Zero

Beggar

Beggar

My Own Personal Monster

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MY STORY HAS NEVER been my own, it always belonged to somebody else, another person playing front and center.

Me- Always the passer-by.

Not many people know my story.

Most have never asked.

I mean why should they? I am just the beggar on the street.

I'm the skinny dirty girl, way too skinny.

'She must be a d**g addict', most people say, 'a w***e'.

How many of them actually considered the truth, I was hungry.

How many stopped and rolled down their automated windows and actually gave me that fifty cents, or dollar? Not many.

Because how could I possibly be hungry. People see me as the d**g addict w***e they want to see me as.

None of them stop and consider that I was a kid at one time, born from a mother, innocent and clean just like them.

Naked just like them. No, because the world judges. We are categorized to fit people's naive minds.

And I, the skinny hungry girl am categorized as the w***e, the d**g addict and all the other sick s**t that people think up and point at me.

Telling their kids about how these street junkies get by, scaring them with lies to justify the evilness of their own mind. That is what people see when they look at me, Beggar.

Well, at least they did.

Months ago, I met a group of bikers. They called themselves Satan Snipers.

I saved their princess Falon by killing two guys who wanted to r**e her.

The Enforcer of the club, Zero, took me with them that night.

My life changed FROM that very first night. I had a hot shower, my own bedroom, and three full meals a day.

Life was great.

Storm, the Vice President and I became fast friends.

Knight, Spade and Snake were my teachers. They taught me to fight, allowed me the opportunity to be like them.

Guess they didn't know I was already a deadly weapon. A wanted killer with a few targets on my back and a bounty on my head that was so large, sometimes it had me asking why couldn't I just hand myself in.

But life never worked that way for me, even death was too easy these days.

Killer, the one in the Satan Sniper's Clubhouse that saw me for who I was from the very day- A woman without a soul, never batted an eye lash of who I was.

He became something in my life, something that had questioning s**t I didn't want to be questioning. And Zero, the scarred scary Enforcer of the Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club, he was the man who owned the last piece of me.

He took that final piece of humanity I had in me, I never stood a chance.

Zero made my demons livable with words I knew he could never keep.

He was the one who forced air into my lungs when I forgot to breathe. He held me when just a touch proved too close to hell.

Zero taught me life, something I forgot I still had, and for that short while I pretended I could be his.

Now he hates me, for good reason, that I can't fault him.

He thinks I knew his brother was his brother. He thinks I used him to kill his brother, Thorn.

Zero believes that I will kill his brother.

And while most of what he thinks is wrong, the most important part of that is the truth- I will kill Thorn.

Not because I am the sick killer The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club probably think I am, but because I don't have a choice.

I have to do it for her.

There are days when I think about them all- The Satan Snipers.

They opened their home for me, took me in, trained me.

For a while I was as happy as I could be.

Things seemed better.

Way better.

So much so that I forgot my monster who haunted me wasn't just a monster but a man who would stop at nothing to get his possession back-Me.

He wasn't just my monster, he was also my husband and the Boss of the Outfit.

A man willing to do whatever it took to get me back and he did.

He kidn*pped two of The Satan Sniper's women.

I knew what he would do to them and he knew I knew.

I couldn't let that happen.

My intention was to leave the Clubhouse quietly but that didn't turn out as well as I wanted. But when does anything turn out the way I want- never.

So I traded myself with the women and gave myself to the familiar monster I knew. My husband, Lucca Sanati.

“Amariya,” The scream bellows through the long stretch of trees.

A familiar voice, sending familiar chills down my body.

There was a time, not many years ago when my name on his lips made me blush, and my belly flutter.

Now it serves as a reminder of how cunning a demon is.

A voice made to seduce a woman, a face sculpted to obsess her and a black soul made to frighten her.

“Where the f**k are you?” He yells again, and the three guards stationed to watch me like the dog he has now made me SCREAM,

“Here, boss.”

Like the puppies they are they shrink away.

Lucca comes through the rows of trees, THEN stands there, a few feet too near with his hands on his waist.

His cuff links gone from his crisp white shirt.

The fabric, now rolled up to reveal his hairy arms.

