Page 3 of Stone

“Probably can still smell the burning flesh on his hands from the job this morning, am I right?” Czar jokes, and I side-eye him. He’s trying to help me out, so I nod. The less I say, the better. Nothing I say will appease the man who loathes the ground I walk on. Not for the first time, I ask myself why he didn’t just kill me instead of condemning me to a lifetime of misery, but that’s what Benito Carrera does; he refuses to let you die when you can live at his mercy.

Our father throws his head back on a demonic laugh—the same laugh that has haunted me for years—that forces the hairs on my entire body to stand on end.

“I bet the fuckers squealed like bitches.” He grins, taunting me with his broken front tooth he never cared to rebuild. Each time I see it is a reminder of the last time I tried to fight back.

“Still, you’re an ungrateful bastard when I allow you to sit at the table with us as if you’re worthy.” He points his spoon toward me, and I remain stoic, knowing any movement will give him cause for me to receive a punishment. His smile broadens, as if pleased by my lack of response. “You used to shovel food in your mouth like a fucking greedy pig. No wonder it took me so long to allow you to sit at our family table. You were nothing more than an animal living in a cesspit.” He instigates me, and I remain impassive, even though I would love nothing more than to point out I’d been starved for days on end before each family meal I could attend. “Now eat!” When he bangs his fist on the table, I pick up the spoon and eat as my ears burn with embarrassment at being controlled so easily.

“The shipment is due in tonight.” Azrael’s business voice filters through my senses as I push the spoon into my mouth, and a memory flashes before me just when I need it the most. She’s there for me.

“You need to eat, to keep your strength up.” Her green eyes sparkle with jest as she holds the spoon toward me, and I want nothing more than to shake my head and refuse it, but how the hell am I meant to refuse her? She’s so damn pretty. She makes my head hurt each time I think of her.

My mouth falls slack, and she smiles, then pushes the spoon into my mouth to slurp up the watery substance. Tomato and basil with a hint of garlic sets my tastebuds alight, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m taking another mouthful. “My mom taught me the recipe.”

“Did she teach me too?” My voice is scratchy, and I hate it.

Her face falls, and I wish I could kick myself for taking the shine out of her eyes.

“No. Don’t you remember? We don’t have the same mother, Stone.”

“Just the same father,” I state, as if on command.

“That’s right. Or so I’m told.” She chews on her lip, contemplating something.

My eyebrows furrow, and I wince from the pain it causes.

“Are you hurting?”

I want to shake my head, but I know that will only emphasize it. “No,” I grunt.

She giggles, and my blood pumps with warmth at the sound. “You’re a lousy liar. You swallow really hard when you lie to me.”

My lip twitches. “Just to you?”

“Yes. It’s like a code thing, and the best part is, you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

I roll my eyes, and her laughter grows. Her innocence radiates from her, and I wish I could bottle it up and keep her like this forever because beyond this room is a hell not worth living in, and she’s yet to discover it. I’ll do anything in my power to protect her from it, even if that means I destroy anything good left inside me to achieve it.

“Stone. You moron! Jesus, what a slow fucker! Are you listening? Did I bust your ears up too good last time?” His evil chuckle snaps me out of my mind, and I stare back at him with alert eyes. “Ahh, with me now, aren’t you? See, this is why we don’t let the bastards sit with us often. Can’t even hold a proper conversation with the fuckers.” His dark eyes brighten, and I know he’s only getting started. “I said…” He slows his speech down as if he’s talking to an idiot, and my hand tightens on my spoon to refrain from lashing out at his patronizing tone. “I want you at the warehouse as muscle for the next week.”

I nod, knowing when to speak and when not to.

“Are you prepped for the fight this weekend?” Czar asks as he leans forward with excitement in his dark eyes, his entire face lit up like the Fourth of July.

My brother enjoys coming to watch me fight, mainly for the willing women who feed off the men throwing their money around like candy. At least he enjoys willing women. I’m not so sure about Azrael; he keeps his private life very private, but he attends the auctions our father hosts to sell off the trafficked women, and I know he likes submissives too. I once went to his house, and a girl was tied to his kitchen table with a leash attached to a collar on her neck. There’s evil that lurks in Azrael’s eyes that projects the darkness within him.

I’m thankful my strength has allowed me to become an incredible MMA fighter, a lucrative income for my family, but it also allows illegal money to be filtered through the venues we use. In making me the man I am today, it’s rare I feel pain. I’ve become the perfect stone structure, a tower of strength and resilience, bringing with it a force to be reckoned with.

I nod in Czar’s direction, and his grin turns sinister, a look that should turn my stomach, but it doesn’t. As sadistic as Czar is, he’s never been a threat to me, only our enemies. Do I trust him? No. Do I trust any of my family? Absolutely not.

For the thousandth time, I take in the man I know to be my brother. Even I can admit he’s good-looking, with a sharp, perfect jawline and free of dimples. His jet-black hair is slicked back, and he sits in his pristine white shirt and pressed black pants, with a carefree attitude, looking every part the Mafia man I wish I could be. Instead, I’m broad shouldered from years of vigorous muscle building, almost twice the width of Czar, and slightly taller than Azrael at six-foot-five inches. I’d give everything to look like the man before me. He doesn’t have a crooked nose from being broken too many times to remember or scars on his face he has no recollection of receiving, and his torso isn’t tattered and torn after being ripped apart and sewn back together, leaving ugliness in the needle’s wake. Then there are the burns that coat my lower body, a reminder of my father’s hatred. One particular organ took the brunt of his hate the day I lashed out and broke his tooth.

I can feel Sienna’s eyes on me, and when I turn to face her, a soft, proud smile plays on her lips, and my heart swells with a longing I shouldn’t feel.

“You need to keep your head in the game.” Azrael’s stern voice cuts through the haze I have whenever I’m in Sienna’s proximity. Her very being is like a forbidden siren hypnotizing me. She’s the glimmer of light in my pitch black, the goodness ina world of cruelty, and the innocence in the corruption. She’s the hope when I have none and my sole purpose for survival.

I snap my gaze toward Azrael. His assessing eyes flick from me to Sienna, never missing a trick, never missing a stolen glance or look of endearment. Panic sets in, and terror at being discovered burns my blood, triggering the vein on my forehead to pulsate. I’m unable to hold the wince inside when I’m struck with a shock of what feels like electrical currents, causing tremors to vibrate down one side of my head.

My grip on the spoon tightens until I feel the metal bend, but I can’t function to disguise the fact.

---