Sold to Moretti Mafia

Fallon

I can’t believe how nice he has been to me. As nice as it can get, considering he bought and uses my body as he pleases. He might be controlling, careless, completely insane, and unreasonable, but at least he isn’t unnecessarily cruel to me. Yet.

He feeds me, dresses me, and lets me sleep in the bed. He doesn’t hurt me physically, and he treats me like a human. I’ve been thinking about the other girls a lot during the last few days, even though I try not to because of the way guilt and shame make me feel.

The men treated us like animals before the auction, and none of us expected a different treatment after they sold us. Like Markus said, the other girls face a much worse fate than me, and I have no doubt about that.

I take one last look at my reflection. The bruises on my face are almost gone, and my eye looks normal. My hair is freshly washed but uncombed, and I could use some good Chapstick, but other than that, I look like me again. I just don’t feel like me.

When I exit the bathroom, Markus is standing next to the door, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me. I’m a bit startled but not at all surprised. He’s like a shadow, always a few feet behind me.

“I’m going into town for some supplies. I can’t trust you yet, so you’re going downstairs while I’m gone. Grab some pillows from the linen closet,” he orders, pointing toward a narrow door next to the bathroom.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I’m learning that asking questions isn’t the best thing because I rarely get an answer I want. Still, I have to ask this one because it’s burning a hole in the back of my mind.

Markus shrugs. “You can ask anything you like, but there isn’t much I’ll answer.”

“Do you know what happens to girls if they are not sold at the auction?” I ask as I’m getting out the pillows.

His lips form into a thin line. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t a girl be sold?”

I nervously chew on my bottom lip. “There were five of us when the night started out. One girl was so scared, she tried to make a run for it. That guy, the one you… killed,” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like I’ve got a lump lodged inside, “he hurt her, she was bleeding badly. The other man took her away. Do you know what happened to her?”

“She’s probably dead.” He shrugs, answering like he is telling me what’s playing at the movie theater today. “If she isn’t, they probably sold her to a brothel or to someone outright for less money than she would have brought them at auction.”

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. He basically just confirmed my worst fear.

Clinging onto the pillows, I follow Markus down the stairs in silence. I’m actually looking forward to being alone for once since all I want to do right now is cry. Cry for the girl who is probably dead.

At the bottom of the stairs, Markus stops. “Go pick a book.” He motions to the small bookshelf next to the fireplace. “I’ll be gone a while since the next town is hours away.”

Still shocked by what Markus just told me about the girl, I move around the living room on autopilot. I don’t even look at what book I grab. I simply add it to the grip I have on one of the pillows and walk down to the basement with Markus following behind me. When I reach the cell, I shiver. This place is so dark and cold. Lifeless-just like that girl.

Back in the cell, I drop the pillows in the corner and plop down on them. Markus stands in the door for a few moments, his gaze lingering on me as if he is having second thoughts about leaving. It would be nice if he took me with him, but I’m dazed by it. I’m his captive, not his girlfriend, as he likes to frequently remind me.

“I’ll be back later,” he finally says. The door closes behind him, and the sound of the lock clicking in place follows right after.

Only then, when I’m alone again, do I let the tears escape.

* * *

I cried for a while until I finally picked up the book just to keep my mind off things. Again, I wonder why he is acting kind to me. Why give me a book and pillows?

Everything he does and says is a contradiction. He says he doesn’t care about anything I want or feel, but in the same breath, he is worried about my comfort. It doesn’t make sense.

I’m almost at chapter eight when I hear the lock disengage, and the door opens. Markus’s large body fills the doorframe a moment later.

“Come on, I’m hungry.” He frowns. Apparently, the time outside has darkened his mood.

Scrambling off the floor, I drop the book and try to keep up with him as he leaves the cell. He climbs the stairs like he is in a hurry, and I wonder if he is really that hungry or if something else is going on.

“Put the groceries away and fix something to eat. I have some work to do that can’t wait,” he tells me while taking a seat at the kitchen table. I try not to stare when I see the laptop sitting on the table. It’s the first time I’ve seen it, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of stuff he has saved in there?

