by K. I. Lynn
Domenico froze. I couldn’t see his face, but the men backing up from around him told me it wasn’t a happy expression.
“Who wants to become a made man?” Domenico asked. His tone was calm, cool, and deep. He held everyone’s attention, and many of the men dropped down to one knee in front of him. My brow scrunched as the memory of my father doing that to someone flashed in my mind.
The slug’s eyes, one of which was almost swollen shut, popped wide. “No, man. I’m sorry. Please!”
“This shit doesn’t even understand who you are,” Marco said as he stared down at the slug.
“Let me teach him, sir,” a younger man the same age as the slug said as he fumbled to pull a gun from the back of his pants. It was the guy I’d toppled over in my escape attempt.
“Not yet, Tito.”
Tito nodded, and his head dipped in respect.
Domenico squatted in front of the slug. “You’re a disrespectful piece of shit. How you even made it this far, I don’t understand. Who are you that Jax would send you here?”
The slug looked away, to the other men, to the ceiling, anywhere but at the man leaning over him. Domenico gave a huff of annoyance, pulled his gun from his waistband, and pressed it against the slug’s chest.
“No-nobody. I’m nobody. I just heard this is where the girls were.”
“And you thought, what? You’d taste the goods?” Domenico asked.
“They’re here to be sold for sex.”
“Damaged goods don’t fetch as high of a price. If I were to let every man here fuck every girl, we wouldn’t make any money.”
Did that mean Domenico’s words were simply a scare tactic? A way of keeping girls in line with the threat of being used sexually?
“I’m sorry.”
Domenico removed his gun and stuffed it back in his waistband before standing. “Get him cleaned up and back to Jax.”
“Be grateful la Bestia granted you mercy,” Marco said to the slug.
My brow scrunched at the name—the Beast. It was fitting.
Once again, the slug’s eyes widened and snapped to Domenico. He immediately turned onto his knees, bowing in front of Domenico, arms outstretched on the floor, his head down.
“Forgive me, sir.”
“Clean that shit up,” Domenico growled, pointing to the puddle of urine. “When you’re done and there is no more piss smell, get the fuck out of here and never come back. If you do, no amount of groveling will save you from my bullet.”
The man nodded but stayed down until Domenico walked away.
He didn’t go far, stopping and kneeling in front of me again as he reached through the bars. His blood-stained fingers gripped my jaw, and when I tried to yank away, he tightened his grip and pulled me closer.
Our eyes were locked, and I was tempted to turn my head and bite him, but at the same time I’d just watched him beat a man to a bloody pulp. What would he do to me?
“Just because I told him all that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Keep being defiant, and I will break you.” His thumb ran across my bottom lip. “I bet you taste like roses and honey.”
I didn’t break our stare-down. “Can a prisoner at least get a book? I mean, if you’re not going to entertain me in any other way…” It was probably not wise to poke him, but I wasn’t some weakling he could bend with a few harsh words and threats.
He stared at me before disappearing into his “office” but surprised me when he came back over with a book in his hand.
He let loose a battered and beaten flutter of pages through the top of the cage. It landed in my lap with a thump. The binding was cracked and the worn pages indicated it was a much-read book. The cover wasn’t familiar, but it was also scuffed and torn.
A shudder rolled through me at the book’s mistreatment, but by the many dog-eared pages, it was much loved.
“Tolstoy?” I asked as I read the author’s name. In my hands was one of Tolstoy’s greatest novels, and one I could admit I’d never read—War and Peace.
I looked up at him but he was back in his shadow, talking to Marco, though his eyes never left me.
I flipped open the pages, happy to have something to read again, since my unfinished book was somewhere in my bag that they’d done who knows what with. I greatly missed reading and was desperate for anything to help get my head out of my present situation.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through the first page that I realized it was all in Italian. I blinked when I got stuck on a word. While I did read Italian, I still got tripped up from time to time. What surprised me more was that the book had come from the backpack he’d brought in. There was definitely more to Domenico than I’d believed.
From the corner of my eye I watched the slug clean up his mess. His gaze flashed to me before quickly returning back to his task.
I was the one in the cage, but somehow I almost felt like I was in a higher position than he was. Perhaps it was the price my body carried versus his lowly position on the totem pole. After all, if he was simply an associate, he held no real value to the organization.
Cannon fodder, frontline thug that could have potential, but at that moment I held more value than he did.
I returned to my reading but not before I glanced toward the alcove. I caught Domenico’s eyes as he cleaned the blood from his hands. His brow was scrunched up as he stared at me, at the book he’d given me.
I held it up. “Grazie. Non l’ho mai letto.” I thanked him for a book I hadn’t read.
Marco’s eyes widened, and he snapped back to Domenico, whispering hushed words.
They argued, but the few words I caught were neither English nor Italian. None of the men around seemed to understand, returning to whatever they were doing before all the commotion.
I had revealed critical information, even if it was something as simple as knowing another language. But I’d ruffled feathers.
It was becoming more obvious—I wasn’t like the other girls they held.
