by V. F. Mason
He growls into my mouth, pushing me back, and my ass hits the counter, the space between us nonexistent, and I groan at the wet clothes rubbing my aroused nipples, which beg for relief. I shift a little, giving him better access so he can deepen the kiss as he owns my mouth. He’s driving me to the brink, but I welcome his invasion that’s grounding me in the present and allowing me to find a temporary shore in this endless ocean of heat.
At our mutual groan, he breaks the kiss and steps back, while I watch his every move.
He takes off his sweatpants, his raging hard-on coming into view, and I bite my lip at seeing it, my damp core craving to feel it in me right away. “Remove the fucking dress, Briseis.” By how strained his voice sounds, I know he’s teetering on the edge of his control, and a thrill sinks into me at the knowledge of how much our encounter affects us.
I quickly do as he says, throwing the dress away, while I stand only in my panties, my body wide open for his. He roams his blue orbs all over it, his hand stroking his cock, and he reaches for the other counter next to me, taking a condom from the new box. Then he tears it with his teeth.
My palm glides down my stomach, ready to slip inside my panties and stretch myself for him, and feed the hunger washing over me, demanding immediate satisfaction, when his growl stops me. “Put your hands on the counter and grip it tight, baby.” Watching him roll the condom on his thick length, I follow the command and then gasp when he drops on his knees in front of me, his hot breath on my core.
His thumbs hook on the waistband of my panties, and he pulls them down to my feet. I step out of them and hiss when he drapes my thigh on his shoulder.
He opens me wide with two fingers, and then he places his whole mouth on me. My hips jerk toward him. Moaning, I fist his hair and throw my head back while he licks my aroused flesh, dragging his tongue over my lips, sucking on each one before swirling his tongue deep, stiffening it inside me. His thumb and finger pinch my clit, and my cry fills the space.
The fire inside me grows, the licks traveling across my skin and setting me aflame, wanting to get burned in it all if it means he continues to feast on my flesh, each of his licks dragging me closer to the edge of the cliff.
My core tightens around him, clenching on his velvet tongue, ready to accept the pleasure he offers as his thumb flicks my clit again. But then he abandons me, pulling his mouth away and sliding it up to my stomach where he bites and shifts up, up, up until he stands once again.
His hands cup my breasts; he bends his mouth to one, sucking on the nipple harshly, coating it in his saliva before moving his attention to the next one, mocking my need that is almost unbearable.
I hike my leg on his hip, digging my heel in his ass, ready for his cock that’s rubbing over my folds to slip inside me, but he has other plans.
Gripping my thigh so hard he will probably leave bruises, he puts my leg back on the floor and turns me around, bending me slightly forward so that my hands have to grab onto the counter while my ass sticks out.
His arm wraps around my breasts; his rough skin rubbing my pointed peaks makes me moan, and I lean my head back while he presses himself against me.
His palm covers my dripping and aching core, the heel pressing on my clit while his middle finger rubs my slit up and down, driving me insane with each slide, and I beg, “Santiago, please. Just fuck me already.”
A cry tears from my throat when he thrusts inside me, planting his cock so deep I think I might orgasm right there, stretching me on his pulsing organ.
He pushes away. The heel of his palm presses into my clit, and then he slams his hips back into me, the edge of the counter cutting into my stomach while pleasure slips into me as he continues the rhythm, not giving me relief from the euphoria he gives me.
The steam rises around us, creating a fog of lust where only passion lives, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing and only making me spasm around him harder, chasing the oblivion crooking its finger at me in the distance.
He drops his hand from me, letting my breasts jiggle with each stroke of his hips, and instead he clutches my ass cheeks, diving deeper and deeper into me, pushing against some invisible barrier that’s about to break and destroy me in the most magnificent way.
I moan and then groan in confusion when he stops, slipping away from me, then spins me around again, lifting me up to sit on the counter, his arms catching my thighs as he makes space for himself and enters me again. The angle change makes me gasp as I hug him close, digging my nails into his back and probably leaving marks there as well.
And just the idea adds to the warmth building in me, loving the fact that everyone will know this man belongs to me, and everyone should stay the hell away.
I guess his possessive tendencies are rubbing off on me too.
His movements speed up. He finds my mouth again, our tongues connecting and engaging in a scorching kiss that burns away the last of my resolve. My core clenches around him, needing to come so badly.
His hips start to slam harder against mine. Pleasure is building rapidly, chasing the release that’s almost within my reach, and finally, I catch it.
Gasping while my body trembles in the newfound land where only pleasure resides, I arch my back, and Santiago plants his mouth on my shoulder, sucking on the skin hard. I feel him tense against me, a few more deep strokes inside me, and he grunts on my shoulder, joining me in ecstasy.
As we catch our breaths, steam continues to rise around us, keeping our bubble intact. He brushes his nose against my ear before his lips tickle my skin, when he whispers, “Welcome to my world, querida. I promise you’ll like it here. You just have to trust me and not believe everything you see.”
