Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

7

Massimo

As I go downstairs, I remove the lock of hair and smell it once again.

Fuck, she smells so good.

I think of how incredible it felt to have her sitting in my lap, and how amazing her nipple tasted, and I find myself growing hard once more. But I remind myself she wasn’t giving herself to me. It was an act, meant to distract me, so she could bring a knife to my throat. I don’t really think she would have tried to stab me—she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Still, it turned me on all the more that she would do something like that. She’s definitely not as weak as I thought. Not at all.

When I consider what happened afterwards, and her reaction when she saw who I was, my arousal fades. I almost felt like some bad stage actor when I was standing over her and telling her I was going to kill two more members of her family. It wasn’t me. At least, it wasn’t the old me. But it is who I am now, for good or for bad.

Still, it was so much easier to be cruel to her when I had the mask on and she didn't know who I was. But now that she knows it’s me… I wasn't sure what hurt more, her words, or the disappointment and horror on her face.

I shove the hair away and remind myself that she’s my prisoner. She told me to my face that she hates me. I thought I’d be able to have her as a fuck toy, but I wanted it to be of her own free will. It’s fairly obvious now she’s never going to willingly give herself to me. Still, I’m certain she was getting turned on when I played tongue volleyball with her nipple. But that was before she saw my face. She could have imagined me to be anyone she wanted. But now that she knows, there’s no more make believe for her.

Maybe that’s for the best.

I think of the pendant I saw around her neck. The very same heirloom she gave me all those years ago with the cherub engraving on the surface. The pendant her father stole from me. It’s rightfully mine. As is she.

I shake my head. Forget her. She’s an instrument of revenge and a path to riches. That’s all Angela means to me, nothing more.

Still, she’s seen my face now and that changes everything.

In the kitchen I find Luciano and Rosa finishing off the risotto I made. I take a deep breath before I break the news.

“She ripped off my mask,” I announce.

Luciano stares at me for a moment as if uncomprehending.

“Fuck,” he finally says. “How could you let her do that?”

“She tried to seduce me,” I explain, knowing he could easily review the hidden camera footage. If I’d deactivated the camera before going to her room, I wouldn’t have to reveal that she saw my face. It could be our little secret. But then again, I wouldn’t hide it. I share everything with my brothers. Besides, they were intimately involved with the planning of this kidnapping—I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without them—so I owe it to them to keep them in the loop.

“She can identify me,” I continue as if that wasn’t obvious.

Luciano nods slowly. He understands the ramifications completely. Rosa does, too, though I can tell from the look on her face she doesn’t believe those ramifications. She doesn’t think us capable of it. I guess she’s going to learn what her big brothers are truly like.

“What does that mean?” Rosa asks.

Neither of us answer.

“What does it mean?” Rosa presses.

Luciano gives her a withering glance. “It means we’re going to have to kill her when we get the ransom money.”

Rosa steps back. “No. You can’t. She’s too young.”

“Maybe we won’t have to,” I agree. “Her father will be dead when this is done. And if we kill her brothers as well…”

Rosa stares at me like she doesn’t know me anymore. “This is why I don’t involve myself in the family business. I don’t want to know what you do behind the scenes. I thought you were joking earlier when you said you’d kill them all. You weren’t.”

“No, we weren’t,” I agree.

“Wiping out the Amatos won’t be easy,” Luciano says. “We’d have to hit them all at once, if we do. Otherwise, her brothers will sense the targets on their backs and go into hiding. It could take months. Years. Meanwhile, they’ll be hunting us at the same time, thanks to the prying eyes of our captive. No, it’s best if we kill her when this is done.”

I stare at him, torn between letting Angela live and killing her. I’m not even sure I can kill her, if it came to it.

“I’ll consider it,” I tell him. I’m in charge of this operation and Luciano knows it. He and my other brothers will do what I say. I just hope I don’t lead us all to ruin over her.

“Do you want me to take over her supervision?” Luciano asks.

