Chapter Nine #4
Freezing fear envelops me, and a solitary tear slides down my cheek.
“I did, and I was about to tell you, but you had your stupid plan to follow. You didn’t tell me where you were going.
You just left, and then I went to the club, and then you kept me in bed for twenty-four hours, and then he… disappeared,” I blurt out.
“And you still didn’t tell me?” He grits his teeth, curling his lips like a rabid animal.
Why is he so furious about this? He always says that I’m an Enzino. Did he really think I’d help him?
“You expected me to? You kidnapped me! Chained me to a sofa. Threatened me. What the hell did you want? My complete gratitude?”
“You played with me. Manipulated me, while having a laugh with your hacker friend! You dug into my past, and into Doppi’s son’s murder. Which I don’t even know how you found out.” His eyes are two venomous slits aimed at me.
Damn, he read all of my texts. I should confess before he gets some crazy idea like I’m part of that. “I told you I heard you talking on the phone. And I did what I did to survive!”
“Fuuuuck!” He throws the knife, but I don’t have time to see where it hits because his hand wraps around my neck, and then his enraged face is an inch from mine. “What else did you lie about, eh? Do you really hate your family?”
“I do. Look at the messages again. I told you all I knew at that time, and I would have told you Mario’s whereabouts if you’d shared your plan with me.
But then he disappeared. What was the point?
I want him dead, maybe even more than you do.
You know why! You saw why!” I scream. “And I don’t even know your reason to hate me, or my family.
The one who won’t talk is you.” I sink my nails in his hand, but he doesn’t let go.
“Of course I don’t. I was supposed to take you here when I kidnapped you. You were supposed to dangle from one of those chains.”
“Why me? Why do you hate me so much? Tell me what they did to you?” What made you this way?
My pleading voice seems to stoke his wrath.
His fingers tighten around my throat, taking more breath with them before he moves, dragging me by the neck.
I stumble, trip, and even lose a shoe, but he keeps going until he takes me into a dark, cold room, slamming the door behind us.
He shoves me against the wall, and the air leaves my lungs in a gasp.
I can feel the bruises from this morning screaming in pain as my eyes fill with tears.
But his hand shielded the back of my head from hitting the wall before sliding away and hitting the hard surface so close to my face I feel the swoosh as it cuts through the air before it makes contact.
I can’t stop my shocked whimper, and I bite my lip, making it bleed again.
All my anger from before has melted away into something tender and heartbreaking.
How could I not when I can feel his internal struggle in his heaving breath near my ear?
It mirrors mine. His heart racing, pressing so close to my chest. His large body caging me, seeping warmth into my cold bones like a cozy blanket.
I can hear the dark hollowness inside him. It resonates with mine.
My eyes are getting used to the darkness, but I can’t see his face clearly. I can only feel his hair brushing against my forehead and smell the blood clinging to the lavender and tobacco scent.
“My father wasn’t a good man.” His raspy whisper sounds so loud in the silent room.
“He worked for your family. I remember his swollen knuckles and the blood on his clothes when he came back home at night. He had a heavy hand with me, but he treated my mother right. One day, the police came and took him away. He went to jail after confessing to a double murder he actually didn’t commit.
Everybody knew he was forced by Jack Enzino to take the blame, and in exchange, your father promised to take care of my mother and me.
The motherfucker surely did. My father died in that prison just a month later.
My mother was killed a few months later, thirty-one years ago today. ”
Today. His birthday.
“Jack and Mario Enzino came to our house to get rid of loose ends. It was your father who ordered her to be killed. Mario did it in front of me; he stabbed her in the chest.” He pauses to hit his left pec with his fist. One, two, three, four, five times.
“I lunged at him, trying to save her, but I was too late. That’s how I got these scars on my face.
He sliced my skin and then beat me until I passed out—smiling the whole time.
Left me for dead. I was young and weak. But I survived. ”
Tears roll down my face while I’m unable to stop them.
Did he really survive? To me, it looks like he remained imprisoned in his own grief and anger, spending years plotting his revenge.
