Page 41 of Damaged & Deadly
Before I can get completely worked up over a situation I have no control over, I push thoughts of Sawyer to the back of my mind and spin to take in the apartment. I take my time inspecting the place, doing my best to comb through for cameras or listening devices and searching out for any weapons before giving up. Eventually, the calling of the shower is too great to ignore, and I spend the rest of the day pacing back and forth in front of the window, unable to relax or sit still.
This is almost worse than being in the locked, windowless room. At least in there I knew what to expect, but this… the not knowing is messing with my nerves until I’m walking a thin tightrope between paranoia and complete exhaustion.
It’s dark out by the time Santos returns, and I’m honestly a strung-out mess. I jump as soon as I hear the door opening and feel like I’m wired on caffeine—all jittery and jumpy.
“Have a fun day?” Santos asks, eyeing me. I probably look even worse than when he left me this morning. Even though I showered, I had no other clothes to put on except the sweaty, blood-soaked ones I was already wearing. That, combined with the stress gnawing away at my bones all day, has me feeling even worse than a day in the torture chamber.
He doesn’t seem to expect a response from me and instead continues, “Fun’s not over yet.” He grins and the look slides over me like oil, sticking and unwilling to wash off. “Let me show you the perks of being an Antonelli.”
Jerking his head, I hesitate before following him out of the apartment. I count five guards in the hall, making sure I don’t even consider making a run for it. Two of them move with us as we walk down the corridor, and excitement builds within me with every step closer to the elevator. Obviously, I know he’s not going to let me go free, but damn, just the thought of it fills me with hope.
He stops at a seemingly mundane bit of wall. He presses on it and it separates, showcasing a hidden doorway. The four of us move through it into a hallway similar to the one that leads to the torture room. We pass through another door at the other end into a small room with dim, warm-colored lighting, filled with various seats, armchairs, and sofas, all centered around a small stage and stripper pole.
“Fetch the girl,” Santos barks as he moves to a bar, filling two tumblers with an amber-colored drink before striding over to me. “Sit, sit.” He waves toward one of the seats, and I hesitantly do as he says, confused to all hell as to what the fuck is going on.
He shoves the glass in my hand before taking a sip from his own, cocking a brow when I don’t move to drink as well. “Uhh, I’m only fifteen.”
A cold laugh bursts out of him like what I said is the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time. “Boy, the rules don’t matter here.Wemake the rules. Wearethe rules.”
Still, I don’t drink. Who the fuck knows what he put in there, and even if he didn’t spike it, the last thing I want to be is intoxicated in this hellhole.
His brows lower in anger, but before he can say anything, there’s movement from the other side of the room, and I’m suddenly forgotten as he turns toward a rake-thin woman with dark hair, wearing nothing more than her underwear.
“Ah, pet, did you miss me?” he coos.
The woman’s gaze flashes toward me as she lowers her eyes, so she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes as she meekly responds, “Yes, Master.”
What the fuck is this shit? Pet? Master?
I’ve seen my fair share of porn, and I’ve snuck into the bar at the clubhouse enough times to witness rough, dirty, wild sex, but whatever the fuck this is, it is not my jam.
“I have a guest tonight.” He leads her toward me, claiming a seat to my left. “He’s having a hard time adjusting to our lifestyle. I want to show him what he could have if he just… yielded.” He flicks his cold gaze my way before focusing back on her, stroking a tender finger across her cheek. “You can be a good girl and show him what he’s missing, can’t you, pet?”
Sweat soaks my palms as his words sink into my brain. He’s not saying what I think he’s saying, is he? Before my freakout can escalate, he shoves the girl to her knees and spreads his thighs.
The next few minutes pass in abstract horror as I struggle to look anywhere and everywhere but at the grotesque show in front of me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen plenty of girls suck cock before, but never like this. Every time my eyes wander in their direction, they stick on the girl, wondering who she is and why she’s here. Surely, it can’t be because she wants to be. However, the alternative is too horrifying to consider.
She’s still sucking him off when he turns to me. “Are you still a virgin, boy?” I hesitate before answering, but my silence is enough. “Easily fixed. I’ll get one of the club girls to show you the ropes.” I sag a little in my chair that he isn’t going to get this girl to do the job and that, hopefully, it won’t happen tonight. “You’re a man. Men fight. Men kill. Men fuck.”
I’m perfectly aware that men do all that, but I also know from what I’ve witnessed at the clubhouse thatrealmen take care of their property, their people. Real men don’t shove whatever they are feeling into little boxes until they forget to feel anything at all. And real men sure as fuck don’t force women to suck them off.
His eyes drift shut as he tilts his head back, groaning, and I quickly glance away. However, even out of the corner of my eye, I notice that he’s shoved the girl’s face down on his cock until she’s choking on it, pushing against his thighs, even though he doesn’t let up until he grunts his release. Fucking gross.
When he turns to face me again, I make sure none of the contempt and disgust I'm feeling is written on my face. Before he can speak, his phone goes off. With a jerk of his head in my direction, he tells the girl to give me a lap dance while he slides the phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and moves to the far side of the room to take the call.
The girl sidles toward me, and everything in me screams to tell her to stop, to not do this, but I know it would be useless. The futility of it is there to read in her listless eyes as she moves to step between my thighs, forcing me to part them. I can see how numb she has become to this existence. It’s in the way she moves as if she’s on autopilot. She’s going through the motions, but her brain has switched off. Mentally, she’s not here.
I cast a glance over her shoulder as she begins to sway her hips, finding Santos in the corner of the room. His back is mostly turned to us, but he flicks his gaze our way every so often, keeping an eye on us.
“Who are you?” I whisper in a low voice, ensuring it doesn’t travel.
Leaning in, the woman grasps a hold of my shoulders and begins to slide her chest along mine. “You need to run. Get away from here,” she whispers in an urgent voice. “Don’t let him trap you.”
“Is that what you are? Trapped?”
She doesn’t answer, so I keep talking. “I can help you.”
She smiles softly, but it’s filled with condescension. “No, you can’t. You can’t even help yourself.”