Page 15 of Ruined

It’s a good hour until Angelo gets back into the car. I guess there were a lot of details to iron out in whatever deal he and VanDinn were cutting.

When he gets back in the car, Bobby is fuming. A-grade hangry. I slide over to put space between Angelo and me, as Angelo leans in toward the space between the front and back seats as if he is going to say something to Bobby, probably about the way Bobby yelled at him earlier.

I wish Bobby would slide the partition up. That would be the funniest thing ever, to see that black partition just going up and covering Angelo’s face right before he has the chance to start threatening Bobby.

I will Bobby to do it, catching his eye in the mirror, and lifting my brows. There’s no way he’s going to know what I am trying to get him to do. And even if he did, there’s no way he would actually do it. Right?

Bobby meets my gaze. Some mad spark passes between us. He gets it. I see a brief smirk on his lips and then the whirr of motors as the partition starts to rise. A squeal of glee tries to escape me, but I choke it back. I don’t want to pull focus right now.

Angelo’s expression makes it even harder to keep my composure. He looks so entirely befuddled. I don’t think he has been disrespected like this in a long time. Does he know what to do about it? Is he going to let it slide? The partition finishes closing with a satisfying clunk.

Angelo stares at it for a brief second. Then, next thing I know, he’s out of the back seat, slamming the door behind him, and walking around the car.

“Ah fuck!” Bobby jumps out of the car, but Angelo is already around the hood and almost upon him. Angelo is an older man, but he is not an old man, and he moves like a fucking big cat. Bobby should be faster, because he’s younger, but he also has more brute heft, and frankly, I don’t think he necessarily wants to get out of the way.

Angelo grabs Bobby by the back of the collar, spins him around and slams him face down onto the hood. I know this, because I’ve found the button that lowers the partition from the rear and have pressed it just enough to be able to see what’s happening.

The entire car shakes when Angelo slams Bobby down on the front of the car so even I vibrate with his fury.

Bobby is now spread on the hood, Angelo looming above him from behind, one hand on the back of Bobby’s neck, the other working at the belt at his waist. His expression is grim and full of determination. Bobby has a twisted little grin on his face. I don’t think he’s afraid of the belt. I think he wanted this. I think part of him fucking craved it.

Angelo has the belt out of the loops in one swift motion, and has doubled it in his big hands. He keeps Bobby pinned and starts lashing his ass with the leather in fast, powerful, ruthless strokes. If he hit me like that, I’d be absolutely obliterated, but Bobby seems barely affected. He’s actually laughing. I can hear both Bobby’s laughs and the cracking of the belt due to the two doors now wide open, the rear right passenger, and driver’s side.

Bobby’s laughter only makes Angelo lash him harder, crack after crack echoing through the entirety of the workshop with an intimidating echo. The laughs turn to grunts, and then to gasps. Finally, Bobby draws in a ragged breath, almost a sob. I wonder if Angelo is going to make him cry. There’s more than a little part of me that wants to see Bobby humbled.

But what I see next is better than that. Angelo hauls Bobby up from the hood, his grip on the back of Bobby’s hair and the waistband of his pants. He swings Bobby around again and presses his mouth to Bobby’s in a crushing, powerful, dominant kiss. I feel a pulse of heat between my thighs, a rush of voyeuristic excitement that makes me yearn for the threat Angelo has used to toy with me since my capture. Treating me like a boy. Treating me like his boy. I can imagine being swept up against the hard lines of his commanding body, ass burning, mouth filled with his tongue, my very will being sapped in his grasp. Bobby melts against Angelo, all the tension and hardness flowing out of him as he submits softly and fully, and beautifully.

They break the kiss. Angelo slaps Bobby on the ass and they go their separate ways, Bobby to the driver’s seat. I notice he slides in gingerly, while Angelo seats himself both comfortably and confidently, after returning his belt to the proper place.

The entire time this has been going on, VanDinn has been looking on from the remains of his tea party with a certain resignation. I wonder what Angelo has managed to take from him. An unwilling arrangement has been come to, of that I can be certain.

I’ve been present for something important. I have no idea what.

6

We are on our way back to Angelo’s place. Angelo is very relaxed now, pleased with himself. I wonder how many people he has tied up in various locations around the city, and how many of them are being tortured with scenes of innocence and joy juxtaposed with their own pain and fear.

Angelo likes to destroy innocence. He likes to make art of his evil. He is very compelling. Sitting next to him, I am awash in his energy. There is no denying he is under my skin.

I think about the agency again, wondering if they’ve noticed I am missing yet. Has my boss called to see where I am? Have they run a search for my plates? Has anybody done anything?

Or… a horrible thought occurs to me. Do they already know Angelo has taken me? Are they leaving me in for their own reasons? Are they sacrificing me? Or are they expecting me to survive as best as I can and gather as much intel as possible?

Returning to the mansion, I get out of the car and follow Angelo and Bobby inside. I could run, but I know they can both run fast enough to overhaul me easily. If I run, I mean, when I run, it will be when they are not able to give chase.

“Lunch time, I think,” Angelo says casually as he strolls in through the front door, Bobby behind him, and me following in their wake. We are a line of dark, twisted, and scared little ducklings.

“I’m fucking starving,” Bobby curses.

This is the sort of conversation that happens in couples and families. It’s not the sort of conversation I’ve been privy to in a very long time. I’ve been chronically single, working on surveillance, observing them from the outside, never truly understanding what it felt like to be on the interior.

I already feel as though I have been absorbed into their unit, not entirely part of them, of course, but somehow included. They are not keeping an eye on me. They are assuming that I will follow, and I do.

To any casual observer, I would seem like part of the tribe. Oddly, the sensation that comes with that realization is not one of horror. There’s a certain terrifying coziness that comes with this all too swift engulfment of the House of Vitali. I have been swept up and thoroughly wrapped in it, and in them. I feel them on me, in me, even though I’ve barely been touched. Resisting the Vitalis is not going to be easy for me. Angelo knows this. Any other captive would most likely be kept bound in a tableau of Angelo’s design, but I am being allowed to traipse around after them like a new puppy recently brought home, allowed to sniff at the corners.

Angelo cooks lunch.

Bobby sits at the large kitchen island, and I linger awkwardly near the doorway, not knowing what to do with myself, until Angelo raises a brow at me and gestures with the spatula he is holding to one of the bar stools next to Bobby.

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