Tortured Read online

  Tortured

  N.M. CATALANO

  TORTURED

  Copyright © 2018 N.M. Catalano

  Published by N.M. Catalano

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this work may be copied or reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without the express consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except in actual circumstances.

  Purely for entertainment purposes for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  DEDICATION/ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’m going to utilize this space for acknowledgements as well, so it’s going to be long, just saying.

  First, I want to say thank you to my admin team, Diane Dykes, Joy Di Biase-Giachino, Fran Reading, and Siobhan Royle Keating, how you guys put up with me at release time, I don’t even know, but GOD, I’m so grateful to each one of you. For all of your hard work, each of your individual talents, all the time you put into the group and helping me, having to look through hundreds of mock pictures, and my hysteria. Thank you is not enough.

  This book is for you.

  To the bloggers who ALWAYS support me, and have since the beginning, Pauline Digaletos, Christy McCurry, Jennifer Pierson, Lindsey Poage Norwood, Ann Meemken, Arthetta Rodgers, and again Joy Di Biase-Giachino.

  This book is for you.

  To the reviewers who have loved the characters as much as I have, Nicole Brown, Alicia Gonzales, and so many more.

  This book is for you.

  To Angel at Angel’s Indie Formatting, I ALWAYS submit my book to you and only give you like two days to get it done. I appreciate you so much.

  This book is for you.

  To you the readers, THANK YOU SO MUCH for living the few hours you do in the lives of my characters. They love you, I love you.

  This book is for you.

  And finally, to my brother, James, you were such a kind man, anyone you met, they were always a friend, you had a smile for everyone. So JB 007, (his initials were J.B.), this book is for you, with all my love.

  Other Works

  The Stranger Series

  STRANGER, Book 1

  SWITCH, Book 2

  KINK, Book 3

  PERFECT, Book 4

  HIDING, Book 5

  SUSPICIOUS, Book 6, coming soon.

  Black Ink Series

  BLACK INK, Part I

  BLACK INK, Part II

  BLACK INK, Part III

  BLACK INK, The Complete Trilogy, all three parts in one book.

  The Program Series

  CANVAS, Book 1

  TRIFECTA, Book 1.5

  BREATHE, Book 2

  TORTURED, Book 3

  BULL, Book 4, coming soon.

  Stand-Alones

  THE ROOSTER CLUB, The Best Cocks in Town

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Books

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Note From Me

  About The Author

  Other Works

  SYNOPSIS

  They say I have demons.

  They’re right.

  They say I’m dangerous.

  They’re right about that. The four of us, that’s what we do.

  They say I have no emotions.

  I wish.

  I feel everything, maybe more than you.

  They said I shouldn’t fall in love with a married woman.

  They’re right about that, too. It wasn’t part of the assignment.

  But I did.

  Now they want her.

  My demons are going to destroy them.

  There once was a girl who believed in fairytales.

  They all came true.

  With contracts and lies and deceit.

  There is a woman who cries herself to sleep.

  Who lives a lie behind a beautiful mask.

  There is a woman who almost gave up.

  Almost.

  But then her prince charming came.

  He is everything she needs.

  Mysterious, dark, dangerous, who makes her do things, things that would shock you.

  Everything she needs.

  There is a woman who belongs to someone else, who can never leave.

  There is a woman who is imprisoned by deals and money and power.

  There is a woman who loves a man she cannot have.

  There is a man and a woman who will be destroyed.

  CHAPTER 1

  Gringo

  I know what they say about me.

  Do I give a shit?

  No.

  Is it true?

  I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. The thing is, I could give two fucks about anyone’s opinion.

  Do I have demons? Yeah. I do. And I earned every fucking one of them. They’re mine, and I’m theirs. Nothing’s going to change that. I’m going to hell. My mother prays for me, sitting in front of her altar with the statue of Jesus and the white candles and incense burning. Even after all these years she still prays for my soul, for my redemption, for my salvation, with rosary beads wrapped tightly around her hands. Puerto Rican women are like that, they think they’ve got this hot line straight to God with their statues and pictures and bibles. What the fuck do I know? Maybe they do. But there’s no amount of praying that will save me. I signed my name on the dotted line and sold my soul to the devil the first time I set out with revenge in my heart. You know that shit they say, ‘An eye for eye, a tooth for a tooth?’ It’s bullshit. What is true is the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

  There are lots of fucking bricks on my road.

  If I’ve got to kill someone, they’re dead. No second thought, no hesitation, no remorse. Fuck with mine, you get fucked. Or hurt. Or dead. Your last breath is my job? Done.

