Page 4 of Villainous
“What a glorious morning,” Noemi says, smiling, displaying her white teeth. She pulls out a mini teddy bear from her pocket. “My nephew made you this.”
She’s always going on about her nephews and how she has to take care of them because both of their parents are dead. It’s sad to lose a parent. My middle brother, Cashel, killed our da. My stepmother found his body in the freezer in the basement, and when she confronted him about it, he told her she was next if she didn’t leave him alone about it.
I hug the bear to my chest.
“Thanks.”
My routine starts like this: I wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, take a shower, dress in the sexy lingerie Villainous picked out, and watch TV or listen to music until he gets back home, and I’ll get fucked. This has been my life for the past three months. Three long months in this hellhole. But I shouldn’t complain because during the war between the Italians and the Irish, I was living in a dungeon as a criminal, and my brother lost the war.
My eyes venture to the heavy door, and I want to take off running, but it’ll be too risky. Two soldiers guard the bedroom door, and security is tight around the premises. I thought after the war that Vil would let me go, but I should have known he was going to keep me. Because in his mind, he still thinks I belong to him.
Noemi steps into the lavish walk-in closet and strolls back with a pair of leather leggings and a cotton shirt with the words “Lacuna Coil” stamped across it.
She’s a sweet woman, albeit too optimistic, but she’s nurturing. When I was sick with the flu, she sat in here with me the entire time, ran my bathwater, catered to me like she was my mother.
“You have an appointment for your Pap smear in an hour and thirty minutes.”
I nod as I push my aching body off the soft cream bed and wrap the cherry silk sheets around myself. As I stroll to the window, I observe the soldiers patrolling the vast lawn. I stare at the wilted flowers and weeds growing in the garden and the secret place Villainous created for me right before I ran away. I lost my virginity to him under the rosebush. It sounds romantic, but it wasn’t. It was painful.
“Have a good day.” Noemi shuts the door with a thud.
She can’t be this oblivious to what’s going on around here. The Italian women love to turn a blind eye to what their mafia men do, unlike the Irish mob. Our men would bluntly speak about the killings and the brutality that goes on, as if it’s a normal thing.
Moments later, the chef brings in a tray of bacon and eggs and biscuits. As long as I’m behaving well, Villainous provides me with the best meals. He remembers that about me, that I love to eat. I not only eat because I’m hungry, I eat for pleasure. I live on Pinterest, looking for different recipes. Once I’ve finished savoring the delicious food, I shower, throw on my clothes and a gray hoodie, and then open the thick door. My two bodyguards, Amato and Brio, lean against the wall. They both look like they work for the CIA with their suits on. They’re here more to keep me from running than for protection.
“You’re ready, Ms. Devoy?” Amato asks, devouring a breakfast burrito.
His tone scares me, but I nod.
As we stroll down the hallway, I notice the paintings from the nineteenth century, worth millions of dollars. Once we make it to the foyer with double stairs, I glance up at the chandelier made of gold and genuine diamonds in the shape of teardrops.
When I’m outside, I stop in front of the dark Porsche SUV, inhaling a waft of the crisp dawn air. It burns my throat, and the thick air stings my eyes.
I settle on the back seat, and the driver takes us from the Hamptons to New York City. The drive is long and tedious, taking about two hours to get to the Big Apple. I keep my focus out the tinted window as we cruise between the skyscrapers and pedestrians standing in the street as if they own it.
Once I’m in the doctor’s office, I check in at the counter. It looks awkward for the bodyguards to be sitting next to me. But this isn’t any normal doctor’s office. This place is where Villainous sends the girls he kidnapped to be trained and sold to his clients. I’m sure everyone knows what is going on, but for the sake of their lives, they keep their mouths shut. I was once in those girls’ shoes; technically, I still am. Being Villainous’s pet has its perks. I get to attend events and eat proper meals, but I get beaten if I don’t do what he says.
I grab a gossip magazine and read. They are my guilty pleasure, and even though half the stuff is made-up, I still read it. Hearing about other people’s lives being shitty makes me feel like I’m not the only one, especially the people who make it seem like their lives are perfect.
The new nurse, in gray scrubs with theVlogo on her shirt, which stands for Vitali, calls my name, and I toss the magazine back on the table and follow her to the back and into a compact bathroom. There are no windows, so none of us can run. This is the only place where I have an ounce of privacy. The nurse gives me a fake smile and shoves an empty plastic cup in my hand to pee in. I do my business, and I give the nurse my cup. She has me sit on a chair, and then she takes my vital signs. She’s not chatty like most of the nurses, which is good for me because I don’t feel like acting fake. Once she charts my vitals, she ushers me to a small room with posters of pregnant women and different birth control methods. The smell of antiseptic cleaner lingers in the air.
She slams the door shut, and silence suffocates the room. Several minutes later, I peel my leggings and panties off and rest them on the counter. I wait for another few minutes, expecting for one of the bodyguards to knock on the door so they can wait in here until Dr. Thomas comes, but no one shows up. I twist the doorknob and poke my head out. There’s not a soul in sight, so I slam it shut. My gaze ventures to the floor-to-ceiling window. At every appointment, Villainous tells the nurse not to give me any rooms with windows. Today is my lucky day.
This is it. This will be the only time I can escape this hell.
With my heart in my throat, I snatch my clothes from the counter. I hurry and put them on.
Rushing to the window, I yank the string on the blinds, then push the window open. The icy breeze smacks me in the face as I crawl out. My dark boots hit the gray cement, and my gaze clings to the crowd. Perfect—I can blend in. As I yank my hood over my head, I march fast, trying to make sure no one notices me.
My ears try to adjust to the sounds of horns honking and people chatting and strolling in every direction. The rain makes the smells of trash sitting on the side of the sidewalk and motor oil ten times worse. I want to gag. I hate this city; it’s too loud and overpopulated.
A few blocks later, I reach a boutique store, and I push the glass door open, then try to control my breathing as my shoes leave a wet trail to the white counter.
The sales associate with the name tag “Kelly” pinned to her gray dress shirt eyes me suspiciously.
I give her a fake smile. “I was supposed to meet my friend, and I lost my phone on my way here. Is it okay for me to use yours?”
She takes in my expensive clothing and my dyed jet-black hair, and a smile spreads across her face. She removes her phone from her pocket, then hands it to me.
