Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Relief floods her features. I crush it.

  “But you’ll probably wish you hadn’t.”

  Chapter 7

  Chloe

  Luciano Salvatore’s words wrap tighter than any rope would around my throat. I feel as if I’m drowning. Bruised, naked, shivering under his cold and yet heated gaze, I try to form even one coherent thought, but my mind is a jumbled mess of raw fear. A sickening feeling that everything is too late claws at my insides.

  “Please,” I whisper. “Let me go. Let me get dressed. Let me go.” I’m transfixed by his black eyes. There’s hunger in them and it makes my stomach churn. He looks me over, his expression the same infuriatingly neutral he’s carried the whole time, but something new flares in his gaze.

  “Take off that bandage.”

  My hands fly up to cover it, to protect my chest from the worsened pain that will follow if I remove the bandage. I yelp as he grabs my wrist and pulls it to him.

  “You’ll hurt even worse if you don’t do what I tell you,” he growls. “Either I rip it off you, and I can promise you it won’t be a pleasant experience. For you. Or I grant you the generous opportunity to remove it yourself.”

  New tears spill over my cheeks as my fingers search for the tape that holds the wraps. I’m in a state of such mad panic that I can’t feel my hands, and with the fumbling it seems to take forever. Finally, I begin uncovering my last patches of bruised skin, the worst parts, lap after lap, wincing from the strain on my aching muscles. My legs still tremble from standing for so long. It felt like hours. I have no idea how long he made me stand naked with my back to his business partners. I felt it every time someone new entered the room. The silence, the air thickening, the questions hanging between us three people in the room, unasked. Then there were the ones who bluntly asked. I’ve never felt so dirty before in my life.

  My hand shakes violently as I pull off the last lap and lower my arm, clutching the white cotton strip.

  Salvatore smirks. “Stand up.”

  “Please.” My voice is nothing but a hoarse weird noise, the word barely identifiable. He grabs my hair and pulls me to my feet. I scream as I clutch his hand, trying to relieve the tearing pain in my scalp.

  “You have nothing, Chloe,” he snarls, his face so close that his breath fans my lips, “You are nobody. There is nothing I can’t do to you. Absolutely no one will come to your aid. Do you understand? You can scream all you want, the only thing that will happen is that I punish you again and again until you obey me.”

  Ravaging fear mixed with anger boils up inside me, shooting the lid off. “Never,” I scream. Then I spit in his face, the foamy liquid landing on his cheek. “Never, do you hear me?”

  He holds my gaze one moment longer, then he turns and pulls me with him. I stumble and fall, burning my skin on the carpet as he drags me over it.

  “You will be punished for that. It will be your first lesson.” He pushes a button on his desk. “Have Elena call me. Pronto!”

  “Yes, sir,” says the same voice as before.

  I still hold his hand in my hair, whimpering with pain.

  “Up on your knees,” he growls, and I don’t dare to not obey.

  He sits in his wooden, old-fashioned office chair, his legs spread wide, my spit still on his cheek. His eyes don’t leave mine, and I’m hypnotized by his dark gaze. We both twitch as his phone chimes. He doesn’t look away as he taps the screen twice.

  “Elena,” he says.

  “Mr. Salvatore. What can I do for you?” He’s put the call on loudspeaker. The woman’s voice is warm, intimate, and sounds professional at the same time.

  “Send me a girl.”

  “Right away, sir. Any preferences?”

  He looks me over and a leery expression that makes my heart skip a beat comes over him. “Athletic, tall, blonde.”

  “She will be with you in thirty.”

  “Make it twenty,” he says and taps the screen, killing the call. Leaning forward, he pulls me closer. “Lick this shit off. Make it hot.”

  I recoil, disgusted. Hell no. He’s not having it and tugs harder at my hair, making me whimper.

  “You have exactly two choices,” he growls, his face so close that his features become blurred. “Do as I say, and I’ll let you rest on that couch the rest of the afternoon, or disobey me and in exactly four minutes from now you’ll be hanging in chains in my basement.”