His deep olive complexion glows under the DC sun as brown hazel eyes I once looked at like it held all the answers to my problems stare at me.

Over these past months, I notice he does that a lot- stares, I hate it.

More when I have no option but to look right back at him.

“It's time to leave!”

His words say one thing, but his sharp angular face conveys something darker, a sinister promise of a sinning man to his defiant wife.

I know exactly what he wants to do to me right now for sitting outside.

Defying his orders to stay with him at his f*****g human trafficking party.

The one good thing was that I was back in Washington. Closer to a lot more than I was in New Orleans.

I touch the shock collar on my neck- A reminder that the blue silk dress wrapped around my body and fancy silver shoes attached to my feet is just a bluff- A lie.

Before now, he has kept me in a bedroom- n***d.

The shock collar around my neck is just one of the things he has used over and over again, torturing me with attempts to get me to reveal to him a truth.

That truth is neither here nor there. A truth I refuse to even think about.

The honest story about her, my daughter, his only child- does she live or not, that is a tricky question.

Our child that I keep telling him didn't survive, a truth, a lie.

It wasn't that way initially. First he tried charm, and I admit that I considered falling for it and giving in.

But my survival instincts wouldn't let me be so stupid to think he of all people had an ounce of empathy in his body.

It didn't take him long to get fed up with my bullshit, because that is exactly what it was 'bullshit'.

I took pride a few weeks after, in stabbing him in his sleep with a nail file he so eagerly handed me to clean my nails with.

That led to me finally getting collard.

After that it was a few attempts here and there in the past months that eventually got me from living in a fully furnished room with a warm bed, sleeping next to my monster, to an empty room, n***d and cold just like a stray dog.

Lucca insists every night, it is my fault.

He has convinced himself that he is teaching me a lesson and eventually one day I would smile and look back on this time as a small wrinkle in our story.

That just tells me how f****d up he is, because I rather live in an empty room, sleeping on a cold floor.

Not only am I away from him for those hours but it reminds me everyday of why I keep my silence.

It reminds me that I need to live to finish what I have started.

An unfamiliar comfort is a worse t*****e than the familiar struggle I face.

“Amariya, vieni, e ora di andare a casa,” Amariya, come, it is time to go home.

I should argue with my husband, that is what normal married people do, but I don't.

Our marriage is not normal.

Lucca Sanati is the sworn enemy of the blood that runs through my veins.

It is why he turned around and showed me who he really was all those years ago while he pretended to love me.

I once hated my family, the blood that was my own for this very reason.

Now I am glad for it, because I see him, I don't see the potential of what he could be.

I should make a scene now, it is what a kidn*pped woman would do. But I am not kidn*pped, I am a prisoner, a willing one.

This is my life.

I had years running from this man, and months loving him.

I know Lucca.

The best thing I can do is bide my time.

His men that r***d me are now all dead except three. He hunts them down, a way to try and redeem himself for leaving me n***d in a ditch, to the onslaught of his f****d up men, that claim to be made.

But a made man has honor, his men have none.

Lucca doesn't realize, he is worst than them.

Torture, r**e it is all the same.

He r***d me too, claiming I was his, and I lived with it because I never had anyone show me another way.

It became my living hell.

Lucca knew who I was and he still made me love him, showing me a side to him that he knew a homeless beggar like myself wouldn't even dream of.

Someone who cared.

I was fooled by the few nights I had in his bed where he showed me gentle. My mind believed he was my savior, and my body believed he was my owner.

Only he wasn't.

Lucca was my r****t, my tormentor and abuser.

The worst of them all, because even knowing all that, I still loved him.

When I told him so, he spat on me, and choked me, screaming and laughing as he repeated,

“SCREAM BEGGAR, YOU FILTHY DIRTY BEGGAR I SAID SCREAM.”

Then he f****d me and threw me in a pit where he left me. I screamed and screamed, until his men came.

Now he barely touches me, besides for the occasional knuckles on my cheek, which is still too much contact.

I say nothing to his touch, not wanting to push him.

He is so close to snapping.

But as long as his men stay away from me, I see it as a win.

Though, a few nights back he mentioned that 'skin privileges' as he calls it will be shared as soon as 'the biker' is dead.

He means Zero.

