Slave Girl Read online

Her only hope was to always make sure her owner, her master, was happy with her. She had no doubt Giavanni would be very, very angry with her right now.

  Chapter Two

  She hadn’t screamed or demanded to be taken back. Raphael considered that a victory.

  She stared into her cup way too hard. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “Your wife.”

  “Don’t be, I’m not. I had no interest in marrying her.”

  “You have to do your duty, though. It’s important.”

  “There will be other women.”

  She had no idea the only woman he wanted was right here, drinking his coffee. He never cooked for women. He’d learned to cook at a young age. It wasn’t news to him that he was hated and feared all around the city and many people would want to poison him.

  He made sure to take care of his needs. The only time he didn’t cook for himself was when he went to his father’s. Then the staff catered to his every single need.

  “Will you kill me?”

  “No.”

  She lifted her head. “Why did you help me?”

  “I couldn’t let you die.”

  “I’m no one important. You have to take me back.”

  “No, you’re not going back.”

  “But, if he … aren’t you in trouble?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I will be. We both know no one steals from my father and gets away with it. What I did was fucked up, but it’s done now. You and I both know if I’d left you, you’d have died of your wounds.”

  “You had a doctor treat me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t he tell?”

  “No.” Raphael turned toward her. He placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to look at her. “No one is ever going to harm you. Of that, you have my word.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t believe him.

  “The doctor is a friend. He doesn’t believe in your prison.”

  “Prison?”

  “Being a slave.”

  “What do I do now?” she asked. “I can’t go back.”

  “I know. You’re going to need to stay here. My father will know you’ve been gone and for a short time, I’m going to need him to not consider looking for you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and he frowned, seeing the long length no longer looked silky smooth. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

  She jerked and glanced up. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I…” She stopped. “I tried to brush it. The pain, it was too much.”

  He left her, going into the bathroom. He took a brush and met her back in the kitchen. “Follow me.”

  He entered his living room, grabbed a cushion, and placed it on the ground. “Sit.”

  “I can do it.”

  “Sit,” he said. It was hard not using a name.

  She sat down on the cushion between his knees. Her back presented to him. Running the brush through her hair, he was careful as he came to a knot. He didn’t want to hurt her. She had such beautiful hair.

  Working the length, he smiled to himself, unable to believe that he was the only one brushing her hair. Sure, whenever he caught sight of her, he always imagined touching her, being close. She was his guilty pleasure but never once did he allow himself to give in to those kinds of feelings. It was crazy to even give himself the chance to want to.

  In his line of work, she wouldn’t last, at least she shouldn’t.

  She clearly was a favorite of his father’s. The scars on her body, they told a story.

  “How did you get the scars?” he asked.

  She tensed up. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You can’t go back. You’d be shot or worse, sold, because you had taken my attention away. Don’t try to play dumb with me. I know you tried to learn to read and write. I’ve seen you.”

  She gasped.

  “Yep, it’s no secret to me that you hate being a slave. I’ve watched you. You admire the women who visit my father. You’ve seen them with books, with life, with freedom. Tell me it’s not something you’ve imagined.”

  “You’re being mean.”

  “Yes. I’ve got to be cruel to be kind. Now tell me, who gives you the scars?” he asked.

  “I … your…” She stuttered and shook her head. Her shoulders slumped.

  Raphael held on to the brush like his life depended on it, and in a way, it did. He wanted to fucking kill his father, but he didn’t. He kept his shit together. It had to be his father, had to be him.

  Counting to ten inside his head. Just fucking awesome, he thought to himself. This was fucking crazy.

  “Tell me what happens,” Raphael said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I know my father. I know he likes things a certain way. Now tell me what it is he does to you.” He didn’t know if he wanted the truth.

  “I … I have to get dressed in a single nightshirt. I can’t wear any underwear and one of his guards comes to collect me. Not every night. Not every week. Only when he wants to hurt me. I’m taken to his room, in his wing of the house. There, I’m forced to get naked. I’m always good but he says I have to be punished. I have to do as I’m told or else he’ll kill me, or sell me to a man who would have many men use me.”

  He continued to brush her hair, wishing his father’s death as she released her secrets.

  “He … he likes to tie me up so I can’t get away. He sometimes chokes me. He likes to hear me breathe hard for life.” She touched her neck. “He doesn’t do it often. He’ll hit me, strike me as hard as he can. Sometimes he has women with him and he makes them watch what is in store for them if they don’t behave.”

  She sniffled and he leaned forward to see she was crying. “When there are no women there, I know the pain is going to hurt even more. He … he will put his cigarettes out on me. They are the worst. I know some of the plants in the garden can help. Mr. Salman is a really nice man. He helps me a lot. I can’t always hide the wounds, and when he sees them, he will bring me salve.” She gasped. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “I won’t. Does my father rape you?”