I shake my head. “I might as well continue to act as the point man now that she knows what I look like. No need to risk your identity or Rosa’s. There’s a chance she’ll recognize your voice, especially now that she knows who I am.” She would have met Luciano eight years ago when she used to hang out with us in school.

Rosa shakes her head, and the long hair draping the right side of her face follows along as if to emphasize the motion. “My identity won’t be at risk as I don’t plan to get involved.”

“Good,” I say. “The less people that interact with her, the better.”

“Did she eat yet, at least?” Rosa asks.

“No,” I say. “She probably won’t tonight.”

Rosa sighs. “All right. But if she dies of starvation she won’t be of any use to anyone, you know that right?”

I nod, then glance at Luciano. “I’ll call a meeting with the others later tonight. Let them know the situation, and tell them about our plans to move. Just need some time to collect my thoughts.”

“Take as long as you need.” Luciano nods at the pot next to the stove. “Left some risotto for you, by the way.”

“You have it,” I tell him. “Not hungry.”

I take the stairs to my room and go inside. I pause at the floor-to-ceiling window and gaze out at the moonlit sea. I start thinking of Angela again, and the way she sat in my lap. I remember the taste of her breast in my mouth. The texture of her areola. My pants become way too tight.

Shit. I’m going to have to take a cold shower. I got the bluest balls in the world right now.

I strip and my cock leaps free. I ignore it and hop in the shower. I set the temperature low but it doesn’t help. I should be shivering but I’m not—I feel almost hot. My cock keeps throbbing between my legs, pulsing in sync to my heartbeat… the vibrations pass into the surrounding skin, stretching and teasing my balls, like her lips should be doing right now.

I banish the image and start scrubbing myself with soap, thinking it will help to go through the motions of a normal shower. I massage my muscular chest, and I can’t help the vision of Angela’s dainty, dirty little hands rubbing down my pectorals and my abs.

Stop!

When I start soaping my thigh, my hand brushes against my cock, and the touch makes me lose control. I wrap my fingers around my dick in a fierce grip. I’m going to get her out of my system.

I start rubbing one out frantically, imagining those plump lips around my head, her soft hand sliding up and down the shaft in tandem. But then I stop, and smile lasciviously—I’m the one who’s going to be in control tonight, even in my fantasies. So I brace my hand against the shower wall instead so that it stays fixed, and start pumping into it, imagining I’m pounding Angela’s sweet pussy senseless.

I say her name again and again. Softly. I lick and kiss the shower wall, pretending it’s her soft, pink breast and not hard, white acrylic. I think about her the whole time, and it only makes me release my load all the faster.

As the final rope of cum is washed away by the shower spray, I lean against the wall, feeling no less ravenous for her. My cock is still hard as fuck, and I can’t get the image of her bare breast out of my mind, nor the shy look she had on her face when she offered it to me.

I want her so fucking bad.

I turn the shower temperature all the way down so there’s no heat at all, just frigid cold, and when I finally start shivering, my cock begins to go down. I don’t even bother to go through the motions of soaping myself, not wanting to risk any further arousal. I just stand there, lifeless and inert, which is how I feel inside most of the time. Except when I’m near her.

I finish up and quickly dry myself, being careful not to linger on my nether regions. I dress, choosing sweatpants—something with a lot of room in the crotch region. Something tells me I’m going to need that extra room…

For a shirt, I choose a white T. All my T-Shirts are tight fits, and that’s not something I can even control—the largest sizes barely fit me when I shop, courtesy of my bulging physique.

I head down to the weight room and punish myself with some high intensity sets on the bench press and that helps distract me. I throw in some weighted pull-ups, then some ab work, thoroughly exhausting myself. When I’m done, I start thinking about Angela all over again.

Damn it.

I push her to the back of my mind as I leave the weight room. I’ve worked up an appetite thanks to my gym session, so I head to the kitchen. Luciano finished the last of the risotto, so I cook up a few chicken breasts. I save a portion for Angela, though I doubt she’s going to eat it. I enjoy mine nonetheless, slathering it in barbecue sauce—Salsa BBQ Siciliana.

