A television with numerous movies and games sits in front of it, and on the far wall is a desk area. None of these things matters nearly as much as the view that lies before me. Two French doors lead out onto a wraparound balcony.
My breath catches in my throat as I walk across the room to the open doors. The sun is setting in the distance and the waves of the ocean break against the jagged rocks that line the shore. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says behind me. I turn around startled, completely forgetting where I am for a moment. That is the thing about beautiful things - they can distract you for a short time, but then everything eventually turns ugly and real again.
“It’s very beautiful,” I reply shyly. I watch him as he heads over to his desk. He grabs a crystal bottle that is filled with a dark liquid. Two glasses clink together in his hand as I realize he is going to pour me a drink.
“No, thank you,” I mutter before he can drop a splash of what I assume is bourbon. I am not much of a drinker, not that I’ve had many chances to do so. I am not even old enough to legally drink!
He turns, peering up at me. His eyes are beautiful in the setting sun. His body is lickable in so many ways, and if it’s this great looking covered by his clothes, I wonder what it will look like without.
“If you insist.” Alzerro pours himself a large glass and slams most of it back. A dribble escapes his mouth, landing on his full bottom lip. Right in that second I want nothing more than to lick away the sweet smelling alcohol. However, that is inappropriate, even though he’s attractive, I am not sure I am ready for that yet. If I make the first move, that will mean I am ready to completely succumb to him. Then there will be nothing stopping him from taking me over and over again whenever he wants, and eventually I won’t have any purpose here anymore.
Watching him more closely, I can tell he is of Italian descent which explains why he used the word ‘Piccolo.’ His dark complexion along with his dark hair and eyes tell me he is. His body and hands are large, his whole presence is large. I’m sure he is large in other places, as well… Wait, why am I having all these inappropriate thoughts about the man who was about to kill my father over a debt and took me as payment instead? What is wrong with me? I should hate and despise this man!
“I hope you think of this place as a home, not a prison.” His words are soft, and I realize he is trying to comfort me.
“I hope you treat me like person and not a prisoner,” I retort, taking a seat on the sofa and folding my hands in my lap. I don’t know what else to do or where I am supposed to go. I have been given no directions or purpose yet.
“I will treat you as you wish to be treated and no less.” I gaze up into Alzerro’s eyes, they are soft as is his voice. I don’t know what to think or how to feel anymore. My mind is still reeling from everything that has occurred. In less than twenty-four hours, my life has changed so much.
“Thank you,” I reply kindly, averting my eyes to the floor. He is intense, unlike anyone I have ever met. Looking at him causes my heart to beat abnormally fast, but not looking at him makes me feel as if I am missing something.
“The rules are pretty simple.” He purses his lips, taking the seat next to me. “You’re not to run. Ever. If you do, I will kill you.” My heart is beating out of my chest. Have I given up my freedom to save my father from death only to take his place?
“You cannot wander around our home; I will let you know what rooms you are allowed into. You do not speak to any of my men, but I will introduce you to the staff with whom you may converse. You will only wear the clothes I provide and will wear what I select for special occasions. Furthermore, you’re to stay in my quarters unless I say otherwise. You do NOT leave this room without my permission. You’re mine to play with, to keep, and to possess.” I am breathless as he leans into my body as if he is smelling me.
“And I will possess you in every single way possible,” he promises, his voice just above a whisper.
“What if I object?” I’m feeling very brave at that moment. I know asking this question will lead me to an answer that I don’t want to hear, but I have to hear it.
“If you object, then the deal is off and is unpaid. If the debt is unpaid, then there is only one other way to pay for it, and I assure you that you don’t want that to take place, Piccolo.” His voice is dangerous, and his eyes say he isn’t lying. He will take someone’s life if I do not follow his rules.
Looking down at his hands, I know he has taken many people’s lives. I am in danger of being his next victim.
“I won’t object,” I respond, trying my hardest to sound determined. I have no other option.
“Good,” he says, smiling as if he has just solved every problem in the world. The air between us is less tense now, and I find myself relaxing into the cushions more.
“Are you hungry?” Alzerro asks, swirling the bourbon in his glass. He stares inside as if all the answers to his problems lie at the bottom of that glass.
“A little,” I answer shyly. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, but that’s okay. I am curvy, and though that isn’t a bad thing, I can lose a couple pounds.
“Anything in particular you like? I believe my cook, Silvia, made spaghetti with meatballs this evening. We could go down and get you a plate if you would like.” I surprisingly find myself smiling at him. It has only been a few hours since I was forcefully taken from my home, the one I grew up in and lived in until the day I left for college. I viewed Alzerro as a dark, dangerous man right away, but looking at him now, I feel as if he’s someone different.