  “Your father? Rape?”

  “Does he force himself on you?”

  “I’m his property. He can do with me what he wishes. It’s not force. I’m nothing.”

  Raphael gritted his teeth. He hated hearing these words. She was something. No, she was someone.

  He knew his father was a monster. He had an idea, but he didn’t know just how much. “Does he put his dick inside you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “My mouth.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  She nodded.

  “Where?”

  She shook her head and covered her face.

  He moved to the floor and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t move away.

  “Please,” she said.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “He’s going to kill me.”

  “I won’t let him.”

  “He has the power.”

  “I know.” He kissed her head. “Where does he hurt you?”

  She didn’t say anything but her hand reached down and she tapped her ass.

  “That’s where he fucks you?”

  She nodded.

  “Does he take your pussy?”

  She shook her head. “He told me that I was worth more to him a virgin than not. If he wants to sell me, he’d get the highest price, and besides, there were enough sluts to keep his dick happy.” She sniffled. “Am I bad?”

  “No, you’re not bad.”

  He wanted to kill his father. Overthrowing him wouldn’t be easy. Could he do it, even knowing what he did?

  She stopped sobbing but he didn’t let her go. While he rested his back against the sofa, she leaned against him, and he stroked her hair that was once again soft. She was so pretty.

  Time wore on and neither of them ma
de any move to leave. She didn’t fight him.

  “You can’t leave my apartment,” he said.

  “What if he visits?”

  “I’m always notified when he’s going to arrive.” He had men and women in place who hated his father.

  Raphael was a man of two faces. The one he showed the world who was proud to be Giavanni blood, and the other who set about bringing him down. He knew what a corrupt asshole he was, and he’d been working night and day to align himself with people who were loyal to him, not to his father. He’d been careful not to screw up.

  Giavanni had ruined enough people to last them a lifetime and Raphael would find a way to bring him down. Now that he knew what he’d done to this young woman, he had no intention of ever letting him live.

  “Have you come up with a name yet?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “A name. I don’t know if I want a name.”

  He laughed. “Why not?”

  “Because once you have a name, anyone can tell you what to do. If you don’t have one, then you’re not completely owned.”

  He stared into her brown eyes and wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

  He didn’t. Kissing her right now wasn’t the time.

  He had a father to hunt and kill, and he intended to enjoy every single second of it.

  ****

  Ground rules.

  She couldn’t leave his apartment. Nor answer the door. She had to be quiet if someone did knock. If anyone entered the apartment, there was a secret compartment in his closet where she could hide. He’d also given her a cell phone for her to use in case of an emergency.

  The fridge was open to her to use at any time. So was the television. She could cook or clean if she liked. There were also books for her to read as well. He’d given her a laptop complete with credit card details if she wanted anything.

  So long as she didn’t call attention to herself, she was fine.

  There was only one tiny problem. She couldn’t read or write. They were skills she’d watched other women have, but she’d never been allowed to practice. She tried. When she was sent to clean the library, she’d find a couple of quiet moments to open a book and scan the pages, but that was all she ever had time for.

  Nothing else.

  Words were something she craved but could never have. Staring at the open laptop, she didn’t know what to type, and so she closed it and moved toward his small collection of books. They looked neat, tidy, even. Running her fingers across the back of the spines, she smiled. They had words.

  Pretty words, she hoped.

  Picking one of the books up, she flicked it open and scanned the pages.

  Nothing.

  Closing the book, she placed it back on the shelf. She sat down on his large sofa and looked toward the window.

  The outside world?

  She took her time, stepping up to the window. At first, she peered around the curtain, afraid of someone catching her. At first, there was nothing to see, just other buildings. Getting a little more confident, she looked down below and saw cars, activity. People walking on the streets, and she smiled. They were all free. Free to live their lives.

  What would it be like to know what words actually meant, to pick up a pen? To have a life? Would she ever be a mother?

  She put a hand to her stomach.

  Giavanni had never allowed himself to take her cherry. It was what he’d called it. She knew she was a virgin. The guards were ordered to stay away from her. From time to time, others would attempt to steal what belonged to her, but they would get punished. Raphael, in some strange way, was always coming to her rescue. Thinking about Raphael made her feel a little nervous and guilty as she’d lied to him, but that was what she’d been trained to do.

  “You’re Giavanni property. Everything you are belongs to Romeo and that is exactly who I am when I’m here. I’m Giavanni and you’re nothing but useless.”

  He couldn’t hurt her anymore, not here. She pushed the past fear away. Did Raphael believe it was his father who hurt her? With his questions, she got confused. She was always told that she belonged to Romeo and even if he didn’t actually hurt her, or even know everything that happened, she didn’t know if she could tell Raphael the truth.

