Chapter 4: Marked
1641 Words
Massimo’s POV
Dear God she does exist.
I have spent the last five days tailing her just to prove she isn't real. But she is.
She is here with a group of friends now at a bar.
The parking lot outside Mirador del Viento bar is as empty as any overpriced exclusive bar could be under the warm Marbella sky. The place is beautiful. Modern architectural designs, exquisite outdoor art but compared to hers, its beauty stands like a candle flame against a ravishing sun.
Imperceptible.
I discovered her name is Elena, I do not want to know more about her. I have no business knowing more.
Her lustrous dark coils still have me in a chokehold cascading down, framing that soft, heart-shaped face before sliding freely over the grand curve of her chest. They run along her back like dark, shiny silk, catching every flicker of light. My mouth waters at the thought of wrapping that thick mass of curls around my hands to feel its softness between my fingers.
Right now she is with her group and yet she looks like she wants to be somewhere else.
Holy Heavens
I wish she was somewhere else too.
With me.
At my estate Hacienda del León.
I have never taken any woman to my family estate. Never wanted to. But the moment I saw her smiling in the market, bright and free, knocking every other thing into a standstill. I wanted to drag her there, lock the solid oak doors, and study her like a painting.
She is giving those awkward little smiles again. The shy ones, not like the real one that had me smitten in the market, that smile was wide, and genuine, coated in laughter. Here, with her group, she is shrunken. Automated. Almost in pain.
The waiter arrives with the bill. The entire group, including the blonde she’s always in company with, automatically look to Elena. Even the men in the group make the awkward little gesture to signify she was the one paying. She fishes out her card with something that almost looked like enthusiasm. One of the few times I’ve seen her relax. Guess paying makes her feel useful.
My jaw stiffens as I watch her cover their overpriced steaks and expensive vintage wine while she herself has ordered nothing but a cup of tea that had turned cold hours ago.
Why the hell do I care if some girl was being exploited by her so called friends?
Chairs scrapes back as most of the group stands. The others bounce up, excited, obviously planning something. Elena follows a half-step behind, awkward, oblivious and shy, holding onto the strap of her purse.
The blonde loops an arm through Elena's hand with a sugary smile and pushes her forward toward one of the tall, cunning-looking guys with sharp jaw, and ferocious eyes.
Elena bites her lower lip shyly.
My breath falters.
She seems to have a thing for assholes and losers.
Well, I can be an asshole.
I am not sure I have the facilities to be a loser.
The guy leans in and says something. Elena flinches like he’d slapped her.
He smirks.
I chill every muscle in my body so I won't storm over and haul him across the face.
The group explodes in laughter. And the blonde winks suspiciously.
Elena’s face crumples. She turns and heads out,clumsy even in her sneakers. Exiting into the open terrace.
My knuckles goes white on the steering wheel.
Am I really feeling this much rage over some youthful banter?
No.
The rest of the group spill onto the dance floor, music thumping, bodies grinding, mindless of Elena’s turmoil.
They don't even care.
She pulls away to a corner just close to my car.
My throat goes so dry it feels like gravel when I swallow.
This is the closest I have come to being with her,all that stands between us is my heavily tinted window and a small distance.
Her shoulders fold in on themselves, shaking.
She is crying.
I am going to have to kill that bastard.
A tear slips free, coursing down her radiant skin in slow motion. I want to taste those tears .I want to taste every single thing on her body.
Her sweat.
Her dampness.
The tears tremble at the edge of her jaw… then drop.
It lands on the soft, generous swell of her massive breast, soaking into the thin cotton, dampening the fabric right over her n****e.
I stop breathing.
“No, scratch that,” I mutter under my breath. “I would give anything to trade places with those f*****g tears.”
The blonde saunters over, all fake concern, smiles while she wipes Elena’s tears away. Elena forces a smile back. She whispers something in Elena’s ear.
Elena smiles for real this time and blushes.
Bloody hell.
Why was everything about her so god damn… mesmerising?.