“I would actually love that, please.” I quickly stand at the same time he does. Our bodies brush against one another’s, and an electric current flows through us. Call it fate, or whatever the hell you want, but in that zap, I feel like I can read him, as if he is dark and damaged for a reason. It makes me want to dig my nails into him and crawl into the dark places of his mind and expose what he truly is.
“Let’s go then.” Setting his glass down, he gently grabs my hand and leads me out of the room, stopping to close and lock the door behind us. I am not sure why he feels the need to do that being it is his house, but I am not going to ask.
I can’t help but admire Alzerro’s house as we continue our journey to the kitchen. The house is large and has an elegance to it as I have never seen before. This is the type of thing that can’t be seen anywhere—magazines won’t even do it justice. It is designed and decorated to a specific standard, and I assume that standard is Alzerro Ki
ng.
The kitchen is huge. Dark wood cabinets line the walls with stainless steel appliances accompanying them. The fridge is the biggest I have ever seen, and the eating area is so large that you could easily feed two families on Thanksgiving. Floor to ceiling windows takes up the far wall, allowing light to come through at all angles. The floor is white marble, I presume since I haven’t a clue. All I know is that it probably cost more than it is worth for me to be standing on it.
I take a seat at the table, my eyes never leaving the surreal view. It is a shame someone like him has a view like this. Even if he isn’t hurting me or demanding something from me now, I know it will happen sooner or later.
In a matter of minutes, a steaming hot plate sits in front of me. Red spaghetti sauce, meatballs, and noodles are the only things I can see.
“Eat it, it’s amazing. This is my mother’s recipe, actually.” He smiles from ear to ear, but it never reaches his eyes. I can tell that there is something brewing just under his surface. He is a hurricane, capable of taking everyone out with him once he meets the shore.
I pick up my fork, shoving a heaping bite into my mouth. It is warm and extremely delicious. I moan, completely accidentally. When I open my eyes to take another bite, my gaze collides with Alzerro’s. His eyes are dilated, and it looks as if he is about ready to jump over the table and devour me himself.
“This is really good,” I compliment him. He nods at me, dismissing the look he has just given me altogether. A coldness settles into me. I don’t really want him to look at me like that, but then again, I kind of do. I feel as if I am missing something without him, without that look.
I finish my food and stand, readying myself to wash my plate and silverware so they can be put away.
“Stop,” he commands. I turn to him, my face growing red. I feel like the kid who got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.
“The housekeepers take care of that.” I scuff at him, not sure if I am going to listen to him. I am not one to allow others to clean up after me.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re already thinking about disobeying me, aren’t you?” It isn’t really a question because I haven’t done anything wrong yet, but how can cleaning up my mess be disobeying him?
“No…” I lie. I refuse to tell him I am not going to listen to him, especially over something as petty as washing my dishes after eating. My mother raised me to clean up after myself.
“Now you’re lying,” he remarks, taking an aggressive step in front of me. His eyes narrow as his hand snakes around my back to directly behind my neck.
His fingers dig into my skin, gripping me just above a painful level. “Never lie to me. Or I’ll kill you.” There are no emotions on his face, and his voice is cool and firm. Fear slithers up my spine and deep into my brain. It is plain to see that even the littlest things can get me killed here.
“I won’t.” I try my hardest to hold my chin up high. I don’t want him to think that he has broken me yet. I will never be broken, though. I have lost far too much in my life to be ashamed of anything.
“Good. If you lie to me again, I will kill you. Things like that can get you killed here. Always be honest. Always.” His eyes grow softer, and an understanding settles over me. Honesty is huge with him. Even if it’s bad honesty, he always wants to hear it.
“I will. Always be honest, I mean.”I have been around him less than twenty-four hours, and I am only here as payment for a debt, but I feel a connection to him. A pull is a better way to say it. I feel like I want to be close to him, but at the same time, I want to run away from him with all my might. It is as if he is a ticking time bomb—capable of going off at any moment.
“That’s good. Honesty is always the best policy, Bree.” His hand releases the back of my neck and slides to my lower back. With the tiniest press to the small of my back, he is pushing me forward, forcing me to let the maids clean up my mess.
“In all fairness, I could really clean up my own mess, Alzerro.”
“Zerro,” he says.
“Pardon?” I ask in confusion, coming to a standstill.
“Zerro is what you may call me. The maids get paid to clean up after me and my guests. If you were to clean up your mess, then they would be out a job. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” That is a low blow if ever I heard one - holding one’s job over someone else’s head.
