Sold to the mafia

Katia

I lie still in bed, my eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Just like I have the last few nights. The terrors don’t come in my dreams. Now they flash before my eyes as soon as I lie down.

The soft sounds of the night turn into something else. The chirps of the crickets morph into the drips of water from the pipe in the dungeon. It leaked every fucking day I was in there. Drip, drip, drip. In my mind it became a part of my fucking punishment. No daylight, and never any quiet.

But the sound I keep hearing over and over in my head is different. The sound that keeps me wide awake and on edge is the sound of metal. Of the chain scraping on the bare concrete floor.Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

The chain. Always the chain.

They’d drag me by them, either the one on my ankle or the one on my throat. Choking off my air supply, not caring whether they broke my neck or how much pain it caused me. I can still feel it now, biting into my tender flesh as I’m dragged across the concrete floor. My thighs would scrape against the floor as I was dragged, opening wounds and causing nasty abrasions that would last for days. I learned to be good because of those chains.

The ankle was worse, because even when they weren’t there, I was enslaved by it. And the scratching of the chain followed me everywhere; the pain in my ankle from the shackle was a constant in the four years I spent there.

I sit up with my hands clenched, anger consuming me in my darkened bedroom, sweat covering my forehead. There’s a stream of moonlight coming through the window, making it easy to see. Everything seems so easy to see in this moment.

I rip the covers off to gaze at my anklet. My heart skips a beat the sight. It’s gleaming in the moonlight, seeming to taunt me. Rage fills me. I hate it. I hate this. I hate what those bastards did to me. I could never take the anklet off. Ever. Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to acknowledge them. Instead I stare at the blurred vision of the beautiful anklet. I’m still imprisoned, still under his control. The thought sends a chill through my body. He doesn’t own me.

He never owned me. Never!

I clench my teeth as a fiery rage boils up from the pits of my stomach, spurring me to rip off the anklet. I nearly scream with frustration as my fingernails cut into the tender skin as I try to get this fucking thing off of me.

Get it off!

The tiny cuts are nothing; they can’t scar me any worse than I already am.

Because of him.

Because of this! I scramble from my bed, the anklet in my hand, staring at it as though it’s him. The sparking of the crystals are akin to his gleaming smile. Always smiling. I made him so happy. A sickness stirs in my stomach. I hear his laugh, smell his breath. Even the night I murdered him, just moments before I stabbed him, plunging the shard of glass deep into his throat over and over, even then he was smiling.

I rush over to the nightstand and set it down gently, ever so gently even though my hands are trembling. I quickly grab the lamp sitting next to it. It’s beautiful, with a crystal base, but it’s sturdy. And heavy.

Screaming with fury, I smash the base of the lamp over and over onto the beautiful piece of jewelry.

But that’s not enough. I throw the lamp down and grasp the anklet, slamming it into the nightstand while it’s in my fist. And then the wall. It needs to be destroyed. That’s all I know. I need it gone.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” I scream, slamming the metal into the wall over and over with all my might. I feel something wet and warm flow down the palm of my hand and my arm and then drip onto the floor. A chill goes through me as I realize it’s my own blood. I’ve torn open my skin in my rage, but I don’t care. I want to be free. Free of it. Free of them.

“You don’t fucking own me!” I yell at the ceiling, my throat dry and aching with a pounding I know will hurt later. Slamming the now twisted and mangled anklet into the wall again, tears stream freely down my face. There’s now multiples indents all over the wall, and the fancy paint is chipped in places. But I don’t care.

“You were never my Master!” With another furious yell, I throw the anklet across the room where it hits the wall, making a jagged dent, before falling to the floor with a loud clink. I stare at the object, my breathing ragged and my shoulders heaving.

It’s only an ankle, only a piece of jewelry, but it had so much power over me, power I didn’t willingly give. Power that I’m taking back.

Exhaustion takes over my body as I realize I don’t fucking need it. I don’t want it either. Maybe the nightmares will come, maybe they won’t. But I won’t give that bastard any power over me.

Never again.

Snapping me from the realization, I hear the door creak open and the flick of a light switch. The light stings my eyes, even though I can barely see through the tears. I didn’t even realize I was crying. I wipe the tears from my eyes and suddenly feel like I can’t breathe. I stare at my hand, seeing it shaking. I close my eyes and try to calm down, the adrenaline coursing through my veins suddenly feeling like too much.

