I take in his pinstripe suit, pressed to perfection. My eyes fall to his hands and I notice how smooth they are.
This isn’t a man who usually carries out his own dirty work.
My head whips back when he slaps me again and maybe this isn’t something he does often, but he’s definitely packing a hit.
A ringing noise hammers my ears.
“I said, guess what he told me.”
When his hand wraps around my throat, I let out a gasp, a strangled whisper brushing past my lips. “He… He chose… me,” I manage to get out.
I feel slightly dizzy and for a moment I think I’m tipping over again, but when he releases my throat I realize it’s nothing but delusion and oxygen deprivation.
“That’s right, he chose you, a worthless piece of black trash.” His eyes are on fire and his fists are clenched as if he’s holding himself back from hitting me again. “So, I’m going to tear you apart, let every one of my men rip your cunt, and then I’m going to send you back to Giovanni Costa in pieces. He thinks he can make a deal with me and renege on it just because I’m not a part of the outfit? He has another thing coming. I’m not fucking scared of him and I’m not a man to take advantage of.”
A chill moves through my body and on instinct I squeeze my legs closed.
My breaths quicken and I can feel a panic attack coming on, but I try to push it away.
Men have been using my body my whole life, but it’s not something one can ever get used to, being violated and used like a rag doll.
For the first time, I prayed that any one of the Costa men would appear.
I’d rather be hurt by one of them on any given day than face a new, unknown pain.
And I know that if any of them were here, I’d be safe. Which is an ironic thought. But I’ve learned that the Costa men are the only ones allowed to hurt me. Anyone else who attempts to do the same, puts a Costa signed bounty on their head.
Sheffield lets out a sick laugh. “You don’t like the thought of that?” He asks, stepping forward. “What’s wrong? Aren’t little sluts like you supposed to get wet from the thought of being used like the whore you were meant to be? Hell, maybe you’ve already drenched your panties.”
When his large hand clamps down on my thigh, I kick out, connecting with his shin. His eyes darken a moment before he crushes his foot down on top of mine.
I let out a scream, pain shooting from my foot up my leg.
He calls me another slur but I ignore it as I try to keep myself from throwing up. It all hurts, my head, my nose, my foot. My thigh, where Sheffield’s hand is digging in even harder now as it slides up my leg.
I try to force him off of me, try to get away from his touch but I don’t have any sort of leverage with my hands trapped behind my back. And the pain moving through my foot is growing. My vision sways.
Sheffield pries my legs apart with ease and when his fingertips run across my panties, I finally do throw up.
Right on his shoes.
He jumps away from me, and even though I can feel sticky vomit on my own legs, I don’t care. I flinch away when he raises his hand. Before he can make contact with my face, loud pops ring through the air.
He freezes and his hand changes direction, moving to his pocket now. He pulls his phone out and by the time he has the screen unlocked, it’s already ringing.
“What’s going on?” he barks into the line. “You’re fucking kidding me.” His eyes move over me. “Have Dimitri come and get the girl.” He turns around, still shouting orders into his phone as the pops get closer.
Gunshots, I realize.
Sheffield disappears out of the door.
I tense up and when a large man walks into the room, a gun in his hand, I go completely stiff as a board.
He has a buzzed head and a tattoo runs down his neck. He approaches me, using the hand not holding the gun to yank my hands up. Pain wracks through my shoulder and I try to stand to ease the pressure, but I’m convinced he’s already yanked it out of place.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me again and white hot agony rips down my arm.
“Stop screaming, bitch.”