“Let me the fuck out of here!” I scream as my hands grip the bars with a ferociousness that hurts my skin. I have been locked down in this hell hole for days. The only way I can tell if it is day or night is from the small tiny window placed above my cell that has bars across it.

The only things that can be heard are my pointless pleas for release. Zerro said he would come back, but that was two days ago. Two fucking days I have sat down here waiting and silently hoping for him to come. Then again, at the mere mention of his name, I want to gouge his eyes out.

He causes butterflies to erupt in my stomach, but at the same time he makes me want to puke. The thought of being attracted to him—wanting him—makes me sick. How can I want such a heartless killer? It’s as if God is playing a cruel game with my emotions.

Since listening to my own pleas is exasperating, I pull myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the makeshift bed. There is no way out of this hell hole other than through the door that I obviously don’t have a key to. Mack hasn’t come down to check on me for hours, but I am relieved about that. He scares me and creeps me out. I know if given the chance, he would fuck me and then kill me without a second thought.

When he came down the time before last, his neck had purple bruises on it. He looked as if he had been choked, but I was not going to ask him about it. I don’t think Zerro has it in him to kill his own kind, family or friends. It doesn’t seem like something he would do.

Neither does keeping me alive, but here I am. He has yet to hurt me, at least in a manner that makes it so he is actually doing so. The bruise on my face isn’t okay with me, but it is completely different than being beaten. He hasn’t touched me, and mostly everything he does is a mind game…

I am not afraid that a part of me wants him. It is a dark part of me, something that craves the fear and darkness that only he can bring out in me. I am not stupid, though. I know the path that he is on that will only lead to death. I don’t want that, I want to live. I want to be happy and go to college and grow old with someone who loves me.

The very thoughts make me think of my mother and the days before she died. She begged me to make promises to her. They were petty, little things, but I agreed to them simply to put her mind at ease. She was already going through so much, and if making a promise made her day better and brought the life back into her, I would do it.

My mind drifts to the most important promise I made. . .

“Promise me. Promise me, that you’ll take care of your father… He’s a man, a stubborn one, but with your guidance he can move on.” Pain showed in her eyes, and I knew how hard it was for her to ask me to do something like that. She had always been the one to carry the weight, the one who made sure everything was okay.

With tears in my eyes, I promised her. “I promise, Mom. I promise to keep him in line.” She smiled at me gently. I cursed God, wondering how he could take such a precious person from us. My mother must have noticed my pulling away because she spoke to me with so much love that I was shaken to the core.

“Don’t fret, child. I will always be here. Right in there…” She pointed to my heart. She had given me life, had shown me the meaning of love through her relationship with my father, and I had always thought she would be here.

“When you get lost or you’re worried and you don’t know what choice to make, listen to your heart. I’m in there, and I’ll guide you the best that I can. Remember that…”

Her words still echo in my mind as I pull myself from the sad memories. Tears form behind my eyes, and although I am not afraid to cry as I know it doesn’t mean I am weak, I don’t want to. I don’t want to cry over my mom or over the debt I am paying in my father’s name. I want to smile, to be happy and move on from all of this. Someday I will. At least I keep telling myself that. For now I will have to deal. It doesn’t stop me from wondering what my mom would think, though.

What is my father doing right now? My heart tightens as I think of him all alone. Will Zerro let me call him? Let me check up on him? Will Zerro even let me go after all this? Doubts swarm me, fear owns me, and courage is the only thing keeping me going.

I burrow myself into my blanket as I let the doubts eat away at me. I can’t run, or I will die. Zerro has threatened me, and I know that it isn’t an open-ended threat. Wait…

A light bulb goes off in my mind. What if I turn the gun on him? What if I take him out before he can take me out? My heart rate skyrockets at the mere thought of shooting him. It isn’t fair that he can point a gun at me and feel nothing. If it were me, I wouldn’t have pointed it at him at all.

A clicking sound startles me as the door to my cell opens. Mack walks inside looking as if he would rather stab needles through his eyes than come and deal with me.