“Katia?” Isaac’s deep voice is filled with worry, but I hardly notice. It hurts so bad.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice so hoarse and garbled that it doesn’t even sound human.

I hear the sound of heavy footsteps and suddenly I feel myself being lifted and gently placed on the bed. I look up through my tears to see Isaac’s handsome face looking down at me in disapproval. His green eyes slowly trail down to my bloody hands, and anger flashes in his eyes.

“Isaac,” I croak, shaking my head. I can’t have him disapproving. Not of this. Please. Please don’t.

He sits down on the bed next to me. It groans with his weight as he leans forward and brushes my hair away from face. “Shh, kitten,” he tells me softly as I continue to sob. “I need you to calm down now so I can clean you. Then you can tell me what’s wrong.”

The sound of his deep voice is soothing and I relax a little, pressing my palms to my hot, stinging eyes to keep from crying any more. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel anything for my past anymore. Isaac stares at me for a moment, before leaving me for a moment to gather something from the cabinet in the bathroom. I listen as the door opens and he rummages for something, all the while my heart hurting. It’s worse than the throbbing pain in my hands. He goes about cleaning up my hands. It burns like fuck, and I seethe from the pain, but he has my wounds cleaned and dressed quickly. Neither of us speaking all the while.

I’m dreading telling him. I don’t know if he’ll quite understand. But if anyone could, it would be him.

“Now, what happened?” he asks, when he’s done, placing the dirtied cloth down on the nightstand.

As I stare into his green eyes, I suddenly realize what I’ve done. I’ve let my emotions overcome me and acting in a way that could displease him. Looking at the battered walls, I feel like I’ve disrespected his house. Ashamed, I quickly try to climb off of the bed and fall to my knees at his feet, but he grabs my waist and stops me, pulling me back onto the bed.

“Please, Master, don’t be upset me with me,” I cry, trembling. My heart hurts so fucking bad. I want to hide. I don’t want him to see what I’ve done. I don’t want to admit it either.

“Shh. None of that,” Isaac says softly, pulling me beside him and wrapping his arms around me, rocking me gently back and forth. I feel so safe in his arms, enveloped in his warmth. I just wish I could stay here forever. “I could never be upset with you over your pain.” He pushes the hair out of my face again and cups my cheek, forcing me to look at him. His hand feels so cool against my hot skin. “You just need to tell me what caused this.”

Isaac’s peering at me, his gorgeous green eyes soft and caring. There’s no judgment there. I’m grateful. I thought he’d be angry with me.

I shake my head slightly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“I don’t want it anymore,” I say, and it hurts just saying those few words.

“I can see that,” he says with a touch of humor before taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me what caused it.”

I take in a long and shaky breath. “I don’t know why. I just know that I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want any more reminders.” I swallow thickly, closing my eyes and not knowing how to explain but not wanting to explain any more either.

Seeing my ravaged visage, Isaac gently smooths my disheveled hair out of my face and moves in close, kissing me on the cheek, my lips, and then kissing away my tears with his full lips.

“I need to tell you something, and I think you need to know now.” I stare into his piercing gaze, my heart refusing to beat. He’s serious, and his expression tells me it’s something he doesn’t want to say.

“They’re dead,” Isaac tells me. His words are firm and filled with finality. It’s a statement of a fact. “The other men in Carver Dario’s cartel. They’re all dead.”

Shock twists my stomach, taking my breath away. Did I really hear him right? I couldn’t have. But I look into his eyes, and my skin pricks at the ruthlessness I see in them. “Dead?” I whisper.

Isaac gently strokes my cheek, his caring actions at odds with what he’s telling me. “I did some digging. I needed to know.” They’re really dead? The words seem to slowly sink in, a warmth of satisfaction surrounding me and then moving through me, giving me a sense of strength I didn’t feel before.

“If I could, I would’ve killed them myself.” He hooks my chin and makes me look into his gorgeous eyes. “I wanted to. I wanted to make them suffer. But I can’t. And I’m so sorry I can’t give you that.”

My heart beats faster and I feel a strong pull toward Isaac, a strong bond forming and drawing me closer to him.

“They will never harm you again. You are safe. Always. Do you understand?”

I nod my head, searching his green eyes for the same thing I feel. “Yes, Master,” I whisper.