Chapter 5 Elena
CHAPTER 5
ELENA
It was the cold that woke her up. Icy fingers licking at her bare skin that was touching the tile floor. The only light in the room was a light bulb in the upper right corner, that looked as if it could die any minute. She wished it were dark, because the faint light showed her specks of brown on the wall she recognized as dried blood.
Elena closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She had expected Pedro to be angry when he couldn't find Vicky, but she hadn’t expected him to do this. She imagined his footprint was imprinted onto her back.
Every breath jarred her aching body, so she wrapped her arms around her middle to keep the pain at bay. Then she did what she did whenever life dealt her a bad hand of cards—she concentrated on the positive. For starters, and most importantly, her being in here meant that Pedro still hadn’t gotten his hands on Vicky. If he had, he wouldn't need her as leverage anymore. Second, and even thinking about it gave her a stomachache, she could only presume this meant Vicky had found her real father.
Just the thought of him hurt. It was like glass cutting her over and over again. She knew how important family was to him. He'd practically raised his little brother while being a teenager himself. She remembered finding out she was carrying his child at eighteen. Being terrified and excited at the same time. They had never talked about it, but she knew he wanted it all—the white picket fence, two-point-five kids, and even a dog. In their harsh world it was the ultimate dream to escape the slums and just be together. When she'd been with him, everything had seemed right. Viking had always been her biggest support, her protector. Until he’d gotten himself thrown into jail. Until she’d caught the eye of Lorenzo Morelli and everything had gone to shit.
Her throat clogged up, and she wiped away her tears. Viking would love their daughter—how could he not?—and keep her safe. In the end, that was all that mattered.
When the sound of arguing voices reached her, she tried to cover herself up. However, no matter how small she made herself, it was impossible. Never before had she felt this vulnerable.
The door opened, and Elena braced herself. She hid all emotion from her face, refusing to give Pedro the joy of seeing her fear.
A man in his late twenties, wearing a pair of black slacks and a white button-down shirt stood in the doorway. His leather jacket cracked when he crossed his arms before his chest. Next to him stood a stockier guy, in ripped jeans and a hoodie. His eyes lacked any expression, whereas the first guy’s disdain couldn’t be missed. They must be some of Pedro’s new men. The second Lorenzo died, he’d taken over the estate, putting his trustees everywhere.
Leather Guy whistled. “Well, look at that. The legendary Elena Morelli.”
“Stay the hell away from me.” She felt weary, as if she’d been held captive for ages. The lack of sunlight messed with her head, making her lose any sense of time.
“Get up.” When she didn't move, he gestured to the guy next to him. “Go get her, Art.”
Art narrowed his eyes at her. “She’s naked.”
“I can see that.”
Her hands clenched, and she swore she would scratch his eyes out if he so much as touched her.
“You want me to touch his woman?”
It took her a sec to understand what he meant. Then it took her another one to realize that they didn’t eye her as a piece of meat, unlike the men from the other night. Then again, Pedro had given her twenty-four hours. Apparently, she still had some time left.
“She’s not his woman.”
Damn right, she wasn’t. “I’m not Pedro's anything. Except for his sister-in-law, unfortunately. And that won’t be for long.” She would change her name the first chance she got.
Art took off his jacket and draped it over her. She gratefully accepted it and pulled it over her as much as she could, gritting her teeth. Pedro had gotten in some quite good kicks, and her left side had already turned purple.
The other guy, with eyes that seemed to take in everything, smirked.
“Don’t thank him just yet.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, Art pulled out a needle and jammed it in her thigh. Everything went blurry, and she slumped to her side.
***
This time when she woke up, she was lying on a mattress. A single fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, flickering soft yellow light across the space. The unfamiliar room she was stuffed in was bigger than the last, but all the same, a cage. Judging by the ceiling and tiny window, she suspected they had put her in another basement. She wasn’t sure why Pedro had relocated her but seeing the mattress, she had a pretty good idea.
The sick fuck.
Nauseated, she jumped up, clutching the jacket she still had on close to her body. It took hours before the door opened, which was a blessing and a terror at the same time.
The snarky guy came in, carrying a tray of food. He all but shoved it into her hands.
She looked dumbfounded at the toast and glass of water.
“Water and bread? Really?” She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, but something about the situation just seemed off.
The guy cocked a brow. “What? You think you deserve better?”
She didn’t understand the hint of accusation in his voice, nor did she care. She’d had enough to deal with without wondering about his animosity toward her.
“I think I deserve to be free.” She put the tray on the floor and was ready to plead with him, or offer him a bribe.
He gave her a push, and she stumbled back onto the mattress. When she looked up, it was into a pair of angry eyes.
“Free? You think you deserve to be free after what you did to him? He should put a bullet through your head and be done with it.”
With those ominous words and a look filled with disgust, he left.
