Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SLOANE
D read climbs through my body like a poisonous spider. The ride here was terrifying. And my one weapon, the one thing I have when all else fails, my smart mouth, has been gagged. Even when life is kicking my ass, my ability to process it out loud as words, even venomous ones, keeps me going.
I’m being carried; that’s all I know. My blindfold is tightly bound around my head, and my hands are hog-tied to my ankles behind me.
“That’s good enough,” Matteo orders his men, and I’m dropped unceremoniously onto the floor.
Acid burns in the back of my throat.
Light filters through my lids as my blindfold falls away, and I open them to scan my eyes over a crouching Matteo before me.
If I ever see Myra again, I’m going to beat her ass. I never go out. I’m not a part of the night scene. And the one time I had this happened?
I’ve been kidnapped, trafficked into some strange mafia ring, and then sold to the highest bidder.
“You’re much more docile when you’re tied up and gagged,” Matteo observes, smiling with a vacant look in his eyes.
Here I thought I’d be able to get away from the fucking dungeon and have an opportunity to get free, and yet, the first thing this man does is bind and gag me.
Fuck you .
It rings through my head like an errant wind.
“Alas, I can’t keep you bound forever if you’re going to settle in here.”
Settle in? Is he fucking insane?
The first chance I get, I’m getting out of here.
Hell, every chance I get, I’m running.
Until he kills me.
I didn’t survive this damned long to be someone’s prisoner.
He works the ball gag out of my mouth, and I open and close my jaw a few times, pain etching through my face like a snake set loose. It’s as if it’s digging through the recesses of my bone to plant venom as it seeks its exit. Next, he unties my hands and ankles.
I want nothing more than to spring up onto my feet and back away from him, but every part of my body aches, and I don’t have the strength to do so.
He helps me to my feet, and reluctantly, I let him.
We stand for the most prolonged moment, staring at one another, neither of us speaking.
I don’t notice his movement until it’s too late. The back of his hand smacks across my cheek, tossing me sideways. I catch myself on the front of his desk, fighting the tears that well.
“You made a mockery of me in front of Don Adamo. It won’t happen again, will it, whore?”
Whore
I’ve heard my father call my mother that so often that it has lost its luster. So much meaning hangs from the weight of one word. I find words meaningless in my life, so he doesn’t hit his mark.
I stand straighter, eyeing him sternly. “I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller.”
The sass earns me another backhand. This time, it comes from the other side.
I nearly whimper but keep a lid on it.
“Even the wildest stallions will break. It might take time, but I will break you down bit by fucking bit,” he growls into my ear as I clasp my face in my hand.
I turn into his cross stare, unnerving him for the flash of a second.
His pupils dilate, and his snarl deepens.
“You bought the wrong girl. I’ve seen much darker things in this world besides you.”
His eyes widen. “Then I’ve bought just the right girl.”
Shock whistles through me. I’ve played into his hand. My winning personality and ignorant courage seem to be what he looks for in a girl.
Fuck.
As I plan how to survive him, he quickly decides on his next move. And it’s not one I’m expecting, though it should’ve been.
His hand dips into my hair, tightening to the point of searing pain before he whips me around and bends me over his desk.
I’d been dressed in a black dress that I’m sure is now covered in my blood from his beatings, but he doesn’t seem to mind the metallic scent.
He bares my backside, ripping off my panties as I thrash and try to fight him.
“It’s no use, whore. We should fix that fighting spirit now rather than let it grow further.” He lays his massive body over my back as I still fight against him, but he’s too big. Too heavy.
Tears spring free for the first time since I was ten, and I beg.
“Please, don’t do this.”
His laugh is menacing and hollow. “Oh, pity. Begging already? I thought you’d be more fun than that,” he sounds off as I feel the warm skin of his cock brush across my ass as he tries to still me enough to rape me from behind.
Flashes of what happened to me down an alley as a young girl try to grip hold of me as he continues to force my body where he wants it. I recall what Mom taught me about compartmentalizing and locking myself inside my secret room in my psyche, where he can’t reach me.
I try to shove away the tears and do the same as I feel him press inside my ass, thrusting rapidly once he feels like he’s won.
And he has.
I find a point on the wall before me and focus on it.
But even as he’s grunting behind me, I feel even more trauma sewing into my already fucked-up soul.
After Matteo finished, I was dropped into a suite and locked away. I scrubbed him off me the best I could and then set to trying to escape, which was useless.
This is where he keeps them.
Because there’s not a thing in the room that could be used as a weapon, bar taking something apart. Part of me wonders if cameras are hidden in the room to avoid that.
I had worked my entire life to not become like them. I’ve hustled my ass off to have all that I have, and now I’m going to lose my job and lose all I’ve worked for because powerful men want to take what doesn’t belong to them. They think their bank accounts entitle them to far more than they do.
I plop on the reading bench before the only window in the room.
The moon is high in the sky, its nearly full glow casting down on my face as I look out over an enormous pool. A waterfall feeds it, and it seems far too comforting to have been designed by the homeowner.
I swallow over a tight lump in my throat. A shadow catches my eye, and I home in on it, forgetting every ache in my body and every worry in my brain.