  Gabriel DeJesus, (what a kick in the ass my given name is), died the day I became Gringo. I killed him with the blood on my hands. It hadn’t been shed for me, but that doesn’t matter. I spilled it, so the sin is mine. The first of so many. I watched the soul slip from the dying boy’s body, and in that instant I felt my first demon possess me. I was no longer the boy who played the violin, the prodigy and boy genius, who cooked with his mother, who did his homework and was home before nightfall. Instantly, I was bad.

  Bad doesn’t deserve a damn thing.

  I stopped wanting, stopped caring.

  Until now.

  Now, the lines are becoming blurred.

  What’s worse is I have hope.

  Hope is a seductress with soft skin and perfect lips, lips that whisper words like a prayer of salvation, and a kiss that’s full of poison.

  She’s standing in front of me in the flesh. She�
��s everything I ever wanted, everything I never knew I needed.

  You know what comes with hope?

  Devastation.

  I only hope it’s mine and not hers.

  “Gringo,” she says my name again. I don’t move from where I’m standing.

  Sasha’s a fucking temptress. It comes naturally to her, it’s a goddamn gift she was born with. Or maybe a curse.

  I can’t get distracted from what she’s telling me. What I need to know.

  “Sasha, I need you to remember everything,” my voice is cold, my body is tense.

  “I don’t want to talk about him. I’ve missed you, don’t do this.”

  My dead heart sputters to life. Her words, the way she’s looking at me, her, all of it would be exactly what any other man would want.

  What I need from her is information.

  She thinks she wants me to fuck her. But she needs me to help her. She thinks she craves affection. What she needs is someone to love her.

  I can never love her but I can make her feel special.

  Sasha is a good actress. So fucking good, everyone believes she’s a spoiled bitch who gets waited on hand and foot. That might be true. But that’s part of the ruse. The game. The fucked up situation she’s in. Hell, even I thought she was a superficial cunt who expected everyone to come running when she snapped her fingers.

  That’s why I made her beg the first time I fucked her. I made her get down on her knees and crawl to me, kiss my fucking feet and beg for my cock.

  I’d been a prick.

  It turned out that’s exactly what she wanted.

  I realized then and there the queen wanted to be punished. Needed to be punished. Because she said she’s an imposter, a fraud, she’d said she’s a prisoner in a life she sold herself for. That everything about her is a lie. A lie that was killing her.

  She wanted to be hurt.

  The sick fuck that I am got hard. My demons roared their delight, the promise of pain and sweat and maybe blood had them howling within me. My mouth watered with the images of her skin marked, red and hot, my balls tightened with her screams and whimpers. When I was buried deep inside her, her face a mess with black tears, me in the front, Bull in the back, I came so fucking hard as she wailed her orgasm.

  When I held her in my arms afterwards, she sobbed. She was an emotional mess, thanking me for giving her what she deserved, cursing me for treating her like a whore, and begging me for more.

  You know what I told her?

  I told her she is my whore, mine, and I would punish her any fucking time I pleased, because she is mine and I would use her and reward her because she’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  Too bad for her.

  I despised myself for loving every mark I’d left on her, I loathed how much pleasure I had with each tear that spilled from her big round eyes. I cursed myself every time I called her a filthy slut and made her thank me for it.

  She deserves so much better. I’m sick, I’m bad, I’m perverse.

  I’m exactly what she needed.

  With each whimper, with every tear, she was freed.

  She deserves so much more than her piece of shit husband. To him she’s only a show piece, a doll to be put on display, a beautiful face that spews out the correct words, an actress who plays her part exquisitely.

  But something doesn’t add up.

  Sasha’s husband is a small town government official. He’s a regular joe with a college degree plastered on his wall, who sits behind a desk and makes just enough money to pay a mortgage for a two-story house in the suburbs. The Armani suits and seventy-five-thousand-dollar BMW tells a different story. The almost million-dollar mansion isn’t the home of a small town government official. That same house on the outskirts of any major city would run over a million.

  The fucker’s crooked but I haven’t been able to find out how exactly. Not yet.

  He also doesn’t fuck his wife. Doesn’t touch her. Never.

  Not only do I have a job to do, but I get to fuck her any time I want. I want to way more than I should.

  “No,” Sasha juts her chin in the air and crosses her arms in front of her. “I haven’t seen you for a week.”

  She thinks she can play the deserving rich bitch and make demands?

  “For that, it’s going to be another week,” I push off the wall and move toward the door to leave.

  Her face falls and she grips my arm. “NO, NO, please! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. PLEASE don’t leave me,” she begs.

  I’m a prick.

  She’s…not. Not in the fucking least.

  She’s been filling too much of my head. That’s not good. There’s too much shit going on and being pre-occupied with another man’s wife, even if it’s in name only, is not something I need to be doing. We have a mission, I need to be focused, detached, cold, and heartless.

