Dirty Revenge (Dirty 3)

Just as Dante said, we don’t pass anyone as we head down two hallways, then into an elevator, and up five floors. I don’t know what Dante does to make his money. This building doesn’t add any clues. But if I had to guess, Dante’s business is similar to my own family’s business. Dante just isn’t as good at selling weapons as we are. This building is a front; something he can point to when his more nefarious dealings are revealed to the police.

It’s stupid. The police will never believe him. He needs to have the cops on his side as the Carinis have for years.

Dante opens a glass door to a large office. Glass walls surround us, while large windows open the office up to the outside light.

My eyes widen, and my mouth hangs open, as I stare at the office. It’s so normal, bright, and airy. This cannot be Dante’s office. He likes dark. He likes to hide in a cave. He would never work somewhere so open.

I glance up as Dante’s eyes are searing into my body. I’m wearing clothes for the first time in weeks. It’s just a T-shirt and his boxers, but I’m still thankful to be wearing clothes instead of being naked. But I know from the look in his eyes I won’t be wearing them for much longer.

My body stills as he tosses me onto a leather couch. He removes his jacket, slowly, as he walks over to his desk. He’s going to rape me again. I can’t take it. Not even one more time.

My eyes scan his entire office in seconds, looking for a weapon. Scissors, a knife, a hidden gun. Even a stapler. I’ll take anything I can use to inflict pain on this man.

Dante begins rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt while he stands behind his desk. He bites his lip, and his entire face tightens as looks at me. But he’s not really looking at me. He’s envisioning his sick fantasy in his head. I’ve seen the disgusting look before.

I pull my legs up against my chest, wrapping my arms around them. It takes a lot of effort to move this little, but it’s worth it to bring myself some level of comfort.

“Oh, so many things I could do to you, whore,” Dante says.

My bottom lip trembles as his eyes go wild. I bite my lip, stilling it.

I will not be afraid.

Dante opens a drawer at the bottom of his desk. I try not to focus on what he’s pulling out. It’s meant to frighten me, as is everything he does around me. I will not let him win.

I try staring out the beautiful glass windows, filled with the warmth of the sunlight from the cloudless day. But I still see the items out of the corner of my eye, as he lays them on his desk.

A whip. Metal handcuffs. A butt plug. A ball gag. And a knife.

The knife is the only item that makes me react. He used it before on my back. It terrifies me. But it also excites me, for some reason.

My breathing speeds to unthinkable levels. My eyes water with both fear and excitement at seeing a weapon I could use against him. And my hands tremble in my lap.

The day he used the knife was the worst day. Unlike the pain of broken bones or rape that I can easily hide away within the cloud of overwhelming pain. The sharp edge of the blade can’t be hidden. When it pierces my skin, there is no escape.

I cried. I screamed. I begged.

It was Dante’s best day. My lowest point.

I can’t relive it.

But it’s a weapon. If I was able to get hold of the knife, I could kill Dante. I could get free.

I purse my lips and let all of the air out of my lungs, sinking into the couch and allowing all my muscles to relax. I haven’t sat on anything this comfortable in weeks. I’m going to savor it.

I hear Dante’s footsteps getting closer from behind the desk. I should pay attention to his movements so I can react and try to prevent an injury. My reflexes aren’t wh

at they used to be, though. So even if I know a punch or kick is coming, I can’t move out of the way fast enough. I’ve learned to not spend any energy on avoiding his movements.

“We have hours together, undisturbed. We have an empty building. And new toys to play with.”

I see Dante spin the knife in his hand. It’s bigger than the last one he used.

Good. It will be easier to kill him with it.

A haunting song jolts us both out of our fantasies as his pocket rings and vibrates. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls the phone out. I think he’s going to end the call without answering.

Instead, he answers.