Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

8

Angela

Idon’t understand what the hell just happened.

We were kissing so passionately, as if nothing had changed in the eight years we were apart. Kissing like the world was going to end and that was the last chance we had. I gave in to him completely. To Massimo, my kidnapper, my teenage crush.

And then he backed off, leaving me tied up here with my panties dripping wet. It’s torture. I need release, badly, but I can’t have it. It’s as if he planned all this by design to make me suffer.

I tug at the cable ties binding my wrists to the chair and slide them back and forth. The armrests loop down underneath the seat, so there’s really nowhere I can move them to get free.

Fuck I want to be masturbating right now. I want to close my eyes and imagine his rough lips on my own, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of his fingers on my nipples. Then again, I know I shouldn’t be having these feelings. Any of them. Why would I pleasure myself to the memory of my kidnapper? Maybe it’s for the best that I’m tied, because my body’s obviously betraying me.

Still, a part of me hopes that the boy I knew eight years ago hasn’t completely been buried by the man he’s become. I’ve seen a glimpse already. A glimpse that he cares. When he was kissing me and pulled away, I could tell he didn’t want to force himself on me. He actually cared for my well-being in that moment. And he seemed hurt when I didn’t return the kiss. It only turned me on and made me lower my guard. Was it a mistake? Time will tell.

I’ve never kissed anyone else besides Massimo. Oh sure, I’ve been around boys in the years since, but not a one of them could ever measure up to him. You’d think I would’ve given in to the sexual urges roiling inside me in the later years, but I’ve been mostly locked up in my room since my mother died, allowed to go out only with an escort. For my own protection, as Papa likes to say. It doesn’t make dating very easy. I’m able to match with guys on Tinder quite easily and I practice flirting with them over video chat, but I’ve never been adventurous enough to try sexting or cam sexing or anything like that.

My mind returns to the moment he pulled away from me after I returned his kiss. I don’t really think he was doing it to torture me. I could tell he wanted me just as much—that raging boner he had in his pants was an obvious giveaway. I guess he stopped out of guilt. He’s going to be auctioning me off tomorrow or sometime in the coming days. He’s going to kill my father and maybe my brothers too. Possibly even me, since I’ve seen his face. So, despite how morally twisted he is, he couldn’t quite bring himself to have sex with someone he was going to sell and murder. Even gangsters have a moral code, as difficult to understand as that code might be.

I shouldn’t have made it so easy for him to back down. I should have told him something along the lines of: “What’s the matter, you can’t fuck someone you intend to kill?”

I shift. I still can’t believe he left me like this. I have the worst case of blue bean—my engorged clitoris rubs painfully against the fabric of my panties whenever I move. He could have at least fingered me, or something!

I shake my head, reminding myself he’s my kidnapper. I tell myself another reason my body is betraying me is because I’m so emotionally worn out. It’s true though: today was the most stressful day of my life. The ups and downs have been crazy.

My mind lingers on Maurizio’s fall, and the deaths of my other bodyguards, Donato and Federico. Massimo did that. Or his partner. Or they both did. It doesn’t matter, Massimo was still responsible. He’s a killer. A mobster. And not a nice guy. Definitely not someone I want fingering my pussy, let alone kissing me.

I was so afraid in the car when my bodyguards… my friends… died. I felt so helpless. I haven’t felt that way in a while. Not since my mother died.

I can still see the pistol smoking after it fired, and my mom’s lifeless body hitting the floor. I should have done something, anything, but I sat there, petrified, like the coward I am. I swore if a similar situation ever happened again, I’d do something. I wouldn’t stand back and watch those I cared about die.

But I froze when the gunshots came. I couldn’t do anything to stop Massimo from killing Maurizio and the others.

Yes, I definitely shouldn’t have returned his kiss. My loathing for him increases in that moment. I just wish I could remember all of this when he’s in my presence. For some reason, when he’s in the same room with me, I seem to forget everything else. His presence overwhelms me, overrides everything else, and it’s just me and him in a microcosm of the world. Who we are forgotten, our two bodies yearning for one another, for a time when we were almost boyfriend and girlfriend.

I still don’t know what happened to him that day eight years ago. I don’t know why he ran away and left me alone. Just like he did moments ago. Maybe he fears intimacy? I don’t know. I sometimes wonder, if he had been around could he have helped stop my mother’s death, where I was powerless? Who knows how different our lives could have been? Maybe he wouldn’t have fallen into the life of crime he leads.

I force the thoughts away, scolding myself. I should’ve never pulled off that mask. Then I wouldn’t be having these emotions. He would have remained some faceless enemy. Someone not to negotiate with, nor sleep with. It was my stupid plan to distract him and hold a knife to his throat that started all this in the first place.

I wonder if he’s still watching me on his hidden camera. I’m certain he’s placed one here. There’s probably a microphone, too.

“Massimo?” I say. “Are you listening? I hate your guts.”

I wait, half-expecting some gloating retort to come over a hidden speaker.

But no one answers.

“Do you hear me, Massimo? I hate you. I’d rather kiss a worm.”

That can be arranged,I hear him taunt in my head. It would be just like this new him to say something so twisted. He’d probably make me do it, too.