  I need to be me.

  The desperation in her voice stirs something within me, something that has no place inside of me. It has nothing to do with self-deserving righteousness, but everything to do with the fear she’d had while I was gone. The pleading and the tears all night long while we were on the phone because she was afraid, almost to the point of terror. Whatever was going on scared the shit out of her. If there hadn’t been guys watching her house while I was at the convention, I’d have ridden all night to come back to her to find out what was really happening. But I couldn’t leave. The storm we knew was coming finally made landfall and what happened was only the beginning. There had been blood, but there’s going to be so much more.

  The mission has been revamped.

  This is why I need to know everything.

  She’s mine. Regardless if I want her or not.

  She is another man’s wife.

  I am her cock.

  She is my…I don’t know what the fuck she really is to me.

  I look down at her hand wrapped tightly around my arm, her long perfectly salon done finger nails digging into my flesh.

  I love the sting of her nails cutting into me.

  “Sasha,” I say quietly, my eyes meeting hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasps. She reaches a hand up and traces the bruises on my face before lowering to her knees. “Please,” she whispers with her head bowed. I turn toward her, my feet just in front of her. She lowers and places her hands on the top of my shoes. “I’ll try to remember everything, Gringo. I just missed you…so much,” her words finish on a whisper.

  My cock stirs with her quiet words. “Good,” I state roughly. “You said your husband…”

  “Don’t call him that,” I can see her flinch. There goes that fucking thing in my chest that has no business being there.

  Don’t even fucking go there.

  “Was disappearing in the middle of the night. With who?” I continue as if she hadn’t said anything.

  She curves her hand around my ankle and feeds her fingers inside the edge of my pant leg. Her touch, as small as it is, sends heat throughout my body.

  “I don’t know. He’s always on his phone. I never know who he’s talking to.” She lowers her face, turns her head, and rests a cheek on top of one of my boots, then she fucking sighs.

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  “Has he gotten any packages, any different mail?” I ask forcing myself to ignore her beautiful face looking angelic and content laying on my feet.

  “No, nothing.”

  She glides her hand up the back of my calf inside my pant leg. My dick throbs with longing. “Have you seen him with anyone different lately?” I ask tightly.

  “No, no one.” She squeezes the muscle and I feel it in my crotch.

  I clench my teeth.

  “You mentioned seeing lights around your house, Sasha. How many times?”

  This right here is what had me wanting to rip someone’s fucking throat out. The MC club, The Steel Brothers, who’d been watching her house didn’t report seeing anything. Either they weren’t doing their job, or Sasha was seeing things.


  “Just once,” her grip tightens with either fear or need. Probably both.

  “Was it close?” The thought of anyone hurting her makes me hungry for their blood. The fact she saw this while her husband wasn’t home in the middle of the night sets off all kinds of warnings.

  “No,” she glides her hand down the back of my leg.

  I can’t hold back any longer. I need her, I have to feel her, smell her, touch her, hear her come apart. My fists have been curled into balls at my sides. I unfurl them and unbutton my pants, then slide the zipper down. My dick is already half hard waiting for her. Sasha lifts her head to look at me with a smile on her face. She looks so fucking beautiful, but broken.

  “I want you to go to his office. Talk to his secretary, ask him to take you to lunch, just the two of you, tell him you miss him,” she’s shaking her head no as her eyes fill with tears. My gut twists. “You have to. You need to be close to him to see and hear what he’s up to. If for nothing else to put your mind at ease.” I smile down at her at my feet trying to give her some of my false calm.

  “Okay,” she whispers hesitantly.

  I pull my hardness from my pants and begin to stroke it.

  “When you go, you’ll be full of my cum. Stand up, it’s time to be my dirty whore.” She fucking moans as she stands. The sound shoots straight through me and makes me harder.

  “Make me forget everything else, just you and me, that’s all I want.”

  “Give me your panties. I want to be dripping from you when you’re sitting next to him.” Her eyes widen and her face flushes, is it desire or embarrassment? I could care less. I’d smear my cum all over her face and let it dry if I really had my way, make her rub elbows with her husband’s social circle with it dried all over her flawless skin. She lifts her skirt and slides her panties down her long legs. I hold my hand out and she places the slight pink piece of lace in the middle of my palm. I lift them to my nose and inhale deeply. “So fucking good,” I groan huskily. “Leave your clothes on and bend over the couch.”

  I’ve gotten more daring, taken more risks. Sasha comes to my home in the middle of the day. At all hours. I’m not sure if I’m being reckless, or her husband doesn’t actually give two shits what she does.