Dark & Dirty: A Dark Erotic Fantasy Anthology Page 8

  He staggered to his feet. The room spun and warped. His fingers smeared the something wet and sticky across his cheek. "Why does it still smell like bitch in here?"

  "I'm going to fucking kill you, runt." Frank's blurry image broke free of the guards. Gianni smiled, although brief. The world tilted around him as he hit the floor.

  * * * *

  In Gianni's muddied state, the sterile, white environment reminded him of clouds. Sweet morphine coursed through his veins to stave off the wonderful ache his body promised once the drip ceased. Touching his nose, he bemoaned that a spark of pain hadn't spider-webbed along his face. The bandaging wasn't as thick as he'd thought needed.

  "Fuck," he grumbled.

  "In due time."

  He shifted his gaze to the left. One of the guards from the prison sat beside his bed. The chiseled specimen no doubt had been paid by his mother to protect him inside. That came with a price larger than lining his pockets. Too numerous times to count, Gianni had gotten into trouble and tossed into solitary for a special visit from these assholes. All it took was a small malfunction of a camera in the hallway and a well-timed arrangement for the brutes to fuck him senseless. Though the sex lacked the passionate flair Shannon brought, the drugs the fools thought he needed to perform deprived acts made up for it. On rare occasions, they draped a black mask over his head that exposed nothing but his mouth. He heard them joke about how much money they made in the fetish porn industry with movies starring his mouth while he jerked his cock. One of the few times he could indulge his fantasies without outing himself to two men who seemed to enjoy fucking a man over their alleged girlfriends or wives. In this sick and twisted environment, an alpha mounted the beta no matter what the outside world thought. In here, fucking a man was more about dominance than sexual preference. Showing that you enjoyed it would land a beating over a nice reach around. Gianni never counted on his name precluding him from any mercy. If that had been the case, he wouldn't be in this stink hole.

  "You'll have to find someone else. I'm busy." Gianni closed his eyes. Sleep would take his mind off the fact the edge from the morphine faded. Pain from getting the shit kicked out of him broke the dull edge of deadness in his soul. Soreness reminded him he'd survived one more day. But the agony of withdrawal was altogether different. A poke at his side brought him back to reality.

  The first guard's buddy had joined the party. Gianni never bothered to remember their names. If he got called to testify, he could pick their cocks out of a line up any day. Not that his accusations would amount to anything. Their name tags were always missing when they visited. In his world, they were Crotch and Ass respectively.

  "No one's here to care what you think." Crotch adjusted the front of his pants with his obvious erection ready to break free. "Besides, your jaw isn't broken and that's all you'll need in the next few minutes."

  Ass stood and turned off the drip. "Don't worry. We got your kick. You'll just have to work for it." Gianni groaned as they lifted him from the bed after stripping his gown. Bruises littered his body. If these guards put another on him, no one would notice. Across the room and into an exam area, they closed the curtains. Slumped on the floor, Gianni waited for the inevitable. Crotch shook a bag of white powder in his face. Undoing his pants, he sprinkled a little along his erect shaft. Snow from heaven to take Gianni away from this world. Ass took the bag next.

  "Let's go, Gianni. Be a good little fuck boy and we won't let it get back to your family that you've failed every drug test in this place. It's awful hard to switch the results and I think you should reward us. Come on. I've sugar coated it for you."

  White glistened on the cock before him. To feel the smoothness of the skin coupled with the rigid hardness beneath. His cock hardened, but he couldn't make it obvious that he wanted this more than the guards did. For them, it was feeding another cock sandwich to some little rich punk who got caught inside.

  "Maybe he wants me to fuck him with a night stick again like the first night." Ass laughed.

  Gianni leaned forward and took the cock in his mouth, more to hide his own erection than the prospect of that rigid tool gliding effortlessly inside him. They weren't videoing their exploits today, or the mask would be on him.

  "Yeah, take it all." Down to the base, Gianni gagged. The sweet powder absorbed into his system and he licked the residue clean. He couldn't run from his addiction, nor did he want to. Ass yanked his head back and shoved his white-laced cock in. More forceful than Crotch, the guard fucked his mouth hard.

