Chapter 18 – Three Months Later
THREE MONTHS LATER
“My money’s on the kid,” a man whose name I don’t know says, chewing on tobacco.
“I have a feeling they’ll take him.” Drew snickers as three guys surround me. The fear is there in their eyes, evident as I glare at each of them.
They know to survive, they’ll have to kill me, and that’s never been easy to do.
I have no weapons. My fists, my body, are all I have.
They have none either. My victims used to arrive tied to chairs, but now, they throw them on the floor and make me kill them with my bare hands.
It’s my punishment for killing Stan and the other man.
But I haven’t failed once in the last few months, and I don’t plan to start now.
It didn’t take Agnelo long to have me back in the warehouse after that first week, and I was right to assume he had something up his sleeve.
But at least she’s been safe. That’s all that matters.
I gesture for them to come at me, and stupidly one does. When he gets near enough, I run at him, kicking him in the face, and he goes down with a groan. The other two decide to attack me at once, each from the side, and while swiping the legs of one, I punch the other square in the jaw.
“Oh, damn! Looks like I’ll be winning that money,” Drew’s friend mocks on a laugh, and from the corner of my eye, I find Drew glaring, drilling a hole in my head.
“Fuck!” he barks. “I hope they kill him. If Agnelo would let me, I’d end the bastard myself.”
I ignore them, coming at the one I just punched, jumping over him, landing hit after hit to his face until he grunts.
Another man jumps on my back, his arm circling my neck, trying to get me in a choke hold, but he fails when I twist his hand backward and crack it.
“Ahhh!” he screams, while I deal with the other one, now backing away.
But he can’t get far, not here, not when the people who want him dead will stop at nothing to see that happen.
With a hard kick to his stomach, he goes down, and I take the time to destroy him.
My fists fly unrestrained as I growl like an animal, hitting him until he’s unrecognizable, his nose shifting as it breaks, my knuckles bloody and raw.
I don’t realize he’s dead, not until I ease off him, finding no pulse.
With a heavy rise of my chest, my attention is on the guy holding on to his damaged hand, still there on the floor, the fight in him gone.
He covers his face with his good arm, a serpent tattoo marking his skin there. “Please, do-don’t!”
“I promise to make it quick,” I tell him as I grab the collar of his shirt and raise him up in the air.
My forearm rounds his neck, cutting off his breathing.
His body fights, the oxygen slowly leaving him as he does, and gradually the movements diminish, until they still. I drop him to the floor with a thud.
There’s only one left. Then I’m done until the next day when they’ll make me fight them or kill someone new. Every day is different. And every day fucking sucks.
The last man is huddled at the far end of the wall, his body shuddering with harsh exhales as I descend on him.
He knows he won’t win. He’ll die. Here. And there’s nothing I can do to help him.
This is my hell as much as it is his. I can’t refuse the Bianchis.
I learned that the hard way. So I’ll fight and I’ll slaughter.
I’ll do it all to make her life that much less unbearable.
Every night I close my eyes, I wonder what I can do to give her a better life. If I get near enough to kill Agnelo, his people will kill me in an instant and his brothers will come after Aida.
There’s literally not a goddamn thing I can do.
We lost our one chance to escape, and there’s no way we can do it now.
That’s probably another reason they no longer give me any weapons, too afraid I’ll kill them and disappear with her.
It’s too risky. If I fail, she’ll be sent back to that hellhole or be killed.
My only option is to do whatever Agnelo wants, in the hopes that he spares her that agony again. I can’t lose her.
“Hey, you!” Drew calls to the soon-to-be dead man. “Grow some balls and fight! What the fuck? You know how much money I’m losing?”
“Sorry.” Drew’s friend chuckles. “Told you. That kid could kill anyone.”
“I taught that fuck everything he knows. I can take him.” Drew folds his arms over his chest.
I advance on the man who shakes his head, pushing himself further into the wall.
“I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to,” I tell him. “So stand up. Let’s end this because you’re not getting out of here alive.”
He weeps as he tries to climb up, falling to his knees instead.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I lift him up, my arm suffocating him, his body growing limp. I let him fall to the floor. Walking up to Drew, looking straight into his eyes, I ask, “Anyone else you got for me, or can I go home now?”
AIDA - AGE 21
I’ve been waiting for him alone in the basement, hoping he comes back soon.
