Chapter 9

LEILA

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I waited until i heard the door click shut, the sound echoing in the silence of this place.

My head remained tucked beneath the sheet after Gerald had stared at me with such unsettling intent before finally going back to what had  brought him here.

It felt surreal like i was some figment of his imagination that had momentarily sprung forth and to think it was my first time seeing him again since the agonizing experience which we all share.

Damien still sat there, his expression worried as if i had done something wrong or maybe what Gerald had brought to him because i know i heard few words and all and I could tell its all illegal, anything concerning the Alvaros is definitely illegal.

He looked at me, a strange intensity in his gaze, before standing up and walking towards me again.

“I’m not done here,” he stated, his tone firm.

I looked at him, my eyes wide with a fear that clawed at my throat. How wasn’t he done? He had just shifted his mood like a switch had been flicked. My heart hammered against my ribs, the desperate thought of my mother springing forth. This was the only way.

This was the only way I could beg for his help.

This was the only way I would get to plead. If not, the second, much scarier plan that had been forming in my mind would have to be put into motion.

“I have one request,” I managed, my voice trembling.

“Like I said, you don’t make requests,” he countered, his eyes narrowed. “But if I were inclined to grant one, you should mention it.”

“Please, Damien, please… my mom.” The word caught in my throat, thick with unshed tears.

He turned his back to me, his attention drifting towards the the tools he has there. I watched his hands, noticing how large they looked, capable of both brutal acts and surprising gentleness.

My brain screamed, “Get a hold of yourself, Leila!”

 I shook my head slightly against the pillow, closing and then opening my eyes, trying to regain some control.

He picked up the whip, the leather cool against his skin. I guessed the dangerous play that came with being choked up and tied was about to escalate.

“I don’t think I will consider that,” he said, his voice flat, dismissive.

“Please, just hear me out,” I begged, my voice cracking.

“She’s sick. She has to be taken care of, and… and my father…” I bit my lip, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to erupt, knowing the precarious condition she was in.

“Damien…he…he doesn't care. She might die, please” I pleaded, tears now streaming down my face.

“That’s the only way i can comfortably be okay with anything you make out of my life”

“You have no choice and I don’t care” he scoffed, turning back towards the bed again for the second time, his eyes devoid of any empathy as the neon lights of the Strip flickered through the window.

 “I don’t care what happens to her. I actually never want to see her again and you won't also be seeing her so get that at the back of your head.” He reached down, his hand gripping my ankle, and dragged me further across the bed.

I screamed out in pain as my skin scraped against the soft fabric, hoping the sound, the raw agony in my voice, might reach some buried part of his heart.

But there was nothing

No reaction at all

“How do you care for a person who doesn’t even care?” he looks at me dangerously, his voice laced with disdain.

 “Who got themselves into what they currently are this minute?” He released my ankle and grabbed my arm, his grip tight and unforgiving.

His hand then moved, his touch sending a shiver of fear and unwanted anticipation through me with  first place his hand had gone was my chest.

His fingers traced slow lines over the thin fabric of the bra, his gaze locked on my breasts. His fingertip then pressed against my nipple, giving me a definite, undeniable feeling that made me arch my back, a gasp escaping my lips.

I wanted him gone.

The fear was suffocating, the feeling of being trapped and at his mercy overwhelming

 I felt so scared he was going to make a move I couldn’t come back from.

“Damien, please,” I choked out, tears still flowing freely.

 “I just want to make sure she’s fine. I just want to see her.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he repeated, his voice laced with a dangerous edge shutting every whimpering noise. “And don’t you dare teach me the decisions to go with. I know what works here.”

His anger flared again, his body tensing.

 He stood back, his posture rigid, and I could feel the raw rage emanating from him. He stalked over to the wall and slammed his fist into it, the sound so loud and he turned back, his eyes dark and intense, and stared down at me once more.

I buried my face into my knees, trying to shield myself from his volatile emotions.

“Get your fucking things out of this place, slutty bitch,” he spat out. He snatched his shirt from where it hung and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I just want to see my mom, i cleaned up my eyes as I wrapped the robe tightly around my body, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the lingering sense of contamination.

I hadn’t wanted to stay a single minute longer in that shit hole.

Maybe not the room itself but the person who owned it.

My fingers brushed against the damp fabric of my lingerie beneath the robe making me look down at it, it felt soiled, tainted by the air in this place, making me look at everything strangely.

I walked towards the door,

My steps quickened as I moved through the dimly lit hallway, the thought of him coming back, of Damien returning to the same space where everything had ground to a halt for me continued to haunt me, pushing me towards the exit with a growing sense of urgency.

Walking into the main living area, I heard a sound.

A soft, choked sob, followed by a string of whispered words.

A woman’s voice.

I could immediately tell she was scared, terrified even.