  "See? I told you he liked a good mouth fuck. Get the condoms." Ass slapped him on the cheek withdrawing. "I'm feeling generous." He cupped his balls. "How about you clean these off for me."

  Gianni dove in. Smooth as silk, he devoured the guard's sac. In the three years he served, his protectors had enjoyed his body more than he'd allowed any of his lovers. For all their gusto, both of them did this for the perceived power it brought them over the youngest of the Bencivenni family. A personal high five that meant nothing when their recipient enjoyed the ride.

  "Get him up." Crotch ripped open a condom.

  Tossed on his stomach, Gianni hung off the other end of the examination table. Ass slathered his cock with more cocaine before shoving back in his mouth. Crotch spread his cheeks wide. A thick smear of lube prepared his puckered hole to receive a stiff latex-covered shaft. Gianni thanked whatever caused them to position him belly down. Hiding his erection had become a tuck game as of late. Facedown, his fuck buddies would never see how much he enjoyed their alleged demeaning behavior. As Crotch penetrated him, Ass slapped his head again.

  "Better suck better than that, boy, or we're going to see if anyone else wants to split you open."

  As pleasurable as his proposition was, Gianni didn't want this fetish to spread like wildfire. His assailants might keep a tight lip for their own good, but another guard brought in might leak this venture into the general population. Gianni could only fight his way through the masses for so long. Each slam from the rear brought him forward toward the cock in his mouth. He sucked and lapped, his tongue snaking out to lick the base.

  "Fuck yeah. That's better. He could give my girlfriend lessons."

  "He's probably given you more blowjobs than her." Crotch laughed, digging his nails into Gianni's hips. Animalistic grunts echoed of the walls with each thrust.

  "He never says no." Ass fisted his hair, slamming his dick further in with loud moan. Cum filled Gianni's mouth, and he swallowed all of it. As the shaft withdrew, he suckled on the tip to draw the remaining semen out. Ass stroked his cock. "Oh, I'm not done with you, pretty boy. We both took a little blue pill to make this session last." Foil tore and the pressure in his ass ceased. Switching, Crotch peeled his condom off and worked his shaft. Deliberately, he shot his load onto Gianni's face. The thick liquid clung to his hair, and the smell of ammonia filled his nostrils.

  Ass took over at his backside. As furious as his mouth fuck, the man leaned over and grabbed Gianni's shoulders. Exhaustion nearly took Gianni.

  "What are you?" The guard taunted him. "Say it." Flesh slammed into flesh and the table groaned against the strain.

  "Your bitch." Gianni cried out as Ass crashed into him one last time. The erection he'd hid faded without climax. An empty feeling swept through him. The brief high from the drugs was never enough. The two guards dragged him to the shower area and dumped him on the floor. Pain flared from his wounds, both from the beating and his treatment from the guards. He had precious few days to recover before they threw him in the hole for fighting again. After spraying him down, they returned him to his bed. Like clockwork, the resident doctor came in.

  "What are you two doing in here?" He tossed his charts on the table. If the morphine hadn't dulled Gianni's senses, he would have laughed. No doubt the man took a cut to disappear at all the right moments.

  "Here to tell pretty boy here he's being released early. Bereavement." Crotch smacked him on the leg. "Congratulations. Your mother's dea
th is your ticket out. Just waited until he woke up to give him the good news."

  Gianni's soul crushed to the farthest depths of his mind. The tears she shed for his fucked-up life. She was the one family member who tried, and failed, to save him from addiction. He'd pissed away every opportunity she'd ever given him. So much so, she'd stopped sending letters two months into his sentence. These two assholes were her last calling card. They said she paid them to protect him from the inside, but his brothers paid more to see that he suffered. Closing his eyes, he choked back the rage. When he got the opportunity, both of the guards would die. Every bone in their body would shatter with a sledgehammer.

