Dominic (Benedetti Brothers 2)

“Get your hands off me.”

Her voice sounded scratchy, low, like she hadn’t spoken in a long time. I looked at her. Heart-shaped face. Full lips. Prominent cheekbones.

Pretty.

No, more than that. Aristocratic almost. Arrogant. Beautiful. Different.

Different than the usual girls.

She scanned my face. I wondered if the skull mask scared her. Fuck, it had scared me the first time I’d put it on. Nothing like death staring you in the face.

“Stand up,” I said, dragging her by her hair as I straightened.

She stumbled, but I kept hold of her, tilting her head back, watching her process the pain of my fist in her hair. Teaching her.

Actions spoke louder than words. I always started my training from minute one. No sense in wasting time. She’d learn fast to do as she was told, or she’d pay. She’d learn fast that life as she knew it was over. She was no longer free. No longer human. She was a piece of fucking meat. Owned. Owned by me.

That first lesson was always hardest for them, but I was nothing if not thorough.

I guess you could say I’d found my true calling.

“You’re hurting me,” she muttered.

She swallowed hard and blinked even harder, maybe to stop the tears that now leaked from both eyes. This girl was a fighter. She hated weakness. I could see it. I recognized it. This battle, she warred as much with herself as she did me.

“What’s the magic word?” I taunted.

She glared, her gaze searching, trying to see through the thin layer of mesh that covered even my eyes. I could tell she was trying not to focus on the mask but rather my eyes. To make me more human, less terrifying.

Fear. It was the one thing you could always count on.

“Fuck you.”

She reached up with her bound hands to grab hold of the mask, but before she could tug it off, I jerked her arms away.

“Wrong.”

I spun her around and shoved her against the wall, pressing the side of her face against it. She pushed at the cheap, dark-paneled walls with her hands, her bound wrists just in front of her chest. Her breathing came hard, harder than mine.

I looked her over. Even beneath the layers of dirt, I saw the print of a boot turning blue on her side.

I was right. This one was a fighter.

Leaning in close, I let go of her hair and pressed my body against hers, bringing my mouth to her ear. “Try again. Magic word. And remember, I don’t usually give second chances.”

“Please,” she said quickly before a sob broke out that she tried hard to suck back in.

I kept my chest to her back, holding her against the wall. I wondered if she could feel my erection. Hell, she’d have to.

“Gia,” I whispered against her ear. I knew her first name, knew it was her real name when she sucked in a breath.

That was all I knew, but I wouldn’t tell her that. It was all I wanted to know. Contrary to what my various employers thought, I didn’t like training the girls. Or selling them. I wondered if I should. It was one of the things my father had done, my real father. He was a scum-of-the-earth asshole. I’d just been trying to live up to my heritage over the last seven years. Hell, I had to make up for lost time. Twenty-eight fucking years’ worth. From the terror on the girl’s face, I was doing a good job of it.

I hated myself a little more because of it every day. But that was the point, wasn’t it? I didn’t deserve any different.

“You belong to me now. You will do as I say, or you will be punished every single time. Understand?”

She didn’t answer, but her body began to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut. I watched as tears rolled down her cheek.

“Understand?” I asked again, trailing my fingernails up her back and splaying them beneath the heavy veil of hair at the base of her skull, ready to grip and tug and hurt.

She nodded quickly.

“Good.”

I abruptly stepped back. She almost fell but caught herself. She remained standing as she was, her back to me, her forehead against the wall. Her hands moved, wiping her cheeks.

“Turn around.”

It took her a moment. She moved slowly, keeping as much space between us as she could, keeping her bound hands raised so they covered her breasts.

Defiant eyes met mine, the green shining bright in contrast to her dirt-smeared face. There was something about her. Not once in the dozen girls I’d trained had I ever felt anything but emptiness, a space between me and them. The girls, they weren’t even human to me. It was easier that way. They were things. A means to an end. That end being me sinking deeper into depravity, so deep I’d never see the light of day again.