Dominic (Benedetti Brothers 2)

There had been so much blood, an impossible amount. My brother’s blood covered me as he fell over, gone, his savaged, beaten body murdered, his life stolen before my eyes, just inches from me while I stood powerless to save him.

He’d made Victor promise he wouldn’t kill me. That was the deal. They’d have cut his tongue out anyway, but maybe they’d have done it after he’d died. Or maybe they’d force him. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. All I knew was that I’d never forget the sound of the ax coming down, the look on Mateo’s face, in his eyes. And then that final, deafening sound of the gun being fired.

I’d read that in real life—as opposed to the movies—it sounded like a pop, but this was no pop. It was an explosion, an ear piercing, deafening explosion. Louder than anything I’d ever heard before. More horrible than anything I’d seen.

I’d never forget that day. I’d never forget what they did to him. And it was the one thing that kept me together now. The thing that had me gathering the pieces of myself. Because if I gave in now, then Mateo’s death was for nothing. Victor thought he’d won. That Mateo and I were finished. But he was wrong. I had vowed vengeance for what he’d done. I had promised it silently to Mateo, to myself. And I needed to pull myself together, to collect my strength, because I knew now that I had a chance. I knew it.

I had fully expected Death to rape me. I thought…I thought what else could he want? I had taunted him—hell, maybe I wanted him to kill me, to end it all, to make the decision and take the responsibility of vengeance away from me. But that was weak. I knew that now. Hell, I’d known it then. And he, this man I called Death, he surprised me. He unwittingly gave me hope.

I was different to him. He wanted me. I could see it in his face, his eyes. He’d made a mistake, taking off that mask. He should never have done that. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know I would stop at nothing to avenge my brother.

Although he was right about one thing. There was one area where we were alike. We both hated. We’d both been hurt—no, we’d been battered. But neither he nor I had broken, and I wouldn’t break now. He wanted to break me. It was his job. I had a suspicion, though, that that wasn’t wholly true. His own conflicting emotions weakened him. But it would be good to remember that those exact things made him dangerous. They made him volatile and unpredictable. I needed to control him. I didn’t need to search for a how. I knew how. I just had to come to terms with the fact that the idea of it didn’t repel me like it should. The thought of his hands on me, his mouth on me, his cock inside me, it didn’t turn my stomach. The opposite, actually. And that was what made me sick. That made me question who I was. How I could feel these things, feel this way. How I could not abhor this man.

Because if I did hate him, if I were repelled by him, I would still do what I had to do, and I would hate myself a little less for it. But as it stood now, as I felt now, I knew I had to be some sort of monster to be able to feel attraction for my captor. To come under his tongue. To want it again.

I’d lied when I’d said what I’d said to him about it being physical. It wasn’t physical, not for me. It never could be.

He’d said he had two weeks to train me. To ready me for the auction. Well, I had two weeks, then. Two weeks to get under his skin, to burrow so deep he couldn’t let me go. He’d have no choice but to keep me. Perhaps even to help me.

No, that I could not expect. I would kill him as soon as I could. It would be good training for when the time came to kill Victor. Because killing was new to me. I may have been born into a family of foot soldiers, men who’d worked for various crime families for generations, but I’d never even touched a gun, never felt the weight of one in my hands. I would learn, though. Maybe I’d even learn how to wield an ax when it came time to take Victor down.

I let hate fuel me while I gathered my courage and pushed the blanket off. I walked into the bathroom and, with my hands bound, switched on the shower. I didn’t wait for the water to warm. Instead, I stepped into the tub and stood beneath a spray of icy water, not thinking about the dirt at my feet, the filth around me. I washed away my fear and willed myself to think of Mateo, of his strength right up until the end. I exchanged fear for strength and let the water wash away any weakness inside me. When I was finished, I returned to my room and waited there, ready for Death to come.