I was watching Domenico pluck another petal from the rose, trying to remember how many that made. Seven? Ten? I could easily remember at least six and the rose still looked full, but that may have been due to its opening up. The rose was dying but it retained its shape, the head beginning to droop.
While I was transfixed by the odd ritual, Roman stepped into view.
“Your dinner is served,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” I replied, returning his smile, taking the plate and setting it down before relieving his hands of not one but two drinks.
“A little something extra,” he whispered, giving me a wink before walking away.
Immediately I downed over half the bottle of water. I’d been constantly parched since about day three. Whatever food and drink I was allotted was always just enough to keep me from starving or dehydrating, but only just.
The sandwiches ranged from the terrible bologna and mayo to ham, cheese, and mustard and other deli concoctions. Which was why I was pleasantly surprised by the tart strawberry jelly and thick, creamy peanut butter.
A small moan left me, and I dug in for another taste.
With each bite, I stared into the darkness, at Domenico. The soft glow of his phone illuminated his face, and when he looked up, I nearly choked on my bite of sandwich. It wasn’t a menacing look nor did it inspire horror like it would with a flashlight, but it illuminated his eyes, and the hitch that moved through me was far from fear.
His eyes tore at me, ripped me apart from the inside out as if he knew me, as if he could see my soul. It was intoxicating. There was no way I should have been the least bit attracted to him, but I was. His confidence and ruthlessness matched up perfectly with his chiseled facade.
Every time he’d touched me there was a spark, and he was touching me more and more.
What if he touched me more? Everywhere?
The way he pulled me from my shock, the warmth of his lips against mine as he forced me to drink. His hand on my neck and the roughness of his
touch. It was possibly the most intimate thing to ever happen to me, and I didn’t want it to end.
A wave of heat rolled through me with that thought, so I turned my attention back to finishing off my sandwich and gulping down the rest of my bottle of water. Roman had also given me a Powerade and a small bag of crackers, which I eagerly dug into. It was the largest meal I’d had in over a week.
I took my time, savoring each small, crunchy bite, the sting of the salt as it melted on my tongue, and the way a stack of two or three would crack and crumble in my mouth.
When there was no more, I let the tart, fruity taste of the Powerade slide over my tongue.
My skin tingled, the familiarity sparking somewhere in my mind, which was becoming muddy. Silver eyes stared at me, unblinking. Watching, waiting to strike.
A shiver moved down my spine, sending heat through my fire-laden limbs. There was something else swirling in their depths that made my body sing. A heat that lit me up.
My mind focused on that. On my captor’s long, slender fingers. My own danced across my skin as I wondered how they would feel, pulling from the few memories I had.
If it was anything like his gaze, I shuddered at the hard, appreciative, and power-filled feeling.
In the back of my mind I wondered if something was wrong with me. My thoughts weren’t right, nor was this tingling and desperate desire that crept through my veins with each beat of my heart.
My nipples tightened and my mouth parted, each breath heightening the sensation across my skin.
His eyes flashed away, and his jaw clenched. Sound filtered in, but I had a hard time focusing on the whispered words.
“Split her open…see what she looks like from the inside.”
I couldn’t pinpoint where they came from, only the soft clarity of them. There was a dark chuckle.
“Tap that shit until she’s airtight.”
Airtight? Will whoever she is blow up like a balloon and float away?
If I hold my breath, will that happen to me?
I couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Half a sentence, the cool air across my skin, Domenico’s eyes.
Domenico’s fire-filled eyes that showed the beast within.
I wanted him.
The beast.
Did I?
Why?
I wetted my lips, wishing I had something to drink. What happened to that bottle Roman gave me?
I scanned around my cage, lightly touching the blanket beside me, its normally coarse fabric setting off every nerve. A shudder rolled through me, and I rocked, a moan slipping between my lips, my clit pressing against something hard.
What was I looking for?
Oh, the bottle.
It sat on its side on the dirty floor, empty and making my thirst grow. My eyes were heavy when I looked up. Domenico still stared and my fingers flitted across my chest, imagining they were his hands.
It was a thought that should have disgusted me. Domenico was a godlike figure, and his assertive nature, combined with the way he watched me, was oddly appealing.
I was so thirsty. Where did my drink go?
I pulled my sweater over my head, my breath speeding up, and I bit down on my lower lip.
Domenico stared at me, and I watched anger and lust and other emotions cross his face.
The whispers were there, talking about fucking the girl until she broke. Poor girl, whoever she was.
Domenico’s expression hardened and he disappeared deep into the darkness.
A minute later a growl erupted from deep in the shadows, and Domenico burst into the low light.
Finally.
With each heavily placed footfall the need for him grew. I leaned back, my eyes never leaving him, pinching my nipple over my shirt between two fingers.
Yes.
There was a cacophony of sounds around me—men talking, some cheering—but all I could hear was the beat of my heart and the clang of the lock turning. I could feel everything and wanted only one thing.
Of all the men who came and went, only one had me in his clutches. Hypnotized by his eyes, humbled by his command, and left craving the warmth of his touch.
