“Can’t we just leave her alone?”
That’s odd. The boy spoke but his mouth didn’t move. I wonder if he’s one of those ventr—
“Shut up,” he sneers as he throws a look toward the corner of the room.
I follow his gaze and shrink back into the wall when I see there’s another boy crouched there. He looks similar to the one who hit me but then again, my mind could be playing tricks on me. Between the drugs and torture, insanity very likely is setting in.
“She’s not gonna talk to you, stupid,” the one in the corner says.
“Then I’ll beat the information out of her like Father or Yanni would.”
He leers at me, and if I weren’t already at a disadvantage, I might laugh at him. He reminds me of the boys at school, the ones who are mean to the girls when they like them. Idiots. I flinch when his hand rests on my bare leg, and when he glides it up over my knee toward my exposed privates, I whimper.
“You don’t have to be like them,” Corner Boy comments quietly.
I curl in on myself when the one in front of me lunges toward the corner. The chain around my ankle rattles, giving away the fear I’m trying so hard to hide. Squeezing my eyes shut, I block out the sounds of their fighting and force my mind to go to another place. I’ve gotten pretty good at this trick recently.
I’m not able to pretend for long though, because a rough hand on my leg pulls me back to reality. I don’t know which of the two boys the hand belongs to, but if the cold calculation in the eyes is anything to go by, it’s the one who was tormenting me to begin with.
Turning my head, I command my body not to react to the sharp bite of his teeth on my skin or the way his fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs as he shoves my legs apart. Air gets trapped in my lungs when he grips my chin and forces me to look at him. How can someone so young be so cruel?
“I listen to the screams when Yanni is in here playing with all of you,” he taunts as he kneels between my spread knees, nodding toward the other captives. “At first, I worried because Father told me that the buyers he has lined up want you all untouched.” He shrugs. “But I don’t have to worry anymore because we were instructed to do this.”
The boy fumbles with the button on his pants. His hands are shaking, which is a stark contrast to the confidence he’s portraying. I watch in horror as he lowers his zipper and straightens to push his jeans down.
I bolt up from the mattress before shoving the blanket off my legs to rush to the attached bathroom. As I drop to my knees in front of the toilet, my stomach heaves up its contents. Sweat pours down my back, and my muscles tense with each spasm.
When there’s nothing left for my body to expel, I drop back to my ass and lean against the wall. I yank the towel from the rack above my head and use it to wipe my face off. I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally.
My nightmares are nothing new. I had them for months after I was taken as a teenager, but I thought I had things under control. I’d gone years without them. Fucking years. But then Malachi Ricci came along and shook shit up.
Once I’m reasonably certain I can move without praying to the porcelain god again, I rise to my feet and move to the sink to brush my teeth. My reflection taunts me from the mirror, so I close my eyes, but that only makes things worse because images from my nightmares dance behind my lids.
“Goddamn Ricci’s,” I mutter.
I drop my toothbrush in the little cup next to the faucet and make my way back into my bedroom. My cell phone lights up from the nightstand as the alarm goes off. The high-pitched sound wreaks havoc on my head, and I quickly silence it.
Coffee. I need copious amounts of coffee before I can even think about heading downstairs to the main level of the clubhouse. As the Vice President of the Devil’s Handmaidens MC: Atlantic City, NJ chapter, I’m permitted to live off-site, but since it’s just me, I don’t really see the point in spending the money on rent or a mortgage when I don’t have to. My room here suits me just fine.
While my Keurig brews my liquid energy, my mind wanders to the family that forced my demons to the surface: the Ricci’s. Malachi Ricci is engaged to Harlow, my best friend and president of the DHMC, so I’ve learned to love and respect him. He also helped us take out his family’s entire human trafficking organization, so there’s that. It’s hard to hate a man who hates the same things and people I do.
Unfortunately, taking out the organization didn’t result in eliminating the entire Ricci clan. Malachi’s cousin, Nicholi, got away, and we’ve spent the last year trying to find him. And then there’s Nico Ricci, Malachi’s other cousin and Nicholi’s twin brother.
As I lift the full mug to my lips, my cell phone dings with a notification. I ignore it until the mug is empty and I’ve got a second one brewing.
“Speak of the devil,” I mumble when I look at the phone screen.
Nico: Morning.
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting slightly. Nico is… complicated. It’s a love hate sorta thing. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. It’s more of a tolerate hate sorta thing.
Nico is Malachi’s partner at Forza Security, the security firm they started, and the head of the team that tracks Nicholi. Not that we’ve gotten anywhere with that. He’s also the man who asked me to marry him and have his babies the very first time we talked. And no amount of threatening bodily harm has slowed him down in his pursuit.
My phone dings again as I traipse down the stairs to the main floor.
Nico: What? Not even a threat this morning?
Pausing on the step, I type out a quick response.