6. Tasha

6

The sliver of light beckons me. I sit up again, feeling less woozy than the first time. I get on all fours and crawl to the door.

I startle and freeze when a man laughs and says, "That's it, baby girl, crawl to daddy."

My knees hurt on the hard floor, but I don't move, too scared of what I'll find on the other side of the door. For a minute I wait, but no voice comes. When I lean back on my haunches, the same voice chuckles and says, "Fuck, Matteo, did you script this? Is she acting? Sitting like a submissive? If we were on auction?—"

"Shut the fuck up, Luca," another voice says, and a frisson of fear shoots down my spine as I recognize it. Him.

Matteo?

I glance at the upper corners of the room and in the dim light I spot the shine of a camera lens. My skin bursts out in goosebumps as I realize they can see me. Two men on the other side of the door. I hug my body and, in that moment, realize I'm still wearing my bikini—and only my bikini.

I've never felt more naked in my life.

I have nothing to defend myself with.

An eternity of time passes before I eventually realize they aren't coming for me. I can stay in here forever and die or go out and face what waits on the other side. And die. This ends no other way.

I stand slowly, leaning onto the wall for support, and with some effort pull the heavy door open. I blink at the sudden light flooding over my body. My gaze flits over the space. Double volume floor-to-ceiling windows and the soft pink summer light of the sun just gone. The dark and masculine interior of the walls, the steel and glass railings, the even bigger black leather sectional where not two, but five men face me. And him in the middle, flanked by his lieutenants.

I don't step out of the small comfort of the door jamb, clinging to it in fear as every pair of eyes inspects me. A blush bursts out on my skin as I feel the unabashed caress of several gazes lingering on my breasts, my stomach, and my crotch, where this scant slip of fabric barely covers my sex.

He pockets his phone slowly and as he stands our eyes meet. I shrink inwardly and want to fall back to the safety of the room behind me.

"Miss Armstrong. Thank you for joining us."

"Who are you?" I ask. Nobody answers, they just stare at me. "And what have you done to my dad?"

"Your dad's at home."

"I don't believe you! You killed him!"

"Believe what you want."

"It's Matteo, is it?" I ask, taking a step forward.

That annoyingly perfect brow cocks at me again. "Yes. Matteo. My brothers." He gestures towards the other men who are all still sitting, and as I take them in, I curse inwardly. They are all… freaking hot as Vee would say. Vee. I should have bailed with her while I had the chance. Why didn't I listen to my gut? These men might be hot, but an aura of danger hangs in the space.

Nobody speaks. They all just stare at me until a resigned sigh comes from one of the men as he slumps back and another one reaches for a beer and raises it to me in a mock toast.

"You killed him! God! Why?" I shudder with so many emotions, foremost the one where I want to kill this Matteo asshole in front of me with my own bare hands. "Are you going to kill me too?"

Matteo smirks. "Only if you don't settle your dad's debts."

I flinch at his tone. He isn't joking. I might be young and inexperienced, but I'm not naive. "And how do I repay these debts? By you all raping me until you've had your fill?"

Matteo walks around the coffee table, his gaze drifting over me, touching my body, tugging at every nerve that leads down to my sex. He comes to stand in front of me and I tilt my head to look up at him, forcing myself to look him in the eye.

"We don't touch the merch," he says, his voice deep and soft, intimate. "Ever."

Merch? Like in merchandise? "What does that mean?"

He doesn't bother to respond, and my thoughts swarm to the obvious conclusion. I'm merchandise. Their property. To sell, barter, and cut up piecemeal as they please. Kidneys, liver, eyeballs… every part of me once they're done. The blush I had drains straight to my toes as the full implication of my situation hits me.

"Here, let me fix this for you." His dark brown eyes, which held mine this whole time, drop to my lips, then lower to my chest. My breathing stalls as he raises his hand to my neck and with one finger traces the line of my bikini's strap down to the triangle covering my breast. I shiver at his gentle touch, in such contrast to every situation my mind conjured up seconds ago. His finger dips underneath the fabric and my nipple hardens even more with anticipation of this tender invasion. I want to step back, get away from him, but as his fingertip brushes over my nipple, a debilitating rush of desire spreads over my skin, down to my sex. He catches the fabric and tugs it out from where it had folded on itself, exposing way more breast than intended.

He straightens the strap by running his fingers under it, then pulls away. "There."

I've never been touched like this, and the heat of his hand lingers as I open my eyes. I didn't even realize I'd closed them.

"Your dad's fine." He takes his phone from his pocket and swipes away, then turns it to me. The phone shows video footage of Dad, sitting by our dining room table, having dinner.

"That's not real," I whisper. It can't be. How can he be eating dinner when I've been kidnapped? When I'm here with five strange men who could at the drop of a hat gang rape me and then sell my organs.

"No?" Matteo speaks into the phone. "Let Armstrong give us a little wave."

He turns the screen back to me and I watch, stupefied, as my dad turns his head, and fork in hand, waves at me.

I grab Matteo's phone from him and want to say something, but I don't know what.

He's having dinner. Without me.

He's sold me out. My fingers tremble—if only I could make one call to get me out of here. But I already know we're out of our depth with these men. Dad isn't even fighting for me, even though all I've ever done was to please and obey him. Be the perfect daughter and I'll be safe.

A level of anger I'd never known existed erupts and I fling the phone across the room. "Fuck you!"

Men dodge. The phone hits the black marble kitchen island with an echoing smack before it bounces off and crashes to the floor. I turn to Matteo, clawing at him.

And then there's a scramble.

Matteo grabs my wrists and has them caged in one massive hand in a second. He pushes me until my back collides with the cold steel door of the safe room, his thigh pressed between my legs as he lifts me against the wall as if I weigh nothing. His touch is rough and brusque and so swift I'm almost winded. His free hand wraps around my throat, pressing up so that I'm forced to look at him. When his palm squeezes with just the right amount of pressure I know he could choke me to death if he wanted to.

"Understand this, princess," he hisses. "We don't do tantrums here." He grips my throat for emphasis, then brushes his thumb along my jaw, so tenderly I could cry. "If you want to be gagged and chained for the duration of your stay, I'll make it happen." He leans closer, his voice deeper. "If you need to be disciplined, I'll make it happen."

Several beats pass during which he only looks into my eyes, our chests flush, our breathing in sync. He stares at me with such loathing that I flinch. Nobody has ever looked at me with such hate before and I have no idea why.

"Nobody throws, breaks, or damages what belongs to me. Only I get to do that. Understand?" With these words, his thumb presses on my jaw, forcing my face to the side, exposing my neck. He leans even closer and his warm musky scent envelops me as his breath comes as a hot wave over my skin, which breaks out in goosebumps in response. He trails his nose over my hair, inhaling, then lower, his lips open in a sensual tease as they ghost the sensitive skin on my neck, making me forget where I am and who he is.

When he closes his lips and sucks, the heat of wet arousal seeps from my pussy where it's pressed against his thigh. I can feel him making the mark as he sucks my blood to the surface where it will leave a bruise.

I whimper and he stops, but he presses his mouth to my ear and whispers, "Last thing. If you were mine, I wouldn't be eating fucking dinner if you'd been kidnapped by Il Consiglio. I'd be tearing the fucking world down to find you and make sure you were safe."

Matteo lets go of me so abruptly that I almost stumble, but at the last second, his hands on my shoulders stabilize me.

"That should be gone by the time you go up for auction."