I know his reason is all bullshit and that there is more to his reason.

And I fear when that reason loses its appeal as everything else does.

I get up and go toward him, drop my eyes as he would want and wait for the other six guards that are supposed to be hidden.

I saw them long before I sat down on this cemented seat watching the waterfall.

“Still not talking I see, don't worry il mio sudicio mendican'te, soon I will have you screaming,” Lucca whispers close to my ear as the guards surround us.

And it is now my body shuts down.

My thoughts of the idea of normalcy I once got to have with The Satan Snipers gone from my mind.

The walk to the Royals Royce Lucca always goes on about is silent as the words in my mind.

We drive back to my prison that is his home.

The bright yellow monstrosity of a house is almost as grand as the white house I'd managed to see from the road a few times too many, promises happiness and a family environment.

It is as fake and misleading as its owner.

The white three meter high electric gates open up as the four guards stationed to the front walk to the side allowing us entrance.

Their black suits and machine guns make me sick to my stomach. They remind me of the man next to me.

Fake, a fraudster, mobster and my own personal monster.

Lucca's phone rings just as one of the guards open my door and wait for me to get out.

I head toward the double white doors as the housekeeper, Magdelaine opens it. She is a thirty five year old woman. Married to one of Lucca's soldiers.

I say she is f*****g lucky to be in this house and not r***d or harmed continuously like the few women I have seen in this place.

She shows me pity as she looks at my collar before dropping her blue sullen eyes to the floor.

Lucca doesn't like anyone staring at me.

Her husband once backhanded her when she first did it. It was a reminder that nobody in the outfit is safe. Not even a f*****g wife.

The navy colored tiles that closely matches her eyes and beige walls goes well together.

The Sanati Palace is designed to attract even a dulled eye like my own with its sculptured art adorning the walls.

Rich red fancy furniture that is handcrafted and shaped in designs I have never seen until I got here are placed everywhere.

I don't waste a second longer staring at the decor that is designed as an advert for hell.

Knowing if Lucca found me downstairs it would only anger him, I rush up the stairs to my room.

If there is one thing that I know about Lucca is to placate him is to be obedient.

And until three weeks ago when my last attempt at killing him went to s**t that is what I have done.

I don't hope for anything, I wait for the window, that split second when I know I have a good chance of killing him and escaping.

It is how I hunted all my previous kills, except Lucca isn't just any one, and I know if I am not careful I could very well die here before I got the chance to kill him.

Once I'm in the room, I strip out of these clothes. Lucca calls it the white room. As everything including the tiles are all white.

There is no bed to sleep on, I am forced to take the cold floor. In the corner where there is a dog blanket and small pillow.

There is no mirror or headboard, nothing in this room besides a gray t-shirt Magdelaine snuck in for me and a jeans that are two sizes too big she stashed in the bathrooms ventilator that Lucca broke out of anger a month after I got here.

It was the day he stabbed me three times in my thighs with the same tin opener I stabbed his arm with.

One of those wounds are just centimeters from my cunt. It was the day I lost it. The day I told him I hated him, how I slept with Zero.

I said a lot of things that day.

It was my daughter's birthday.

A daughter I would never hold, or see because of him.

I once told him that she didn't even have a chance, I wasn't lying, my daughter never stood a chance the day she was born.

Her life was over, before it ever really began.

It was a good thing when he broke the ventilator, because for the past few months Magdelaine has snuck me other stuff, like knives, two grenades and a rope.

The woman was no fool. She knew the risk of helping me, but didn't care.

She was one of the few people that made me believe that maybe the world wasn't that f****d up after all.

I walk to the bathroom, put the plug in and fill the bath.

The one good thing was that I had hot water and a bath tub.

He didn't keep that from me. My eyes shoot right to the camera knowing one of his sick men are probably watching me right now.

I don't feel shame, that was r***d and beaten out of me years ago. Lucca knows that and he uses it.

After my bath, I dry with the small hand towel and walk toward my small corner where I sit- knees to my chest, hair falling over my face, hands on my toes. Head to my knees but it doesn't touch, it mustn't.

And then I begin the wait and with it my mind wonders to the past.

The day I met Lucca, the day I fell in love with my monster.