Ellie
It’s been three days since he toyed with me and had me swallow his cum in some depraved act I literally lapped up. Then he up and left, as if it never occurred.
If it wasn’t for Oliver, I wouldn’t have stuck around, but that little boy needs me. I’ve never felt a bond like this before. Sure, I love Jade, but Oliver depends on me, and I can’t say I don’t depend on him either.
I spent the day entertaining him, and he’s far more intelligent than people give him credit for. Just because he doesn’t speak at what society deems as on target, does not mean he lacks intelligence. What the poor boy needs is some love and affection. Maybe then he will communicate better.
I’ve found he shies away from trying if he thinks he can’t achieve something.
In the afternoon, I took him for a swim, then laid him on the pool lounger and covered him with a towel and asked security to watch him while I changed.
When I returned, he was sound asleep, and Jovie—a member of Rafael’s security team—approached me. He speaks in broken English, and I’m convinced he thought I was Spanish with my olive skin tone and dark hair. When I told him I only speak English, he laughed while I rambled on about how pretty the grounds were and how much I love the smell of the freesias surrounding the patio. He was called away by another security guard before returning with a lilac freesia, which he slid into my hair. The entire exchange was a little uncomfortable, and heat flooded my face as I accepted the sweet gesture before I told him I’d better start tidying Oliver’s mess.
As I stack the drawings one on top of the other, I’m conscious of Jovie’s gaze on me, and for the first time since being here, his scrutiny makes me uncomfortable.
As dark and depraved as Rafael is, there’s not one part of me that doesn’t trust him and doesn’t want what he commands from me.
Yet Jovie’s stare makes my skin crawl. It’s blatant, and my skin prickles with awareness. Another man speaks in Spanish to him, and I ignore their laughs as a wave of sickness roll over me and has me wanting to flee their proximity.
A shift in the air has me standing and turning to face the patio door. Rafael fills the entrance, and all voices around us become hushed. His dark eyes are menacing and trained on me. I don’t miss the heavy circles beneath them showing me how exhausted he is, but still, his Mafia persona is in place. He wears his sleek black clothes with perfection.
His hands flex on the doorframe, the spider’s web seeming to expand on each movement. They’re sinister, deadly, and the way his nostrils flare and his eyes gleam with malice has my heart skip a beat and forces me to take a step back.
Chatter begins again, and Rafael is ignored as if he’s not there, while our stares remain locked on one another. My blood pumps with uncertainty, then as if something has hit him, he jolts and strides toward me. I suck in a sharp breath at the intensity surrounding him. He snatches the flower from my hair, throws it to the ground, and stamps on it. My mouth falls open at his childish action, then he spins away from me.
Like lasers, Rafael’s eyes zero in on Jovie. I swallow past the lump in my throat and watch, frozen to the spot. “You!” He points toward Jovie, startling him, then, in the blink of an eye, he strides toward him, puts his hand behind his back, and retrieves a gun. He wastes no time in firing a bullet through Jovie’s head, sending a spray of blood through the air as his body lands on the floor with a heavy thump.
A scream tears through my body, and my legs feel like they’re about to give way.
He shot him.
He’s dead.
I chant it over and over in my head, as if trying to make sense of it.
Holy shit, he’s dead.
“Papa!” Oliver shouts, his voice laced in terror.
“Fuck!” Rafael bellows as he tips his head toward the sky and closes his eyes while tugging on his hair. “Fuck!” he repeats, louder this time.
Springing into action, I rush for Oliver, and my heart thumps so hard my ears are pounding. I scoop him up, and he clings to me while I rest my palm on his cheek, holding him against my chest as I slip through the patio door and away from the blood covering the patio.
My eyes burn with unshed tears as I rush through the house and up the stairs. Oliver sobs into my chest, and I shush him gently. “It’s okay, little man. Everything is going to be fine. I’m here.” I stroke his head and push open his bedroom door.
“It’s okay, baby. Everything is okay.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, him or me, but I continue chanting it while sitting on the edge of his bed, rocking him in my lap.
“Papa.” He sniffles.
I’m genuinely unsure of what he saw or heard, but a need to reassure Oliver that his father is not a bad man comes over me. “Papa is okay, Oliver. He’s keeping you safe.”
He lifts his head to stare at me, his dark eyes meeting mine, and I feel like he’s quizzing me for the truth behind my words. I swallow back the thought. “It’s okay. We’re safe.” I stroke my finger down his cheek, then wipe away his tears. “We’re safe, baby.”
I rock him in my arms while hoping with all my heart we are safe.
“Safe,” he whispers as his eyes flutter to fight sleep.
“You’re safe, baby.”
“I’d never hurt you.”
Feeling eyes on me, I lift my gaze to meet Rafael’s. He stands in the doorway as if guarding it and stopping me from leaving, and a sliver of unease creeps over me at the latter. Is he keeping me prisoner? Am I free to leave? My mouth goes dry.
Lifting Oliver, I lay him in his bed and pull the covers over him before leaning into his hair and gifting the top of his head with a kiss.
Then I turn on my heel with feigned confidence and try not to show the relief I feel when Rafael moves to the side to allow me past. I march toward my bedroom, and he follows. The heat radiates from him in waves, and nervousness bubbles inside me at what I’m about to do.
Throwing open the closet door, I grab my school bag and ignore Rafael taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
“You’re not leaving,”he spits out.
I turn to face him, and his hands are steepled together, with blood coating his fingers, yet he’s unperturbed. Does he not realize? I tilt my head.
Then it dawns on me, and I gasp at the startling realization that his black clothes he wears are more than likely a camouflage for the blood that stains him and his actions.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he grits out.
“Like what? Like you just shot a man for no reason?” I screech. “You killed him!” I scream as my chest heaves. “You’re insane, Rafael.”
He jumps to his feet. “No fucking reason?” His face contorts, fire burning behind his eyes, and every muscle in his broad shoulders pulls tight, making him seem even more intimidating than normal. “He touched what’s mine!”
I reel back. “Yours?”
“Mine.”
“You don’t own me, Rafael.”
His stare penetrates into my soul, and I swear he sees everything. Every vulnerable moment in my life, every need for the love and affection only he’s capable of bringing, every darkened desire I never knew I wanted, and worse, the need for him to love me when nobody else ever has.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper, not as convincing as previously, because maybe I do want that? Maybe I want to feel him own me, control me, then care for me like no other ever has.
“Wrong. I own every inch of you.” His finger trails down my cheek, and he swipes away a rogue tear. “You just haven’t felt it yet. But you will. When I shove my cock inside your tight little cunt, you’ll feel my possession.” My mouth falls open and my breathing escalates as I try not to react to his filthy words. He runs his palm over my hair tenderly, and once again, I’m reminded of his softer side. My body is at war with my mind, and I melt against his touch. When I so desperately want to give myself over to him, my mind tells me to run, that he’s dangerous and I’m in over my head.
The sound of his phone ringing fills the room, and he steps back, pulling it from his jacket pocket. “Fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair and lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I know, Papa.” He glances toward me. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there shortly.” He ends the call, then clears his throat. “I have to leave. I expect you here when I get home.”
I ignore the flurry of happiness that builds at his use of the word home, and nod. He presses a lingering kiss on the top of my head, then strides toward the door, and I shrug off the feeling of disappointment and grab my school uniform and shove it into my backpack.
Rafael Marino might think he owns me, but I’m no one’s possession.
No matter how much I want to be.