Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Relax your throat. Take all of me.” He pushes deeper again, and even deeper, thrusting in and out. My eyes tear up and saliva dribbles, mixing with the water that washes over me. I gag and try to push away. He gives me a moment of reprieve, then he pushes all the way in, holding me there. My chest heaves and I can’t breathe.

  “Touch yourself.”

  His commanding voice sends a rush of heat through me, and I put a hand between my legs, shocked to feel how slick I am. As I massage my clit, and push my fingers inside, I moan, lightheaded from the mounting agony of lack of air. He pulls all the way out and I fall on all fours on the tiles, inhaling a long, raspy breath.

  “You’re such a dick,” I sputter.

  “And look how wet it gets you. Get up. Turn around. Put your hands on the wall.”

  My legs tremble as I stand. My throat aches, but it’s nothing compared to how my pussy feels, screaming for him to fill me. With my palms on the cold tiles, I shudder when he grabs my hips. He slides his cock back and forth, rubbing against my swollen folds, then he thrusts inside me. Hard. I cry out from the intrusion and gasp as he grabs my hair and pulls, forcing my head back, straining my neck. His pace is almost too much to bear, every thrust hits deep.

  “Touch yourself,” he whispers close to my ear. “Come on me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

  His hand caresses my butt and I tense up, not knowing if he’s gonna spank me again, but he slides his thumb in between my ass cheeks and pushes at my other entrance. My tiny, never-before touched hole clenches in half panic as he prods it.

  “So tight,” he groans. “This is what we’re exploring next.”

  My heart leaps up to my throat. I definitely don’t know about that. “Nathan—”

  “You’ll learn,” he says and gives me a hard smack on my ass. With a gasp, I rise on my toes from the sudden sting.

  His hands move to cup my breasts and knead them hard as he moves furiously inside me. He pinches my nipples and arrows of pain turn into heat that shoots right down to my core. I move a finger over my clit. It’s lucky his hold on me is so firm, because I lose all control when rapture takes me and my inner walls spasm. He pounds me relentlessly and joins my cries with a deep groan of his own. Our suite can’t possibly be isolated enough, the whole hotel must hear us.

  After, I can barely walk. My legs tremble, my heart pounds. I’m still hot and bothered, and a bit numb. My mind spins. Sex with Nathan is good, and weird, and frightening. As we get dressed, his phone rings.

  “A minute,” he says, and opens the doors to the balcony, stepping out.

  The noises from the city below tells me it’s already awake. His voice drowns in the cacophony from the street, but I watch his face darken, his features change into something I haven’t seen before. Almost sinister. Then he catches me looking at him, and his mouth widens in a smile that makes my stupid heart jolt. I put it away in the box of ‘things I’m not gonna think about’. He won’t tell me anyway.

  We have breakfast together at a cozy little cafe a block from the hotel.

  “I’ve arranged for a driver to be at your disposal. The front desk staff can tell you about local tourist attractions, or beaches, bars, stores, whatever rocks your boat. You probably haven’t read up on Santo Domingo, and since I pulled you here—”

  I stare at him, the fork with a piece of omelet on it stuck halfway between plate and mouth. There’s demanding in bed and there’s pushing your way into every aspect of my life. The former is scary enticing, and addictive. The latter territory I’m not ready for him to claim. “You’ve arranged? Look, I came here with my own plans, and know how to make my own arrangements. That is going to happen even though I decided to follow you here.”

  “Indulge an old man, Sydney. I insist.”

  I stare at him, incredulous. “Old?”

  “Well, sometimes I feel it. Look, I want to do something good for someone for once.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine, as if gauging my reaction.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘For once’. I’m not going to ask. He’ll just clam up anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever get to know more. My mind may think one thing, but my mouth won’t shut up.

  “I swear to God, sometimes I wonder what the hell it is you’re doing because of the things that come out of your mouth.”

  His eyes darken a shade. “Syd, take my offer.”

  And what if I don’t? I swallow against the flutter in my chest and nod. “Okay. It does sound useful. I might. Does that make the ‘old man’ happy?”