“Get up.” His voice is gruff and is full of hateful promises. I know he will hurt me if I don’t listen to him.

I stand up slowly. My body aches with all the emotions that have been swirling through me. Living in this house gives me a serious case of whiplash. Just as I steady myself, the asshole grips me by the arm, pulling me into his body.

“If it weren’t for your pathetic ass, his head would be in the game.” Mack wants me to hate him, to feel his anger. I can see it in his eyes, and feel it in the way he grabs me. I want to bite my tongue, and I probably should, but something beyond me thinks it will be a good idea to talk back.

“His head is clearly in the fucking game, asshole. He killed a room full of people, and you didn’t so much as blink.” I glare at him, my blood running cold.

A wicked smile pulls at his lips. It’s one that causes my knees to rattle and my stomach to heave. I wish I could smack the look right off his face.

“Has he tried you out yet?” His hand travels down to my ass as he grips it harshly. I pull away from him quickly, knowing that’s the last thing he expects. He will never think of me running or fighting back.

Running through the door, I go down the hall and head for the steps that lead to the first floor. I hear his heavy footfalls behind me as I look around in terror.

“When I get my hands on you… I’ll kill you myself.” His voice sounds as if it’s right on top of me. Not a moment later, the air shoved from my chest as I land against the stairs. His body is against mine, and I can feel his erection against my backside.

“Get the hell off me!” I scream. Gripping me by the arm, he twirls me around, his body pushed against mine again as he stares into my eyes. All I can think is I can’t let him do this to me, I have to get away. I push against him with all my might, but my arms are pinned, and my body is exhausted.

“Give up yet?” His breath is hot against my skin, and it feels wrong. All of it is wrong, but there’s nothing that I can do about it. He nips at my neck as his hand begins to slip into my pants. I shake my head back and forth, trying to make myself forget, trying to remove myself from the situation.

With the last of my strength, I scream. I scream until tears are streaming down my face until my voice is hoarse, and he’s telling me if I don’t shut up that he’ll gut me.

The door above us is open, so I know someone has to have heard us. Footsteps fall on the floor as I hear someone coming. Zerro’s coming, he’s going to save me! It’s going to be okay…

An older woman peers down at us. Her face contorts into anger as she descends the steps. Her words come out in a dialect that I don’t understand… It sounds Italian, but I’m not sure.

Whatever she says has Mack backing away from me. His eyes eat me, though. The way he’s looking at me tells me that he’ll be back to do what he wants when he gets me alone.

“Come, Piccolo.” Her hands are gentle, and her voice soothes me. Tears spring from my eyes, and I grab her, wrapping my arms around her small frame. She’s my savior, my saint.

In the haze of it all, all I can focus on is that word. The one Zerro always calls me.

“What does that mean?” I ask between sniffles. She smiles at me softly. The kind of smile my mom used to give me.

Her frail fingers reach out, pushing loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “It means little one in Italian.” Her voice is heavily accented, and as I listen to it, I want her to say something again. The way the words sound and come together is soothing to my shattered soul.

I look back down the stairs where I was just assaulted. Mack had already left, completely enraged as he stomped off. I promise myself when he comes for me again, I will be ready.

“Let’s get you some food.” My face softens as I take her hand, letting her lead me to the safety and comfort of the kitchen.

Dinner is delicious. Adaline, Addy as she likes to be called, is the head maid in the house. She has been here long before Zerro’s time, and the stories she shares with me make me forget all about the horrific things that could’ve taken place just hours before.

Afterward, I slip upstairs, making sure I watch over my shoulder at every turn. Not that I want to, but I am not going to be taken off guard by Mack again. I will tell Zerro whenever he gets back from wherever it is he went. I really, really don’t want to fucking care about him or care about whatever it is he’s doing. Except as I crawl into his bed, all I can do is see him, smell him, taste him. I feel the weight of his body on mine, his lips on my skin, and relish the passion and fire he stokes within me.

