Page 122 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

ÁINE

Okay, in the grand scheme of things, this plan was stupid.

I woke up to a rough hand clamping over my mouth. Through the nightmare hazed brain, I couldn’t distinguish between dream and reality. I started fighting back too late. Whoever it was already overpowered me by that point. I didn’t stand a chance. He hurled me from the bed and forced me down onto the carpeted floor. My head hit the ground, taking the brunt of the fall. A cloudy haze of pain pierced through my body and my brain, but the physical pain wasn’t the worst part.

It took a mere second and a strong hit to my head for all of it to come back. All of it. The screaming. Torture. Stench of urine, blood, dirt, and sex. The degradation of women in the worst way possible.

As all the memories rushed into my brain, I found myself wheezing and gasping, incapable of a single word. I never spoke a word during the tortures either.

Then the world turned pitch black.

* * *

I wokeup to silence and the sensation of being watched. Scratch that. Being leered at. Remaining still and keeping my breathing even, I bid for time while my heart raced under my chest.

As the fog in my brain slowly cleared, I realized it wasn’t quiet.

Cries. Screams. Shouting.

Terror in each sound I heard, mirroring the one in my heart.

I could hear them somewhere in the distance, but still close enough to know I was in the same hell as those people.

Trying hard to calm down my racing heart and stop myself from freaking out, I waited and listened. I had to focus on the current room, the immediate threat.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I could smell the stale moisture in the air and something else. A scent, a cologne. The smell was familiar, nauseating. It brought a rush of unwanted images in my mind.

Marco King!

I kept my eyes closed, resisting the urge to open them. Refusing to meet the darkness and menacing in the gaze that haunted me in my nightmares. He was here: I’d stake my life on it. A deep breath that wasn’t mine sounded too close for comfort.

Heishere.

“I know you are awake.” The voice sounded the same, cruel and arrogant.

Each thud of my heart was a physical punch to my chest. It hurt.I’m not that little girl anymore, I kept whispering in my mind.I’m stronger.

The frames of the bed protested in effort as I moved, forcing myself to sit up. My eyes traveled over the filthy bed, the walls were in no better shape, a cracked dirty sink in the corner with a bucket. I guessed the bucket was to relieve myself.

Breathe, I told myself silently. This four, stone wall cell was every woman’s nightmare. It was creepy, hopeless, leaving you with a taste of terror on your lips.

Not this time.I refused.I’d never cower or hide from this man.

Slowly, as if preparing myself for the final scene of a nightmare, my eyes connected with the black combat boots. They were the cleanest and shiniest combat boots I have ever seen, which told me he wore them as a fashion statement. My own combat boots were scuffed up and messy as shit. I wished I had them on right now. Instead of wearing my pajama bottoms and a tank top. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable. I should have slept in my clothes with a knife sheathed in my boots, prepared.

Hindsight is a bitch.

Steeling myself for what I knew was coming, there was nothing that could prepare me for this very moment. Not years of training; not years of killing; not years of torture. My heart hammered against my ribs, making each breath I took painful. Just like those memories that assaulted my mind.

Ever so slowly, my eyes went over his chest and connected with his face. I had to work hard to keep from freaking out. To prevent a whimper from leaving my mouth. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

I could see the resemblance. Between Cassio, Luca, and Marco. They were Benito’s sons. Nobody could deny that; one look at them and you saw the resemblance. Except, Luca and Cassio lacked the menacing cruelty that Marco breathed. He relished in it.

The same menacing, dark eyes met my gaze. If there was ever blackness to reflect in someone’s soul, this was it. His eyes were windows to his tar-black soul. I wasn’t particularly bloodthirsty, but I wanted to gouge his eyes out. Cut up his lips so he couldn’t smile anymore.

A terrifying grin spread across his face. “Welcome,” he greeted me, his voice sending disgusting shivers down my spine. “You have turned into a beauty,” he commented. “I knew you would.”

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