Sold to Moretti Mafia

Fallon

Fear zips through me and down my spine with the intensity of a lightning bolt.

“I don’t know yet.” That singular statement sets me off and straight into a full-blown panic attack.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do to me? It doesn’t matter that he saved me from that man back there. He doomed me to a much worse fate when he bid on me and won.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I try to focus on my breathing. It’s much harder than one would think, though, given my circumstances.

As I lie here in the backseat, every bump we drive over pushes my face further into the seat. My arms throb, and my cheek hurts as it rubs against the leather.

I think about my situation. I don’t have to know this man to know he is bad. I can feel it. The darkness rushes off of him in waves, leaving everything in ruins when it’s gone. That’s the aura he gives off, and the way he looked at me before pulling me off the ground and away from that man. A man he killed with his bare hands without blinking or showing a shred of remorse, I shiver at the reminder. Sure, I would’ve wanted that sick bastard of a man to die anyway, but the way he did it without a care, like he was tying his shoes. It told me everything I needed to know about him.

I won’t lie. For a moment, I felt there might be some good in him. The way he looked at me when I was struggling to breathe. It was almost as if he had a heart, like he was more than what everyone around him saw.

There was a sliver of compassion in his gaze for me, concern… or so I thought.

Then he opened his mouth and voiced that his only concern was for his purchase not to be damaged. I realized quickly that I was his property, nothing more, and I needed to keep that fact in mind. He wasn’t saving me, and he didn’t buy me just to let me go. He was going to use me, hurt me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

After what seems like an eternity, we turn onto what has to be a dirt road. The car shakes as the tires move over the uneven gravel. The restraints dig into my skin, especially around my neck, and I can’t stifle a groan much longer.

When we finally come to a stop, I’m almost certain some of my skin must be bleeding, or at least it feels like it.

My captor gets out of the car and opens the back door, reaching inside to pull me out. He is not any gentler than he was when he put me in the car, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying out in pain.

My limbs are stiff and sore, my wrists are rubbed raw, and my cheek throbs, pulsing with pain as if it has its own heartbeat from that guy hitting me.

He throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes and carries me into the house. It’s probably of no use for me to look around, to take in the location I’m at, but the part of me that wants to escape him, run away and be free tells me to, so I do.

Lifting my head, I take in my surroundings as much as I can.

Trees. All I see are trees, no matter what direction I look. I have no idea where we are, but clearly, it’s somewhere secluded. Mountains are a short way off in the distance, the setting sun making it hard for me to make out all that is around me.

Stopping on the porch, he fumbles with the key. The door creaks open a second later, and then he walks inside the house. The light flicks on, illuminating the area. Even though the brightness hurts my eyes, I open them. I need to see where he’s taking me even if there isn’t any way to stop it.

Craning my head back as far as I can, I scan the area.

We’ve entered the living room. To my right are two large couches angled in front of a fireplace. My head moves on a swivel as I dart to look left and find a modern looking kitchen with a dining area attached.

Everything is clean and decorated nicely with a rustic flair that reminds me of the inside of a cabin. Maybe that’s what this is. I didn’t get a chance to see much of the outside of the house with it being dark and all. A secluded cabin on the side of a mountain makes sense.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

I tuck my head against his back as he takes me up a set of stairs, his feet slapping against the wood. It feels like I’m being carried to my funeral because, in a matter of minutes, a part of me is going to die.

He is going to rape me. Which is scary for more than one reason.

The auctioneer announced I was a virgin, which I’m not. It hits me then, paralyzing fear.

What if he realizes that and gets angry? It’s not my fault the guy who kidnapped me lied, but I’m the only one here, the only one he can let his anger out on.

He drops me unceremoniously onto the bed.

I land on my side and bounce against the soft mattress. I can’t even enjoy the softness beneath my body because all I feel is pain. He rolls me over onto my stomach, and I hear him rustling with the key. A moment later, he undoes the chain holding my wrists back. Relieved, I drop my arms down to my sides and let out a soft sigh. “Here is what’s going to happen, Fallon. I’m going to undo the cuffs and the collar around your neck so you can take a shower. If you do anything stupid, I will hurt you. Really hurt you. Not like what that guy did back there, but worse. There is a cold and empty cell in the basement, and I don’t mind putting your nametag on that door. Got it?”

“Got it.” I nod my head yes, savoring the softness of the sheet rubbing against my cheek.

He uncuffs me like promised. Then takes the collar off. I want to rub my skin where the leather and metal used to be, but I force my hands to remain at my sides.

“Get up,” he orders gruffly.

My movements are labored and sluggish, but I manage to stand and turn around slowly. As soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t. He’s standing so close; I can feel the heat of his body like flames licking against my skin. He’s tall, so tall that I have to tilt my head up and back to see his face. His own amber-colored eyes scan my face, almost like he is studying me, analyzing every inch of it.

“What’s your name?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares at me. When I’m certain he isn’t going to answer me at all, he finally says, “Markus.”

All I can do is nod. I don’t know what else I can ask or say. I don’t have to ask the most obvious questions. What do you want with me? Will you let me go? Why me?

I’m not stupid. I can answer those myself.