3. Camellia
3
Camellia
“When he comes, shoot his kneecaps. I don’t do trades with slippery bastards. I’ll do the final blow.”
Santino’s words run on repeat with every long-strided step.
I feel sick, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the promised violence, or that I’m still on his shoulder. He’s carried me up the grand stairs, not caring about the glances our way. By the time he’s going back down the same set, the room is empty.
He’s moving like he doesn’t have a destination in mind. That, or he can’t make up where he wants to take me. I assumed the Bertelli estate would have some sort of dungeon below the home. I’ve heard stories of the interrogations that take place here through the door of Rocco’s office.
Santino has yet to take me to his basement.
I’m already imagining where I will be left. I’ll be handcuffed to a rustic chair, stepping in puddles of blood from those who sat before me.
Santino stops without warning, and I wish I could see his face when he makes this noise of frustration. Hardly coming off as a patient man, I’m surprised this has gone on as long as it has.
He could have asked the man with the scar to take his gun and put a bullet between my eyes. But no, he’s chosen to inflict a sore shoulder on himself. The way his arm shifts, along with the fleeting brush of his thumb against the goosebumps that erupt on the tender skin of my thighs, tells me he must be very uncomfortable now.
He turns abruptly, and I have to cling to the belt loops of his slacks to stop myself from flailing. I’m getting motion-sick. This seems to be the beginning of the torment. He intends to make me weak before revealing what real suffering feels like.
While I’m clinging on for dear life, I discover the handle of what I’m sure is a gun. So close, I could easily grab it and use it against him. Shoot him in the leg or something.
I’ve never shot a gun. Never thought about taking someone’s life before. Just imagining trying to pull a fast one on this man makes my stomach clench and my mouth sour.
I may actually get sick. I want to get off this ride.
Despite my better judgment, I don’t grab at the gun. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. Not without my eyes filling with tears at the thought of killing another person.
I’m really not meant for this life.
Taking all but five more steps, he reaches a door and shoves it open. Stepping inside, darkness swallows us up as the door shuts with a thud. He flicks the light on, and I don’t have enough time to look at where he’s taken me.
A grunt leaves my lips as he tosses me on something with a slight bounce. A mattress . One with a lack of sheets, or blankets, or any signs of being owned.
Oh no.
This man touched me plenty when he had me trapped on his desk. I am still denying what I felt back then. The fear mixed with a sensation I’ve never felt before is one I am not keen on experiencing again.
“It’s your lucky day, little bird.” He sinks his knee into the mattress right next to my hip, and I watch as his thigh stretches out the fabric of his slacks. There’s something else there, the outline of something that makes my heart jump up into my throat. “I can’t decide what I want to do with you more.”
Ever so softly, I feel the warmth of his fingertips on my knee. How can such a terrible, coldhearted man be warm-blooded? My pulse races as he starts dragging the fabric of my dress up the length of my thigh. The bands around his fingers feel more cold and unwelcoming than he does himself.
Staring down at me, he tilts his head as his eyes squint. Looking at me like I’m an enigma, his mouth presses into a firm line.
“I promise I will break you, Camellia. I’ll have you beg me to put you out of your misery.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, showing off his canines as he offers a smile that contradicts his touch. “I won’t be quick with it, either. Who knows how long it will take until I am bored?”
From the sound of it, I won’t be leaving this place anytime soon, if at all.
He leans in, letting his mouth hover near my throat. Close enough to let me attack if I really want to try again. He’s already proved countless times how easy it is for him to overpower me.
“Or maybe we can make some sort of deal. You can willingly betray your own, and watch me destroy everyone you know and love. Then, out of the kindness of my own heart, I may let you leave.” His breath tickles my ear. “Possibly in one piece. Though I may be a little greedy and take a chunk or two.”
Is this his usual method of negotiating? Does he think painting a gory picture will help give him what he wants?
I won’t. I know this man is untrustworthy, and the absolute worst of mankind. I can’t.
Then he does something I don’t expect. He bites me. Not like some wild animal looking to tear through skin, but a sharp, short-lived sting that is treated with the swipe of his tongue. The grind of his hips against my parted legs drowns out the shock of it all.
What is even more shocking is the noise that leaves my lips. One that I only hear during those rare late nights I find the courage to sneak my hand between my thighs whenever I don’t think anyone is listening.
His hand has somehow made it to my hip, and I only realize it when I feel his fingertips dig into my flesh. Holding me in place, he grinds again. As if the wound on my neck isn’t to his satisfaction, he sucks against the mark and makes the pain transform into a low-strumming throb.
I moan again, the noise breaking past my lips like an act of rebellion.
The pain should help clear the fog, but my body bends to his demand.
It’s his cock digging into where I’m most sensitive, I know that. I’m not completely clueless.
What I don’t understand is how a man who seemed to bristle up at the realization of my identity can react this way. How he can be aroused by causing pain.
