My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 5 Escape Page 2

  “You are the puttano! The one controlled by your rapist cock.”

  “I take, he relents, which makes him the puttano. And I will let you have this one small victory, but if you touch me again I will fight back, because I’m the don of this house, not you, brother.”

  Frano blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard Alberto right. “What did you say?”

  Alberto straightened to his full height. “I am don.”

  “You are not!” Frano yelled.

  “The Donatelli have decreed it.”

  “The Donatelli have no say under my roof.”

  “My roof. And you obviously have selective memory. Do you remember being imprisoned in your own cell?”

  Frano shook his head, his face disbelieving.

  “Do you remember how the Padre almost raped you?”

  Frano shook his head again then stopped, his eyes going wide, his face falling as though he remembered.

  “And lastly, do you remember what they did to our father?”

  Frano took a step back, his eyes moved to a spot on the floor, then back to Alberto, his voice barely audible. “Matteo...”

  Alberto dropped his hands, his nose a broken mess. He held his arms out wide, looking as if he wanted to embrace his brother. Frano took another step back, his eyes moving back to the spot he’d been staring at before, his face devastated.

  “I tried to stop them, but they imprisoned me too,” Alberto said, “then they told me I could go free, but only if I did what they said. I tried to attack them, but they threatened your life, dragged you to my feet, bloodied and unconscious. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You still betrayed me,” Frano said, his expression now uncertain.

  “I didn’t betray you, I would never betray you; I was forced into this corner by the Donatelli. But they made a crucial error, one I’m going to take full advantage of. They killed four of the Russian guards and took Sasha, and because of that, I will use the Black Russian to wipe them out. But I have to do it now, because Thierry and Bianca murdered Lucky and his father.”

  Frano glanced back at me, his eyes wide. “They will besiege us.”

  “No,” Alberto said, “Nino thinks his brother and father had heart-attacks, but tomorrow that might change, which means we need to bring the Black Russian in now.”

  Frano refocused on Alberto. “He won’t get here in time, so we must act before Christo discovers what has happened.”

  “The Padre’s brother is in America. The Black Russian would get here before him.”

  “No, if that Black Psycho comes here he will take Jagger, he’s already threatened to do so. Then he will punish me for not protecting Sasha and the other guards.”

  “He will find out what has happened to his men regardless, then he will bring hell to all of us if we don’t tell him first, give him our side.”

  “Asking for his help is like taking a cobra by the neck and using it as a weapon.”

  “Then how will we explain what has happened to his men?”

  “We don’t until I take control of the Donatelli household, then I will be too powerful for him to do a thing about it.”

  “You can’t storm the Donatelli casa.”

  “I will, and I will get back my own.”

  “It’ll be safer my way.”

  “No. You are banished. You will leave for America now and not return. And you will never set eyes on Jagger or Thierry ever again.”

  “No! Jagger is mine!”

  “Jagger is no one’s, you sick bastardo. And if you ever go near him again, I will hold you down so he can cut your cock off.”

  Alberto’s eyes flashed, the anger within them ready to erupt, but he held it in—barely, because he looked brutal, his shattered nose adding to his monstrous appearance. “You don’t have a say in this, Frano,” he growled. “Jagger is my lover and will stay my lover.”

  “He is not your lover, he is our cousin.”

  “He is what I say he is.”

  “Then don’t turn your back on me.”

  Alberto grimaced, his eyes showing his hurt. “I would die for you.”

  “Which will happen if you touch Jagger again, so pack your bags and go to the airport, I want you gone by tomorrow.”

  The sound of sirens filled the air, cutting through the tension. Alberto turned away from Frano and limped up the staircase.

  “Where are you going?!” Frano shouted.

  “To do as you ask of me,” Alberto said.

  Frano watched him for a few seconds, then turned to me. “Let the medics in, then as soon as they leave with Bianca, I’m taking you to safety.”

  I nodded, and ran for the front entrance.

  Frano followed me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I unlocked the door. “I promise you, Thierry, I will get your brother back.”

