6. Dante
Dante
Angela struggles in my grip, but I only release her with a little shove once we’re far enough away from the basement door to keep our conversation relatively private.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My blood boils as I stalk toward her. “Your friendship with Sara ended the second I brought her into this house.”
Angela stiffens and opens her mouth to reply, only to pale at my expression. She stills like a mouse attempting to avoid a predator’s eye after it’s already too late.
Satisfaction surges through my veins.
These days, doling out punishment is the only thing that helps banish the lingering sensation of helplessness.
My jaw clenches. My mother would be ashamed of what pain has turned me into.
Luckily for both of us, she’s no longer around to see the monster I’ve become.
Leaning in, I drop my voice to a whisper, and the warning coils like a snake between us. “If I catch you talking to her without my express permission again, you’ll regret it.” I allow her a glimpse of the violence thrumming beneath my skin. “Understood?”
She swallows audibly. “Yes, sir.”
I jerk my chin toward the stairs and watch as she scurries away. It’s nearly impossible to think past the biting, thrashing beast behind my ribs.
Again.
Sara’s trying to flee me again.
Straightening, I fix my collar and cuffs until they sit on my wrists exactly as I like them.
Normally, I would have changed out of my suit after work, but as soon as I walked in the door, Tony, one of my soldiers who works as extra security a few times a week, told me he saw Angela on the basement security cameras.
All thoughts of routine flew out the window in favor of dealing with Angela’s insubordination. An irritation I didn’t need on top of everything else.
Instead of heading to my room, I retrace my steps and punch in the code. The impact of the cell door slamming open against the cinder block wall reverberates down my arm.
The noise jars Sara out of her fetal position, and she surges to her feet, brandishing a glass shard. She looks good like this, all furious and bloodthirsty, her neck draped in bruises and red lipstick still marking her cheek.
“Sleep well?” I stop just out of reach and stare down at her.
Sara’s knuckles tighten until the skin flushes red. “Don’t you dare hurt Angela.” Despite her defiance, her voice shakes. That telltale sign of fear stiffens my cock. “This was my idea, not hers. If you’re going to punish anyone, it should be me.”
Blood rushes through my ears. “Punish you?” I grab her wrist, squeezing until she drops the glass with a hiss of pain.
“That was always the plan. But now?” I study the lines of her face, committing her terror to memory as if the image will be enough to lull me to sleep without nightmares. “Now it’s going to be so much worse.”
Sara shudders. “Dante—”
“Pleasure or pain?”
She’ll be a weakness only so long as I allow it. I can’t give her a chance to poison my head with lies or prey on my sympathy.
Not that I possess much of that anymore. My captors tried to beat it out of me, but like a fool, I clung to the shattered pieces of my humanity for Sara’s sake, so she would recognize me once I was finally free.
My teeth grind together, spearing pain through my jaw. A bitter burst of shame floods my mouth.
I still remember how it felt to show up at the apartment after escaping and discover she’d been gone for a long time.
Heartbreak burns worse than any torture, scooping vital pieces out of you and leaving emptiness in its wake. Only rage can fill the residual hollow.
If I let that go, too, then what’s left of me?
Sara’s initial confusion over my question fades into resignation. She lifts her chin. “Pain.”
“Fucking fantastic.”
Sneering, I release her wrist and steer her from the prison by the back of her neck, nearly jerking my hand away again when the softness of her skin beneath my calloused palm registers. Touching her carries as much danger as toying with an open flame.
My body remembers hers. Each time she wanders too close, the old hunger reignites as if it never died.
The scent of her, roses and sweet red cherries, envelops me, and my fingers curl. I should shove her away like I did with Angela, but I tell myself that I can’t risk her running.
Not when I haven’t had a chance to play with her yet.
She grimaces at my tightening grip, and unconsciously, I ease the pressure.
Her pale skin bruises easily. Blushes easily too. She used to flush the most delicious shade of red whenever I’d map the faint blue lines of her inner thighs with my tongue.
The desire to bend her over and fuck her until she sobs is so strong that I can almost taste it.
“Where are we going?” Her wavering voice contradicts her previous boldness.
She doesn’t have to wonder for long. The thuds and grunts associated with fighting greet us long before we arrive at the training room door.
Outfitted with mats, punching bags, and a cage in one corner for no-holds-barred sparring, my personal guards, as well as my newest soldiers, have no excuse not to train every day.
