Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
LOLA
The door opens to the room, and it's not Gretchen.
Instead, two big, burly men come in and grab me.
Their hands dig into my flesh, and I have to bite down on a scream as Lyndall rises, throwing herself at them.
One knocks her down with a backhand across the face.
I start wiggling to try and get free. "Don't touch her. She's just a child."
Lyndall lifts her head, looking at me with wounded eyes, which lets me know she's fine.
The girl is more upset over the fact I called her a child than she is over getting knocked to the ground.
I stop struggling. "I'll go with you. Just...just don't touch her again."
The bigger one grunts. "Move it. Or we'll do worse. To both of you."
Lyndall wipes a trickle of blood from her mouth. "Does your boss know you talk to us like that? Do you even know who we are? Does the name Mario Marino mean anything to you?"
The biggest brute doesn't speak, but his demeanor changes, his hand on my arm loosens a bit. It's still firm, but it doesn't bite deep anymore.
"Let her go," Lyndall says in imperious tones.
The other one laughs. "We're under orders to take this one. I'll send Gretchen to make sure you're okay."
The moment she looks like she's going to protest, I speak up. "Fine. That's fine. I'll go with you." I seek out Lyndall's furious, frightened eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon."
The big one snickers and starts dragging me to the door.
Lyndall pushes herself up, and I shake my head, mouthing for her to behave.
And then I'm gone, dragged into the hall.
The door clicks and locks behind me, and my heart starts to hammer hard as adrenaline starts to fly high in my veins.
I try to cram in as many details as I can.
The guesthouse is empty. There are other rooms, but the doors are open.
There are two chairs on either side of the staircase, like they think we're going to escape.
So they can listen in.
Or...I swallow hard. Or so they can shoot someone if they manage to step into this space and reach the stairs.
As they drag me to the top step, I can see the front door and some of the living room and kitchen.
There is a door to the right of that where Gretchen steps out, her face neutral as the blonde glances at me, as if burly men drag women around this place all the time.
Maybe they do.
"We're going to the mansion. Take care of the little bitch upstairs," the smaller thug says.
"Did you hurt her?" Gretchen's tone is flat, like she's asking the time.
"Not. Yet. But she might need a little TLC in the form of an icepack. Deal with it."
"Bastard," I hiss. "Brute."
The big one squeezes my arm. "The kid is a Marino, but I hear you're nothing but a backstabbing Mancini. Not even good enough to feed to the hogs on the farm."
I want to hurl. "This isn't a farm."
My attempt at bravado falls flat. "New Jersey has farms. Boss has farms. New York has the fishies and the concrete boots. We got the farm and the piggies, and they like to eat all the evidence."
The bile rises thick, fast, burning, and my knees buckle.
"Get moving." He shoves me at the first step.
I stumble, starting to fall.
He lets me, and his laughter rings in my ears as he snaps me back at the last second.
"Don't be a fool. Put the sack on her head and let's go," the smaller one says as Gretchen reappears from the kitchen with a tray.
The bigger one pulls some kind of black sack over me.
I can see the stairs, our feet. If I do this right, I'll be able to trace my steps, maybe catch something I might need if we can get out.
I know we're on an estate, and there's no way off.
But then again, it's big.
And in the middle of the night, how hard will it be to find some kind of gap?
I just need to know the best way to go. Because if we get out—no, when we get out—every second will count.
A second later, he pulls a string, and the sack tightens around my throat, enshrouding me in darkness.
"This is ridiculous."
"Shut up." He shoves me to the stairs.
We stumble down them, across the floor, and out a door. I know we're outside because of the fresh air on me and the fact that the ground is soft and uneven.
I try to count, but it's impossible to concentrate as he keeps jerking me around.
"Stupid bitch Mancini. Your father managed to screw over my old man in a deal, and now my family is stuck working for Rebecci.
I'm stuck working for him. Still..." Hot breath on my ear, he pulls me up against his body, stopping us both in our tracks, "I'm thinking it might be worth getting a piece of you when he's done.
We'll all fuck your pretty brains out, you little whore.
Pity the girl is a Marino...or I'd fuck her brains right out of her skull.
Me and my friends. Young, sweet, tasty piece of ass like that. "
"She's fifteen. She's a child, you sick bastard." I manage to push the words out through numb lips.
"Old enough."
"You disgust me."
He laughs. "Do I? Good. Because the things I want to do to both of you could be called disgusting."