  I smiled at my savior, trusting him utterly.

  2

  Jagger

  Rita was lying on the bed, still unconscious, with her brown hair fanning the pillow. Except for its color, she looked so much like my first—and only love, it disturbed me, from the shape of her brows, the line of her nose to the curve of her lips. I had always loved Sophia’s lips, had told her they were my favorite part of her so many times: their sweet taste, the way they curved up in amusement when I did something stupid, and how they cushioned my own lips, fitting them perfectly. I had been a gangly teenager when I’d first met her, even thinner than Thierry, a runt who only had a pretty face, unlike Frano, who was tall and muscular, which was probably why she’d given him her virginity. Or more likely she’d found me repulsive after I’d stupidly told her about what the Padre was doing to me—still doing to me.

  I brushed Sophia’s ... Rita’s hair aside, the glint of red catching my eye. I parted her hair, looking closer at the roots. I’d seen her reddish-brown bush before Frano had shaved it off, but seeing it on her head was different, making me believe that she was Sophia even more, my love somehow having survived what the Padre had done to her. They had said she’d drowned in the lake by the forest, but her body had never been found, her coffin empty, nothing but a symbol of her absence.

  My gaze moved to her lips again, wanting to kiss them, but also not wanting to, because of the men who’d kissed me. I felt contaminated by what Alberto and the Padre had done. In a way, it was ironic that I had taken her to train as a sex slave, but had ended up becoming one instead.

  I ran my fingers down her cheek. Sophia or Rita, whatever I was supposed to call her, finally stirred, her eyes opening a second later. Those maple-brown eyes. The same color as Sophia’s. I smiled at her. She blinked up at me, sleep and confusion playing across her beautiful face.

  I ran my fingers down her cheek again. “I was worried about you,” I said.

  She frowned, but still didn’t move away from my touch. It made me feel good, something I didn’t think I would ever feel again—even if for just a moment.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  Her gaze traveled down me, her eyes widening in response. I moved back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable with my nakedness. I covered my cock. It still felt swollen, although it didn’t look it now, the redness having finally faded from the torture the Padre had reaped upon me. He’d told me I should be grateful that he didn’t just cut it off, because he didn’t need me to have a cock. He used to say the same thing when I was younger, telling me I was created wrong, that I was too beautiful to be a male, but he was grateful I was since it made me look like an angel—his own personal Angel Gabriel.

  Rita blushed, not something I’d expected to see, especially since she’d cleaned me up after the Padre had tortured me. She’d seen every part of me ... or maybe she was thinking of that now ... or maybe she was ashamed of being aroused by me, because her nipples were gloriously pebbled. My eyes latched onto them. I had never seen Sophia naked, but she was big busted like Rita, perfectly shaped, a mouthwatering sight.

  Rita raised her arms, using them to cover her breasts. I looked up a
t her face. Her cheeks were still flaming, their color as rosy as her nipples.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For staring. Your body is beautiful.”

  Her lips parted, but she said nothing, my words probably embarrassing her even more. But at least she wasn’t angry, like when I’d complimented her in the bar. Maybe it was because my words were starkly honest, or that she’d tended to me when I was hurt. She’d been so tender, not taking any liberties, unlike everyone else, those bastards and bitches treating me like a piece of meat. I was a person to her, someone who could feel pain. No, the Padre knew I could feel pain, it just excited him.

  “I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” I said, although I wasn’t, because I would do anything to see her blush.

  “You didn’t embarrass me.” She pushed off the bed and placed a hand to the back of her head, which was probably still hurting from Alberto’s attack. She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains apart. The moon was high, its silvery hue stark against the dark sky. She glanced over her shoulder at me. “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “Eight hours at a guess,” I said, standing up.

  Her eyes wandered down my body. I moved my hand away from my cock, uncovering myself for her. Her eyes widened, then she spun around and looked back out the window. “We have to escape,” she muttered, her voice sounding strained.

  “I already told you I can’t. They will kill my famiglia.”