As soon as I close my eyes, I hear the front door open. Laughter and greetings sound, and then it is quiet. Footsteps follow suit, and then Zerro makes his appearance. He bursts through the bedroom door. His eyes are slightly glazed, but he mostly looks tired. I hear laughter again as he turns around to talk to someone in the hall.

“Goodnight, Alassandra.” His voice is velvety soft when he says her name, and I won’t be fucking surprised if she has her legs spread, begging for him. His voice just has that effect.

The girl says something back that I can’t hear before he closes the door and turns around and sees me. Shock shows first and then something else. That same thing I saw before.

“Who let you out?” He completely ignores my presence as he takes a drink from the glass in his hand. There is no hi, hello, how the fuck are you. He doesn’t even point a gun at me. To be honest, I am kind of pissed. I so badly want to throw in his face what Mack did to me, but I don’t think it will matter to him. He won’t care. After all, I am nothing to him but a debt.

“I’m not a fucking dog.” I try my hardest to sound mean. I want to lash out at him with words because let’s face it, I won’t ever be able to hurt him physically. Mentally, though…I can do that. I can break him down, cut him, turn him inside out, just like he does to me.

“I didn’t refer to you as a dog, now did I?” His smirk says asshole, but his body says I can have you if I want you. I hate it. I love it. I really want to shoot him.

“Where were you?” I ask, changing the subject. I know it sounds like a typical housewife to be asking where he was, and since we aren’t anything, I have no real reason to know. Except I want to know.

He smiles, and his eyebrow raises. I am afraid he won’t tell me since there are numerous things I know he has to be keeping from me.

“Jealously doesn’t really suit you… “

“You don’t know what suits me,” I point out, pursing my lips

He covers the distance between us. I am still lying in his bed, surrounded by his scent. I am drowning in a sea of Alzerro King.

I smell the bourbon from his drink as he swirls the brown liquid in his glass. The motion mesmerizes me, putting me in a trance. The liquid sloshes over the side, and eventually he brings the glass to his lips, drinking from it. His lips lick at his drink as if he wants to get every last drop.

“I know this much, sweetheart…” He is on me, surrounding me. The monster has captured his prey. His eyes skim over my lips and up my face before landing on mine again. “Jealously is something that you’re feeling. I know because I see it in your eyes. It’s cute, in a way. There’s something you must know about me, though, I don’t care if something bothers you.” He is whispering, hypnotizing me. I can’t tear my eyes away from his.

“I’m the king. I do. Whatever. The. Fuck. I. Want.” Every word forces his hot breath onto my face. I want to bite him just to see what he tastes like. As fucked up as all this is, I want him. I want him even when he is telling me he doesn’t give a fuck about what I think.

“No. You’re a prick. A self-righteous-I’ll-shoot-you-at-point-blank-range prick.” The air shifts around us and my skin feels as if it is on fire.

Zerro stares at me with an expression that shows he is very much annoyed with my talking.

I open my mouth to say something, but no words ever come. The air hangs between us, and I look down to his hand around my throat, clasping it. He pushes me to the back of the headboard, and I can feel the oxygen deprivation.

“I’m not scared of you,” I inform him with everything inside me. Even if I am going to die, I will do it in a fashion that is me. He will know I died unafraid of him, and to me, that is the most important thing.

A war rages within him as his muscles constrict. He can’t decide if he wants to strangle me or not… He unclasps his hand, and I swallow a breath of air just in time. His hand clenches again, and I swear I feel the bones in my neck snapping.

Or maybe it is all a dream. I know the moment he makes his decision because a tenderness shows in his eyes.

“You should be…” he mumbles against my throat as he kisses the bruises that I am sure are there. There is a tenderness in the way he caresses me. It is as if he is trying to scrub away the bad, as if he wants to take the hurt away. He is conflicted and fucked up. I can’t even begin to fully describe him.

“I’m not. To be scared would be to show weakness, and I know better than to show weakness in front of some self-righteous asshole.” My words are laced with so much hate. I feel as if I am trying to make myself like him less, as if saying the words out loud will make him less appealing to my body, and to my heart.

