Chapter 9 9. Alma - The courtyard 1
Ese hijo de puta—that fucking bastard—has his days numbered. I’m going to kill him nice and slow. Painfully. And while he’s dying, I’ll laugh. I’ll sing. I’ll dance. Because I saved the world from another piece of shit.
I pour all my rage into getting myself free. I yank hard at the cuffs, but the headboard resists. Since I don’t know when he’ll come back—or what he’ll force me to do when he does—I don’t stop.
The cold metal bites into my wrists and ankles, but I ignore the pain and pull harder until blood runs down my legs, dripping onto the bed from the fresh cuts around my ankles.
Knowing I’m close to freeing myself, I keep pulling and yanking, thinking of all the glorious days I’ll spend torturing ese pedazo de mierda—that piece of shit.
In all my life, I’ve never felt this trapped. This helpless. I’ve always been the one who inflicts pain, not the other way around. I hate how easily Jason kidnapped me—how I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him. But he will pay. I will hunt him down como el perro que es—like the dog he is—cut his balls off and attach them to his face.
El puto cabrón returns before I can free myself. He even brought a friend. How nice. They probably think that just because I’m a woman, I can’t defend myself. I can’t wait for them to find out how wrong they are.
The new guy doesn’t look at me like he wants to fuck me. In fact, he barely glances at my exposed body—the blanket shifted while I struggled, leaving most of me uncovered. He keeps his gaze fixed on my face, and that might be the only reason I won’t pluck his eyes out the moment I free myself.
On the other hand, el puto cabrón is eye-fucking my tits. If only he knew how badly I want to punch him in the face. But he’d probably moan—because he’s that sick in the head.
“What’s your name?” the new guy asks.
His skin is a deep, rich tan, his eyes dark brown. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his late twenties. For some twisted reason, I find him very attractive. Now, I really know there’s something wrong with me because there’s no way I’d find a man, especially in this shithole, attractive.
“¡Vete a la mierda!” I snap.
The left corner of his mouth tilts up. “Vai se foder.”
Fuck you.
He speaks Portuguese. I speak Spanish. We’re going to get along just perfectly.
While I don’t speak Portuguese, I understand enough to get by.
“I heard your brother is Victor Kastell’s right hand. Is that true?” the new guy asks.
What the hell is he talking about? I don’t have a brother. Or a sister. I’m an only child.
Behind him, el puto cabrón nods at me.
I don’t know what games he’s playing, but I want no part in any of them.
“I don’t feel like telling you shit,” I hiss.
The only reason I don’t tell him I don’t have a brother is that, while I don’t want to play el puto cabrón’s game, I am curious to see where this is leading. So, I suppose that I do have to enter the game, but I will be the one to make the rules.
“You two can go fuck yourselves, or whatever you do in this shithole, and leave me alone,” I add.
“Tell you what, sweetheart,” he says in a condescending tone—I hate when someone calls me sweetheart. “You can behave, or I can make you behave.”
“Make me,” I dare him.
A wide, cruel grin spreads across his lips. “Look around, Toto. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Toto? Did he just call by the name of the dog from The Wizard of Oz? When I get free, I’ll show him what a bitch I can be.
He looks at the puto cabrón and says, “Lesson number one, kid. Never let a woman—especially the one you want to fuck—disrespect you.”
“He’s not fucking me!” I snap.
Both of them ignore me.
The new guy keeps talking. “If a woman disrespects you, she’ll sleep around. Turn you into a cuck while she spreads her legs for any man more dominant than you. Never allow a woman to disrespect you. Keep her in line.”
“Don’t tell me you actually believe the stupid shit you’re saying,” I retort.
They keep ignoring me, and that only makes my blood boil.
“What do you propose?” el puto cabrón asks.
“Spanking her,” the other replies.
The eyes of the puto cabrón flash red. “Oh, I love impact play,” he says.
What the fuck is impact play?
“Especially when I use a cane or a paddle on the ass of my woman.” To me, he says, “We are going to have so much fun, kitten.”
“You are very, very sick,” I realize.
“I never pretended otherwise,” el puto cabrón agrees with me.
The crazy ones are always the most dangerous ones.
The other guy asks me again, “What’s your name?”
“I have no desire to tell you,” I tell him.
He appears to be calm, but I can see the storm brewing in his gaze. “You either tell me your name, or I will drag you in the middle of the courtyard and use Cooper’s belt on your pretty ass until you learn to reply to every question I ask.”
So, el puto cabrón is named Cooper.
“Hit me with a belt,” I hiss, “and your body will be found the next day in your cell with it around your neck.”
He has the audacity to laugh. Then asks el puto cabrón, “Are you sure you want to claim her as your woman? Women like her are hard, if not impossible, to control.”
“No one controls me!” I snap.
El puto cabrón eye-fucks me for several seconds. “Can’t you see how perfect she is? Look at those big tits of hers. Imagine how they will bounce when we fuck her.”
“No one is fucking me,” I remind them.
El puto cabrón keep talking. “And wait till you see her ass. Fucking perfect! We will take turns fucking it, or we can DP her.”
What the fuck is DP?
The new guy washes his gaze over. “She’s average. At best.”
I know damn well that I’m beautiful, and I’m not saying that because I’m vain, but because it’s the truth. Everywhere I go, I attract all the unwanted gazes.
“You are just saying that because you will never fuck a woman as good-looking as me,” I huff.
The new guy tells the puto cabrón, “You want my advice, kid? Take her to the courtyard. Leave her there for a couple of days. And when you go for her, she will be the one to beg you on her knees to be your woman.”
El puto cabrón is considering it. I can see it in his eyes.
The women from the courtyard flash through my mind. If they take me to the courtyard, it won’t end well. I can’t fight off that many men.
“Fine,” el puto cabrón says, making my blood go cold. “Let’s take her to the courtyard.”