  “I’m not leaving you behind. That sick priest will eventually kill you.”

  “It is my lot in life.”

  She spun around, her expression angry. “No, it’s not!”

  “It is. I have always been his slave, and just because I’ve had seven years of being away from him doesn’t mean I was free. He plagued me in my dreams, and now he plagues me in the light of day.”

  “I’m still not leaving you here to be violated.”

  “Why? I violated you.”

  She frowned. “You never penetrated me—unlike Frano.” Something passed over her face, darkening it. I knew that Frano had raped her, but I also knew that she had done it back to him, but with her fingers. The Padre had taken great glee in forcing me to watch the video footage. He had thought it would hurt me, because he believed without a doubt that Rita was Sophia, which in his eyes meant that my woman was yet again cheating on me with Frano. And it had hurt, but not in the way that the Padre had thought. My Sophia had been an innocent girl, a sweetheart who wouldn’t have hurt a fly, yet Rita had enjoyed hurting Frano like the Padre enjoyed hurting me. She wanted Frano. I knew that. But how she wanted him disturbed me. I had never enjoyed hurting women, only pretended to for the job.

  I walked towards her, making her step back. Even though she wanted Frano, she was still attracted to me. I could see it in her eyes, her rosy cheeks, her opened mouth, and her pebbled nipples, and I would bet the world’s wealth that her pussy was wet for me.

  “I will help you escape if you wish, but I still have to stay here,” I said, stopping in front of her.

  “How will you help me?” she asked, her gaze a mixture of embarrassment, lust, and suspicion.

  “You need to offer the guard a blowjob and while he’s occupied I will take him out.”

  Her eyes widened. “No, you offer him a blowjob.”

  I smiled again, only this woman able to make me do that after everything I’d experienced. “Enzo is not gay; he would punch me if I even insinuated it.”

  “I’m still not going to suck anyone’s cock.”

  I tilted my head to the side, interested in her reaction to my next words. “You sucked Frano’s.”

  Her face darkened. “How do you know about that?”

  “I was forced to watch the video. The Padre thought it would hurt me to see my sweet Sophia taking pleasure in another man’s body, and worse, with the man she had cheated on me with.”

  “I’m not Sophia.”

  “So you say.”

  “Because I’m not.”

  My eyes lowered down her body.

  “What are you doing?” she said, attempting to cover herself.

  I looked back up at her eyes. “I never saw Sophia naked, therefore I wouldn’t know if this is her body or not.”

  “It’s my body.”

  My eyes moved down to her crotch, where her pubic hair had started to grow back.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped.

  I raised my gaze. She appeared annoyed, but she was still aroused, giving me hope that I could make her fall in love with me, although it was a stupid thought, considering I would probably never see her again after today. But I guessed it was an instinctive reaction to seduce her, something so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I no longer realized what I was doing, the five years I’d worked as a slave trainer changing me for the worst.

  “Offer the guard a blowjob,” I repeated, “then take his cock in your mouth and suck it as though your life depends upon it—like you did with Frano.” I paused, watching her face change at the mention of my cousin. Her jaw tightened in anger yet her eyes appeared sad, the woman a paradox. I wasn’t sure whether she was feeling guilty or justified in raping Frano, but it didn’t matter, just as long as she did what I asked of her: “Suck one more cock, but this time for freedom.”

  She shook her head, the anger spreading to her lips, the pretty things pulling tight.

  “Again, you sucked Frano’s cock, even stuck a finger up his ass, yet you can’t allow yourself to do this? Or maybe you wanted to suck Frano, to have only his cock filling your mouth and his cum painting your face.”

  “I did not!”

  “How does Shakespeare say it? The lady doth protest too much.”

  “That’s not true, I don’t want Frano.”