I tug violently at my binds but succeed only in digging the ties into my skin. The pain helps me get over my former arousal, and soon I’ve forgotten I felt anything for Massimo at all. He’s solely my kidnapper once more, my enemy, a man I will do anything to get away from. I’ll find a way out of here, I will, and I’ll warn my father. He’ll come back here with guns blazing and mow down Massimo and whoever else did this.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the chair, falling into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

In my dream,I’m with my father, and my brothers Leonardo and Michelangelo. The latter two are packing assault rifles, while my father is wearing a harness stuffed to the brim with grenades, almost like a suicide bomber.

We’re raiding a vineyard, mowing down the men who rush us. They’re all wearing balaclavas.

Massimo appears at the entrance to the house. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his gorgeous chest is covered in tattoos. He raises his hands in surrender.

My brothers keep their assault rifles trained on him as my father steps forward. Papa disconnects several grenades from his chest and prepares to chuck them at Massimo.

I don’t know why, but I rush toward Massimo and shield him with my body.

“No!” I shout. “Papa don’t! There’s still good in him!”

Papa ignores me and throws the grenades anyway. Massimo shoves me to the ground beneath him and shields me with his body as the grenades detonate.

“I told you there was still good,” I say, weeping. “I told you.”

I realize I’m awake. I also realize there’s someone sitting in the room with me. The light is on, though dim. I see Massimo sitting at the foot of the bed. He’s holding what appear to be big, plastic rings in his hands.

I shift and it finally registers that my arms are free—he’s cut the cable ties. I raise my hands and rub the wire-like impressions left behind on my wrists. Afterward, I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“Who were you dreaming about?” he asks softly.

“No one,” I say quickly.

He nods, biting his lower lip. “I came to cut these off.” He indicates the severed cable ties he holds—the “plastic rings” I noticed earlier.

“How long have you been watching me?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not long. Five minutes maybe. You’re very peaceful when you sleep. You remind me…”

But he doesn’t finish.

“What happened to us?” I ask him. “We used to be so close.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Why did you run away?” I press.

“Is that what you think happened?” he says. “That I ran?”

He seems angry again, and I’m not sure why.

“Maybe you should ask your father,” he continues, standing brusquely. He turns to go.

“Wait!” I say. “How can I ask him if you’re going to kill him?”

He pauses.

“Tell me what he did to you!” I insist.

He glances at me over one shoulder. “Nothing.”

I know he’s lying. “He must have done something. Why can’t you tell me the truth for once?”

“Because the truth is for friends,” he says. “And lovers. We are neither. I’m your kidnapper, you’re my captive. I’m a monster, you’re a princess. Let’s not forget our roles.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I tell him. “You can let me go, and—”

“And what?” he says. “Your father will never forgive me for taking you. He’ll hunt me down, or your brothers will. They, or me, will have to die.”

“Not if they don’t know you took me.” I sit up straighter. “I’ll never talk.”

Massimo stares at me, his features darkening. “You say that now, but once you’re free, what you experienced here will become a blur. It will seem like a dream. You’ll forget all the promises you made to me. And you’ll tell your father what he wants to know, to please him. You know I’m right.”

Before I can respond to that he’s gone, and the door shuts and locks behind him.

I get up and pace the room. I don’t agree with him. Not at all. If I made a promise to him I wouldn’t break it.

I’m a little surprised that he returned to set me free, though. I thought he’d leave me tied up all night. That tells me there’s a part of him that still cares for me, though it’s buried deep, and rarely rears its beautiful head. Well, at least I’m free to masturbate now. Though to be honest, I’ve lost the urge, at least for the time being. Our last discussion was anything but a turn on.

I think of my dream and wonder if it’s a premonition of some kind. What if, before this is done, Massimo will give his life to save mine? I dearly hope not. I’ve already lost him once. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle losing him again.

I shake my head and remind myself that I already lost him. Maybe my father had a hand in it, maybe not, but either way, the Massimo I knew is long dead.

He died the day he ran away.

I can’t sleep now, I’m too wired. I need to distract my mind, forget about everything, so I pull the slipper chair up to the nightstand and move the plates of food to the floor. Then I pretend I’m playing the piano, like I sometimes do at home. It’s one of the only ways I can keep up my training after my father took away the baby grand.

It’s a bit silly practicing like this, I know—there are no piano keys, no way to get proper feedback for each note I pretend to press. When I get to a real piano, I’ll probably be rustier than Rusty the Clown. And I look like a dummy doing it, but I don’t care. It’s all I have and it helps keep me sane.

If I had my phone I’d probably be using one of the virtual piano apps I own to record a song. It’s a fun hobby. But I can only imagine how dark and brooding any song I wrote now would be.

Ah, my phone, I feel so isolated without it. I’ve always prided myself on my self-control when it comes to posting on social media, but to be honest I never realized I’d developed an addiction until now. Today passed by so fast that I didn’t have time to think about it, but now that I do, I really miss exchanging Snaps with my friends and commenting on their pics. This is the first day I haven’t posted to TikTok in forever. I miss lip-syncing to silly songs and clips from old black and white movies. I miss browsing through random videos when I can’t sleep, like now.

I pause in my faux piano playing and close my eyes, bowing my head.

I promised myself I’d find a way to escape. I still will. Somehow. I’ll keep my eyes open and wait for the perfect opportunity. I know it will come. No matter how good Massimo and his friend might be, they’re not perfect. No one is. They’ll make a mistake. And when they do, I’ll use it to my advantage.

When I finally get back, I’m going to ask my father what the hell he did to Massimo to make him become this way.

I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer though, because it can’t be good.