SHOCKER

Adela

Three Months Later…

MOST HORRIBLE DAYS come and go, last night was one of them. Another altercation. In fact, yesterday in general. It's not just absurd that I have to be engaged to, no scratch that, marry a rude ass dude I’ve know for all of twenty four hours. It’s revolting. Demented.

Icing on the disgusting cake, said asshole has been in a mood the last three months, be looking like he was on his period. My fingers involuntarily trace my jaw that still not just hurts, but tingles from when he grabbed it harshly yesterday. Sure a bruise would be forming on the spot. Or, probably formed on the spot already. Hell, it’s been almost twelve hours since the incident, or even more.

I sluggishly drag my body off the bed in to a sitting position, trying to tame my hair that’s now flying all around me. My mind is still speeding four hundred kilometers per hour, with the most possible way to either kill Stephano Mendoza or convince his father to call of this shamble. My stupid brain still thinks and is hoping that all of this is a joke. Nice one.

The bedroom door, my new beautiful holding cell, swings open and reveals one of Stephano’s goons. I roll my eyes and glare so hard at the soldier, that even myself am amazed he didn’t catch fire under the intensity of my glare.

“Breakfast is ready, miss”, the soldier mumbles under his breath. Amazing . So, not only is the boss a moody fucker, but so are his soldiers. This would be an amazing staycation.

“I’m not hungry”, I told my arms under my breast and stare him head on.

“Boss said to…”,

“Shut the fuck up and piss off. I said I’m not hungry, go tell your boss that”, I cut him off ever so bluntly, not caring. If he has an issue with my response, he can walk up to me and try beating me up. The stupid asshole still stands unmoving at the door, arms crossed in front of him. Like, he deaf or something?

“I said get out, and get the fuck out. NOW”, I almost scream the out part, but just leave it at the emphasis level. The soldier fixes me one very malicious glare, before taking his moody, rude ass self out of my room.

Rubbish.

The actual rubbish.

I hiss long and hard, and get more comfortable in my new bed. I have no doubts, no doubts at all that the other guy on his imaginary period would turn up at the door soon

Not that he cares that I eat or not, but it’s an ego something. The fact that I sent back his soldier, would be a major slap to his face, and I for one can’t wait to see the fingerprints of my slap on his face. Figuratively.

Like expected, Stephano makes his long awaited appearance. His eyes scan the room, before landing on me, eyes breathing fire.

He looks so mouth watering in a black tuxedo, black dress shirt, black slacks and Italian loafers. The fact that his shirt is also ink black and slicked back ever so neatly, is not helping the case. My eyes linger on him for longer than expected before I’m snapped back to reality. Harsh grey eyes pierce my brain ones, as he strides across the room to meet me.

He stops at the foot of the bed, hands tucked in his pocket. His white gold wristwatch catches in the light, illuminating it more. Now he’s closer, he looks more of the devil he portrays on a regular. A very handsome one.

“You’re such a stubborn kid, I don’t even know how long I’ll keep up with your stubbornness”, I huff and fold my hand tighter

“Then free me from your stupid contract”, he chuckles. Leaning over, arms braced on the bed frame, he says:

“Believe me, if it was up to me, I’d have killed your daddy and left you, or maybe even kill you too. A knife to the neck would seem fine, no?”, He perks a finely shaped eyebrow, and it feels like it's the first time I'm noting how good looking this arrogant jackass is.

“You can starve to death for all I care, I give zero fucks”, see, I said it. The fact Mendoza Jr ran all that stairs in his well pressed suit, to come here after I sent his soldier back to him isn’t because I refused to eat. No. It’s because I bruised his fragile ego, and he needs to prove he’s still in control. Show who’s in charge.

I lean closer to him, eyes trailing over his form and getting dragged back to those enchanting grey eyes of his. It’s like they’re seeking to enchant me, to spell me to be stuck in their depth forever.

“You look like the devil from those childhood stories they read to us”,

“Lucky you, I read none of those”, I relax back against the headboard, while Stephano straightens, adjusting his shirt sleeves.