A shiver rushes through me as I absorb his words, hoping he’s right and the dark side he speaks so highly of won’t swallow me whole, leaving nothing behind.
I gambled on my life.
Hopefully, I won’t regret it later.
Chapter Fourteen
“My father said to survive.
And survive I did.”
Santiago
Location unknown, United States
Santiago, 9 years old
A powerful hit sends me flying backward, my back slamming into a wall, and I still a groan between my lips, quickly straightening up and wiping away the blood on my forehead.
Assuming the fighting position again, I smirk at Gary, who jumps back and forth, his muscled body soaked with sweat, as he seethes, “Still not enough, fucker?” He raises his arms to the chanting crowd who laugh right along with him, cheering him on to finish this fight while guzzling their alcohol. “What should I do?” he asks them, and their words fill my ears, as they shout loudly.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
The harsh light streaming above hurts my eyes as my vision blurs a bit from my various wounds, but I don’t let it stop me, watching him carefully.
He’s three times bigger than me and around twice my age. His bulky physique scares most men occupying their seats while his owner lifts his glass high to Andreas, who sits on his fucking throne above us on the balcony in this makeshift arena that he built recently.
He believes he is the king of the world, and we’re nothing but entertainment, participating in their games.
Deadly games, because the only way to survive the game is to win it.
Gary might be bigger than me, but he lacks stamina; more importantly though, he gets off on all the attention given to him by the public, basks in it for far too long and dismisses his opponents as not worthy of his time.
Mistake, such a big mistake.
Never underestimate your enemy, because they’ll show you their true strength and surprise you with their actions when you least expect it.
Gary lunges after me, extending his fist, ready to deliver his next blow, but I duck at the last moment, slamming my fist into his gallbladder instead, and he bends in two, groaning painfully. Before he can regroup, I run toward my sword lying on the mat and pick it up,
aiming it straight at his back, slashing it through him until the tip is visible on the other side.
He arches up, sinking to his knees and choking on the blood pouring from his mouth as I slowly walk around him.
The crowd goes quiet, and I look straight at Andreas whose happiness shines brightly on his face as Gary’s boss pales, probably already counting how much this loss will cost him. “I won.”
“Amazing, Santiago,” he calls, but I ignore him, prowling through the crowds with two guards by my side, walking me toward the back room leading to the basement where a fucking cell already waits for me.
Once the doors close behind me, I go to the sink, grabbing soap and scrubbing my hands so hard my skin reddens and hurts like a bitch, traces of blood appearing, but I pay no attention to it and continue to scrub.
I’ll fucking do it until I feel clean again and won’t think about what I’ve just done.
I killed a person.
Again.
Putting my hands on the sink’s sides and gripping it tightly, I will all my courage before gazing at my refection in the mirror, seeing a boy with bruised lips, various wounds on his forehead and nose, deep bruises on his neck that still hold Gary’s fingertips as he tried to choke him to death.
The mirror doesn’t show the other wounds on my body I’ve got in the last two years.
Like several broken ribs, nose, arms.
Imprints from burning cigarettes and a branding iron when they marked us like cows so no one would confuse whose products belong to whom.
In this world that I’ve been living in lately, all the kids who are trapped in here with me aren’t considered human—oh no.
We’re just products, stock they acquired and invest in various deeds in order to get money.
Although according to Andreas, I’m his perfect genes-in-the-making, which means I must survive under the most despicable circumstances.
Only this kind will do for his grandkids.
Whatever the fuck that means.
My pneumonia had been just the beginning, and ironically the easiest shit I’ve experienced here.
They would beat me, starve me, and even forcibly pour water into my mouth and then not give me permission to relieve myself so they could see how long I could hold it in.
So I could build my resolve and character, they said.
They also left me with rats in basements for days, enjoying how they bit into my skin and watched me fight them off through the camera.
If at any time I lasted less than their prediction, than his prediction, I got punished.
Endless beatings followed by throwing me in cold pools where they added salt to irritate my wounds.
Until they got bored with it too, and Andreas found something new.
Fights where they bet an insane amount of money and whoever wins gets it, the condition being that one of the fighters has to die.
Where’s the fucking entertainment otherwise, right?
And I did it too, so I could survive, even though I vomited every single time it happened.
But somehow after my fifth kill, I don’t want to do that anymore. Even disgust with myself no longer shakes me in agony. Slowly, all emotions have left me and become just a fleeting memory in time.
Zeroing my gaze back on my reflection, a bitter laugh slips past my lips when my father’s words echo in my mind.
Survive, survive until you can beat them.
I’ve done everything in order to survive because my father was supposed to come and save me.
Fucking find me.
But after one of many vicious tortures with no silver lining in sight, I gave up hope, and burning anger replaced it.
Harsh, vindictive anger that also demanded I survive, but only so I could find my father and show him I don’t need him in order to live.
Monsters are born in the darkness of despair and agony, in the land where dreams don’t exist and only nightmares remain.
