Blood soaked his clothing. His father had almost died today and he’d been so fucking happy, wishing that man dead. It was no shock that he hated his father. Most men in his situation did. Isabella, the woman his father wanted him to marry, was also dead. It wouldn’t be long before he found someone else, someone more fitting to the name.
Finishing off his fifth glass of whiskey, he made his way through to one of the spare bedrooms he’d set up as an operating room, or as close as it could be. It held a great deal of medical equipment. Being Giavanni’s only son, he had to make sure he was prepared for all eventualities.
Stepping into the room, he saw Slave Girl. A sheet covered her, and she looked pale, almost as if death had claimed her.
He closed the distance between them and stared down at her. She had long, brown hair that fell to the curves of her ass. Many times he’d admired the length, which she often pulled back into a bun or a ponytail.
Unlike most of his father’s slaves, this girl had a great deal of curves, and he knew it was because she was always a good person. She never stepped out of place. Food was a reward. If a slave was naughty, his father didn’t feed them. She had always been an exemplary slave.
Reaching out, he touched her hair. For the longest time, he’d only ever watched her. Never touched. Never felt her against him.
She didn’t stir or make a sound as he stroked her hair back from her face.
Tonight, she’d been afraid. Rather than try to save his future wife, he’d jumped into action for this woman.
Lifting her up in his arms, he noted she was naked. Her weight dead. He got to the room and placed her on the bed, thankful for his empty arms. Her dead weight made her seem heavier than she was.
Peeling back the sheet, he stopped and looked at her. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with her. Flawless skin, but he flicked on the light, and lo and behold, he saw the markings on her body.
Burn marks, old knife wounds.
His slave girl may have been good, but she’d not had an easy life. He wondered if this was why she rarely spoke. If she’d been as good as her body suggested, why did it show punishments, abuse?
He lifted the blanket up and decided all these questions would be relevant for another day. For now, he needed to get his shit together. His father would be expecting him at some point for a debrief and also to talk about his wedding that wouldn’t be taking place.
Fuck!
Everything was so messed up.
Running a hand down his face, he tried to steady his thoughts. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around this woman and make himself believe everything was going to be okay, only it wasn’t. There was no way this was going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.
He’d stolen from his dad. Most kids stole the car keys or the liquor. No one stole a person. A living, breathing person, but he couldn’t stand by and not feel for Slave Girl.
She was more than a person to him. The only reason he kept going back home as often as he did was to keep an eye on her. Several years ago, he’d been taking a piss in his father’s precious flower beds when he’d heard her pained cry.
Staring down at her now, he was catapulted to the memory.
His father was an asshole. Rather than let him live his own life, he’d treated him like vermin.
Washing the precious plants in piss, he hoped his father came and plucked one, pressing it against his nose. He’d be inhaling his piss. It would serve the bastard right.
“Let me go!” The cry came suddenly and Raphael paused in his pissing streak.
He listened to the sound of a slap, and he should know, he’d heard enough slaps to last him a lifetime. This one was followed by another feminine burst of pain.
“You’re nothing, whore. You’re useless. The only good thing about you is your cunt. It needs to be filled with spunk. No one cares about you. You’re going to get sold soon, anyway. Then you’d be wishing I’d taken pity on you. Now though, you’re going to suck my dick, right here, and you’re going to swallow all of my cum like a good little slut.”
Raphael had zipped his pants up and moved toward the sound.
A soldier pressed on a young woman’s shoulders and she tried to fight him. As he lifted one of his hands to punch her, the other rested against the wall.
Instinct took over. Raphael pulled out his knife and slammed it into the hand that rested against the wall.