“That’s a bit harsh wouldn’t you say?” Questioning him is a bold move for me to make. I know he doesn’t owe me any answers. I am here purely to save my father, but I can’t help but ask.
“Harsh…” He laughs, but it is anything but a cheery kind.
“I just find it harsh to hold…” My response is cut short as I am gripped by the throat. My back lands harshly against the wooden cupboard, forcing me to stare deeply into pools of blackness. My breath expels from my chest in a rush, and I force more air in. Fear trickles in.
His hold is firm, yet I can still breathe. His other hand skims over my thigh, sending my body into overdrive. My heart rate spikes and the fear melts into something else.
“Never question me, Bree. I could fuck and kill you faster than you would be able to say no. I’m not a good guy. I’m not someone you should be sitting with here, talking and acting as if we’re normal. We are not normal. This interaction between us isn’t normal. You’re merely paying off debt, which makes you about as good as the rest of the money that comes in and out of this house. Keep quiet, don’t ask questions, do as I say, and you won’t be hurt.” His eyes soften, and the tension rolls right off his shoulders as he releases my throat. It throbs where he held it so, I try to rub some of the pain away.
“Come now. You must get ready for bed. I have a couple of things I must do beforehand.” Is he really sending me to bed alone?
I follow quietly behind him, not wanting to draw more attention to myself. I wonder what it was that broke him. What it was that made him so dark and cold. I know he isn’t completely a dark soul because every time I look in his eyes, I see a glimpse of good. Maybe that sliver of goodness will be the one thing that saves me in the end.
3
Alzerro
“Mack, grab the gun,” I order gruffly as we circle the tied up man who is now lying on my floor. Blood is dripping from his mouth, and I can see the far-off look in his eyes—the one that says he knows he is going to die.
Mack hands me the gun, and I hold it firmly in my hand. A sliver of doubt pools into my mind. I have been doing this since before I was even eighteen. Not once have I ever had a doubt, yet now at twenty-five, I suddenly want to feel sorry for doing this shit.
Turning my gaze to Mack again, I look at him. He is tall just like me and built like a house. Our families have been friends forever, and he is the only person I trust with my life.
He wipes the sweat from his brow as he gives me a bewildered look. I can’t blame him one bit, I am as confused as he is… Why am I still standing here with a gun in my hand? Why isn’t this guy being taken away to be buried already?
“You want me to do it, Z?” Mack questions. His voice is hushed, as to not let the little snitch hear. The man who lies before me is someone who took our stash of drugs, sold them, and then took the money and ran. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it most certainly won’t be the last.
“No.” I wave him off. I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. I have climbed my way to the top alone, and I can handle this alone too.
Squatting down, I grab the man by the chin, forcing him to look at me. “Toni, why did you have to go and pull a stupid stunt like this?” There is nothing sincere about my questioning. It is mocking, taunting even. See, I like it when these people try to fight back because it makes me feel that much more powerful.
He doesn’t say anything to me, in fact, it seems as if he is looking straight through me rather than at me, which in turn just pisses me off more.
“Any last wishes?” I ask smirking, the gun cocked and ready. I generally never take
this long to put a bullet in someone’s head, but something is off about me tonight. I can feel it.
Bree.
My mind whispers her name faintly. I grip the gun tighter in my hand. The man says nothing to me, so I take that as his answer. Putting the gun to his head, I kiss his forehead and pull the trigger. The ringing that is generally associated with shooting a gun no longer affects me. I can’t tell you how many people I have killed with this gun alone. After a while, your body just gets used to it.
I stand up, wiping the splattered blood from my dress shirt. I turn around, taking notice of Mack’s eyes on me.
“What?” I question. This isn’t something he hasn’t seen before. He should’ve been pulling the body out of the house by now, not standing here looking at me like a baffled fucker.
He points up to the balcony where Bree is standing. Even from this distance, I can see the shock in her eyes. Did she honestly not take my warnings seriously? Is she dumb enough to think that I won’t kill her?
Handing him my gun, I dart up the steps to my room. Anger escalating with every step I take. Obviously I need to teach her a lesson. She needs to learn that my word always matters, and must always be obeyed.
The second my foot touches the top step, I hear the door to my room click close. Did she think that I wouldn’t know? I forcefully push through the door. It slams into the wall, but I don’t even care. I don’t care about scaring her or breaking shit. All I care about is her learning to listen and obey what I say.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay in here?” I question her, already knowing the answer. She is sitting on the far side of the bed, her face hiding behind a mess of brown hair.
My voice is heard only by myself, though, because she doesn’t look up. This only throws more gasoline onto the fire. Maybe I need to remind her who is in charge…