  I ran my hand over my cock, hoping that she wanted me instead. Her eyes lowered to my hand, her mouth opening more. I was too sore to fuck her, nor did I want to, the abuse reaped upon me putting me off sex, but she didn’t need to know that, she just needed to do what I asked, because women who lusted after me usually did. I frowned, the thought reminding me of Bianca. I wondered whether she had succeeded in killing Alberto. I hoped so, more than words could describe, and if she had then I would only have to contend with the Padre. And if Rita could get free, then she could tell Frano about what was being done to me and he could get me out of here. But if Bianca had succeeded, then she would get me out, her mention of those mercenaries giving me hope. And I would give anything for one of those mercenaries to give me a gun so I could blow the Padre’s cock off, then I would force the gun inside his mouth as he’d forced me to take his vile cock, that open mouth gag sheer hell, but instead of filling him with cum I would shoot a load of lead into his throat—until the gun was empty.

  Her eyes moved back up to my face. “Are you sore?”

  “Sì,” I answered, preferring lust over concern ... no, I preferred her concern, because it meant she cared at least a little about me, rather than the sadistic bastards whose only concern was finding pleasure in my body.

  “Do you need ice or something else?” she asked.

  “Salve.”

  She took off into the bathroom, bringing back the tube she’d used on me earlier.

  “Grazie.” I took it from her and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. I uncapped the tube and squeezed some cream out onto my hand, then rubbed it over my cock, hissing at the sting; the result from the Padre scraping his teeth over it when I couldn’t get hard. That was why he’d stuck the spike down my hole, hoping to harden me, but it just shrank my cock even more.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “No,” I’ll never be alright. I moved up the bed and rolled onto my front, holding the tube out for her. “Can you put some salve where you did before, my...” I grimaced, “...my culo hurts. I want some rubbed on it.”

  She stared at me, her eyes so big. “Can’t you do it?”

  “No, because only yo
u will know if it’s better,” I said, just realizing she understood that culo meant ass. Did she speak Italian? No, probably not, because it was abundantly clear what I was referring to.

  Letting out a sigh, she walked over and took the salve off me, then climbed in between my legs. My chest restricted, not liking her touch without looking at her, because all I could feel was my cheeks being parted, my dignity being raped. I needed to know it was her... Of course it was, but I wanted to see her face, not to imagine the Padre’s.

  “Can you move off the bed for a moment,” I said, “I don’t want to face away from you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to imagine the...” I breathed out, this time my upset real. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t want anyone to touch me there. No one! Not even Rita, Sophia or whoever the hell she was. “Move away!” I said, turning around, my panic coming out of nowhere.

  She pushed off the bed, her concern and surprise showing. Shame hit me. And hit me hard. I wasn’t a man to her, I was someone’s toy. I pushed off the bed and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I got into the shower and turned on the water, needing to wash Alberto and the Padre off me, their touch still lingering, soiling my body and mind, making me feel disgusting and just as vile as they were. The memory of Alberto pushing his tongue inside my mouth, invading me sent a shudder of revulsion through my body. I opened my mouth and let the water fill it, then spat it out, repeating it over and over again until my mouth felt numb. My body started shaking, the emotion hitting me all at once. I placed my arms against the wall and rested my head on them, unable to hold back the sobs that begged to escape. I needed to let it all out before it consumed me whole. I’d learned a long time ago that I had to cry, that holding it all in only shattered my soul more, but I always did it in private so I could have dry eyes in public. I wasn’t a young boy anymore, that kid who walked around without realizing that my teary eyes only made me look more attractive, the Padre feeding off my misery as much as my body. And I couldn’t afford to be vulnerable now; I had to fight the sick fucks, to face them as a man. But what I wanted to do and what I actually did weren’t always in accordance. I grimaced, utterly ashamed over how I’d scampered across the bed when Alberto had come after me. He was going to force me anyway, so I shouldn’t have run like a woman. I had to toughen up to survive this, had to continue to fight him and the Padre, because pleading did nothing, it only fueled their sick fantasies. But God, it hurt, because all I wanted to do was to curl up and close my eyes, screaming that this couldn’t be happening, that I wasn’t made for this, my mind hating the touch of men, my body repulsed by it. I wanted women; I wanted Rita ... Sophia, mia amore.