Sweat, coppery blood, and leather taint the air.
As I suck the familiar scents into my lungs to replace her fruity aroma, I immediately feel steadier.
The sound of fists pounding against flesh reminds me of what and who I am.
The men on today’s schedule have been practicing for a while already, and every sweat-coated face is lined with strain and exhaustion. Still, I’m not satisfied.
People look in our direction as Sara and I enter the room, and the easy chatter stops abruptly.
“Where’s Gregor?”
Everyone exchanges uncomfortable glances, but only a second or two passes before a young man with strawberry blond hair and a teardrop tattoo next to one eye comes forward.
He shifts from foot to foot, licking his lip nervously but standing tall.
Sara lights with recognition, and Gregor’s eyes dart to her and away again, almost too quickly to catch.
Almost.
My nostrils flare. “There a problem?”
Gregor shakes his head. “No, sir.”
Keeping my gaze locked on Sara, I snap my fingers in his direction. “You’re in the cage today.”
No protest. Good. Gregor’s fairly new to the organization, and the cage is brutal if you lack experience.
Today, that’s the point.
As he heads over, Sara grips my wrist, and I can’t help but notice the rapid flutter of her pulse.
“What the hell are you doing?” She hisses.
Smirking, I prop myself against the wall and tug her to my chest. “You chose pain.”
“But I thought—”
“What? That I’d hurt you?” I nip the top of her ear, pressing my cock into the small of her back when her body bows.
“Y-yes,” she stutters.
“Who says I’m not? Watching poor Gregor here get pummeled in your honor will punish you. Won’t it, coniglietta?” I smile into her hair when she shivers. “Leo!” I bark a moment later. “You’re with Gregor. Show him how it’s done.”
Sara squirms to free herself, but it’s too late. Gregor bounds into the cage, and the door slams shut.
“Dante—”
“Pay attention.”
The two men circle one another, each of them seeking an opening. Gregor tests the waters, sending out a jab here and there to gauge how Leo will react.
Leo does nothing until I signal him. Then he unleashes a flurry of attacks at Gregor’s poorly protected face and chest. With his longer legs and arms, his fist easily connects with Gregor’s left eye, whipping the other man’s neck to one side with a painful snap.
Gregor lands face-first on the mat. Leo follows him down, intent on ending the bout with an armbar. Gregor saves himself with an elbow to Leo’s chin, and both men leap to their feet.
Pissed now, Leo holds nothing back. His punches connect with maximum force, eliciting pained grunts from Gregor. Leo continues the relentless assault until Gregor’s strawberry blond hair is stained a vibrant red and the room stinks of sweat and desperation.
I let the fight go on longer than I normally would, and even I have to admit that Gregor endures a brutal beating as a result. He has the potential, just not the experience, and Leo drives that point home with a vicious double-leg takedown.
I keep one eye on the fight and the rest of my attention on Sara. Her cheeks get blotchy, and she keeps blinking back tears. With every strike, she flinches, almost as if she’s absorbing the hits herself.
Seeing other people suffer always caused her just as much pain or more. It makes me wonder, then, how she could rat me out the way she did. Did playing her part in my torture not kill the empathetic part of her? Or maybe her empathy was only ever for show.
I suppose now’s as good a time as any to figure that out.
Gregor is better at grappling than hand-to-hand, but a kick to the ribs leaves him disoriented and unable to shield himself. Each blow causes Sara to wince and press her body closer to mine as if searching for solace.
After another jab, a spray of blood arches across the mat. The other men in the room cheer, crowding the cage walls and rattling them until the clink of metal hinges joins the soundtrack of Gregor’s beating. Sara sobs and finally hides her face.
I grip her chin and turn her back toward the fight.
“Don’t be rude, Sara.” I drag my cheek against hers, enjoying the way my stubbled skin scrapes her raw. It feels good, no longer having to pretend to be something I’m not. “Leo’s putting on this demonstration just for you.”
She pivots in my arms, her blue eyes still bright with tears. “Stop this and let me treat him. He might have a concussion!”
Her body continues to jerk with every hit that Leo lands.
I smile as an errant tear paints a line to her mouth. “No.” The refusal tastes sweeter than candy on my tongue.
Pain contorts her features, along with…disapproval? Anger?
When she whirls back toward the cage, I stare at the back of her skull and the rigid length of her spine before lifting my hand.
Leo backs off.
“Nikoli, you’re up next.”