  I choke down the scream that wants to escape me. He can’t do this! This isn’t happening. I want my life back! My eyes dart between his. They’re charcoal black and without a hint of compassion. My heart sinks like a stone. I glance at the spit and lean in, disgusted. Not so much by the thought of licking off my own spit, but by the thought that I’ll put my tongue on this monster. I swallow against the nausea and touch his skin with the tip of my tongue. His dark stubble scratches my tongue as I lick a path upward. Surrounded by his scent, a heavy musky cologne with hints of citrus, a tang of earthy cigar, a rush of something undefinable shoots through me as he growls, low and sensual and still menacing. Everything about him is menace, horror, death, and still something happens in the air between us as I lean back slightly, having fulfilled my task. Then it’s gone as suddenly as it appeared. He lets go of my hair, shoving me away.

  “Go sit on the couch and shut up.”

  “Can I please have clothes?”

  I scramble back with a whimper, throwing my arm over my head, as he suddenly stands and raises his hand as if to hit me. When nothing happens, I peek up at him. He’s a terrifying vision, his nostrils flaring, his lips thinned in fury, his hands balled into fists.

  “Go. Sit. On the fucking couch.”

  I don’t have to be told again.

  Cradling my aching arm, I cover my breasts. Taking shallow breaths to not worsen the sharp pain in my chest, I pull up my knees and fold them to the side, giving myself a sliver of decency as I manage to hide most of my nakedness.

  Salvatore turns his back to me, typing away at his laptop, giving me a chance to study the monster. His black hair is on the longer side of short and curls at his nape, just touching the collar of his impeccable white shirt. There are barely-there strands of silver at his temples, and in his stubble that is cut in a sharp line below his jaw. The muscles in his arms strain the sleeves of the shirt as he moves, and I fight down the renewed surge of panic as I think about what he can do with all that strength. He doesn’t even need his gun. He’s like a machine built to hurt, to kill.

  Tell on the mob and die.

  I glance between him and the door. Can I make it? Then I remember the hallway, the guard, the long driveway and even more guards. Even with clothes on and my ribs not broken I wouldn’t make it three feet. Maybe I should just make a run for it anyway? They’ll kill me and I’ll be free. From the sound of it, that’s my only shot at getting away from this nightmare.

  The room is warm, but not warm enough and I’m covered in goosebumps, fighting to keep the shuddering under control. Glancing over my shoulder, somehow managing to keep an eye on Salvatore at the same time as I look out the window, I consider opening it, jump and just take it from there.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growls.

  I jerk hard, my heart stopping for a second, and stare at his back. He hasn’t moved. “I… I wasn’t—”

  He spins his chair a quarter of a circle, looking me over, his gaze hard. “Did I tell you to speak?”

  I flinch. “No, sir.”

  Sir? Why sir? I don’t want to call him anything even remotely respectful, but in my mind-numbing terror it just slipped out of my mouth. The flash of hunger in his eyes makes me shrink back.

  “Did I tell you to move?”

  “No,” I whimper.

  “No what?”

  I swallow hard. “No…” I lick my lips and plead with him silently not to do this to me. It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. His gaze hardens, making my chest tighten. “Sir,” I choke out.

  He smi
rks, then he turns again and continues typing on his laptop. My soul shrinks. What am I doing? I shouldn’t cower. I should fight! Fuck.

  My head darts up as there’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” barks Salvatore.

  Ivan enters with a tall, blonde girl in tow. She’s got a short, sleeveless red dress with a neckline so low it just about hides her nipples. Despite her stiletto sandals, she strides confidently half-way into the room. I’m no stranger to high heels, but even I would wobble on those. Her gaze falls on me, taking me in, her eyes widening, darting between me and Salvatore. Then she takes a deep breath and looks straight forward, seemingly into the distance.