  “Very.” He grins. “And oh, buy something nice for tonight. We’re going out.”

  “We are?” My heart jolts. ‘Out’ sounds almost normal. I could use a bit of normal. “What kind of ‘out’?”

  “Restaurant. Wear a dress. Or a skirt. No panties.”

  “Your word is my law,” I answer, teasingly.

  His eyes flash. “You’re learning.” He leans closer and whispers. “I might reward you.”

  A shiver runs through me. I don’t know about his rewards. I study the unearthly beautiful man in front of me, my body already responding just by looking at him, at his hands, his mouth, the pleasure he has given me. But also, the pain. The spanking. The biting. Suddenly I don’t know about anything. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? I want him and he scares me.

  He cocks his head, regarding me. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I’m not sure I want to know. I’m afraid he sees right through me.

  “Until tonight.” He stands, pulls a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the table in front of me, then he turns and leaves.

  I remain at the cafe for quite a while longer, a second cup of coffee in front of me. I’m a mess. An aching mess. I hurt all over. A part of me is desperate for more, craves this enigmatic, mysterious man. This man who pushes and prods at both my body and my mind, who has taken who I thought I was and left my soul naked and raw. The other part of me knows I’m being devoured, that I’ll lose myself in this consuming passion.

  When I eventually get up, I know what I must do.

  Chapter 13

  Nathan

  Diego Garcia doesn’t know yet that he has no guards. He’s a lazy fuck and rarely gets up before eleven. He’s been boozing half the night and came back late after visiting a certain Señorita Alicia Abila, one of his mistresses. Three men have been posted outside his residence since early morning. I got a text that the two night guards were taken care of right before they ended their shift, before they could notice that the day shift never arrived. Their patrol pattern has been monitored for weeks. They couldn’t be taken out like the others without alarming everyone. We couldn’t get the logistics to work.

  I’m overseeing this part of the operation and don’t participate in the wet work. In a van on a side street, out of view from the mansion, I sit with a bud in my ear, a mic to my mouth and several screens before me, all streaming from cameras on the equipment the others are carrying. I’m fully equipped too, as is Dean, sitting silently next to me. We’re ready to take action in case anything goes wrong.

  Diego’s kids left for school at seven forty-five with their driver. His wife left at ten for a visit to a nail salon. His staff indoors will be taken care of when we enter.

  It’s time. They move up to the house as a unit. My pulse quickens. This is what makes this shit addictive. I can’t imagine what else would give a rush like this. My mind flicks to Sydney for a moment. My cock down her throat as her eyes tear up, that slight fear on her face. Yeah, I can think of a few more things.

  The lock to the greenhouse door is easily taken care of and then they’re in. They split up and I follow their movements on three different screens as they clear room after room. A man comes into view and is shot with two bullets to the chest. He never even makes a sound. On another screen a woman is taken care of in a storage room behind the kitchen. The cleaning lady takes the longest to locate, but eventually they find her in a bathroom on the upper floor. A bit too close to Diego himself, but
this far in it doesn’t matter if he is alerted or not.

  It turns out he isn’t. As our troop enters the master bedroom we get the unsightly image, from three different angles, of a fat naked belly. He’s completely in the nude, a shriveled cock barely visible under the fat. Heavy snoring fills all our ears.

  Dean and I glance at each other and grimace.

  Eric, of course, revels in the sadism of waking him up with a bang and slams the butt of the semi to the side of Diego’s chest as he roars in his ear.

  “Time to get up, you ugly fuck!”

  Diego Garcia literally jumps awake and tries to scramble to the far side of the bed in a pathetic attempt to escape. Two of the guys point their weapons in his face and he stills, frozen halfway out of bed, whimpering. Eric gestures with the barrel of the gun toward the closet. “Get dressed,” he growls

  “Wha— Who—I have money!” Diego stutters, his face a picture of panic and fright.

  Philipe raises his gun to the man’s face. “Get dressed or we’ll drag you out naked. Your choice. You’ve got one fucking minute,” he growls.