“I want to see my dad”, hands tucked back in his pocket, he throws me a blank stare and starts to walk towards the door.

“I said I want to see my dad, and I want to know what you did to him”, I grit out.

Stephano pauses at the door. He doesn’t even give me the satisfaction of looking at me.

“You’re in no position to make demands Adela. But as for your father, I kept my word, he’s alive. I keep my promises, kid”, With that belittling tag hanging in the space between us, he strolls out in his air of God complex, closing the door after him.

I’m tempted to throw the pillow on my laps at the door, but that would be dramatic, and I’m not. This isn’t a movie, this is real life. My real life. My reality.

Horrid Son of a bitch.

I curse Stephano Mendoza to my heart content, with no inhibitions. For being so handsome and an asshole, for thinking I’m in no position to make not just demands, but any demands. For addressing me as a petulant child that needed scolding from her father.

I don’t go down for breakfast, neither does anyone bring me breakfast upstairs. Not like I was expecting anyone to bring me breakfast. Sure Stephano already told them not to. And I’m well aware that me refusing breakfast does not affect Stephano in the least bit, and I’m the only one who would suffer the brunt of whatever comes out of it. But I don’t care.

To even think I’m to be not just engaged, but married to someone as apathetic as Stephano Mendoza makes me want to puke. The marriage part does that to me, a lot. Gives me the ‘pass out’ sensation in the deepest parts of my stomach.

Today starts on a very different note. I blink into a new morning with a brain splitting headache and a very angry stomach, that just won’t stop grumbling. Yup, that’s what happens to you the next day, when a certain six foot something, grey eyes, obsessed with black Italian man starts the morning with you and you refuse to eat to spite him - who doesn’t even care that you starve to death.

So, yeah, I didn’t eat the whole of yesterday. Twenty- four hours hunger strike in a fit of rage. Like what the fuck did I do?

I drag myself to the bathroom and gag at my reflection. I look like a fucking zombie. Like I’ve been run over by a truck. Large circles paint the underside of my eyes in black,

Literally. My hair sticks out in various places and my eyes not only look like, but feel like they’ve fallen deep into my eye sockets.

Wonderful. Just great.

Wouldn’t we love to do this again?

But, I hope I don’t die of sarcasm though. Just be recklessly using them now a days, I’m starting to get scared too. I brush my teeth and fix my hair as much as I can, and head downstairs.

My brain is still in over drive from yesterday, and the hunger isn’t helping one bit, because my stomach grumbles all the way to the dining room. I freeze mid-way to the dining table, because Jesus, is that real?

Stephano laughing.

Like lips stretched up to his cheeks, grey eyes glinting and nice set of white teeth on display.

I must have woken up in an alternate universe, or an evil spirit or maybe an angelic Spirit has possessed his body.

But that’s all wrong because an angel can’t occupy the body of the devil.

I don’t know how long I stand there staring at Stephano, trying to ingrain the memory of his smile in my brain, because it does things to me it shouldn’t. Because now when he smiles, he looks even more ethereal, more handsome, those beautiful eyes look even more breath taking. Dios.

The spell is broken when his head whips in my direction and all traces of the smile on his face drains out, faster than water would pass out of a bathroom drainage. Now this, is the Stephano that I know, the one I’ve gotten used to. I mourn the loss of his smile, but whatever.

I square my shoulders, and cover the remaining distance between myself and the dining table and take a seat opposite Stephano. His father – whom I’ve known to go by the name Vince Mendoza, the only don of the Miami Syndicate – puts down his cutleries and moves his chair backwards.

“I’ll leave you two to it”, fixing button of his suit, Vince turns and leaves.

Tense silence reigns between us, till I decide to break it. And like yesterday, he’s all clad in monochrome. But today, he's in all white. And I swear, if I didn’t already know him, I would mistake him for an angel. Because right now, he looks like one.