  “Rose,” mutters Ivan, before he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

  “Come here, Rose,” purrs Salvatore in a voice I haven’t heard before, low, sensual, almost like a lover’s. My insides grow cold. I don’t know what game he’s playing. What is he going to do with this girl? Hurt her too? In front of me? Is this my punishment? My mind spins as the scenarios run faster and faster through my brain. The girl moves closer, unable to not glance my way several times. I want to scream at her to run, but I’m too afraid of what will happen if I do. Instead I sit passively, feeling as if I’ll be an accomplice to what he’ll put this girl through.

  Rose sways her hips seductively as she moves to stand right in front of the still sitting Salvatore, who has again swung his chair to the side.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little whore. Get on your knees. Put your lips around my cock.” He shoots me a leery glance, and then looks at the girl who has obediently sunken down between his legs and begun to pull open his belt. Salvatore leans back in his chair, stretches out his legs and puts his hands behind his head.

  I stare, transfixed, as she pulls out his semi-rigid cock, already huge, and takes him in her mouth. Something stirs between my legs. I squirm and desperately want to look away. Having a front seat to someone else’s sex show is disturbing and still uncomfortably erotic. For a while all that is heard is the noise of her sucking and the occasional low moan from the monster. At least he isn’t hurting her. I clench my thighs together. My pussy tingles. My body is a fucking traitor. I sure as fuck don’t want to get turned on by this.

  Suddenly he grabs her hair and stands. I tense. Here it goes. But all he does is push deeper, burying his cock to the hilt with each forceful thrust. Finally he holds still, her face pressed against his groin, as his features contort. Her chest hitches as her face turns red, and it becomes increasingly obvious she can’t breathe. I feel like I’m choking too. Is he going to kill her? Right before my eyes. The girl pushes at his thighs, panic in her gaze. I’m just about to beg him to stop when he pulls back. She inhales a deep breath, her eyes wide and frightened before she quickly puts on her professional facade again.

  “Stand up,” he says as he puts his cock back in his pants. “Bend over the chair.”

  Her legs wobble this time, not so self-confident anymore. She bends over, gripping the edge of the seat, presenting her ass to him. Salvatore pulls up her little dress past her hips and turns her slightly, so that I can see her pink, hairless pussy.

  “Look at my guest,” he growls as he puts his hand between her legs. “Don’t take your eyes off her.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking to me or her, but our eyes connect and for a brief moment there’s sympathy in her gaze, and worry, before she closes her face and there is no emotion at all. She just goes blank. I swallow against the ragged ball of fear in my chest as my eyes keep darting between her face, her pussy, and Salvatore. He’s caressing her, his fingers sliding along her slit, spreading her pussy lips, circling her clit until her hips start rocking. He pushes two fingers inside in one rough thrust and she gasps, then he keeps thrusting as he puts his other hand to her clit and keeps rubbing it. I don’t know where to look as blood rushes to my own pussy. If I thought it was erotic before, it was nothing to this. I clench my thighs together, grind my teeth and fight the increasing syrupy heaviness between my legs. Fuck him! The girl’s lips part and she’s getting flushed. I’m sure she can fake an orgasm like a pro, but I have no doubt this is real. Salvatore keeps me pinned with his gaze. He handles the girl as if he really cares about her pleasure, but his leery expression tells another story.

  This show is for me. He’s telling me something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. His pace picks up, the girl pants louder, gasping for air, rocking back on his thrusting fingers. I expect him to pull out his cock at any moment and shove it in, but all he does is pleasure her, because that’s definitely what he’s doing. She can’t hold my gaze anymore as her face contorts and she begins to mewl. Finally she screams and buries her face in the padded leather seat, her entire body twitching. She looks like her knees will fold any moment. Salvatore slows his pace, leisurely moving his fingers in and out of her now glistening wet pussy. Shudders ripple through her body. He stills and pulls out. She doesn’t move. Leaning over, he whispers in her ear, then they both look at me. I shrink back. My pussy is pulsating, desperately wanting the same treatment, because by God, that looked hot. But not from him. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.

  Rose stands and grabs the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head in one swift move. Dropping it on the chair, she walks up to me, stark naked, and holds out her hand. “Come.”