  Chapter Three

  Butcher stood in the far corner with his hands folded in front of him. Chatter and static crackled through his ear piece. For the most part, he ignored it. His duty had ended when Rosalia Bencivenni passed away from the cancer eating her bones. If he was honest about the manner of her death, the disease had nothing to do with her demise. Day by day, he watched her wither. Her frail hands penned letter after letter to someone who would never receive them. Under instruction from the patriarch of the family, each letter was to be burned until even the ash disappeared into the wind. With eyes constantly on his movements, Butcher still managed to save the letters and burn blank pages in their place. None were mailed, though, because of the risk. He'd witnessed her son, Salvatore, crumple up her work and toss it into the trash by her hospital bed. Each badgering word from the whelp's mouth sent her spiraling down a path she'd never returned from. Butcher had thrown him out of the room. Niccolo had almost discharged him from service until Butcher explained what the man's offspring had blasted to his mother. Disrespect to his employer's sons was one thing, but for that brat to dishonor his dying mother? Butcher took no pleasure in seeing the boy get backhanded.

  Niccolo stepped in front of him, nodding. Not a tall man by any means, the patriarch of the Bencivenni family stood as if ten feet tall in his finely-tailored Brunello Cucinelli suit. His short-cropped hair had enough gel to reflect the sun and kill a few insects in its path.

  "She left a letter saying you are to help lay her to rest. I appreciate the comfort you offered her in her final moments."

  "It was my duty, sir." Butcher remained passive. Niccolo disgusted him. For a man who showed respect in the public eye, he alone was the driving force behind locking Rosalia from sight. Once the interment was dealt with, Butcher was out of a job. A blessing in disguise. He planned to take a trip far away from this family. Although good at his profession, the burden of serving a family who scorned one of their own wore on him. The anguish of a mother pining to see her youngest son again before she died burned a raging fire inside him. In his head, Butcher had enough vengeance to tear the Bencivenni family to pieces. If not for the promise to Rosalia, they would be six feet under just as she.

  His conscience gnawed at him as the funeral processed on. So many in the room, but he recognized so few. In life, people rarely came around when sickness lingered. In death, no remorse overshadowed the guests. What they saw was their own mortality in the form of a peach casket littered with huge bouquets of white roses. Taking his place as a pallbearer, Butcher noticed the narrowed eyes of Salvatore. The boy still hadn't gotten over his bruised ego. The rest of the funeral went by in a blur. He stayed by the grave after most had left. His duty to Rosalia wasn't over yet.

  Mature trees shaded her grave site. A light breeze rustled the leaves. He moved away and leaned against a large trunk. His sense of purpose seemed lost in the void, even with the directions within the letter tucked in his jacket.

  "I asked to be cremated. Leave it to Niccolo to ignore my wishes one last time." Rosalia's image wavered beside him. As she neared death, his visions of her spirit intensified. Alcohol had been his liberator from the haunting specters of the dead, but his family had forced him sober when his work ethic turned macabre. The namesake earned during that time had stuck.

  "He never understood you." Another bad habit was actually treating his symptoms as real human flesh before him. Rosalia didn't exist under the cool shade of the tree on a hot afternoon. Yet her form, as vibrant as when he first started caring for her, smiled at him. He'd endure the visions instead of the deadly effects of addiction. A penance for all the black sin that coated his soul.

  "Promise me you'll save him."

  He nodded and closed his eyes, willing her to disappear. Her voice haunted, yet soothed.

  "What are you hanging around for?"

  Butcher's gaze focused on Salvatore. Next to the older son of Niccolo were two of his private goons. "Paying last respects."

  Salvatore shook his head, smirking. "Aren't you forgetting something at the end of that sentence?"

  "My employment ended with the death of your mother. Call it a favor to Mr. Bencivenni." Butcher noticed the movements of the two bodyguards. Their hands casually slid into their jackets. "I would prefer if blood isn't spilled on Mrs. Bencivenni's grave. She doesn't deserve disrespect." He remained passive, though the sweet lullaby of his piece against his ribcage called.

  "Then show me the respect I deserve." Salvatore puffed his chest, a childish display that didn't impress Butcher. The man would cow before him if not for the ones standing to his side.

