Sold to Moretti Mafia

Markus

Warm, sticky blood coats my bare chest as if it’s a second skin, and it takes me a moment to get my ragged breathing under control. War wages beneath the surface, threatening to eat away at my control. In my mind, I still see that fucker touching her, hitting her face while she is helpless on the ground, and I want to bring him back to life just so I can kill him again.

I quickly search his pockets, but there isn’t a wallet or even car keys. My anger intensifies but diminishes a bit when I find a phone. It’s not a complete loss. I shove the device into my pocket and return to Fallon’s side.

The sight of her as she sits on the cold ground, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around them while she sobs, is enough to do me in. I have to get us out of the woods and back into the house. I know the last thing she wants me to do is touch her, but she’s not going to move on her own, so I have no option but to pick her up.

“We have to get into the house and get cleaned up,” I tell her, my voice thick.

She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut, like that’s going to make me disappear. I know she’s going to struggle, so I move with rapid reflexes, snaking one hand beneath her legs while wrapping the other around her back and pulling her into my chest. Like a stallion, she bucks against my chest, but I hold her tighter.

“Please, don’t… please…” Fallon cries while continuing to struggle in my grasp.

“Shhh, stop fighting me,” I hush, but that only seems to make her fight me more. “I’m not letting you go,” I growl like an animal.

The mere thought of her trying to escape makes me feral. I’m reminded that that’s exactly what she did. I told her to remain in the closet, and she didn’t. She ran right outside as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. I’m tempted to fucking put her on the ground and rut into her a thousand times over, marking her body with my own while telling her over and over again that she will never be free of me, but I don’t.

She is too close to the edge, too close to breaking, and I will not be the one that does that to her, no matter how tempting it is. When we reach the house, I jog up the stairs and into the bedroom. My thoughts are hyper-focused. I need to clean Fallon and myself, pack a light bag, and get the fuck out of here.

The cabin is no longer secure, and I was foolish for thinking that whoever is after me would stop at one person.

Placing her at the foot of the bed, I walk into the bathroom and retrieve a washcloth. When I return to the bed, I find Fallon in the same position I left her. Her chin is tucked into her chest, and she looks more scared than I’ve ever seen her before.

My shirt, the shirt she wore to bed, is tattered, hanging off one shoulder haphazardly.

The blood in my veins burns red hot as I drop my gaze, dragging it over her tiny body. Bruises have already started to form on her tender skin, and there is blood everywhere. It’s hard to tell if she is bleeding or if the blood staining her skin came from me.

I look down at her legs, her thighs, where fingertip bruises have formed. I know he didn’t rape her. I know because I got there just in time. If I allow myself, I can still hear her screams. The bloodcurdling sound may live with me forever.

“Did he hurt you anywhere?” I ask, not wanting to know but needing to know all at once.

When she doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak, I grip her by the chin and lift her face, so it meets mine. There is a turbulent storm brewing in her blue eyes. Pain, grief, and sadness consume her. She is lost inside herself right now. Unfortunately for her, things are going to get worse before they get better.

“Did he hurt you anywhere?” I repeat, this time a little slower.

Fallon stares at me for a long moment before shaking her time.

I nod and brush a few matted strands of hair from her face. She has a scratch above her eye and across her cheek that she must’ve gotten from a stray branch or twig. The other cheek is unscratched but swollen and red.

Using my thumb, I trace the cuts, making sure they’re not deep. Her feet look to be cut up from running through the woods barefoot, but aside from bruises and the terror she is feeling, she will make it.

I release my hold on her chin, and her face falls once again.

She is broken, my beautiful flower, but she will prevail. I’m vaguely aware I should be punishing her right now, but what that fucker did to her is punishment enough.

I use the washcloth and clean the cuts on her face and feet. She has a little blood on her shoulder and arms, so I clean that off too.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Take off your shirt,” I order gruffly, my patience already shredded.

Fallon seems to fall deeper into herself, and I decide to take matters into my own hands. Leaving her once more, I go into the closet, find a shirt, yoga pants, and a fresh pair of panties. When I return, I dress her like a small doll, looking over her body for any injuries she may have been lying about. She reacts only briefly to my touch with a flinch, as if I’m going to hit her.

She should know better than that. I’ve had all the time in the world to hurt her, and I haven’t. When I’m finished getting her dressed, I strip out of my pants, which are far less bloody than my skin. It looks like I bathed in the blood of my enemies.

I don’t care about the blood on my hands or the death and anguish I’ve caused, but I know it scares Fallon, and the last thing I need is her becoming more fearful than she already is.

I remember the man’s phone as I’m staring down at my jeans and retrieve it from my pocket. It’s a burner phone, nothing special about it. There isn’t even a lock on it. Stupid fucker. It’s easy enough to navigate through, and I squeeze the phone hard enough to crush it like a pop can in my hand. In the messages is one single text, it’s to a random number. The content of the message is a photo of Fallon.

I clench my jaw in an attempt to stave off the roar that wants to release from within me. I will get to the bottom of this. I will extract any and all information I can from Fallon, no matter the cost. If knowing the truth is going to protect her, then so be it. I’ll be the big bad monster.

I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect her, us.

Loosening my grip on the phone, I walk over and place it on the nightstand. The number will be valuable information for later.

“I need to rinse off quickly,” I say through gritted teeth, the anger mounting. Fallon doesn’t even acknowledge me, not even as I walk into the bathroom and start the shower. I pop my head out of the shower every few seconds to make sure she is still there while the blood swirls down the drain.