My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 1 (5 page)

The head of the D’Angelo
family.

And my husband’s murderer.

3

A sob broke free from my chest
as though my heart was trying to dispel my grief and the betrayal
I’d committed. I’d allowed my husband’s killer to bring me to
orgasm, to touch me in ways that I only
ever wanted Matt to do. I hated Frano
with all my soul. I had vowed to kill him, had imagined doing it in
so many ways: by bullet, by knife, by fire—yet the first time I
came in contact with him, my mind had taken comfort in his soft
voice, then I had come under his hand. But I hadn’t known it was
him, he was supposed to be in New York. Still, how could I not have
known? Alberto had backed down to him, and only one person could
make the second in command do that: Frano—the D’Angelo
don.

“
What did he do to you?”
Jagger asked.

“
He ... he washed me,” I
sobbed.

The bed went down. “And?”

“
Touched me. I didn’t want it, I
didn’t want it!” I yelled, angry at Jagger for not being here. I
wouldn’t have wanted it from him either, but anyone was better than
Frano, better than this guilt and revulsion now drowning
me.

Jagger slapped me hard, making me cry
out. “You are not to let him touch you again,” he
snapped.

“
I didn’t let him!” I
yelled, wanting him to hit me again, needing the external pain
rather than the emotional storm that was screwing with my
head.

“
I don’t care! I am your master,
not that
bastardo.
”

“
No one’s my master!” Another
slap stung my cheek, cutting off all the other words I wanted to
scream out, all the rage that had built up inside of me since I’d
learned of my husband’s death.

“
You are not to yell,” Jagger
said, “you are not to fight me, or you will be punished.
Capito
?”

“
No!” I shouted, wishing
he would knock me out. I could get hit harder than what he was
doing. I’d been knocked to the floor by bigger men in black belts.
These slaps were nothing! Only a normal woman would whimper and beg
for him to stop, but not me, because I was not normal!

He slapped me again.
“
Capito
?!”

“
No!”

Jagger continued to slap me until I was
screaming at him, my hate pouring out, my need to be hurt, and now
to hurt, making me fight uselessly against my binds. Then the slaps
stopped and a hand was laid over my mouth and nose. Panic now
seeped in. I started shaking my head vigorously, trying to dislodge
Jagger’s hand, but he held on tight, making my head go
hazy.

He finally removed his hand. I
greedily sucked in air, more concerned with being able to breathe
than screaming. “If you do as I tell you, I will be a good master,”
he said. “But if you don’t, I will show you the monster my family
created. And since you don’t seem to understand what
capito
means, I will use
only English.
Understand?
”

I nodded, unable to get a no out even
if I wanted to. The mattress went up, then footsteps receded, only
to return moments later. The mattress went back down, then a damp
cloth touched my cheek.

“
I’m gracious when I’m
obeyed,” he said.

I coughed, imagining being anything but
gracious in return. I wanted to tie him up and slap him even
harder, to make his cheeks turn red, to hear him scream like a
woman, begging me to stop, then I would throw him into prison,
where he would become a bitch for whoever wanted his pretty ass.
The thought made me laugh hysterically.

Jagger jerked the damp cloth away from my
face. “You’re laughing at me?” he said, his tone
disbelieving.

I stopped, allowing another cough to
escape, my throat raw from yelling.

“
Why were you laughing?”
he asked.

“
I don’t know.”

“
Normal women in your
situation cry, not laugh.”

“
I’m not normal, so throw
me back where I came from,” I croaked out.

He snorted. “Never have I heard that
before, but it doesn’t matter, you will end up like the
rest.”

“
Dead?”

“
No, you are to be trained
and sold as a sex slave.”

“
You can’t do that, I’m an
American citizen.”

“
We are no longer in
America.”

“
Where are we?”

“
That is not your
concern.”

“
People will miss me, they
will look for me.”

“
True, but they won’t find
you. You are dead to them. This is your new life, your reason for
living.”

“
I’m a human being, not a
sex toy!”

Another slap stung my cheek, but instead
of yelling at him, I closed my mouth, knowing I needed to reel in
my anger, to start thinking logically, to accumulate information.
But he would still pay for every slap. I needed to count them, then
when I had him tied up I would return each and every one of them.
The thought made me smile.

Silence filled the room, the man no
doubt surprised by my expression, then he laughed. “I knew you were
a masochist. Maybe the Black Russian will be a good fit for you
after all.”

“
I’m not a masochist, I was
thinking of tying you up and returning every slap.”

He snorted again. “I’m
going to enjoy
breaking you.” He grabbed my blindfold and yanked it down, putting
his face right up to mine, the beauty of it in direct contrast to
the malice in his eyes. “And believe you me, what I did today was
nothing.”

“
You’re a sick coward,” I
spat.

His face hardened. “And you’re my
whore.”

I gritted my teeth, not wanting to
counter that, because he might just prove it.

“
Finally,” he said.
“Silence. Still, I’m curious. What are you?”

“
Human.”

“
I’ll beat the humanity
out of you if you don’t answer my question properly!”

I jolted, the sudden change in his
tone unexpected.

“
Answer me!”

“
I’m a
teacher.”

He sneered. “And I’m a
librarian. So, tell me, Margarita, which I’m sure is not your real
name, what do you
really
do for a living?”

“
I teach high school kids in New
York, which is a tough enough job.”

“
Dealing with brats isn’t
a tough job.”

“
Kidnapping women isn’t
either.”

