Chapter Eight
Bruno
I empty the tray into the sink. The plate chips, but I don’t give a fuck. Olivia’s dark brown eyes are burned into my mind. I can’t stop picturing them, those glassy pools looking up at me with a mixture of fear and hope.
After years of violence, I have a hard time seeing other people as anything but bags of flesh, problems that I can punch away. But this is different than winning a fight for a payday, or smashing some guy’s head against the table to make him cough up payments. I have an actual person, a woman at that, locked away in a cage. Humans aren’t meant to be locked up. It would drive anyone crazy. Usually, the only emotion I feel is anger, but Olivia’s bringing up something else.
Stay focused, Beast, I think, popping more bread in the toaster. You have a job to do. Don’t be a fucking pussy about it.
I pound my chest with both fists while jogging in place to work up some adrenaline. It’s something I do before a fight. It helps me focus on the job at hand.
I pick up the coffee mug from the sink. The handle is broken off. The corners of my lips turn up as that familiar fire heats my skin.
Spoiled brat. She’s my captive, and she thinks she can make demands? And who doesn’t like coffee?
I fill the broken mug with tap water, and put it on her tray. But that kind of feels like a dick move. She’s not the enemy, just a bargaining chip. I should treat her as well as I can. And I did snatch her while she was unconscious. The least I can do is walk down to the Italian grocer on the first floor and buy some juice.
*
While unlocking the deadbolts to Olivia’s room, I get a rush of excitement. It’s similar to the kill high I used to get in the early days. It feels so fucking good. My blood tingles in my veins, all the way to my fingertips. I know it has to do with the helpless woman, completely at my mercy, on the other side of this door. I hadn’t planned on taking advantage of her body while she’s here, but I hadn’t ruled it out either. If I do decide to sink between her thighs, it won’t be today. The fight’s tonight.
Olivia sits on the edge of the bed, her spine straight like a rod. She grips the sheets, watching me closely. I think I scared her well enough before, so I trust she won’t try anything now. At least, I hope she doesn’t. If I have to pin her to the bed, I don’t think I could stop myself from going further. I can almost feel her shirt ripping between my hands as I yank it from her body.
I set the tray on the table. Olivia’s eyes flit to the juice, then to me. The corner of her mouth twitches a little, almost in a half smile. It feels good to please her. Maybe I’ll be good at this kidnapping thing after all.
“Eat,” I tell her. I post up against the wall, watching her. I’m going to make sure she eats every bite, and doesn’t try to pull some hunger strike shit. I can’t turn her over to Vince half starved and dehydrated.
Olivia catches my drift. She picks up a piece of toast, and nibbles the corner. While watching her eat, I wish I could tell her that this is only temporary, that once we make the trade, she can go back to her life. But I don’t. It’s in my best interest to keep her scared so she doesn’t try anything crazy.
Olivia turns to me, meeting my eyes. “What’s your name?” she asks. She jerks her head away, like she’s terrified of my response.
I’m silent for a few moments, weighing whether or not I should tell her. But what harm could it do? She’ll know my name anyway when I’m a made man for the Mariano’s.
“Bruno,” I say.
Olivia nods, bringing the toast back to her mouth. “Bruno,” she repeats. “I’m Olivia.”
I don’t say anything to this. I know what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to develop a rapport with me, make me sympathize with her so I’ll let her go. She takes a sip of the apple juice.
“Thanks for the juice,” she says. She pauses, waiting for me to say something, which I don’t. She looks at the ground, and a shudder rolls up her spine, rounding her shoulders. Her big brown eyes are wet.
I look away quickly. I can’t help but sympathize with her. This is a truly fucked up situation. I keep my face hard, not letting this show. Olivia takes a deep breath, then looks right at me. Her eyes have dried up.
“You didn’t rape me,” she says, bluntly.
I turn my eyes on her, dark and cruel, and neither confirm nor deny this.
She looks down at her feet. “I know you didn’t. Because I’d know if you did. I’d be able to feel it.”
That’s right, sweetie, I think. If I fucked you, you’d never be the same.
Olivia swigs the juice. Her face brightens, like it’s giving her energy.
“Are you going to?” she asks in a cold voice.
She grips her knees nervously. I take a step towards her, and she curls into herself. I’m not a sick fuck like Sal, but the power I have over her makes my dick throb. My biceps tense. It would be so easy to throw her on her back and hold her down. I stand over her, making her think that’s what I’m going to do. I’m still for a moment, letting her steep in this fear, letting her know that she’s mine now. She blinks up at me, irrationally calm, like she’s resigned herself to her fate.
It takes a fuckton of willpower not to follow through on my perverse thoughts. My hand goes for my pocket. Her eyes clench shut. She probably thinks I’m about to pull out my dick. Instead, I pull out her phone, the one I snatched from her pocket when she was unconscious.
“Open your eyes,” I order her. She does. I get another little rush at her obedience.
She looks at the phone in my hand. Her eyes squint. I can see her brain working, trying to think of a way out.
I lay out what she’s going to do, holding the phone teasingly in front of her. She keeps her eyes on it like it’s a carrot on a string.
“Text everyone who will miss you. Tell them you’re going to be gone for the next few days. I don’t know, you took an impromptu trip or something. Think of something good.” I hold the phone towards her. She grasps it quickly, but I don’t let go. “Don’t try anything,” I warn. “I’ve got the police in my back pocket. They’ll let me know if someone goes to them. And whoever it is, I’ll track them down, and kill them. Understand?”
Olivia’s face goes pale, any hope she had, dashed. She nods. I let go of the phone.
I sit next to her on the bed, reading everything she types. The first person she texts is her mother. She tells her she’s traveled to San Francisco State to do research at the library there.
I grimace at the screen. She seems to feel my disapproval with a deep shudder that rolls down her back. I grab the phone, but she doesn’t let go.
“Are they really going to believe that?” I ask, searching her face with my eyes. “Wouldn’t it be more believable if you’d hopped a plane to Cabo?” My stomach tightens at the thought of Olivia on a beach in a white bikini, bright next to her olive colored skin.
Olivia looks shocked at this accusation. Her lips twitch into almost a smile. Is she going to laugh at me? She sees the tightness in my face and quickly straightens up.
“Cabo?” she shakes her head. “No, they’d never believe that.”
Is she fucking with me? “You understand the risk, right?” I ask in a low voice. “If anyone starts sniffing around for you, I’ll put them down. Better make sure your story is legit.”
She nods frantically. “I understand,” she says, barely getting the word out. “They’ll believe this. I promise.”
I study her face. Her wide, brown eyes look honest, and her face is pale with fear. She might be spoiled, but she’s not stupid. I decide to trust her, and if it turns out she’s bullshitting me, well, she’ll have to face the consequences. I let go of the phone and nod, telling her to continue. She texts about a dozen more people, then turns the screen off.
“Is that it?” I ask.
She nods. I take the phone from her and slip it into my pocket. Olivia doesn’t look at me. Her face is numb.
“Why am I here?” she asks.
I scoff. Like she doesn’t fucking know. Like she doesn’t know who her scumbag father is. It doesn’t take a PhD to figure it out.
“That’s enough questions,” I say.
Olivia bites her lip, squeezing her thighs together with urgency. “I need to go to the bathroom.”