  "As I already said, I don't work for your family anymore." As one of the bodyguards started to withdraw his gun, Butcher pointed a finger at Salvatore. "You shame your mother's good name, boy. Back off before I do something that requires a thousand Hail Marys and Our Fathers."

  Salvatore waved his goons off. "He's not worth the bullets. You're washed up, Butcher. A has been."

  "Keep telling yourself that, kid."

  Salvatore walked away with his bodyguards. Even at this distance, as the little prick weaved in and out of the trees and tombstones, he could still put a bullet straight through his skull. End the life of the son Rosalia had been the most ashamed of. Telling, considering the way his own family conducted business. That a man could beat his wife for disobeying his wishes so long as she didn't end up in the hospital within the Bencivenni organization was acceptable. But stray from that holy Catholic union of marriage? Hell had no fury like a shamed Italian mother. Salvatore needed to be put to ground, but that wasn't Rosalia's last request, unfortunately.

  The vibrating of his phone refocused his thoughts. He fished the earpiece out and tossed it to the ground. His employment was at an end. He answered his phone.

  "Are you available to have dinner with your old family?" His father's familiar baritone voice crackled through the phone. Butcher hadn't spoken to any of his family since his isolation with the matriarch of the Bencivenni clan. His own family business dealt with the clean-up of what families like the Bencivennis dabbled in.

  Butcher walked to his car on the other side of the cemetery. Thankfully away from Salvatore, lest his thoughts stray again. "I have no immediate plans."

  "Meet us at that old Italian place on the south side."

  Butcher cursed as he closed his phone. The one person Rosalia wanted at her funeral had been strangely absent, and Butcher pieced two together why. His father referenced the old Bencivenni home. Last he knew, Gianni used that at his residence. He clenched his teeth. If Butcher's family was called in, the scene had to be pretty messy. His sick, twisted family had to have killed the one child that brought an embarrassment worse than Salvatore's infidelity. Gianni had his faults, but he didn't deserve to be brutally murdered. Nobody did. Rosalia was going to haunt him from the grave for not protecting her youngest.

  "Dammit."

  The drive took over an hour. Twice, Butcher swore he'd been tailed. For what reason, he couldn't make out. Niccolo held no ill will that he knew of. Rosalia’s care had been a special circumstance that he would have refused had his family not been close to her. She was the real cogs in the engine of that machine, more ruthless in life than any other person his family had served. He'd been called to numerous places at her private demand to dispose of a corpse. Men who
partnered with her husband often took her as a meek woman they could molest with impunity. Their calloused hands on her silky thighs were the last memory before she put a bullet through a vital organ.

  Unease settled into his stomach, and he switched the car for his motorcycle at home before getting to his destination. Having an escape route without being seen was a must in his profession. After the altercation with Salvatore, he trusted no one until he left the country.

  At the old brownstone house, his big brother Jimmy ushered him through the back. The big lug still sported his long brown hair tightly held back by a piece of leather. His tattoo collection had expanded as well, but socializing would wait until their grim task was complete. A hazmat suit was draped over the chair in the back room. Butcher dressed, the silence in the house eerie. "Who is it?"

  Jimmy shrugged and adjusted his mask. "No clue. We got the call and came. Usual transaction. Why?"

  "Because this is Gianni Bencivenni's house." He pulled his facemask on. No one's identity would be known if the one who did the job came back for any reason. The blue lettering on his suit—Henry's Termite Service—let most of the hitmen know they were off limits. A good cleaning crew was hard to find and getting on the wrong side could potentially start a war they would never win. Butcher's family never got in the middle of a turf war, but they didn't take kindly to be pushed around, either. Each of his clan could wield a gun better than some of the goons making the messes they cleaned up.

  "Pop wants to talk to you topside about your absence." His brother pointed upstairs.

  "Not this again." He headed toward the stairs and up. His father had a thing for Rosalia in his youth and never got over her picking Niccolo. If not for the code, Butcher was sure his father would have told him to make the old man have an accident. At the third floor landing, he paused. Most of the work had been completed except for the bloody mess on the bed.