He narrowed his eyes, then cocked his head
to the side, looking like he was examining my face. “It’s a dirty
job though,” he said, moving his hand to my throat. “Very
dirty.”

I swallowed against his palm, his grip
a little too tight, the threat there, just a squeeze away. He
placed his mouth to my cheek, then licked up the side of my face,
making me jerk my head away.

“
Maybe I should lick your whole
body clean,” he said, “because it looks like Frano left me with a.
Very. Dirty. Whore.”

I wanted to shake my head, but his
grip tightened, making it impossible. I gasped for air, my eyes
going wide as he climbed on top of me, squashing my body beneath
his.

“
Or am I wrong?” he said,
loosening his grip.

I coughed, sucking in air greedily. He
reached behind his back and pulled out a knife, flicking it open. I
went still, my eyes going even wider as he placed the blade against
my cheek.

“
Now, Margarita, I’m known
for cutting things off that I shouldn’t,” he moved the blade to my
lips, “but I’m only like that if someone upsets me. Do you want to
upset me?”

“
No,” I mumbled against the
blade, unable to look away from him, the man’s face completely
emotionless.

He moved the knife down to my neck. “I’m
going to cut your ropes, but if you attack me, I will give you a
blood necklace. Understand?”

“
Yes.”

He pushed off me then flipped me onto my
front. He started muttering a prayer in Italian, one asking the
Lord for forgiveness as he hacked at the ropes that bound me. Once
finished, he rolled me onto my back and placed the knife against my
throat. “Put your hands in the cuffs.”

I looked above my head, seeing
cuffs attached to the bed by chains. Swallowing, I put one on, then
the other, which Jagger snapped shut. He then grabbed my feet and
pulled them apart. What Frano had done earlier came rushing back,
making me kick out, terrified that Jagger was
going to do the same—or worse.
He grabbed one of my ankles and sliced the knife across the sole of
my foot. I screamed, trying to pull my foot away, but he gripped
onto me tighter, yelling: “Stop it! Or I will cut you
again!”

I went still, no longer caring as I cried
in front of him, the pain stinging, but the fear of rape worse. He
quickly attached my ankles to the cuffs at the bottom of the bed.
Leaving me spread-eagled, he disappeared into the bathroom,
returning with a bandage, which he wrapped around my injured
foot.

He moved back up the bed. “You’re a
strong one, but you will still end up like the rest: broken and
sold.”

I stared at
him
. I was
here to break him, not to be broken. Or maybe by the end of this,
both of us would be.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead,
then before I knew it, he was gone, leaving me alone with only my
tortured thoughts as company. I closed my eyes, trying to push what
had happened out of my head by imagining what I would do to
Jagger—and Frano. Oh, I would hurt them both, but Frano the most. I
would torture him, make him pay for what he had done to Matt, then
when he screamed for death I would grant him it—but only after more
pain, far worse than what Jagger had done to me. Despite
everything, a smile once again pulled at my lips. Jagger was wrong,
I wasn’t a masochist...

I was my masters’ nightmare.

4

Jagger

I stormed into Frano’s office, wanting
to tear my cousin apart. He’d never interfered before, never
undermined me, and had never made me look like a weak fool in front
of a slave.

Frano looked up from his desk, a smile
spreading across his face, taunting me, making me even more
furious.

“
Don’t you ever fucking do
that again!” I yelled, heading for his desk.

He pushed up, stretching to his
full height, probably trying to intimidate me, to make me feel
small. I was slim and of average height, five-ten to his six-foot
wall of muscle, his frame one of a boxer’s like his brother’s,
menacing and threatening, looking like he’d punch me in a
heartbeat. But he wasn’t the brute of the family, Alberto was.
That
animale
had tormented me as a child when I came to live with my
cousins after my parents had been gunned down by a rival family.
Alberto was seven years my senior, someone who should have known
better, should have known not to hit a child. But it was Frano, the
oldest of my cousins, who’d hurt me the most. He would seduce every
female I showed interest in, then when they gave in, he’d discard
them—like he did to my first girlfriend. I had loved her, a child’s
love be it that, but I had, and he’d taken her to teach me a
lesson: that all women would betray me, that they didn’t deserve my
love, like I didn’t deserve my mother’s.

I gritted my teeth, getting angrier as
Frano’s smile widened.

“
Why are you so upset, cousin?”
he asked, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “I was just
showing interest in your work. Isn’t it you who always berates me,
saying I don’t care about what you do?”

“
You didn’t show interest, you
belittled me. That woman laughed at me. A slave! What did you say
to her?”

Frano cocked a dark eyebrow. “She
laughed?”

“
S
ì
!
What did you say?”

“
Nothing about you, I swear on
your mother’s grave.”

“
Don’t you talk about my
madre
!”

“
Apologies, Gabriel.”

“
Don’t call me
that!”

“
It is your name, after
all.”

“
You know not to call me it;
you’re just being a cruel
bastardo!
”

Frano moved around the table.
“You are too soft,
Jagger.
That is your problem. My name belongs to my mother’s
Croatian lover, yet I still use it.”

I clenched my jaw, Frano
knowing full well why I no longer used my birth name. That name
disgusted me, and made me wish I could cut it out of my heart and
mind. But he always used it to silence me, to push me down, to make
me feel like that small child again. I was not the angel my mother
named me after; I was what Frano’s
famiglia
made me—as well as the Donatelli, those
monsters almost destroying me.