He shoves me from him, and we start walking.
The ground evens out, and I can hear my feet, hear his. And voices start to filter through.
The air is cooler, and it smells like...lavender and beeswax?
It's such a homey scent it freaks me out.
I lose any sense of direction, if I even had one with this hood on.
I couldn't say how deep into the place I am or what floor I'm on, as I climb stairs and descend them to the point I think this guy is fucking with me.
Then a door opens, and I'm in a room that smells faintly of cigarettes.
"Take it off," a male voice says.
Is he going to get me naked?
My heart lurches until, suddenly, the tie is loosened, and the hood is ripped off.
I look around, trying not to pant, trying not to give in to the wobble in my knees.
He didn't mean 'take it off' as in my clothes. He meant the hood.
Finally, my eyes settle on Dom Rebecci for the second time in my life.
"Did you know your father owes me a lot of money?"
"The government took it all," I push the words out.
He sighs. "I know."
Dom doesn't offer me a seat. Instead, the man in the black suit comes over to me, a gun in his hand.
He runs it down my body, pushing it up between my thighs.
I try and fail to clamp them together.
He rubs it over my pussy.
He pulls the gun out when I flinch and shoves his hand up there instead, pushing hard against my folds. "You're not even wet. I can fix that—"
He stops as someone knocks on the door.
Gretchen steps into the room. "Mr. Rebecci, it's time for our appointment."
He grins, a lasciviousness on his face licking against me with a fetid tongue, and my stomach turns.
"She should learn her coming duties. On your knees."
Gretchen doesn't look at me as she unzips her uniform, stepping out of it, and I look at her in horror.
Her perfect body is marred with burn marks and a network of scars.
She crawls to him, and he backs away to his seat, forcing her to crawl after him.
When she finally reaches him, she unzips him, freeing his thick cock.
I can't look away, even though I want to.
It's not the weird car crash thing people have, the one where they have to look at horror. I'd gladly look away because I'm aware I'm witnessing the real version of my games with Enzo.
Except, there's going to be no safe word here, there'll be nothing but pain and the wrong kind of humiliation.
It will be pleasure only for one.
He wraps his hand in her hair and keeps his gaze on me as he forces his dick down her throat and fucks her face brutally. "Paolo."
The big man comes in and grins, already freeing himself. "Which hole?"
"Cunt today, I think. I'll fuck her ass dry tonight."
The man undoes his pants and kneels, lining up and slamming in.
"Fuck," Paolo mutters. "Bitch is always tight."
I keep watching the brutal rape of Gretchen, sickened and unable to do anything because Dom still has the gun pointed my way, and he still watches.
And that's why I don't look away. Because I want to see what he's going to do to me if we're not rescued.
Then he shoves her face down, crying out, clearly coming down her throat.
Paolo is still going, and he fucks her, lying on her, drilling her into the floor.
Through it all, she doesn't make a sound.
And my heart bleeds.
I know, though, if I ever get near a weapon, I'm killing both these men.
"My darling, sweet dry little Lourdes." Dom rises but doesn't tuck himself away.
He hugs me, and my violation quota is beyond exceeded.
I want to kill him, beg him to let Gretchen go. Leave her alone.
I don't. Somehow, I get the feeling it'll only make it worse.
"Yes?"
"Soon, you'll get this." He grips my wrist and drags my resisting hand to his cock.
He laughs as he rubs it up and down my hand.
I could throw up right now, but I force myself to stay strong. To endure. This is nothing compared to what Gretchen is going through.
"So sweet, so shy. I'll break you, though. I just wanted you to see the delights awaiting you."
I try not to gag as he calls out to another two guards.
I've never been so pleased to have myself blinded like this.
Unfortunately, it sharpens my hearing, and I catch her quiet cries that are almost undetectable, Paolo's grunts, and the slapping sound of his flesh hitting hers. And then, mercifully, I'm led away and back to the guesthouse.
The moment I'm back up the stairs and in the room, a tear-stained Lyndall rushes to me and hugs me, but then she draws back. "What happened?"
"Nothing." I try to smile.
Shaking her head, she drags me to the nearest bed and sits me down.
She gets on, cross-legged. "Something did. You look like you just saw a ghost or something."
I wish I had seen a ghost. It would be better than reality right now. But I don't want to tell her what I saw. I don't want her to know what might be coming.
Not for her.
I'll kill every fucker in here if they touch her.
But...she's a Marino.
Fuck, no. She isn't.