Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Bobby’s laughter only makes Angelo lash him harder, crack after crack echoing through the entirety of the workshop with an intimidating echo. The laughs turn to grunts, and then to gasps. Finally, Bobby draws in a ragged breath, almost a sob. I wonder if Angelo is going to make him cry. There’s more than a little part of me that wants to see Bobby humbled.
But what I see next is better than that. Angelo hauls Bobby up from the hood, his grip on the back of Bobby’s hair and the waistband of his pants. He swings Bobby around again and presses his mouth to Bobby’s in a crushing, powerful, dominant kiss. I feel a pulse of heat between my thighs, a rush of voyeuristic excitement that makes me yearn for the threat Angelo has used to toy with me since my capture. Treating me like a boy. Treating me like his boy. I can imagine being swept up against the hard lines of his commanding body, ass burning, mouth filled with his tongue, my very will being sapped in his grasp. Bobby melts against Angelo, all the tension and hardness flowing out of him as he submits softly and fully, and beautifully.
They break the kiss. Angelo slaps Bobby on the ass and they go their separate ways, Bobby to the driver’s seat. I notice he slides in gingerly, while Angelo seats himself both comfortably and confidently, after returning his belt to the proper place.
The entire time this has been going on, VanDinn has been looking on from the remains of his tea party with a certain resignation. I wonder what Angelo has managed to take from him. An unwilling arrangement has been come to, of that I can be certain.
I’ve been present for something important. I have no idea what.
6
We are on our way back to Angelo’s place. Angelo is very relaxed now, pleased with himself. I wonder how many people he has tied up in various locations around the city, and how many of them are being tortured with scenes of innocence and joy juxtaposed with their own pain and fear.
Angelo likes to destroy innocence. He likes to make art of his evil. He is very compelling. Sitting next to him, I am awash in his energy. There is no denying he is under my skin.
I think about the agency again, wondering if they’ve noticed I am missing yet. Has my boss called to see where I am? Have they run a search for my plates? Has anybody done anything?
Or… a horrible thought occurs to me. Do they already know Angelo has taken me? Are they leaving me in for their own reasons? Are they sacrificing me? Or are they expecting me to survive as best as I can and gather as much intel as possible?
Returning to the mansion, I get out of the car and follow Angelo and Bobby inside. I could run, but I know they can both run fast enough to overhaul me easily. If I run, I mean, when I run, it will be when they are not able to give chase.
“Lunch time, I think,” Angelo says casually as he strolls in through the front door, Bobby behind him, and me following in their wake. We are a line of dark, twisted, and scared little ducklings.
“I’m fucking starving,” Bobby curses.
This is the sort of conversation that happens in couples and families. It’s not the sort of conversation I’ve been privy to in a very long time. I’ve been chronically single, working on surveillance, observing them from the outside, never truly understanding what it felt like to be on the interior.
I already feel as though I have been absorbed into their unit, not entirely part of them, of course, but somehow included. They are not keeping an eye on me. They are assuming that I will follow, and I do.
To any casual observer, I would seem like part of the tribe. Oddly, the sensation that comes with that realization is not one of horror. There’s a certain terrifying coziness that comes with this all too swift engulfment of the House of Vitali. I have been swept up and thoroughly wrapped in it, and in them. I feel them on me, in me, even though I’ve barely been touched. Resisting the Vitalis is not going to be easy for me. Angelo knows this. Any other captive would most likely be kept bound in a tableau of Angelo’s design, but I am being allowed to traipse around after them like a new puppy recently brought home, allowed to sniff at the corners.
Angelo cooks lunch.
Bobby sits at the large kitchen island, and I linger awkwardly near the doorway, not knowing what to do with myself, until Angelo raises a brow at me and gestures with the spatula he is holding to one of the bar stools next to Bobby.