The guards shove me, and I tear my gaze away from the door leading to Cruz. And almost immediately wish I hadn’t. The room is split into three; a foyer-like area surrounds the bottom of the stairs, an open space that divides the two parts of the room.
On one side is a large room separated from the foyer by thick metal bars. A wooden sign with the wordPrincesscarved into it dangles from the prison’s door. Inside is a queen-sized bed, covered in cheap satin sheets and throw blankets. There is a small metal table attached to the concrete floor with screws nearly the size of my palm. A stack of books sits on it, with two chairs nearby.
A shower curtain lines one wall with an open shower, toilet, and sink in front of it. Finally, a wooden trunk, which I’m assuming holds clothes or towels.
The other half of the room is clearly meant to destroy me just from looking at it. Cameras are mounted in various positions around the room. A metal grate, looking for all the world like some kind of medieval torture mattress, leans at an angle against its supports. Knives of all shapes and sizes decorate one wall, while whips, tools, and other items of torture line another.
It’s the cameras that throw me. Is he going to record it to jack off later to? Or will someone else torture me while he watches safely from another room? Or is this meant to be something like what Rebecca’s abductor did to her—attitude adjustments?
The guards chuckle at the look of horror on my face. One unlocks the prison door while another shoves me inside. They leave the zip tie on, locking the door behind them. “Sweet dreams, princess,” another calls out before they disappear up the stairs. I hope to fuck none of them have children.
Bringing my hands down sharply, I break the zip tie, tossing it through the bars.Amateurs.I spend a few minutes searching the room, delighted to find the shower curtain pulls all the way across the “bathroom.” At least I won’t have to piss in front of the guard.
The trunk does indeed hold clothes and towels; an alarming number of them.It won’t matter, you won’t be wearing them.
Flipping through the books on the table, I have to at least give Vincenzo points for creativity.I Know Why The Caged Bird Singsby Maya Angelou, Stephen King’sThe Green Mile, and Ken Kesey’sOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.Can’t imagine what he might be trying to tell me with his choice of reading material.
That’s sarcasm, folks. Might not be a big reader, but I do like movies.
Throwing myself onto the bed, I tuck my arms under my head and peruse the white ceiling. And then start counting blemishes while I wait for my father to stop fucking around and get to whatever he’s got planned.
When will I learn to keep my fucking mouth shut? Or my thoughts silent. What-the-fuck-ever. What am I doing thinking shit likewhile I wait for my father to stop fucking around and get to whatever he’s got planned?Haven’t I learned yet that I’m just daring the Universe to come back at me with some seriously fucked-up shit with statements like that?
Chapter 63
Vincenzo
Holdingmyhandtightlyover the screaming maid’s mouth, I thrust into her over and over. The moment the guards texted to say they had Daniella, I got hard as a fucking rock. My erection won’t go away, and I can’t go to her yet. She needs to sit in isolation for a while. I want her to be jumpy and nervous, terrified out of her mind. I want her to spend hours looking at the torture room, imagining all the things I’m going to do to her.
Fucking the maid will have to do for now. Later, I’ll finally have my Daniella.
The bitch won’t stop trying to scream, so I grab a nearby lamp and smash it over her head. She goes still, flopping over the side of the sofa. Ah, blessed peace. I don’t understand why they always put up a fight. They should be honored I would deign to fuck them.
I flip her over and rip her shirt open, biting down on her breasts, drawing blood. The sight spurs me on, and I pump into her harder. Fuck, she has a nice tight pussy. I might just add her to my harem if she wakes up after this—there’s a possibility I may have hit her too hard.
My orgasm finally arrives, but it’s weak and unsatisfying. It knows Daniella is just downstairs, waiting for me. Withdrawing, I pull my pants back up. The maid just lies there, eyes closed, legs sprawled apart like a common hooker. Scraping my hair back with my fingers, I leave her behind, determined to find other ways to occupy my time until I can go downstairs.
My hands tremble as I brush them down my shirt. I feel as giddy a teenager about to go on his first date, my heart hammering in my chest. Standing at the top of the stairs, I let the excitement of the moment run through me. It’s finally time. Daniella is mine.
Letting out a deep breath, I descend the stairs slowly, not allowing my eagerness to rob me of even one second of this momentous occasion. I suspect she’ll be sitting on the bed or perhaps on the floor, staring at the torture room, paralyzed by fear.
My foot hits the last step, and I eagerly turn toward the cell. My shoulders droop to find her lying on the bed, fast asleep. My jaw ticks. Why can’t anybody do what I need of them? Breathing in deeply, I push down the ire. Perhaps this is better. She will be sleep-flushed and rosy, confused yet delighted when I slip into the bed beside her. Daniella will finally know how I truly feel about her, and once she understands, I know she will welcome me with open arms.
Just like her mother once did.
The guard watches me as I pass, and I decide to let him watch. Their job is incredibly boring, which is why I’ve lost so many of them the last few days. They just disappeared during their shifts, and I know it must be due to the lack of excitement.
Quietly opening the door to Daniella’s cell, I pad over to her bed and stare down at her. She really is beautiful. Climbing onto the bed, I run my hand down her side and over her ass. My cock grows hard again, desperate to be inside her. Placing a hand on her thigh, I slowly run it higher, my breath jagged and my heart thumping with desire.
Cruz
Once more I lean over the railing, scratching at the door with the whip. It’s been three days, and I need to find out what’s happening, if Dutch is here. I’ve been difficult and feral these past few days, desperately needing her. Every cell in my body vibrates with the need to spill blood, to roar out my frustrations. Neither of which I can do surrounded by fragile, damaged women.
The door opens, the guard poking his head through. It’s when I hear Dutch shout, “Get off me, you fucking pervert!” that the beast inside is released with the roar I’ve been doing so well to hold back. Leaping over the railing, I grab the guard, throwing him down the stairs so forcefully I hear bones crack. I don’t bother looking back, I don’t care. The Duke will take care of him.
Bounding into the room, I growl when I see Vincenzo in bed with Dutch. The red haze drops over my vision, and I welcome it. “Do not touch her!” I boom, racing toward them. I’m going to rip him limb from limb, feast on his blood. I’m going to–
I skid to a stop when I see the gun pressed to her head. I hold my hands up and freeze, unwilling to put her in danger. Dutch’s eyes are wide, her gaze running over me, before meeting mine. I clench my teeth at the mix of love and resignation in them. I want to do nothing more than scoop her up and take her away from here, but the gun to her head emasculates me, turning me into his puppet. Tearing my gaze from her, I turn it to the monster lying beside her. Curling my upper lip into a scowl, I let all my hatred and loathing for him show.