  Suddenly I see a movement on the lawn, on the left side of the house. Our guys are all upstairs, the staff has been taken care of, there shouldn’t be anyone. Dean and I look at each other, then I throw open a door and jump out from the back of the van. I run straight through the gates. No one should see me at this point since there are no guards left and the neighbors are too far away. I sneak to the corner of the building and peek around it, weapon ready. A young woman is staring in fright at the house, backing away, slipping on the grass, still wet from the morning dew. The house shadows this side and the sun hasn’t reached it yet to dry it up.

  I run up to her, pointing the semi at her. “Don’t move.” She freezes and stares at me. I swipe a leg behind hers and she falls on her back. Hovering over her, the barrel an inch from her face, I growl, “Who are you?”

  Tears well up and fall down the sides of her cheeks, pooling in her ears before they drip to the ground. She stares at me, her eyes huge and scared. “I was—I was delivering flowers,” she whispers, her voice broken, small.

  I should kill her, but something inside me clenches at the thought. She’s so young, can’t be much more than eighteen. She’s almost the spitting image of my sister Angela when she was sixteen, when their long-time neighbor asked her to help him carry some groceries, the old fart, and then raped her. It broke me more than it broke her, I think, seeing her innocence destroyed.

  Grabbing the girl’s arm, bruisingly hard to drive the point home, I pull her to her feet. “Get the fuck up and come with me.” Still holding her arm, I push her across the lawn, over the gravel and to the van. She stumbles again and again and I have to keep her steady. Dean opens the door and I shove the girl inside. She curls up, staring at us in absolute terror. “Shut the fuck up,” I tell Dean before he even gets a word out.

  He shakes his head disapprovingly.

  The radio cracks to life. “Back up.”

  Dean jumps to the front and backs up past the iron gates, all the way up to the entrance. The back doors are ripped open. I touch the girl with the tip of my right boot. “Turn to the wall. Don’t look at anyone if you want to live.” She immediately obeys and turns to the other side, facing the wall, trembling visibly. A tied up and gagged Diego is pushed inside, his shoulder and head hitting the floor. He’s screaming something, but his voice is muffled, and I can’t make out any words. Can’t say I care either. Philipe jumps in and slams the doors shut, Eric and Alexei hop into the front of the van.

  “Go, go!”

  Dean revs the engine and speeds off. Diego keeps making noises and Philipe slams a boot in his back. “Shut the fuck up.” Then he lifts his gaze and notices our other passenger. He’s quiet for a moment and then he turns to me. “Russo?”

  I glare at him. He doesn’t have to say another word. I know this won’t be the end of it. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I should have shot her. She can’t live.

  Fuck.

  I rip off my balaclava and take a step toward the girl, still obediently turned against the wall. “Be still. Lift your head.” I yank the thing over her head and pull it down so it covers her eyes. “You’ll be fine,” I say, knowing I’m lying.

  The ride is bumpy and the back of the van is a furnace. The girl bounces around but doesn’t say a word or try to move. Diego, by my feet, sputters under the duct tape, his eyes bulging. He tries to scream and shout the whole fucking way back. His nose is running and a couple of times I wonder if he’ll drown himself in snot.

  I plant a boot to his chest and bend forward. “Shut the fuck up, you fat little bug.” It only agitates him further. I laugh and lean back. He can cry, scream, curse. It won’t do him any good.

  We stop, I hear the grating noise of the large steel door to the warehouse being pulled to the side, and then we’re inside, the doors closing just as quickly behind us. When we’ve stopped, Dean opens the back doors and I push out the sputtering little man, so he falls to the floor. The others drag him along and I go and lift the girl, much gentler. Philipe regards me and I know what he’s saying even though he doesn’t utter a word. She can’t live. She whimpers as she, still blindfolded, staggers along as I take her to a back room. I let her drink but leave the cover over her eyes.