“So you laugh? Impressive. Who was that, and what the fuck did they do with Stephano Mendoza back there?”, He throws me a disapproving glance. I know I’m talking largely out of context, but I just can’t help poking the bear. So help me God.

When he doesn’t respond, I take it as my cue to continue, means I’m still safe.

“You know, if we’re getting married you don’t have to always be cold and grumpy around me, giving off those icy death glares of yours. Plus, you’re such a handsome guy and I wonder why you’re not as nice as the others e.g. your dad, a.k.a Vince Mendoza. He’s a very nice old man. I guess if he was younger I would have chosen to marry him instead of you. Sure his handsomeness had girls dying for him when he was much younger...", I tap my chin dreamily

Still trying to exert some control because, did I just say out loud that Stephano Mendoza is handsome?

Yup, now would be the time for the ground to open up and swallow me. No wonder he’s been looking at me ever so blankly. I better put on that leash before I embarrass myself further. But I’m not done talking.

“Uh fuck. Imagine what it’s like to be him bed? I mean the feeling of his body against…”, I take a pause to look over at Stephano when he cuts me one of those his signature icy glares.

Now, I chose the whole fucking your father thing, because it always gets to the subjects of the discussion.

And looks like it just worked

“What? Why the look?”, I scoff and his scowl deepens. Regardless, he still looks hot.

“Let’s start with don’t ever scoff at me again, ever”, he emphasizes the ever menacingly.

“Plus you can fuck my Padre for all I care, what business of mine is that?”, I am tempted to toss my orange drink at him for his lack of reaction.

He's supposed to threaten me for talking about his father, FATHER, in a sexual context. But he brushes it off. Asshole.

“How I would love to”, he rises to his feet, and smooth’s out his dress shirt.

“Have fun getting fucked by daddy, except you’re a major sexual turn off. His boner would probably fall off his body”, I blanch. Did he just call me a sexual turn off? And did he say boner? My eyes innocently drift towards his crotch and oh well, he might as well be gay. But the outline of his dick portrays it's quite big.

Heat blossoms in the pit of my stomach, spreading over my body in a blush. I’ve never been with a man before, doesn’t mean my fantasies haven’t run wild. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. And I’m very grateful because I’m not sure I’d survive another embarrassment.

Shrugging those broad shoulders of his, he spins on his heels and exits the dining room. I huff and fall further into the chair. He acted, I mean just a red like it’s legal to call someone a sexual turn off.

Bitch, it’s totally legal.

The reason I hate my subconscious on most days is because she always arrives at the wrong time.

Digging into breakfast, I propose in my heart that I’m going to take a stroll to clear my head of all this drama for the last three months. I've been cooped up in this multi- million dollar property, with no internet access and stupid soldiers trailing my every move.

Once I’m done eating, my legs carry me out of the dining room, through the foyer, till I’m out the front doors. For some weird reason, there are no soldiers to ask where I’m headed. Not like I’m complaining, but then it just feels weird. And the fact that is a trap… Whatever.

The walk to the gate is a journey on its own, but I survive. I’m shocked, but not too shocked that the automated gate opens for me. Impressive, again.

The trip to the nearest civilization takes forever, and my legs are killing me by the time I spot the nearest coffee shop. I decide to crash at the shop to recover some strength.

Like what the actual fuck, who builds or buys a house that far away from civilization? I mean I know they’re mob bosses, security and all that bullshit, but still it’s just stressful.

I stay there for a while, still I start feeling my legs, then I rise, pay for the coffee I ordered to pass time with my last cash. I drag my ass out of the coffee shop and start my forty years journey to the Mendoza property.

I’m probably halfway through the journey, when I start to feel like someone’s been following me. I refuse to turn around though, that’d mean I’m aware of their presence, if there's anyone. And I can’t risk that. So instead, I quicken my step. It might just be my imaginations running wild, but I’m better safe than sorry.

I’m still counting down to nothing, when a guy in a balaclava appears in my line of vision. Being ambushed in Miami is not uncommon. First it’s home to a lot of drug Lords and mob bosses on vacations and business. Second, the streets are overflowing with junkies of all grades and levels. And the secluded nature of this part of town, yeah. Nice one Mendoza. I exhale a slow breath.

