Chapter 13 #2
She hesitates. He coaches her with the gun under her chin, nudging her until she obeys. More tears. More cuts. Splinter.
“Mmmm, this is a reminder, Sienna. Of what happens when you let him touch you.”
He stuffs the panties in her mouth and then pulls some tape from his jacket pocket, tearing a piece off and placing it firmly over Sienna's mouth.
She is fucking terrified. Her breathing is ragged, and her whole body is now shaking while tears and more fucking cuts continue to roll down her face. Splinter.
He looks her up and down, pulling roughly on her dress so that it tears, revealing one of her lace-covered breasts. Splinter.
I know what is coming. And I cannot look away. He enters her roughly and chokes her while her eyes close tightly, more of her anguish flowing down her face. Her eyes open slowly, her gaze locked onto the door, pleading for help that never comes.
Splinter. Splinter. Splinter.
The soul I told her we could both use is nearly in pieces as I watch him violate my Sienna.
I can just imagine her thoughts .
I should have followed her in.
But I didn’t, and instead, he tells her she deserves this while taking her light, one thrust at a time, one squeeze after the other.
He mistakes her moan as pleasure. If he saw her face, he would know the truth.
He is stealing from her. Stealing her choice.
Stealing her control. Stealing her innocence.
Taking it and leaving her with things that can never measure up to what has been forcibly extracted.
But which can be so much more damaging. Pain. Self-doubt. Shame.
I fucking hate him. More than anyone in my life. Even myself.
The video stops as I walk in, freezing on the frame where I am leaning down, asking Sienna who did this to her.
After a couple of seconds, the video changes and is now footage of us in the hall, minutes before this happened. From there, it moves on to a video of us in the room after we danced—all our intimate moments at Lady Chatman’s captured and turned into this disgusting taunt.
Jordan and Kai don’t say a word as I stand there, my mind trying to piece everything together.
“Trace it. Wipe it. Do whatever you have to do.
But find out who is behind this. And see who else has watched it.
I want every name, address, and gory fucking detail about their lives.
Get the security team in here to do a full sweep.
And at my place. Then, they can head over to Sin and do the same.
And send all the footage from Lady Chatman's party to my laptop.”
“If Sienna wakes up, don’t tell her anything. I will be back shortly.”
I issue the instructions, handing Jordan my phone.
Before I leave, I check on Sienna, her sleeping face not calming the storm within.
It was a tornado, a hurricane, a wrath that would only end in blood and death .
With a final glance, I leave her place and head to mine.
I need a release. Now. If I don’t find something to do to take the edge off, I won’t be any good to anyone. And I need to be for Sienna.
I pull out my work phone and press the dial button when I find the name I'm looking for.
“Marcello, I need a favor.”
I can hear the surprise in the older man's voice when I ask him where the closest underground fighting event is being held tonight. He would know, as his son runs them. It's a good place for smaller-scale Mafia deals to take place outside of Sin.
Fifteen minutes later, I enter a large warehouse in a business park a few blocks from my place, my name already on the list at the entrance.
The noise is deafening, and even in such a large building, the smoke from cigarettes and cigars hangs thick in the air.
As I approach the section where the fighters are gathered, a hand on my shoulder nearly has me knocking out the son of the man who has put me on the list to begin with.
“Easy, tiger. You will have your chance in the ring.” Alessandro laughs, patting me on the shoulders as he puffs his cigar.
“I was surprised when my father told me you would join us tonight. You haven’t been in the ring in what? Three years? Are you sure you can handle it, old man?” Alessandro's voice is thick, and his Italian accent has remained, even after being brought to America when he was thirteen.
“I’ll be fine. Put me in with your best.” Alessandro gives me a hearty laugh before shooting off something in Italian to one of his men in charge of the fighters. Georgio.
“I will put money on you to win, yes!” With a final hearty laugh and puff of his cigar, he saunters off, his voice booming over the noise in the room as he calls to a woman with long brown hair who has just walked in.
He is known as a Casanova amongst the Mafia, with more than one war started because he cannot keep his hands to himself and his dick in his pants.
They embrace, and as they do, her blue eyes meet mine, recognition in them misplaced as I don’t know who she is. All I know is she is not my Sienna. I turn away, eager to release some tension.
“You will fight Arman. Five minutes. Ring three.” Georgio dips his head towards a section off to his right, where a fight occurs between a large, muscular man and a much smaller but very stocky guy with a buzz cut.
I head over to the man with a walkie-talkie standing by ring three and give him my name.
It isn’t even a proper ring. There is no rope. People form the barrier, with men and some women pushing the fighters back into the ring if they stray too far.
There are also no rules except one. No weapons besides what is attached to your body.
This works for me. I needed to take the recent events out on someone. Who better than a murderer in a ring where no rules apply?
I knew they were murderers because I was here. I was no different. I just wore a suit most days.
The fight between David and Goliath is over two minutes later.
The stocky guy landed the perfect headbutt and crushed the larger man's nose, bringing him to his knees, before punching him repeatedly in the bleeding mess until the man passed out.
Dead or unconscious. No one cared. He is dragged off the section and swallowed by the crowd.
“You’re up,” walkie-talkie tells me, pointing to the ring before rattling something off in Italian that I don’t understand.
The crowd parts to let me through, the stench of blood becoming stronger. It’s strangely comforting. I imagine it is Sienna's rapist's blood, the imagery sending a surge of fresh anger forward. Fine. This is why I am here—to get rid of some of it, to clear my mind.
I remove my hoodie and shirt, eliciting gasps from some observers as I throw the items to the side.
The crowd parts on the other side as a man my height, just more muscular, enters the makeshift ring.
“Start.” The command is given, indicating the beginning of my cathartic session. I fucking throw myself into it, the feel of my fist landing a punch against skin and muscle sending my adrenaline pumping.
There is no quarter given on either side. But Arman is no match against the pent-up rage in me finding its outlet. Four minutes later, the fight is over. Arman is alive but barely.
“Next.” Walkie-talkie squints his eyes at me, his next fighter not ready yet. The round was too short for his liking. He grunts before calling for someone on his walkie-talkie.
Minutes later, the next victim is sent into the ring. And so it begins. I wonder how many it will take before I can get the picture of my rainbow being hurt out of my mind. Not enough. I could tear through the whole world, and I fear it still would not be enough.