  My eyes dart between her and Salvatore. He stands passively, his face unreadable. What is this game? Wincing as I hold out my hand, I take hers, surprisingly strong, and let her pull me to my feet, renewed pain stabbing my ribs when I move. I follow her as she moves to a door to the side and pulls it open.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She closes the door behind us. We’re standing in a small bathroom, a toilet, a sink, and to our right, a glass door to a shower.

  “I’m to clean you up.” She lowers her voice. “What happened to you? Did he do that?”

  “Clean me up? What?”

  Rose pulls open the glass door and steps inside, turning the faucet until the water flows on the dark gray tiles, tilting her head for me to follow. I widen my eyes, then I hold up my cast. “I can’t.”

  She leans closer, whispering, “You don’t say no to Salvatore. He tells you to shower, you shower. Come on, I’ll do your hair.”

  “But I… my arm.”

  Her eyes dart to the door, as if she could see the man through it. “Please. He’ll punish us both.”

  The room steams up fast. Tears well up in my eyes and my lower lip trembles as I let her lead me under the warm stream. “Did he really get you off?” I whisper. The water soaks my cast, fills the sliver of space between it and my skin, softening it. It won’t support my broken arm much longer.

  “I don’t come with customers,” she says, and starts caressing my soaked hair.

  Relief floods me as I turn to look at her. It was all fake. Of course he wouldn’t give someone pleasure.

  “But I did,” she adds as she clicks open a shampoo bottle and pours a large amount of flower-scented pink gel in her palm. “Turn around.”

  I obey and close my eyes as she begins to massage my scalp. “Was it…” Her hands are so gentle that I lean back into her touch, wanting more. No one has given me even the slightest amount of tenderness in what feels like forever. “Was it good?”

  She huffs. “Yeah. Too fucking good. I’m still expecting the blow. He has a reputation… He’s not nice with the girls he brings here.” She pushes me forward a little, letting the stream of water rinse the shampoo out of my hair. “What’s your story?”

  I don’t know if I should tell her. Maybe it will put her in danger too? “I… made some bad decisions.”

  “Step back,” she says, and rubs my wet tresses. “Conditioner. And yes, I’d say.”

  “What does he do with the girls?” My voice barely carries the words. I have no idea what awaits me. All I know is that it can’t be good. It won’t be good.

  Rose puts a ha
nd on my shoulder, making me turn to her. Her gaze is filled with concern, and the fear we both share. Pouring soap into her hand, she lathers down along my good arm, my hips, my ass cheeks, my thighs, inside and outside. The air thickens between us, or maybe it’s me in my confused and still infuriatingly aroused state. Crouching before me, the girl looks up, biting her lower lip. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.

  I scoff. “No, I’m not.”

  She stands, dragging her hands up along my body, making my nipples peak. “Yes, you are. I see it even though you’re bruised.”

  I glance down on my black and blue skin, the swellings over cracked ribs, big black marks on my thighs, the cast that is now soaked and useless, and swallow hard, sorrow over what I’m losing stabbing through my chest.

  “He’ll want you,” she says softly.

  “That’s not a good thing.”

  She shakes her head. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Can you help me?” I whisper. “Can someone help me get out of here?”

  “No. I can’t. I’d be killed.” She suddenly puts her lips to mine, in the lightest of kisses. “What’s your name?”

  “Chloe.”

  Rose nods. “Chloe, I’ll pray for you.” She collects more soap. “Spread your legs.”

  I fight the tears as I obey. It’s almost as if I’m already conditioned to follow orders, as if my body isn’t my own anymore. She lathers along my belly and then dips in between my legs, her eyes dart to mine as her fingers slide along my slit.

  “You’re wet. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. That whole fucking show was for you, to fuck with you.” She removes her hand and carefully lays her arms around me, hugging me, pressing her naked breasts to mine. It’s both sensual and friendly at the same time.

  “I can’t do this,” I choke out, burying my face in her nape. “I can’t be here.”

  “I need to go,” she says and abruptly takes a step back. “I won’t forget you, Chloe.” She turns on her heels, rips a towel off a hanger and disappears out the door as she wraps it around herself.