Turning off the water, I go to the mattress in the corner and drop onto it, resting my back against the wall, and close my eyes to get some rest, my body too exhausted to even think, because another fight looms ahead of me.
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Santiago Cortez.
Whose parents didn’t love him enough to search for him.
So the only things keeping him alive and lullabying him to sleep then waking him up in this cruel world that constantly hurt him were the thoughts of revenge.
Revenge on all those who destroyed the boy and made him become a monster.
A monster who can’t stand his own reflection.
Rattling of the cell door instantly snaps my eyes open, my body tensing, and I sit up, schooling my features so no one will see my internal struggle or, God forbid, pain.
Vulnerable monsters and people die quickly, that’s why you need to always wear unbreakable armor.
Covering my eyes from the harsh light brightening up the rusty cell, I focus on the floor where black, polished leather shoes come into view, strolling inside casually, their owner probably fucking grinning too.
Andreas.
“It’s so good to see you, Santiago,” he says. Blinking away the blurry dots in my eyes, I find his gaze, tipping the corner of my mouth up.
“Can’t return the sentiment.”
He chuckles, always finding my remarks hilarious, because he praises himself for my bravery.
What bravery?
Survival instinct only—brave entails high morals and whatever else all those noble people have.
I lost them all the minute I killed that first person.
Besides, acting scared and begging him for mercy would earn me a few visits to the basement with the rats. I tried those early on and learned to never ever fucking do it again.
Andreas snaps his fingers, and a guard enters holding a chair that he places in the middle of the area where Andreas sits comfortably, while unbuttoning his jacket. “Your win tonight solidified my decision.” He sweeps his gaze over my form before continuing. “You’ve passed all my tests. Now, when the trial period is over, we will move to our last level. If you prove yourself worthy, you’ll finally be able to go home.”
Everything inside me freezes, my senses going on high alert at this information as he never once spoke about me going back home, but I show no outward reaction.
“You’ll live in a guest room on the second floor for the next month. I want you completely healed before you embark on your last journey. I’ll even feed you every day.” Satisfaction rings in his tone, and by that alone, I guess his kindness right now has nothing to do with generosity. Most likely the plan requires me to be in my best shape. “Well, what do you have to say to that?”
Boredom laces my tone as I reply, “Nothing. Whatever you do, I don’t care.”
Anger crosses his face as he raises his hand and leans forward, wanting to strike me, but pauses midway to my face. He drops back on his chair, and it sways back a little from the force. “No, today is a beautiful day. I won’t allow you to spoil it.”
I roll my eyes, not in the mood for his dramatic monologues about his emotions and plans, where he talks for hours thinking I care. “Whatever.”
“I’ll be a father in a few months, Santiago. And as such, the time has come to give you an opportunity.” My mind digests his words. They’re always the only ones that make no sense to me.
In the last two years, Andreas has talked about his kids several times, claiming he would have one soon, only for him to say a few months later the bitch had lost it or that he had a son so he had to get rid of him.
I never understood why he was so fixated on having a kid. Such people shouldn’t reproduce, but it scared me the way he always connected my abilities and suffering with his future kids.
First things first though.
Last level.
Whatever the fuck that entails, I’ll ace it too.
How much worse could it possibly get anyway?
Putting the velvet jacket on and givin
g myself one last look in the mirror, the healthy boy staring back at me reminds me nothing of the beaten-up version I saw a month ago. I exit the room and quickly go downstairs.
Andreas waits for me by the entrance and smiles widely while indifference settles on my features. My breezy attitude pisses him off, since his jaw tightens, but he orders, “Give me your hand.” I do, and he clasps an expensive watch around my wrist. “This will let Philip know how special you are to me.” He winks, murmuring the last part, “And how I’d love to see you break.”
I stay silent, not giving him the pleasure of seeing my fear of the unknown but also excitement, because this suffering might be over soon, and I can go back home.
Andreas informed me he’s sending me to some guy named Philip, one of his friends who is ready to train me, and if I play my cards right, we’ll both get what we want.
I highly fucking doubt it, but it’s a chance to get out of this whole mess, so of course I’ll take it.
He pats me on the head, and I jerk to the side, hating his touch and struggling not to hurt him somehow. But freedom flashing on the horizon is far more tempting.
I’ll come for Andreas someday too, just not today.
“Behave well, Santiago, and don’t disappoint me. I have no time to train someone else for my little flower.”
Not even bothering to dwell on his weird words, I hop inside the van, and the man quickly closes the door. Andreas’s evil smile is the last thing I see before darkness surrounds me and men get into the front seat.
We drive around for several hours judging by the time on the watch while I wonder what the point is to all these expensive clothes on me and even styled hair, as if they went out of their way to make me look pretty.
Dread fills my stomach, several images popping in my head.
Realization slams into me, my pulse speeding up, and I gulp for breath, mentally counting in Spanish in order to stop the familiar panic attack and push away such dark thoughts.
No one has touched me like that. Andreas forbade it when someone tried, and he killed the man.