As I head up the stairs with yet another plate for her, I catch myself humming an old Sicilian song under breath. I realize I don’t feel as angry as usual, which is a nice change. I guess the sexual release helped after all. As did the gym workout. And the food.

I tell myself I’m going to her room because I want to try getting her to eat again. It’s a nice lie. Now that she knows who I am, I truly want to talk to her, like we used to talk. I want to catch up, see what she’s been up to all these years. I know it’s a bad idea—I can’t allow myself to get attached to her—but I also know I’ll go crazy if I stay away. So I’m allowing myself a final visit for the night.

She probably won’t want to talk anyway. She hates me now, remember?

I’ll offer her the chicken, and when she tells me to fuck off, I’ll go.

I unlock the door and enter the room, intending to be genial, but for some reason, as soon as I see her sitting in the corner, with red eyes as if she’s been crying, I can’t help the growing rage. Weakness always has that effect on me, I’m not sure why. I guess I can trace it back to growing up on the ruthless streets of Palermo with my brothers. Or maybe it’s because I was thrown into the sea by men who wanted to kill me, and had to fight tooth and nail to survive. If I was weak in either situation, I wouldn’t be here.

Yes, I can’t stand weakness.

“Rub your eyes,” I tell her. “And stop crying.”

“I wasn’t crying,” she lies, dabbing her eyes with the hem of her blouse.

“Uh huh,” I growl. “And why haven’t you changed into something else? You don’t like the clothes in the wardrobe?”

“Good guess,” she says.

“Fine,” I tell her. “Keep wearing those grubby and dirty clothes. Suits you.”

“I know it does,” she tells me defiantly.

I want to remind her how dirty she can get but hold my tongue. When she sat in my lap and gave me her breast to suck, she was doing it to distract me, not because she likes me. I feel insulted just thinking about it. And yet, that soft breast, that perky nipple…

I quickly glance at the bowl of risotto, which sits untouched on the nightstand.

“I cooked you some chicken.” I beckon at the plate I’m carrying.

She lifts her upper lip in disgust. “I don’t want anything from you.”

I slam the door behind me and she starts.

I cross to her chair in three quick strides and drop the plate on the nightstand, next to the risotto.

“You think you’re in control?” I ask her. “You truly believe that?”

I storm out of the room and return with cable ties. She hasn’t moved from the chair.

I march right up to her. I still fear, but also something else: defiance.

Now that’s what I like to see. No crying. No whimpering.

This particular model of slipper chair isn’t really armless. It’s actually one of those configurable varieties, where the arms fold underneath. So I reach under Angela’s chair, keeping an eye on her in case she decides to kick or punch me, but she only gives me a dirty look as I unfold the arms and lock them into place on either side.

When that’s done, I roughly shove her forearms onto the rests and tighten the cable ties around her wrists so that she’s secured to the cherry wood. When it’s done, I can’t help the raging boner in my pants. I only just masturbated. What the hell?

I realize I shouldn’t have touched her at all. All it takes is a slight brush of that soft, beautiful skin to set me on fire. I tried to be rough with her, because I thought it would keep me from getting aroused. But I was wrong.

And I start to wonder… maybe kidnapping her wasn’t just about revenge. After all, I only came up with the plan when I heard she was getting married. That’s when I really set things in motion, badgering my brothers daily.

But now that I think about it, maybe I just wanted her to myself.

Perhaps I’ll keep her. The thought makes even these so-called loose sweatpants seem tight.

“Not so in control now, are you?” I ask her, my voice raw with desire. Despite my words, it’s I who’s spiraling out of control.

She continues to stare at me defiantly. I see fear, hate, but also something else. I’m not certain, but is that… barely concealed desire? I must be imagining it. She doesn’t want me. How could she after what I’ve done?

I continue staring into those green eyes, and despite myself, my gaze drops to her luscious lips. As usual, they shiver beneath my gaze. In fear or anticipation? Or both? I return my gaze to her eyes, but once again can’t read her. I see confusion now, mostly.