But the man before me was la Bestia in all his furious glory. Fear pumped through me, and I pulled away when he reached for me.
There was no avoiding him, and I was yanked to my feet and pulled through the door. The concussive wave that pulsed through me upon contact with his chest left my knees weak. I couldn’t make sense of where my limbs were.
He spun me in his arms, back to chest, and my head fell against his shoulder. One arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me up, and the other gripped my jaw so that I was looking straight at ten men.
They all had the look in their eyes, the one I’d seen so many times from the stage, the one I’d seen in the eyes of my father’s guards, the one that wanted to tear me apart for their own sexual gratification.
“Ella seems to want to give you a show.”
His hands. His hands.
A moan slipped from my lips when Domenico’s fingers slipped between my jeans and my flesh, not stopping until he was cupping my pussy. I shuddered in his arms.
I could hear everything but make nothing of it. Every neuron was focused on his touch.
A loud moan left me when he pinched my clit before sliding down my slit and roughly shoving his fingers inside. My whole body convulsed at the overwhelming sensation. I was so wet for him, so ready to be filled by him.
“This is for your own good,” he whispered in my ear. A shudder rolled through me at his gruff voice so close, every nerve lighting up.
My mind whirled, trying to understand. Not just him, but my response. How could this be good for me?
But I wanted it. I wanted him.
To take me, to fuck me with all the power that flowed through him.
“If I don’t, they will.” If he doesn’t, they will what?
He seemed to answer my unspoken question.
I chanced a glance over to our audience, at their hungry eyes devouring me. They all wished they were him. I knew the world, the way those men thought. They were bottom-feeders, and they destroyed everything thrown at them.
They wanted me, but la Bestia had me.
He walked us over to the table, and each step ignited me further. My eyes threatened to roll back as my breath came out in pants.
A groan of displeasure left me when his fingers retreated.
“No,” I whimpered. I needed his touch, his hands, to help with the fire that was spreading through me. Only he could put it out—I just knew it.
He spun me around and picked me up before dumping me on the table. His fingers worked my button and zipper, then yanked my jeans from me, throwing them on the ground.
I never stopped watching him. I heard the others, felt their eyes, but none of it could take me from him.
A growl left him as he fisted my panties and pulled. The force lifted me before the fabric tore. He grabbed my leg and dragged me to the end of the table. Each unintended swipe across my skin only charged me more, my mind completely consumed.
I barely noticed him pressing in when my whole body exploded. My eyes were wide, back arched as he thrust into me without mercy. I was coming hard around him. The ruthlessness of his possession only drew it out into a never-ending spiral.
The situation was all wrong. The man above me was wrong, but every millimeter that our skin touched sent my whole body reeling with pleasure.
I choked on a sob, my body rocking with each thrust of his hips. He felt so good.
He bunched up my tank top and yanked it off. One hand gripped my breast hard.
The minions cheered him on in the background. I could hear them egging on their leader to hurt me more, to fuck me hard. To break me.
And I did break. If just for that moment, I did. Every touch was an explosion, every thrust setting off a bomb from the inside.
My mind was overwhelmed, consumed by the desire for him to never stop. I was coming again and aga
in. There was nothing left of my mind. Just a sack of flesh and bones lost in a sea of never-ending lust.
His hand moved up and gripped my neck. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the fire that burned back at me.
He let out a roar, his teeth bared as his hips slammed against mine a final time. My skin still tingled, but I couldn’t move, completely spent.
After a moment or two he pulled out. A whimper left me, desperate to have him touch me again.
“She’s mine,” Domenico yelled out to the room. The sound reverberated off the blank walls, deep and sharp at the same time, and it made many of the men jump. “Nobody touches her but me. If you don’t understand or you forget, I will remind you.”
My head lolled to the side. There were smiles and cheers, but there were also frowns. In the back, bright-blue eyes I knew so well morphed into pure hatred, in total contrast to the rest of the group.
I blinked, slowly, then again.
Roman was gone.
The cold began to seep in, my skin slick with sweat as exhaustion blanketed me. My eyes drifted closed just before Domenico’s strong arms slipped under me and carried me away.
Fighting the sleep in my eyes was hard. My mind was foggy, weighed down. Something said it was better to sleep, but something else nagged at me.
As I surfaced, the nagging began to slowly become apparent. From the pounding that turned into a thumping in my head, to the nerves firing off around my body and the cold that was seeping into my skin, it all paled to the ache between my legs.
The putrid smell of decay filled my senses as I roused, ever the reminder that I was nothing more than a caged animal.
As my senses awakened, cold seeped down to the bone. Cracking an eye open, I found that I was lying naked atop the grimy mattress. The blanket was haphazardly lying across my body. It shielded little and warmed almost nothing.
When my eyes were able to focus, there was only one thing in my view. His silver eyes stared at me, and their shiny surface gave nothing away.
The memories were sluggish and fuzzy, but two things were obvious in the light of day: I’d been drugged at some point—just before my captor had had sex with me.