Chapter 4

• In the club office, The man holding Mariselle’s chin pushes her to the ground, she slumped in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Blood still stained her lip. Her eyes were dry now, dry from crying too much.
• She begged them to stop, Lucia was no longer responding, but they continued fucking her nonetheless.
• Two men entered.
• “Get up,” one of them ordered.
• She didn’t move.
• He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. “The boss wants to see you.”
• She twisted out of his grip. “If he lays a finger on me, I swear I’ll kill him.”
• The man laughed cruelly. “You’ll be lucky if he stops at fingers.”
• They dragged her out of the office.
• As she passed the spot where Lucia lay still and unconscious as they continued to violate her, Mariselle paused at the painful sight.
• “I’m coming back for you,” she whispered, in tears. “I swear I’ll come back.”
• And then she let them lead her out.
• “please can you guys just stop whatever you are doing to her” she cried out.
• But nobody paid her any mind, they simply dragged her away.
• ***
• In Carlo’s mansion, the guards opened the doors to the hall and led Mariselle straight to the private study where Carlo was waiting for them. Carlo stood by the window, looking out over the lawn and the drive way, at nothing in particular.
• He turned slowly as the men brought Mariselle in, Manuel gagged and tied to a corner. She stood tall despite the bruises, her chin lifted in defiance, like she had being possessed by an evil spirit.
• “You sent for me?” she said coldly.
• Carlo studied her for a moment. “Did your whore of a step mother not teach you how to be respectful,” he said. “It’s a pity she raised you to be so unfortunate.”
• “You’re a monster.”
• “Possibly,” he said. “But a monster with power. The kind of power your father used to benefit from. Until he stole from me.”
• Obviously, he was surprised at her defiance. There was no fear in her eyes and in a way, he was mildly irritated and fascinated at the same time. But his outward disposition told a different story all together.
• “He didn’t steal from you!” she shouted. “You’re punishing innocent people because you’re too paranoid to admit someone else made a mistake!”
• Carlo strode forward, stopping just inches from her face. “You’re lucky I find your mouth amusing,” he murmured. “Otherwise, I’d have had it sewn shut by now.”
• Mariselle’s fists clenched, but she said nothing.
• “From now on,” Carlo continued, circling her slowly, “you stay here. In this house. Under my roof. You’ll be treated… according to your behaviour, act like a bitch, you get bitch treatment.”
• “I’d rather die.”
• “Don’t tempt me.”
• She turned to him, eyes burning. “If you think I’ll ever lie in your bed willingly—”
• He cut her off with a smile. “Oh, I don’t need willingness. You are not that special with that bastard growing inside your womb, your only claim to life at this point is your beautiful face, those succulent lips deserve a proper man to handle them, not the scallywag that planted his vermin inside you and abandoned you in the gutters to rot.”
• Mariselle’s face fell, horror creeping in when she notices Manuel at a corner, his mouth now tied with a bloody piece of cloth.
• Carlo stepped closer. “Your father is only paying for trying to double cross me, young woman,” he whispered, “when he brings me every penny I’m owed. Until then, you're mine.”
• Mariselle looked at him without saying a word.
• Carlo was seated now, legs crossed casually, swirling the glass of liquor in his hand. He looked up at her with a thin smile.
• “You’re shaking,” he said smoothly. “You should sit. This is your home now.”
• She didn’t respond. Her mind wasn’t fully in the room. Not really. She was seeing something else. Feeling something else.
• Lucia’s screams.
• The blood gushing down her thighs.
• Lucia, pinned beneath those filthy hands, crying out for her husband as the men violated her.
• Crying out for her.
• “Manuel!”
• “Mariselle!”
• Her insistent begging until there was only silence.
• Her knees nearly buckled.
• “You’re quieter than I expected,” Carlo said, rising from his chair and walking toward her slowly. “I thought you'd curse me, spit in my face, perhaps even throw something.”
• “I’m not like you, monster” she muttered.
• Carlo chuckled darkly. “Oh, sweetheart. After tonight, you might be more like me than you think.”
• She flinched at the word sweetheart.
• He circled her like a predator, eyes roaming with sick amusement. “Your little mother figure,” he said with mocking sympathy, “she screamed a lot, didn’t she?”
• Mariselle’s eyes snapped toward him. “Don’t.”
• “She screamed your name too, just like I hope to make you scream my name.”
• “Stop it.”
• Mariselle shook her head violently, her breathing becoming shallow. “Please… stop.”
• She turned away, eyes shut tight.
• “She was bleeding, Mariselle,” he whispered into her ear. “Bleeding from places she should never have bled from. And do you know the last thing she said?”
• “Shut up!” she screamed, finally turning on him.
• But just then, Carlo’s phone rang.
• He stared at it for a moment, then raised a brow and answered it.
• “Yes?”
• A deep male voice came through, grotesque and flat. “Boss. The bitch’s not responding.”
• Mariselle’s breath caught when she see’s Manuel at a corner making muffled grunt.
• Carlo tilted his head slightly. “What?”
• “She stopped moving a while ago,” the man said. “We thought she passed out, but we tried waking her. Nothing. Eyes open. Like dead Cold.”
• Carlo calmly walked to a side table and set the phone down. He hit the loudspeaker button and looked over his shoulder at her.
• “Say that again,” he said to the caller, “so my guests can hear.”
• The voice came again, louder now. “She’s gone cold, boss. She’s not breathing. I think she bled out. We really rough-handled her to stupor. She didn’t scream at the end.”
• Mariselle screamed. “No!”
• Her knees gave out this time, and she collapsed onto the floor, gripping her head.
• Carlo didn’t blink. “Switch to video.”
• “No…” she whispered, rocking slowly. “Please don’t.”
• But the screen lit up. A shaky video came through showing the dim office of the club. One of the men was standing to the side, phone in hand, pointing the camera at a long, bloodied figure on the floor.
• Her eyes were open. Cold. Lifeless. Her arms lay at odd angles. Her legs twisted, bare. Blood stained her skin. The woman who had embraced Mariselle only hours ago, who had wiped her tears, joked about becoming a grandmother, held her through the storm—was now just a broken, empty shell on a dirty floor.
• The men dragged her roughly into a black body bag. One zipped it halfway, then looked into the camera and laughed. “I’m sure she would be smiling to hell with that much cum inside her, puta!”
• Mariselle screamed again, excrutiatingly loud and guttural, a sound that didn’t sound human. She crawled toward the phone, trying to swat at it, trying to shut it off—but it kept playing.
• “She’s dead…” she sobbed, voice cracking. “You killed her. She’s dead…”
• Carlo knelt beside her. “So what do you say?”
• Mariselle raised her head slowly, her face soaked in tears. Her voice came out hoarse and bitter. “I will kill you.”
• Carlo smiled.
• “I look forward to your attempt.”