Two men move through the backyard amongst the trees as shadows in the waning light.
What fresh hell is this, I wonder?
These men seem to live in constant upheaval, and I’m caught in the middle.
More and more men filter through the yard, guns drawn, bodies blacked out in tactical gear.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, pressing my face closer to the glass.
Gunfire sounds beyond my door, and my heart beats so fast that I can scarcely breathe. I scurry under the bed, shoving myself as far beneath it as possible.
Time seems to slow as gunfire is exchanged, and as tears roll down my face.
The door to my room bursts open, and I nearly cry out in fear.
I cover my mouth to silence my breathing as much as I can.
“Boss, this room is clear, too,” a man says into a radio, to which the reply comes, “All the rooms can’t be clear. She has to be here somewhere. Find her!”
The man mutters something and then goes into the bathroom. The shower curtain peels back before the closet door is thrust open. When his knees hit the floor, and a flashlight beam follows, I know I’m done for.
“Well, hello there,” he says, but there’s no malice in his tone. Nothing flips in my stomach like with all the men I’ve encountered recently.
“Sloane Collins?” he asks.
I nearly faint from the thrill of someone coming for me. But I don’t know who came for me, that is the problem.
I nod, unable to speak through all the emotions and tears.
“Come on out. We have little time before Barone returns to the mess we’ve made. I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help,” he says.
I weigh my options. Staying here isn’t something that I could survive. Not with Matteo at the helm of my abuse, that would surely continue.
I slide from under the bed and slip into shoes as the massive man instructs me to.
He leads me with his gun drawn and his head on a swivel. “Boss, I’ve got her.”
“Good. Move out, boys,” the man on the other end says.
My stomach is excited at being free, but I don’t want to be premature by letting my walls down. I’ve been passed from powerful man to powerful man lately, and I don’t know if this isn’t the same situation all over again.
I’m led outside, tossed into a dark van, and the van speeds off at breakneck speed. There’s a partition between the back of the truck and the driver. I wait for the driver to look up so I can try to ask who he is or where he’s taking me.
But he never does.
When the van finally stops and the door opens, I’m let out in front of a massive cathedral.
A church? What the hell?
“Come on, we don’t want to be seen,” the passenger says as he grasps my arm and rushes me inside.
They’d just stolen me from Matteo Barone, and whoever the hell he is, these men seem afraid of him.
I do as I’m told and hurry with him inside the church.
The feeling that washes over me inside the dimly lit church makes me tear up again as the man helps me into a pew.
“Father Russo,” the passenger says, “you sure you can keep her safe until this dies down?”
“I’ve got her,” a deep, graveled voice says, washing over my skin like the smoothest silk.
I wipe my eyes and look up.
A man with kind brown eyes and silver hair looks down at me. His hair is in contrast to his young, beautiful face.
He’s not in any religious garb. Instead, he’s in jeans and a T-shirt, his veined hands shoved in his pockets.
Even though I’m being left with yet another man I don’t know, something about him puts me at peace.
I remind myself that not all men of God are good. I’ve seen many things growing up, and even those in the church have averted their eyes to things they could’ve helped with.
“The boss wants to meet with you in the morning,” the man says, and the priest waves him off.
“Tell him to text me, Dante. Get home to your wife.”
Dante throws his hands up in defense. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. Don’t get mad at me when Ardesia Ricci stands at your door unannounced and pissed off because he hates texting.”
Ardesia Ricci.
The Grim Reaper of New York?
Fuck!
Fear prattles back through my veins like a steam engine chugging to life. I stand, moving to get around Dante to get to the door.
Dante is faster, catching up in a few quick strides and wrapping around me like a cobra.
He turns to me, lifting me off my feet as he moves back toward the priest. “Seems she knows the boss, Father.”
The priest smirks ruefully. “Seems she does.”
He gives Dante a distasteful look. “Put her down. She’s not a prisoner.”
“Well, she is if she wants to keep all her pretty bits. She steps on that street, and one of Barone’s men sees her, she’s done for.”
Dante’s words race through me as my eyes remain locked with the priest’s.
“She’s heard you. Haven’t you, Sloane?” I’ve been kidnapped, abused, raped, and mishandled for weeks on end, but hearing him wrap his tongue around my name does something to me, and I grow complacent in Dante’s arms.
I nod. “I heard him,” I rasp out.
“If Dante lets you go, will you behave?” the father asks me.
I’m caught in his dark stare. Something about him isn’t holy at all—or maybe he’s too sacred. Whatever it is, it’s overwhelming.
Like being in the presence of God himself.
He hasn’t moved a muscle, and his hands are still in the pockets of his jeans, but there’s a command to him that makes me want to kneel.
“I’ll behave,” I say, berating inwardly for not giving my usual sass.
Dante lets me go and pins the father with a glare. “Have fun with that one, Father Russo. I’m going home.”
A playful grin tugs the father’s lips up, and I can’t help the slight tingle in my stomach.
“Are you alright? Did they hurt you? If I could’ve gotten to you sooner, I would have,” the father asks as Dante closes the doors to the church behind his exit.
My brows knit together. “Who are you?”