Sold to Moretti Mafia

Markus

I’ve completely fucking lost it. Lost my mind-lost touch with reality. I’ve gone off the deep end, and there is no way to bring me back. Fallon is in my blood, beneath my fucking skin, and I can’t shake her. I can’t claw her out.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

The thought of her lying to me, of her knowing that fucking bastard, consumed me. I had to claim her right then and there, had to show her who was in control. Looking at her shocked expression now, a sliver of guilt forms.

I want to focus on the now, the part of my life I can control and change. I don’t feel guilt for killing that fucker, nor do I feel bad for saying what I said to her. I need her to be afraid. I need her to know who is running the show. This was inevitable and had to happen. Nonetheless, the guilt is still there, sticking to my bones.

I shouldn’t have taken her so roughly. I should have controlled myself better. But all I saw was red. Fury consumed me to the point of no return. Then, I shot him like I was out hunting a deer. Like I’ve done so many times before, but today was different. Today she was here, watching me, seeing the darkest parts of me.

I don’t regret killing him, but I wish I hadn’t done it in front of her.

I knew that Fallon was innocent. Death had never touched her until now.

Staring at her, I find her blue eyes glazed over, fear hovering just beneath the surface. This is going to break her, crack her wide open. To this day, I’ve never forgotten the first death I witnessed, and neither will she. This day will forever be ingrained in her mind.

“Fallon,” I call, my voice rougher than intended.

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t even acknowledge me.

Fuck. As badly as I feel the need to clean her up and feed her, I’ve got to get rid of this body. I’ve also gotta clean the kitchen wall, but I can’t do either of those things unless I put her back in the cell downstairs.

Even with my threat, I can’t trust that she won’t try to run the first chance she gets. Any rational person would run after witnessing what she did.

Knowing that she will not respond to my words, I walk over to her and pull her pants back up. Her body is stiff and unmoving, but the moment I slide my arms beneath her to pick her up, she recoils like my touch physically burns her skin.

Anger replaces the guilt I felt moments ago and floods my veins. It’s an oxymoron, really. I want her to be scared, want to keep her in line with fear, but I also want her to want me. Want my touch. It’s a contradiction. Two things that will never go together, yet it’s exactly what I want.

I try cradling her against my chest, but she’s struggling against me, trying her best to get away, to put a few inches of distance between us. She has no idea I’ll never allow such a thing. The only way she will ever be able to escape me is through death.

Switching my hold on her, I throw her slender body over my shoulder and grab a blanket that’s hanging off the back of the couch.

I half expected her to pound against my back, to scream for me to let her go, but I get none of those things. Her silence is so much louder, and I’d almost rather have her raging than quiet. All she does is struggle in my grasp, wiggling like a worm to break free.

By the time we get to the cell, she has calmed down a bit. Her body is draped over mine limply, and she doesn’t fight when I slide her down my front and place her on her feet. She wobbles, her knees knocking together. Grasping her forearm, I try to steady her, but she tugs her arm from my hand.

Clenching my jaw, I ignore her behavior. She’s in shock and needs a moment to gather her thoughts. I’ll give her that, but I won’t tolerate her not allowing me to touch after today. She belongs to me, and she needs to realize that.

Using the blanket, I drape it over her shoulders. She grabs the corners and tugs the blanket tighter around herself while stepping away from me. She doesn’t stop until her back is pressed up into the corner of the room. Her gaze is trained on me with every move she makes, almost like she is scared to take her eyes off me.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say, softly.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t nod, or even blink. It’s like she is frozen in shock, stuck in her mind, where the fear I created is holding her prisoner.

Even though everything inside of me tells me to stay, I turn and walk to the door.

She doesn’t stop me or beg me to return to her side. She says nothing, and that annoys me more than it should. The heavy metal door falls shut behind me when I step out into the hall, and a distinct ache forms in my chest. I rub at the spot, wanting it to disappear. Admitting fault isn’t something I do often. I don’t fuck up. I’m good at what I do. It’s why Julian made me his second in command.

This time, though, I know I’ve fucked up. Took things too far. I let my emotions rule my actions, and that’s a mistake I’m going to pay for.

Regardless, I can’t change what’s already done. I can’t turn back time and bring him back to life. I can’t make Fallon look at me the way she did before.

I remind myself of how our story started. This would never end with a ring and a happily ever after. I knew it the moment I saw her. I didn’t pay for a partner. I paid for a woman that will do as I say. A woman I can do with whatever I want.

It seems I’ve gotten more than I bargained for.

Ignoring the ache in my chest the best I can, I make quick work of untying and dragging the dead body outside. Using some gas from the shed out back, I set the corpse on fire. The smell of burning flesh tickles my nostrils. I don’t even flinch. Death and mayhem no longer bother me. The only thing that does was the look in Fallon’s eyes when I did it.

While his remains are burning, I go back inside and clean the kitchen.

I mop and bleach every surface from the top to the bottom until everything is sparkling clean. Just like new. I take the dead guy’s possessions and the cleaning supplies outside and throw them into the fire. I don’t really need to cover my steps. No one will think to come out here, and if they do, I’ll get rid of them the same way I got rid of this bastard.

Stripping out of my clothes, I add those into the flames. For a moment, I just stand there, hypnotized by the dancing of the flames and the heat kissing my naked skin.

I think about what the guy told me, how he was here to take photos of Fallon. She claims no one is looking for her, and I believe her, but it sounds a lot like someone is. The thought of her having an ex-boyfriend, someone looking for her, makes my blood pressure spike.

Yes, I know there were others before me, hence her not being a virgin, but there will never be another. There is me and me only, and I hope that I have made that clear tonight.

I don’t know what the future holds or what I’m going to do with her, but I will never allow her to be with someone else. I’ll kill the unlucky bastard and fuck her in a puddle of his blood. Not that she’ll ever get the chance.

She is mine, my property, and only I get to touch her.

When the flames start to die down, I make my way back inside. I pass the couch where I fucked Fallon earlier, and all the blood rushes back into my cock. I’m a sick fuck. I can’t believe I’m getting hard just thinking about it while Fallon is downstairs, probably scared to death.

There is seriously something wrong with me.

I scrub myself clean in the shower before getting dressed and finding a new outfit for Fallon to wear. I leave her clothing on the bed and walk downstairs.

Unlocking the door, I push it open slowly. Fallon is still in the same corner where I left her. The blanket wrapped around her tightly like she is keeping it over her body as a protective shield. Her seafoam blue eyes are open and trained on some random spot on the concrete.

Keeping my movements slow, I step into the cell. She doesn’t look up, not even when I step right into her line of sight. Dropping to one knee directly in front of her, I force her to acknowledge my presence, but instead of looking at me, she turns her head and closes her eyes.

That guilt I felt earlier pulses with life. I’m such a fucking prick for buying her and subjecting her to this madness. For losing fucking control. Julian would laugh his fucking face off right now if he were here to witness my fall.

I want to be both the gentle breeze and the sinister storm for her, but how can I be both?

“Are you ready to come upstairs, take a shower, and maybe eat something?”

One beat passes, and then another. Slowly, she nods her head but makes no move to get up. I’m not used to asking questions. I’m the one giving the orders and following through with the punishments if the jobs don’t get done. So, dealing with her is taking every shred of patience I have, but I know I can’t act like I normally would.

Heaving out a sigh of frustration, I ask, “Are you going to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

“I’ll walk,” she whispers, as if the thought of me touching her scares her enough to snap out of her shocked state.