Could it be… The question trails off in my mind when Markus scoots his chair in. It reminds me of the man sitting in the same chair, struggling to get loose, and scooting the chair across the floor in the process.

All those memories come rushing back, and all I can do is stand there. Frozen in place, I stare at him sitting at the table, only a few feet away from where he shot that man in cold blood.

“You need to get over that,” Markus growls. “Yes, someone died here. It’s done and over with. There is no need to worry. I bleached the place. It’s all clean, now do what I told you to.” He doesn’t even blink, and I wonder if he’s even human. If there is even a part of him that shows empathy and guilt. Does he even care? All clean? Does he think I’m worried about it not being sanitary? Does he really think that’s my problem?

“Fallon, I’m losing my patience,” he warns, and I know there is no getting out of this.

“I’m sorry…” I look anywhere but at that wall because it reminds me of everything that Markus is. It takes all the kindness he’s shown me and shits on it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just do what I told you to,” he barks, and the coldness in his voice touches me in the tips of my toes.

Something foul must’ve happened to put him in such a bad mood.

Forcing my legs to move, I step into the kitchen and toward the shopping bags piled on the counter. I’m a twisted knot, my insides churning, but manage to unpack the groceries even with my hands shaking.

“Do you care what I cook?” I ask when I’m finished stocking the fridge.

“I’ll eat whatever.”

“Okay, I’ll fry some chicken.” I get the chicken, broccoli, and some potatoes back out to prepare.

Not wanting to ask any more questions, I look for everything I need. I quickly find a cutting board, spices, and a pan. Then, I spot the knife block next to the stove.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

It doesn’t even dawn on me that he is giving me access to a weapon until the heavy butcher knife is nestled against my palm.

Glancing up at him, I find his eyes are already on me, and his lips are pulled up into an unsettling grin. “I’ll have you disarmed twice before you have a chance to nick me with that, so don’t even think about it. It won’t end well for you.”

“I wasn’t thinking about attacking you,” I say truthfully. “I’m just surprised you let me handle a knife, but I wasn’t thinking about stabbing you with it. I’m not like you. I don’t think I could ever hurt someone.”

“You’d be surprised what you’re capable of when your life depends on it.”

“Maybe,” I murmur, looking at the shiny blade.

“You don’t think you would try to slit my throat if I was treating you differently? If I was starving or beating you every day? If you had to choose between my life or your life? I can guarantee that you would try to kill me in a heartbeat.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry as the desert. “I don’t know.”

Truly, I don’t know. I have never been put in a situation like that, never been pushed to my limits, having to fight for my life. Could I kill someone so easily? No, but he’s right. If it was my life or his, then I would do everything I could to save myself.

“Don’t overthink it. Anyone smart would try to kill the person hurting them.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper, and it’s the truth.

I don’t want to hurt him. Not even after all that’s happened to me while being here with him. I’m not like him. I’m not capable of hurting or destroying. Markus and I are nothing alike. He is darkness and agony. I’m light and happiness. We’re on two different spectrums of the universe.

“You don’t have to feel guilt over it. I’d expect you to hurt me. Hell, part of me is just waiting for you to act out. To try and poison me or attack me.”

I can’t help myself. I let out a laugh. “Poison you? Where would I get poison? And attack you? I’m not stupid. I know you’d have me subdued in a second flat, so I’m not about to waste either of our time with that.”

I look from the cutting board and find a small, what could be considered a figment of my imagination, smile tugging at his lips.

“Every time I think I have you figured out, you show me a different side of you. You’re something else, Fallon.”

The way he says my name makes my belly heat. It’s a stupid reaction, one I should not have toward him. I can’t control my treacherous body when he is near or when he acts with kindness. It’s like beneath the armor, he is a different person altogether, and the weight of the world, his world, has caused him to build up high walls.

I wonder if I’ll get the chance to see who he really is? If I’ll break through that steel armor plate he wears like a second skin before I find what I need and escape.

The universe tells me, no, but a small, tiny part of me hopes I do because even if I don’t want to admit it, there has to be something decent that lives inside of him.

Otherwise, I’m sure I’d already be dead.