  “Stay here,” I whisper, as something inside me blackens with self-loathing and dies. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

  The girl is tied hands and feet. She’s not going anywhere. I empty my mind as I stride past the others who are busy tying Garcia to a chair. They’re slapping him around and making the usual threats to his health. The warm-up for what’s to come. I step outside the warehouse and lean against a rusty steel container. There’s a slithering unease crawling inside me. I’m not stupid. I know it’s my conscience that’s come banging on the door. Smoking my third cigarette in fifteen minutes, I’m staring at the moving dockside cranes in the distance, wishing I was somewhere else, someone else.

  “Russo.” I’m brought out of my reverie and turn around. Alexei comes up to me. “She has to go.”

  I inhale, close my eyes, and then I nod. I’ve been expecting this. No one has asked me why I didn’t kill the girl, but the looks they’ve given me said it all.

  “You’ve gone soft, Russo.”

  I spin around, grab his collar and push him against the wall. “Trust me,” I snarl in his face, “I fucking haven’t, but I’ve never gone for kids.” Alexei is about to break loose when I open my hands, my palms facing him, showing him I’m done. “That’s just fucking it. Let’s go”, I say and flip the cigarette. When I open the door, I motion for him to stay a bit behind. He has already cocked his gun and is ready.

  She jerks and turns her head toward our entry. Her long dark hair cascades down her back, partly trapped between her and the back of the chair. She’s such a tiny person, short, and without an ounce of fat on her body, dressed in a little beige uniform-like dress, that is now stained with grass and dirt. She’s so innocent. I try to stay indifferent, but this is killing me. I crouch and stroke her head. She flinches at my touch.

  “Don’t worry, hon. You’ll be all right.”

  I glance behind me as I remove my hand. Alexei is only a few steps away, gun lifted.

  The shot rings out and she slumps to the floor. I want to vomit.

  I leave the room, not looking at the body, regretting I ever set foot in this fucking op to begin with. Something builds in me, has been for a long time. It’s like lava trying to break through the surface of a volcano. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I don’t like what I see. I can go down two roads. Either I quit this shit for real, tell fucking Salvatore I’m done, or I turn it all off, every last piece of humanity in me.

  Sydney Lewis isn’t the cause of the whirlwind inside me, but with her innocence, her kindness and her purity, she is the catalyst for change. She’s my key to that other life.

  Chapter 14

  Nathan

&
nbsp; I haven’t been to my rented apartment since yesterday morning. Work, then Sydney, then work has kept me from it. I didn’t really mind the Sydney part of that at all. Tension ripples through me as I think of how she molded herself to me, like clay in my hands. She’s not experienced, but I like her innocence, and I can’t wait to take all of it from her.

  My chest still aches, the girl falling to the raw concrete floor, a pool of blood spreading around her head, her long dark hair a mess, never to be combed shiny again. It all plays on repeat. This is the life I live. This is the life I was born into.

  Senseless murders, cruelties, tearing lives apart.

  I witnessed my father get shot by a rival gang over some business deal. His lifeless body on the sidewalk, when any help was too late, when he’d never walk, crack his silly jokes, or dance again. He was such a powerful man, larger than life, but no one is tougher than a bullet through the brain. I never knew death before that. It was abstract, just a word. A few months later I knew more of death than I had ever wished. Mama Russo sent her sons out on a warpath, and we did our job. I shot my first man when I was twelve. I looked him in the eyes, saw his last moments of true fear, and pulled the trigger. I watched as the light went out. Then I vomited. But I felt no remorse. He tore my father from five kids. Dad believed firmly in the belt, he wasn’t an easy man to please, but he also had great humor, and he made Mom laugh. She never laughed again after his death.

  My life has been one long walk in the shadows after that. Despite all my money, my apartments and houses, I’m still that twelve-year-old boy who lost both his father and his mother on a hot afternoon in June. I never forgave the world. I loathe my mom. I’m fiercely loyal to my brothers and my sister. But I have no attachments and I’ve stayed far away from ever letting anyone close, letting a woman close.

  Until now. I still don’t know what I want with her. I shouldn’t want anything, but I itch to explore this connection I feel.