Santino Bertelli is a true monster.
“Well? What do you say?” He licks at the aching throb pulsating against my throat, trailing his tongue to my ear. Even that spot feels more sensitive than usual. “Will you give me everything I want?”
I can’t think, not when he’s making my entire body cry for more of his interrogation method.
Santino wants me to betray my brother, the man who sent me here without caring about what would happen to me. He didn’t even send me with a way to defend myself.
He must lose his patience with my lack of answers, because his hand abandons my hip and drifts toward the source of the problems he’s created. Grazing my underwear with his thumb, he applies the right amount of pleasure to make me gasp.
I move, reaching out to grip the thin fabric of his shirt. Instead of reaching for his wrist and demanding he stop, my thighs quiver as he draws controlled circles.
He might want to come off like he’s in complete control of this, but I can hear the way his breathing grows heavier. I can feel how hard his cock is digging into my thigh at this angle. His pupils are dilated, making his brown eyes look pitch black like a predator after the first taste of blood.
This is wrong, and we both know it. From two different families who are constantly at the other’s throat, only blood is meant to be shared. Never pleasure.
My breath hitches, and his thumb moves faster. His breathing matches the tempo.
“Give yourself to me, little bird.” His hips thrust forward against my defiant, willing body. “Otherwise, I have no choice but to ruin you.”
The pulsing between my thighs becomes too much. His thumb doesn’t stop, even after my body arches against his. He keeps me pinned to the bed, forcing my orgasm to wash over me in a destructive tidal wave that leaves my throat hoarse from crying out.
I can’t think. My thoughts are overfilling my head, and I can’t truly understand what he is asking of me. He wants secrets I don’t have.
He doesn’t know that my last name is nothing but letters written on a birth certificate.
I’m as useless as they come.
Yet, I nod. Only because agreeing means I’ll be giving myself some time. Time that will offer a possible escape.
Satisfied by my nod, he grunts as he yanks himself away. His cheeks glow with a gentle flush, while his dark eyes burn with a haunting hunger. He looks like he wants to eat me whole. Lifting his hand, he ruins his hair by shoving his fingers through the strands.
I half-expect him to yank at his pants and take care of the thick outline of his erection. However, he’s got more control than I gave him credit for.
“You will remain here for the time being. I have matters to take care of.” He licks his lip and smirks. “When I return, I hope to bring you good news. After all, if I get the chance to get my hands on that brother of yours, I might not need you for information after all. Once I take out the one on top, the rest will crumble.”
He sounds so proud of himself, almost excited by the possible outcome.
I won’t spoil his fun by telling him that Rocco won’t come. Not because he fears his own life, but because he simply doesn’t care enough. My sister, however, might. She’s always been the rebellious one. Rocco will be smart to keep a watchful eye over her. For Eliza’s sake, I hope he does.
Her beauty matches no other. If Santino sees her, he’ll happily focus on her and forget all about me. Such a thing can’t happen. I love her too much.
Moving to sit up, my limbs feel like jello. I couldn’t run if I tried. “You can’t lock me away in here.”
Much to my dismay, he turns around and walks toward the door. “I can, and I will. Until I am ready to move forward, you have little choice in the matter.” He pauses and clicks his tongue. “I’ll have to stick someone outside of the room, just in case. Though, you aren’t much of a runner.”
My face warms at his insult. How can he do what he has done, and then rub salt in the wound? It’s not my fault that the most cardio I get is from pacing through my room to get through each hour of the day.
“If you try to leave, I’ll have whoever is on the other side of the door take you straight to me, and I’ll punish you how I see fit.” Santino smiles at the thought. “Understand?”
I scowl at him, responding to his question with silence, aware of how much he dislikes it. I shouldn’t test him, not when I’m still achy between my thighs. Who knows how far he’ll take it next time?
Next time .
My neck feels hot, and the heat crawls up to my cheeks and ears. No, there won’t be a next time.
Thankfully, he doesn’t linger to demand an answer from my lips. Instead, he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary. There’s a lock on the handle, and I should quickly twist it so he can’t return. It’s only when I shift a little and feel the wetness spreading between my thighs that I stop.
I let him touch me as he pleased, let him rub himself all over my body. I should be ashamed, and I am. Just recalling the whole ordeal does almost as much damage as actual dry humping.
Covering my face, I’m hit with a wave of emotions. Ones that leave my lungs burning, and my eyes wet.
I can’t break down now. I have to be strong. If I want to survive this, I can’t sit back and watch my life pass by like I had back home. The only option is to play this game of his and come out on top.
Otherwise, Santino’s threats will ring true. He’ll take whatever he wants and leave me as nothing but ruined.
The mess soaking the thin fabric of my underwear is nothing but proof of how easy an outcome this will become unless I put a stop to it.