Mafia Games by Vi Carter
CHAPTER FOUR
RICHARD
I carry her from her apartment. She’s cradled into my chest like she is something precious. A sense of protection has me pulling her closer until I have to force myself to loosen my grip, so I don’t hurt her. She feels right in my arms and that, I hadn’t expected. She weighs nothing, no more than a feather which suits her somehow. Her angelic features and long blonde hair make me think of an angel. An angel was the first thought I had the day she stepped into the asylum.
We were all dark devils, and here was a pure angel amongst us. If I believed in them, which I don’t, she would be one. Her eyes are closed as I carry her to my car, but the memory of how striking her blue eyes are have me wanting to wake her just so I can see them again. Being this close to her stirs a primal instinct inside me. I want her.
Placing her carefully in the back seat of the car, I take my time positioning her hands across her flat stomach. My hands glide down her sides, I allow myself to trace her curves; my fingers greedily race across fabric until they touch the flesh of her leg. Her head rolls to the side as I glance back up at her. I should leave before anyone sees me. My fingers trail all the way down to her bare feet before I stand up and reluctantly close the door. Having her body isn’t part of the plan.
Taking her to my home and keeping her locked up is. I get into the car and start the engine. Pulling away from the curb, I do a quick sweep of the area to see if anyone is watching. The building windows are empty, and no movement along the walkways gives me a sense of confidence that no one saw me take her.
Her scent lingers on me. The urge to see her has me moving the rear-view mirror until her hands and stomach come into view. I push my foot to the floor, needing my car to move faster. She is a temptation that I am fighting hard to resist. I don’t know why I’ve been with plenty of beautiful women. I have no problem attracting them. I just never keep them around. Maybe it’s being locked up so long and not having a woman under me. Either way, I know I need to get her into her cage and out of my car.
The gates are slow to open, and the moment there is enough space for my car to drive through, I push my foot on the gas. My house appears, and I drive around back. Mario is out on errands. I gave him enough to keep him busy for a while.
Claire is still asleep as I carry her from the car and into the house. I cradle her to my chest again, knowing this will be the last time I hold her. Taking her down into the basement, I linger at the door of her new home. A moan escapes her slightly parted lips. I slide open the glass door and carry her to her bed. Laying her down, her blonde hair falls across her face. My gaze drags down her long legs, and I reach out and touch her calf, running my hand all the way up to her knee. Another moan falls from her lips. I leave her and take a white dress out of the wardrobe.
I thought this part would be easy or even fun, but it’s torture to my rock-hard cock. She moans several times as I undress her. Coincidentally, she’s wearing white panties and a white bra that she fills nicely. She’s flawless, her body pure perfection. I wonder if she’s as fragile as she looks. I like my sex rough. I think I’d break her. I move her several times to get her into the white dress. It’s a simple, plain summer dress that falls to her knees. I stand back and admire my work.
She stirs this time, and I know time is running out as the sedative is wearing off. I want to stand here and watch her open her eyes. I want to drink in every moment of her waking up. But that isn’t part of the plan. Once I leave the box, I won’t enter it again.
It takes an army of whispers at my back to make me leave the box. The whispers are echoes of my father’s words.
“If you want to hurt someone, you befriend them, find out everything about them, and then you take the most precious thing away from them, all the while you make them watch as you destroy what they love before you destroy them. That way, you will be remembered, and no one will cross you.”
The door slides shut behind me, and I turn, facing the glass. My heart starts to race and thrash against my chest. This moment I have fantasized about over and over again. I touch the glass to allow the truth to sink in. I have really built the glass box, and she is really inside it.
I walk around the cube and stop at the bed that she still lies on. She starts to stir, and I know it's showtime, so I slowly step deeper into the basement and watch as she fully wakes up. I’m waiting for the guilt to churn heavily in my stomach as she spins around, shaking her head while muttering to herself. But the guilt doesn’t come. She’s touching the glass, and that’s when her gaze finally settles on me. Her face grows whiter, and her mouth opens. “No.”
Her lips tug down, and pure fear is etched into her angelic features. She’s like a biblical image. An angel captured by the devil.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face as I walk toward her. I want a front-row seat. An excitement I’ve never felt before bubbles through my veins.
“No.”
“Welcome, Claire.”
My words halt her for a second before she races to the glass and slams her small fists against it. “Let me out.”
I move closer, soaking up her hysteria, her fear. This is a side I never saw of her. All I saw was her good manners, great punctuality, and frequent smiles.
“Let me out now. My family will report me missing to the authorities.” Her voice shakes along with her small balled-up fists.
“No one will ever find you, Claire.” That is a promise. Everyone who worked on this is dead. The only living people who know about the box are three people whom I trust with my life. She will never leave this box.
Her small fists hit the wall again. “Let me out!” Her scream is hysterical, and it widens her stunning blue eyes. They are electric with fear.
I growl as my cock grows hard.
She starts to lose control, and I watch her spiral into a frenzy before she fizzles out on the floor. I stay long after she’s passed out. My breathing is heavy, and I know if I stay here for one more second, I’ll enter the box and ravish her. I take the steps two at a time to put as much distance between us as quickly as possible.
I lock the basement door behind me and pocket the key. I pat my other pocket that holds the key card.
“Everything you requested is in the kitchen.” Mario’s voice snakes up behind me.
Composing myself, I turn to him. “Thank you. You can finish up now, Mario.” He glances at the basement door. But once he finally looks at me, he dips his head and scurries away like a frightened child. But he’s clever, sneaky. He is, after all, one of my father’s men.
I wait until he leaves before entering the kitchen to find two bags on the kitchen table. I open them and take out the random items: A rope, masking tape, along with coffee that I don’t drink, some razors, a bottle of brandy that I take out of the bag and hold up. I’m tempted to open the bottle, but I don’t.
I don’t need to give myself a reason to lose control. My resolve is already slipping, and she has only been here a few minutes.
I leave the kitchen, and I’m tempted to go back down, but instead, I go up to my room, where I take a shower.
It's a habit to reach in and check the water. The showers were never warm in the asylum, and oftentimes the ice-cold water would freeze your balls off. My hand parts the warm water, and I step into the gushing stream. I know I’m not in the asylum anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from showering at record speed. My senses are on high alert for footsteps, any movement at all.
My first shower in the asylum, I hadn’t expected anyone to come for me, but they had. Letting my guard down was an error in judgment that I would never allow to happen again.
My skin is red from the rough quick drying I give it. I get dressed and wonder, will this feeling ever leave me. Will every shower result in me relieving what the fuckers did to me?
Anger pumps heavy and fast in my veins, and I’m seeking out my phone to find my calm. The thought that seeing her face will calm me has me fumbling with the device until the cameras I had installed in the basement blink to life, and I see she’s awake, staring at the door. Instantly my anger dissolves, and I’m ready to sit down so I can watch her for a while, but she moves, turns around, and picks up a chair. She races to the door and smashes the chair against the glass.
Fuck.