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Donatello sighs. “Well, whatever you say, is what goes.” There is disappointment on his face as he walks off.
I swallow. I recall the look of mischief on her face as she teased me into taking her last night. Suddenly, it all makes so much sense.
Chapter Eleven
Alyssa
He is an insatiable monster, but I am finding that I am taking so much pleasure from the pain. I know that I have to tire him out. It’s the only way I can get out of here. I am certain that I cannot survive another night in a vermin-filled basement.
So I clutch the bed and close my eyes as he spins my body to all the angles that he pleases—taking all of me.
It would be false to say that fucking him isn’t like magic. I struggle to keep myself from getting too lost in the pleasure he’s giving me, making sure to keep him hooked.
Finally, he falls asleep, leaving his cum all over me.
I take a quick shower and clean myself up, making a mental note to get the morning-after pill, well, that is, if I make it out of here alive.
When I come out of the bathroom, I can hear his gentle snores as he sleeps naked on the bed. I take a moment to look at his nude body. He is perfectly chiseled. He might as well be some kind of god with corded muscles wrapped in mysterious tattoos.
A few days ago, fucking Antonio Russo was a dream come true. Now, he is nothing more than a terrible brute who has kept me captive against my will.
I tear my eyes away from him, and I get to work. I have no way of telling time, but given how long he fucked me, it should be the early hours of the morning. That means I have only a couple of hours before day breaks. I can only escape under the cover of darkness. I pull open his closet silently, and I rifle through his clothes.
I find what I am looking for. A black shirt, black pants, and a black cap. The pants fit so loosely that I decide to ditch them and I make do with the shirt. It’s long enough to cover my thighs and fall just above my knees.
I walk over to his chest of drawers, and I open it as silently as I can. I pick up his gun and stare at it.
It feels ice cold. I have never used a gun, but if I must use it to get out of this place, then I will. I grab two more things, a belt, and a flashlight I find under his bed.
Before I leave the room, I flirt with the idea of sending a bullet through his head and ending it. He deserves it for the humiliation of the last few weeks, but who am I kidding? Not only would his men kill me, they would also kill my mother and Laura. And, I admit to myself, I just can’t do it.
With one last look at him, I slide through the door and begin to walk down the abandoned hallway. I hear the guards talking at one end of the mansion, so I know to go the other way. I reach the front entryway and see some of the guards huddled in deep conversation. Their backs are turned to the door.
I look at Antonio’s belt, which I’m holding, and I toss it across the room. The guards turn toward the thud, and I immediately slip through the door and run off as they pull their guns, searching for the source of the sound.
I stumble blindly out of the house, praying to the heavens that there are no guards outside. It’s the wee hours of the morning, and luckily, I don’t run into any of Antonio’s men as I escape.
I run to the back of the house, and I stop before a wall that is thick with ivy. I have no idea what is on the other side, since going through the gate hasn’t been an option during my time here.
Scaling the wall is my only hope.
I run to the barrier, looking around, making sure that I am not being followed. Laura and I used to go to the climbing wall as kids. It’s easy for me to scale up, and when I get to the top, I sigh with relief because there is a long stretch of road before me. I take a deep breath and jump down, landing with a jolt.
My body reverberates with the shock, but I pick myself up quickly. I have to put distance between the mansion lest I get caught.
I don’t know how long I walk, but the sun starts to rise, and the night melts into day.
The road seems like it’s never going to end. I push myself forward. There has to be something at the end of the road, or at least something that will help me.
After what seems like ages, a dusty red car appears. I feel my heart leap as I wave to it. It slows down as it gets close to me, and the window rolls down as I approach.
“Please, can I get a ride to the city?” I beg, looking in the window. The words dry in my mouth as the driver pulls down his sunglasses.
He has a thick scar that extends from his outer lip to his ear. And on his neck, there are visible tattoos. I step back with wobbly legs. “Never mind.”
He grins, showing half-rotten teeth. “But I want to help. Get in,” he says.
I force a smile and shake my head. “No, thank you, sir,” I say, walking backward.