“Would you mind? You’re obstructing me, so move out of my way”, I say and someone laughs behind me. He’s probably the one whose presence I’ve been feeling. Shit. I’ve been cornered, with next to no defense mechanism except kick him in the balls.

“What do you guys want?”, I drawl, irritation lacing my voice. The one before me come closer, taking a strand of my hair between his fingers.

Forget all the sass and boss energy, I’m dying in fear and praying to my dear God that someone comes around, anyone and saves me from this situation.

They’re more worst things than being gang raped on a secluded road e.g. being killed and missing some organs when your body is found. And it’s so not uncommon. It’s fucking Miami.

“Such a fearless girl, huh?”, The hooded one in front of me teases, grabbing my arm forcefully.

“Come on let’s get out of here, before he sees us. Sure he’s around or one of his goons”, he says to his companion. And just like that amigos, I’m thrown into full panic mode.

“Let go of me, you bastard”, I cry out, trying to free my arm from his grip, but it is about as fruitful as the tree Jesus cursed in the Bible.

He laughs and drags me along like I’m just a mere sack of potatoes. Despite my protests and how hard I tried to dig my feet into the floor to stop from being pulled along, it was especially fruitless. We’re like two seconds away from their car, when a voice cuts through my cries.

“It would be best if you let the girl go”, and oh would I recognize that voice anywhere. It’s one that’s been ingrained in the hard drives of my brain. Like a tattoo. But then, how the fuck did he find me, and how did he get hold of the second guy without our notice?

Stephano Mendoza stands there in all his glory, a gun pressed to the temple of his captive, while his other hand callously holds him by the neck.

“Look who came to the princess in distress’ rescue?”, The hooded one mocks, but when Stephano digs the tip of the pistol into his companion’s temple, he turns serious.

“Let my buddy go and you can have the princess”,

“You’re running on a five seconds found down, and then said buddy is history”, Stephano presses the gun deeper into the guy’s temple and starts to count.

“Fine, have the bitch”, the hooded guy says, pushing me towards Stephano. I stumble, before catching myself last minute.

“Now, let my buddy go”,

Reluctant at first, but Stephano lets his buddy go. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break his stance till they get into their car, till they turn the bend and disappear from our sight.

Then only does he turn to me.

“Are you fucking sick or something? I turn around for two seconds, and you start getting yourself in trouble”, he grabs my arm angrily and literally drags me to his car a few feet away.

What’s with everyone and dragging me today? The fuck.

He pulls the door open and motions to me.

“Get in”. I’m reluctant at first, but when I catch a glimpse of the murderous look on his face, I quietly step in. He slams the door shut and rounds the car. Throwing me a very annoyed glance, he sets the car into ignition and zooms down the street.

“So, such a nice car. Did your dad gift it to you as a birthday present? It even looks so new, super clean. Bet you even fuck tons of bitches in here, right?",

No answer.

“No answer and that means a yes. Not bad. I mean it’s a good place to fuck a bitch you don’t want to take home or a motel or…”, The car screeches to a halt, almost throwing me through the windshield if not for the seatbelt.

I turn to see Stephano glaring at me so hard, smoke figuratively escaping his ears.

“Shut up Adela, and I’m serious. Don’t even sneeze, cough, anything”, he grits out, his patience hanging on a bare thread. I mean it’s written all over him.

“Why are you being so serious? Don’t you ever get jokes?”, His head whips in my direction. He exhaled harshly, and continues driving.

“Before I finally stop talking, I’m…”, Stephano cuts me off.

“Don’t. push. it. Adela Montes”, he emphasizes my name. He does that a lot, emphasizing when he’s upset.

“Whatever”, I huff and rest my head against the window. I feel his eyes drilling holes into my temple. Probably because I huffed at him. Because, that’s it, but I give zero fucks. I don’t know how long it was, but I fall asleep somewhere during the drive.