“Being scared doesn’t make you weak…” His eyes glaze over, hazy with a memory, I’m sure. He had to have had a fucked up childhood to have turned into the beautifully damaged man he is. He never speaks of his mother or father. He never says he had any siblings, and although he doesn’t ask me about my life, he knows a lot more about me than I know about him.

“In the eyes of a monster like you, it does.” His lips lick over one of my bruises and trails up to my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and I feel a surge of adrenaline go through me. His teeth nibble at my lobe, and I feel myself growing weak against him. My defenses are nothing when it comes to the things he can do with his mouth.

Hot breath can be felt against my ear, but my body is long gone when it comes to talking. I want him. Despite how mean and ugly he is on the inside, my body craves him.

“You forget that every fallen angel was once an angel themselves. Monsters don’t really want to be monsters. We’re just like everyone else, waiting for someone to come save us from our very own damned darkness.”

I pull away from him, frazzled and warm with need. Confusion is evident on my face as he looks at me smiling. Maybe that’s how he’s wanted me this whole time—confused, broken, and lost with no purpose here. If I don’t know anything, then I can never leave.

“Why did you tell me that?” Does he really want someone to save him? Does he even need someone to save him? Can he be saved? Can someone so dark and hateful come back from that? My mind goes straight to the moment I watched him shoot those people in their heads. The light in him had diminished and left in its place is a gaping hole of nothing.

“Come with me,” he growls, his eyes hungry. I don’t want to go anywhere with him. My mind and body aren’t on the same course, though because I find myself standing and placing my hand in his. He leads me from the bedroom, down the stairs and into the basement.

As we descend the stairs, my mind and body clam up. Should I tell him about Mack? It still occurs to me that Zerro might not believe me. That he might even accuse me of wanting and encouraging Mack’s attention.

He doesn’t catch my hesitation or just doesn’t care because he continues to pull me down the stairs. The cobblestone floors are cold underneath my feet.

He pulls a set of keys from his pocket as we pass the door that leads to the dungeon that had been my home for more than a few days.

The door before us is wooden, wide and large. I wonder what is behind it, but at the same time I don’t. Zerro has secrets. Who knows what, or who, he has buried down here.

Opening the door, he smiles at me. It isn’t a warm and friendly one, but more along of the lines of one that says I will eat you alive and laugh while doing it.

I enter the room slowly, afraid something will jump out at any point and time. He moves behind me ever so slowly, like a snake ready to strike. The room is simple, except there are drawers that line one of the wooden walls.

What they contain, I have no idea. I am sure I am about to find out, though.

“Go stand at the end of that wall…” He points to the far wall, the one that seems as if it is a million miles away, the one furthest from the door. How can I escape if I am so far away?

Dread eats at my insides. Is this the end? Is he going to kill me? I try my best not to show weakness, but I know as much as he did, he will kill me whenever he sees fit.

With my head held high, I walk the distance as if I am walking to my own funeral. Turning around to face him, I stand against the wall with my back straight. If I am going to die, I will be dying in a way that says I have stood tall and proud when I was given no other choice.

A smirk lights his face. It is devious and makes the darkness in his eyes seem that much darker. His body looks hungry for either release or bloodshed.

A silence passes, and I am certain that this will be the end. I watch as he pulls a drawer open, his eyes growing wide with happiness as he handles whatever it is that is in his hands.

I want to run, to escape, with all my might. I want to run away from this man as much as I want to run to him.

I look up through the shitty lighting to see a knife sitting on the palm of his hand. He grabs the end of it as if he has experience using it. He probably does…

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” The words rush from my lips without intention to do so. He peeks up at me again, pushing away a couple pieces of his dark hair that have landed on his forehead.

“I’m not going to kill you. Yet. Instead, I’m going to do something far worse…” He examines the knife as if he isn’t certain that it will do its job. If he isn’t going to kill me, what is he going to do?

My mind is reeling, and then in a blink of an eye, I watch him throw the knife. His body is full of pent-up aggression, and it’s like watching a train wreck happen. He is going to kill me. I know it.