I watch as the colour spreads across her cheeks and the way she tries to hide it.
I want to know what that blonde told her .
What word? what thought? I want to find it and make it happen again. Make her go all pink for me again.
Every damn time .
She is more relaxed now.The blonde has pacified her. it didn't take much,she forgives the whole thing almost immediately.She is too forgiving and innocent.
I sigh in frustration. I'm going to have to stick around.
Because Elena has the self preservation of a cucumber.
****
It's evening and I have dragged myself to this, tailing her from her hotel to a shitty bar just to catch a glimpse of her again.
Elena.
She’s wearing a dark blue cashmere sweater and white high-waisted pants that tapered at the bottom but at the waist it clings to every curve.slim waist exploding into a thick, glorious volume of wide hips that sways and bounces with her every shy step. My jaw tightens. Her hair is pulled in a pony and her lips…
Red.
God.
I want to ruin that lipstick.
I want to trace my finger slowly across those lips and watch it smear.
Then watch her gasp when she realizes the kind of man watching her all this while.
Watch her freeze when I show her what she does to me. Before claiming those lips with my mouth.
Drown myself in her taste till all of the red is gone.
I could do that right now and walk up to her and taste the sweetness of her lips and no one in the whole of Spain would ever dare to stop me.
But knowing her, as the lady she is, that will be too soon for her.
Too much for her.
I want to protect her even from me. So no, I’ll remain hidden watching her from afar.
I exhale, forcing the thoughts away and settling instead to watch how divine she looks.
"Drink up, birthday girl!" one of her group yells over the noise, sensing she had not touched her drink.
She’s barely touched her first glass. Not much of a drinker.
"Chronologically, not birthday girl yet," Elena calls back.
"You're turning twenty-two tomorrow,it's past eight, basically your birthday," the blonde adds.
This trip is supposed to be for her that much I’ve allowed myself to gather. But even that had been a lie. They brought her because they needed something, it obvious , but I can't quite place it yet, maybe bankroll their parties. Elena is too trusting to see it.
Two men walk in. They aren't like everyone who had walked in.They seem to darken the bar with an odd aura. Something about them doesn’t feel right .
And one thing about me is.
I trust my gut way more than I trust my guns.
Rugged. Hoodlum filth. Leather jackets cracked and stained, tattoos snaking up their thick necks like prison ink, cheap chains glinting under the lights. Everything about them screams “hired muscles”.
They exchange quick, knowing glances with the blonde.
One of them locks onto Elena.
She ignores him completely, sipping her drink. He doesn’t give a f**k. He inches closer.
Anger flashes across her face.
Something inside me goes very very still. And tight.The wood creaks faintly under my grip.
She shoves him off hard.
Good girl.
He looks stunned for half a second then his eyes darken.
That made two men I was going to have to deal with. The guy who made her cry from the first bar was already experiencing a slow, screaming torture in my basement.
Funny,how no one had even noticed he was missing.
As if sensing his pending doom, the man pulled back. The second followed. Both melted into the crowd without a word.
My chest expanded slightly and my jaw relaxed but the dull pressure stayed behind.
Moments later, Elena slides off her stool, legs unsteady, and heads for the ladies' room, leaving her drink untouched.
Something is wrong.
Her steps are too loose, and sloppy. She barely drank anything.
I followed her l myself, I knew she hadn't been drinking before this. My eyes snaps to the abandoned glass. Tiny particles float near the bottom, almost blending with the liquor.
God f*****g dammit.
She's been drugged.
Rage detonates behind my soul.
I’m out of my chair before my brain catches up.
I shoulder through the crowd toward the back hallway, moving fast, scanning.
A group of women spills out of the bathroom laughing, nearly colliding with me, none of them Elena.
Chills crawl down my spine and settle in my belly.
I catch the door before it swings shut and push inside.
Two stalls. Both doors hang open. A few women scatter, frightened and shocked.
Her purse laying on the floor by the sink.
My heart slams against my chest.
Where the f**k is Elena?
- Writer