  She hadn’t once said it was his father, not once. Did it make it right?

  The sound of the door opening to her apartment filled the air, and she tensed up. He didn’t say anything about guests, or what to do if it just opened. She didn’t have to worry though. He appeared, carrying a brown paper bag.

  “Afternoon, sweetheart,” he said.

  He never called her Useless. He kept on demanding she find a name for herself.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Do you have a new name yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “Maybe next time I ask.” He winked at her. “Want to come and see what I got?”

  She nodded. It would be rude to tell him she was bored and didn’t have a single clue what to do. Did people ever get bored? Her life was all about cleaning, being ordered to do work. She was only ever allowed to rest at night, if her Master didn’t want her.

  It was strange how fast her life had changed in only a day or two.

  Raphael put the bag down and began to pull out vegetables and cans of food.

  “I’m thinking a noodle stir-fry. What do you think?” he asked. “I also have some ice cream for dessert.” He placed the tub down and she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “I’ve never tried ice cream before.” Nor a noodle dish, or rice, or most things. She had the same meal all the time. Stew. A vegetable stew and bread were all she was allowed. Sometimes baked apples if there was an abundance she’d collected.

  “You’ve never tried ice cream? Well, I have to rectify that situation immediately.” He grabbed a spoon, opened up the carton. “This is a vanilla and chocolate mix. I forbid you to not love it.”

  She chuckled as he presented a heaping spoon to her lips. She took it into her mouth, shocked by how cold it was.

  Vanilla and chocolate melted on her tongue and she groaned, closing her eyes. “Wow,” she said.

  “Yes, wow. Another scoop for you, and then we’ll save the rest for dessert.” He pressed the spoon to her lips and she opened up for more.

  He placed the lid on top, cleared his throat, and put the tub in the freezer.

  “So, what did you do today?” He unpacked more food and she sat down at the counter, lifting some of the peppers and fruits. All of them looked delicious. He clearly had a keen eye for food.

  “Do you enjoy cooking?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do. What did you do today?” he repeated.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do.” She shrugged. “What did you do today?”

  “How did you not have anything to do?”

  She looked up at him. Did he know she couldn’t read or write? Instead of being nervous, she told him. “There’s nothing for me to do. I cleaned, though. I wiped all the dust away that had accumulated, and I made your bed.” It hadn’t taken her long.

  “You literally sat on the sofa and waited for me?”

  “I picked a book out, looked at it, and I also stared out of the window. I used the bathroom.” She smiled.

  “I’ll get you something to teach you to read and write.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble or anything.”

  “I’ll help you. Let me help you.”

  “What did you do today?” she asked, seconds later, not wanting him to get angry with her.

  “I went to deal with my father. The fallout from the shooting is massive. He’s accounted all of his dead.”

  She noticed he clenched his jaw. “He knows I’m gone?”

  “He knows you’re missing. There’s a chance you were caught in the crossfire and someone took you,” he said. “That’s all I know so far. I don’t think he’s wasting any additional resources to look for your
body. If you were taken, then we’re not going to find you.”

  “And I’m not worth being found.”

  He took her hand. “Only by my father. I got you here, and you can trust me.”

  “What if you get in trouble?”

  “I won’t. I was careful. No one knows you’re with me. You’re going to be safe with me. Now, I refuse to call you the name you seem adamant to keep. What else can I call you?” he asked. He winked at her and she couldn’t help but smile at his brightened mood.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about I give you a few names and you pick?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Clara?”

  She shook her head.

  “Whitney? No, I don’t think you’re a Whitney either. Melanie, nah, I don’t think it’s right.”

  She smiled as he got started chopping some vegetables. It was weird to see him in the kitchen, but it was his domain, at least the way he was, he owned this part of the apartment.

  “Emma … Elaine … how about Elenore?”

  “I like that name.”

  “Elenore?”

  “Yes, I like it.”

  “Elenore it is.” He held his hand out. “It’s nice to meet you, Elenore, I’m Raphael.”

  She laughed. “Hello,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it.

  “Would you like to know how to spell it?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. She watched as he wrote her new name.

  She took the piece of paper from him and began to trace across each letter. It looked pretty.

  “Do you want to give it a go?” he asked. He held out the pen.

  “How do I hold it?” she asked.

  “Whichever way feels the most comfortable.”

  “I don’t know … is this right? I’m not sure how to … what if I do this wrong?”

  “You’re not going to do anything wrong. Just feel it. Feel what is good and right.”

  She held the pen in her hand and placed it to the paper. Copying the letters, she wrote her name out.

  It looked awful, not very fancy or neat, but she had written her name.

  “I have a name.”

  “You’re nothing. You’re a worthless piece of shit and no one is ever going to care if you live or die.”