Worry is my permanent state of being. In the last few months, I’ve pushed what happened to me somewhere so deep, it’s like I blocked it out, like it never happened.
But when my head hits the pillow, it all comes back with a vengeance.
I find myself awake, tears streaked down my face, realizing I wasn’t crying solely in my nightmare but in my reality as well. Talking about it will only make it more real, so I don’t.
Last night, I saw that blonde woman again, but this time her face was clear, like she had wanted me to see her.
Those charcoal-brown eyes gazed at me, her long, shiny hair swaying over her shoulders.
She was gorgeous, and when she smiled, her hand reaching for me, I took it.
But then I suddenly woke up, wondering who she was and why I keep seeing her.
Was my mind conjuring up what I think my mother looks like?
That’s probably it. But even still, knowing she isn’t real, I want to see her again.
She brought me a sense of comfort among the chaos, like a quiet wave of tranquility.
The basement door swings open, multiple footsteps climbing down, and Matteo comes to view, his white shirt streaked with red. I widen a stare at it, knowing it’s blood. My pulse pounds at the sight as Drew pushes him toward the mattress.
“Your boyfriend lost me a lot of money today.” He throws him on the bed, grabbing the thick silver chain and clasping it around his wrist.
“Poor you,” I hiss, my face turning up with disgust.
“Bitch,” he grits.
“Call her that again,” Matteo growls, “and I’ll have you on the ground with your throat slit open.”
Drew breaks into laughter. “Funny kid.” Then his face goes hard as he grabs Matteo by the neck, pinning him into the mattress. “You may have balls, but I’ll break them. Try me, bastard. I fucking dare you.”
I jump to my feet and smack Drew’s back. “Let him go!” But they both ignore me.
Matteo’s glare goes cold. He doesn’t even flinch as Drew practically chokes him.
Just when I think I’ll have to find something hard to hit Drew with, Matteo kicks up his knee and lands it square into Drew’s crotch, flipping him under and positioning himself on top.
A grin grows as he wraps the long chain around Drew’s throat and yanks hard.
Drew’s hands claw into the air that won’t quite enter his lungs. “I really want to fucking kill you,” Matteo adds. “Aida’s the only reason I won’t. But the next time you call her a name, you’ll die for it.”
Matteo lets him go, sitting down as though nothing happened, while my heartbeats explode in my chest. Having never seen this side of him before, I should probably fear him, this boy who somehow became a terrifying man, but I’m not at all afraid. If anything, I feel just a little bit safer.
Drew tries to stand, but wobbles for a few seconds before finally managing to right himself.
“Agnelo…” He coughs, holding on to his neck as he chokes out the rest. “Agnelo will hear about this, you fucking little punk.”
“He has this room bugged.” Matteo winks. “So he probably already knows.”
Drew huffs out a breath, his teeth gritted, then he rushes up the stairs, the door slamming behind him.
Once he’s finally gone, I instantly run into Matteo’s arms, straddling him chest to chest. My hands slink into his thick, chestnut-colored hair as I peer down at the chiseled face of the man I’m madly, insanely in love with. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” He jerks his head, tucking my face into his palms.
“For standing up for me. No one has ever defended me that way.”
The familiar throb behind my eyes is back from this immense sense of adoration for him, too great to even comprehend.
“I’ll always defend you, Aida.” His thumbs brush the tops of my cheeks. “My only regret is that I didn’t do more. I let what happened to you go unpunished.”
“It’s not your fault.” I place my hand over his.
“But it is.” His expression turns into one of anguish, guilt, and self-hatred as though branded there. He grabs me to him, hugging me tight, inhaling sharply as though trying to steady his emotions.
I draw away a fragment, my eyes boring into his. The way he gazes at me, his eyes full of turmoil and tenderness, all I need in this very moment is to feel his lips, to capture them in mine. As I slowly lean into him, I do just that.
He cups my nape, his fingers sinking into my hair, tightening, grasping roughly, turning my face so the kisses are deeper. His tongue charges into my mouth, swirling, tasting. And all I want is more—of him, of this, of us.
His groans flirt with my own as the passion spills from the wounds ingrained upon our souls. I could kiss him until the sun no longer rises and the moon withers and dies.
But there’s something else I desperately need. Something he’s never given me, and I’m afraid to ask for it. But after what those men did at the club, I need him to be the one to give me something that they’ll never give me.