The inherent justice of the universe and its love of irony.
He wanted the demented psycho brother, instead he got stuck with me.
“I ended up on the street for a while until Don Massimo found me.” His voice has turned affectionate now. “Your family forgot about me, but I didn’t. Never will.” The anger is back, blazing hot.
I want to tell him how sorry I am, but I know it would be wrong.
He doesn’t want that from an Enzino. All I can do is cup his cheek, drop my forehead on his chin, and cry for him.
For what was taken, his childhood, his innocence, his happiness.
For all that he lost. Because of my father and half-brother.
“The living bear the regrets of the dead,” I say between a sniff and a hitching breath.
“Are you fucking pitying me?” he growls, pulling his face back to look down at me. I can almost see his eyes glowing.
“Yes!” I state vehemently, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Because…sometimes pity is noble and-and dignified and good.”
His eyes bore into mine for three silent breaths.
Then he pulls on my wrists, forcing me to let go of his shirt, and holding both of them in one hand, he raises them over my head, against the wall.
He growls in my face, and I snarl back, thrashing until he pins my lower body with his.
I’m so fucking sick of this. I’m trying so hard to let him see me differently.
Standing apart from my fucked-up family, but he just…
His lips suddenly crush mine and then he starts to kiss the hell out of me—if this can even be called a kiss.
It feels more like an assault, an assertion of dominance, aggressive and bruising.
Hateful. He’s sucking and biting my lips, and then his tongue slides so deep I feel it inside my throat, as if he’s attempting to choke me, punishing me for…
every-fucking-thing. It’s beyond overwhelming, beyond right and wrong, beyond any rational thought.
I shouldn’t feel this good. This is clearly a selfish kiss, with no care for my pleasure, and yet it turns me on.
He bites my lower lip angrily, groaning at the taste of my blood, pulling on my wrists until I’m on my tiptoes.
“I kidnapped you, restrained you, fucked you,” he rasps. “You’re my whipping boy, an outlet for my anger, a slut for my only pleasure until my revenge is fucking done. Got it?”
I nod as more tears roll down, and I feel his hard dick stroking against my belly.
My body is starting to answer his forceful approach.
It’s responding to him, his nasty words, his rough touch, his need for this.
For me. His lips trail the side of my neck, teeth out, tongue peeking, leaving a wet trail, adding to the pleasure and sending me into overdrive.
But there’s something different this time.
Apart from the hand around my wrists, he isn’t touching me.
I hear the sound of a zipper, then fabric pulled down, and my mouth dries up at the outline of his dick.
The semi-darkness of the room doesn’t help, but I can dip from memory and clearly see those beating veins running every which way, the thick and long size of it, and the engorged head slick with delicious pre-cum.
He hikes both my legs around his waist, then he spits on his cock and starts jerking himself off against me.
“Don’t fucking talk, stay like this and wait for my cum.” The angry growl of his voice sends another shiver through me.
The dominance in his words makes me moan as I try to find some friction without success.
My hole is desperately clenching around nothing, and my dick is weeping.
But I can’t move. I’ve been pinned against the wall by a big, sexy, growly wacko, who smells like dark, inner dreams, and makes me crave things I’ve never dared to want before.
Like running away from him as fast as my legs can carry me, hoping he would chase me.
“Open that mouth and take my spit.” His demanding, final tone reaches parts of me I thought didn’t exist.
I can’t resist him, I don’t want to, not when I know how badly he needs this right now.
I tilt my head up and part my lips. A thick strand of warm spit slowly falls from his mouth onto my tongue.
I swallow and lap at it, moaning at his taste.
His breathing becomes shallow, his grunts deeper.
And I whimper, craving him so much. I want to inhale the air from his nostrils while trailing his scars with my tongue.
I want to sink my nails into his chest while feeling stretched on his dick.
I want his hands holding my inner thighs while his lips taste my skin and his tongue thrusts into my seeping hole over and over, until the tongue-fucking alone makes me come.
“Your place is beneath me. Taking it,” he hisses.
“Yes,” I moan back.