That’s an emotion I can understand at least. I’m equally confused.

I can’t help but drink her in with my gaze, that perfect nose, that glowing skin, those chiseled cheeks. And those eyes, so big, so deep, I could lose myself in them.

I already have.

Unable to help myself I lean forward and kiss her.

She stiffens beneath me, eyes wide with shock, her lips numb beneath my own.

I can’t believe I read her signals all wrong. She truly does hate me for what I’ve done. I don’t know why I expected any less. She’ll never want me, not now. I don’t blame her. I’m a monster.

As my kiss lingers, I realize I’m forcing myself on her. That’s not who I am.

So I pull away.

But before I get very far, she surprises me by leaning forward, mashing her lips against my own. I’m the one who’s shocked this time, and when I counter hungrily, she returns my kiss with equal ferocity. She closes her eyes, moaning softly.

I press a hand against the back of her neck, gripping her hair in tight rolls, and shove her hard against me. I’m being too rough with her and I know it, but I can’t help it. I’m completely out of control.

She doesn’t seem to mind though. After a moment, I release my hold on her neck and press my tongue against her lips. She opens her mouth to let me in. I explore tentatively, and she caresses my tongue with her own.

I slide one leg over her thigh, beneath the armrest, so that my cock is pressing dangerously close to her center.

She moans louder.

But then I stop, gently pulling away from her.

I want to keep kissing her more than anything. I want to do so much more, and go all the way with her. But I don’t want it to be against her will. I don’t want her doing this because she’s trying to save her father and brothers. Which she obviously is. She already tried to seduce me once before. She didn’t do a very good job of it that time, and while she’s getting better, I know she doesn’t want me, not really.

She can’t. Because I’m her captor and she’s my captive. That will always be the case while I hold her here.

Why do I care whether she’s acting or not, though, if I always intended her to be my toy? I don’t know.

Maybe because now she knows my identity. Yes, that must be it. It’s more important than ever that I don’t fuck her. If I have sex with her in captivity, her father and brothers will never forgive me. I’m already kind of thinking I don’t want to kill them, at least her brothers, so it’s critical I don’t touch her.

At least, those are the excuses I tell myself as I back away.

She stares at me, seeming just as confused as I am.

My cock seems oblivious to it all, pulsing away in my sweatpants. Perhaps it was a bad idea to wear the garment, because it’ll be exceedingly obvious how aroused I am.

Sure enough, when she glances at my crotch her confusion seems to deepen. Her green eyes glaze over as sheer want monetarily takes hold, along with self satisfaction—perhaps over the effect she’s having on me.

I know I have to get out of the room immediately or I might not be able to control myself any longer.

Thankfully I feel the door behind me as I retreat, and I open it to depart. I lock it behind me.

I head back to my room, knowing I’m going to have to masturbate again. When I arrive, I go to my ensuite bathroom and pull up the hidden camera feed on my phone and rip off my pants. While I gaze at her tied to the arms of the chair, I jack off violently. In moments it’s over and I’ve filled the sink with cum. I wash it down the drain and slip my cock back into my underwear. I shift uncomfortably when it remains erect.

I glance at the video feed. I thought I wouldn’t care if Luciano and the others saw me having fun with my toy, but now I don’t want them to know a single thing about it. Any moments I share with Angela are for me, and me alone. I pull up the remote storage folder on my phone and erase all the recordings.

I stare at her live image and feel my cock pulsing all the harder in my pants. If I don’t turn it off, I’ll jack off to her all night. But it’s too easy to simply turn on the phone again. I’ll need to cut off the problem at the source before I become a full-blown pervert. If I’m not one already.

I give Luciano a call, though I could easily walk to his room.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I want you to disconnect the hidden camera in her room,” I reply.

He doesn’t ask why. “Done.”

His room is next to the server room, so in only a few moments the camera feed goes dark on my phone.

“Is everything all right?” Luciano asks.

“Never better,” I lie.