A coldness gripped her heart, petrifying her limbs. They felt she had betrayed the Family. She knew what that meant. She was never leaving this place. No matter what, Pedro would make her bleed, if only to prove himself worthy of the Morelli crown. It was the way of their world, a world she had lived in for so many years and couldn’t seem to be able to leave.
Her next visitor wouldn’t be bringing water and bread, to show that she was his prisoner at his mercy. The next time Pedro came to see her, he would finish the job he’d started in her bedroom. Well, she wasn’t going down without a fight. Pedro seemed to forget the number one rule of survival: a cornered cat had nothing to lose.
She smashed the water glass against the wall. Shards scattered over the floor. Picking the biggest one, she turned it into a weapon.
Let him come.
Except hours passed, and no one came. The light in the windows showed the change of night and day twice, and still no one came. Meanwhile, the cold crept into her bones, coating her skin with a layer of ice. She started pacing to keep warm, doing jumping-jacks now and then. With her makeshift weapon, she waited vigilantly for anyone to ambush her.
By the end of the third night, her eyes drooped from exhaustion. Her fingers holding the shiv were stiff, her hungry body weary from pacing. Eventually, she dropped onto the mattress, worn out, no longer able to stand on her feet.
Then it happened. Just when her eyes closed again, a lock turned, and the door opened.
A pair of army boots came into her view. Before she could make a move, her paltry weapon was yanked from her hand and cast away.
A hand tugged on her hair, forcing her to look up. Ready to spit in Pedro’s face, she braced herself.
From the shadows, Viking emerged. His blond hair was so pale it was nearly white. His face was an icy mask. The words died on her lips as she took in the wall of muscle in front of her. Shock and a sense of deep betrayal hit her gut as she stared into his glacial blue eyes.
“Viking?” Air rushed from her lungs.
His eyes spat venom. Waves of heat and anger wafted off his big frame, enclosing her as if trying to smother her like the corsets she had gotten used to.
His hand went to her throat and circled it, as if he wanted to strangle her. A dark, twisted part of her wanted him to. End her. End them. Maybe then, she could finally find some peace and put an end to the aching pain in her soul. Another part of her rebelled at the thought of giving up. That crazy piece of her that would never go down without a fight, the part of her that was a lion, that part roared.
The second he let go of her, she pushed up to her feet and faced him. He was so much bigger and stronger than she was. He was also the man who had left her in an icy tomb for days, with only a piece of bread and a glass of water. Days during which he had her believe that, any second, she could get gang-raped. Hours of agony, fear…everything collided together right then and there.
She smacked him in the face so hard his head reeled back from the blow. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
“Don’t you know I hate the cold?” she snapped.
Someone swore, and it was only then Elena noticed Leather Jacket Guy standing behind Viking.
“Think before you do anything,” Leather Jacket Guy warned.
“Get out,” Viking growled. “Now, Baran.”
Elena swallowed, then looked for ways to escape. There were none. She was trapped and about to be taken down by a murderous-looking beast.
Viking caught the drop of blood on his lip with his finger. Then he smirked.
“You’ve drawn first blood. I’ll draw last.”
He grabbed the remaining scraps of her coat and tore it in two. She yelped when he turned her around and pushed her face against the wall.
His breath was hot on her ear when he plastered himself against her and whispered, “You will regret that.”
She realized there was nothing left of the man who once would have burned down the world for her. It reopened wounds in places she had believed had been all scarred up.
“I already do,” she admitted.
He pushed against her, and she could feel his hardness against her ass. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by it. Judging by his curse, probably him.
Her heart hammered in her throat. She felt chilled to the bone and her heart ached. This wasn’t the man she used to know. They could both be hotheads sometimes. Viking had anger issues and she, well, she was impulsive and did things she later regretted. At least, she had before she’d married Lorenzo. Before he had used her daughter against her and had clipped her wings.
As sick and perverted as it was, going head-to-toe with Viking again made her feel alive for the first time in a long while. He may think he’d held her captive, but knowing it was him holding her instead of Pedro made all the difference in the world. If there was one thing Viking wasn’t capable of, it was hurting her.
He pulled her hair, bending her neck. Then he put his teeth to her collarbone, marking her. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she refused to whimper. Crying had never done her any good. It only made you look weak. And when you looked weak and vulnerable, you were practically inviting people to hurt and screw you over.
She flinched when his teeth grated against bone, but didn't move a muscle. Not that she could, the way he had sandwiched her against the wall.
Then he let her go, his ragged breath filling the room. He stepped away from her, looking at her as if she was filth underneath his boot.
“It’s time for a taste of your own medicine. Get used to your new accommodations, princess,” he snarled. “You’re never leaving it.”
It was a perverted version of a promise he had made years ago.
Get used to us, princess, I’m never leaving you.
She held it together until he slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone in a room as cold as a crypt. A crack formed in the impenetrable wall she had put around herself, and she slumped onto the mattress.
Viking Skarsgard.
My love.
My life.
My captor.