Page 36 of Owen (Blue Team #1)

I heard the front door open, I heard his voice, and I stood.

Then there he was.

The Devil himself in a fifteen-thousand-dollar suit.

I’d spent so many months pushing him from my mind I’d almost forgotten what he looked like.

The Devil of my nightmares was ugly and fanged, he was not the good-looking man that stood before me.

In a cruel twist, Wilco Pollaski was handsome.

As cliché as it was, and it was supremely so, my uncle looked a lot like Ray Liotta.

That was a well-aged Ray before his supposed plastic surgery.

A compliment Wilco received a lot, one that stroked his over-inflated ego.

He loved that women compared him to who he thought was the ultimate movie gangster.

There was a reason why he landed what he called high-class pussy. It was more than his money and expensive suits, unfortunately, he was just that good-looking. Women flocked and when they needed a nudge toward the bedroom he knew how to charm their Weitzman pumps in the direction he wanted.

He was disgusting.

The Devil .

But the Devil’s greatest lie was fooling the world that he didn’t exist and Wilco had a way of fooling women into believing he wasn’t evil.

It had been hours since Franco had brought me to the retreat and I’d stupidly thought I wouldn’t have to face Wilco until I got back to Chicago. I’d been sitting in the parlor for so long I become hopeful. Stupid, stupid me.

“You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Sarah,” Wilco said as he rounded the oval pedestal table in the center of the foyer, coming to a stop a few feet away from me.

Sarah.

God, when would she finally die?

I said nothing. Not that there was anything to say. Wilco didn’t expect me to answer. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t asked a question, thus, I wasn’t permitted to speak.

His pale blue eyes narrowed in disgust as he took me in.

“My God, look at you,” he sneered. “Disgraceful.”

I knew what he saw. Owen and I had planned on taking the ATV out so I’d dressed accordingly. Though even if we hadn’t, I no longer owned a stitch of clothing that would be acceptable under Wilco’s scrutiny. Thank God for that . The thought made me grin.

“Is something amusing?”

I shook my head no and schooled my features. I had to be on my game if I was going to survive long enough for Owen to find me. I couldn’t be Owen’s Natasha, not in front of Wilco.

The silence in the room should’ve been comforting.

There was a time when the quiet was my only friend.

Quiet meant I wasn’t being given orders, I didn’t have to speak, I didn’t have to listen.

Silence meant my ears weren’t burning with the muffled sounds of nasty sex.

My stomach was clenching in fear of what Wilco might say.

But now, it was deafening. Now, I was used to Owen, Myles, Kevin, and Gabe. There was always chatter around the cabin and before that when it was just me and Owen at his house I couldn’t wait for him to come home so I could hear him talk.

Wilco hadn’t stopped his angry perusal and when his mouth twisted in a furious grimace and his glare turned malicious, I knew I was in trouble.

Big trouble.

“What is that?” he seethed and stomped closer.

What was what?

“Answer. Me.”

His beady eyes were aimed at my neck, and fear, real fear trickled down my spine.

I’d made a huge mistake. Or, I made another huge mistake.

I’d taken my jacket off in the Escalade.

Then when Franco had been distracted I balled it up and slipped it under the seat.

I knew I’d be patted down as soon as I entered the house and Franco would find Owen’s phone.

I’d told Tex I’d leave it on for as long as I could so he could track my whereabouts.

Now I wished I had that jacket. My white thermal left too much of my neck exposed.

I knew what Wilco saw.

My hand automatically lifted to cover Owen’s mark. Not out of shame. I wanted to protect it. That mark was mine and only mine. Wilco didn’t get to distort it, mock it, he didn’t get to look at it.

“I always knew you had it in you. Same as your mother—a lying whore.”

I didn’t even flinch at him calling my dead mother a whore.

I’d heard it all my life. I was numb to it.

Not only that but the uncomfortable truth was—she was a whore.

A high-priced Pollaski whore. That was what they’d made her.

My father and my uncle, they’d fought over her, they’d degraded her, then my father pimped her out mostly to piss his brother off, but also because my mother brought in top-dollar.

Disgusting .

“The difference is her pussy was worth more than that.” Wilco swept his hand up and down indicating my clothes.

“Thought you were a dead fish, that was what the clients reported, said you were so bad in the sack only good thing about you was that you were fresh. Now I see all you needed was a little training. I should’ve put the effort in.

Lucky for me, I no longer need to, seeing as you took it upon yourself. ”

Wilco smacked my hand away from my neck and stared at my mark.

“Fucking whore,” he scoffed.

When his hand made contact with my face the shock of pain didn’t register. Not right away. The first thing I cataloged was the sound. Crisp, loud, it bounced around the foyer until it slammed into me. Then the pain blossomed.

This…I was used to this. This was what I needed. I needed the pain to remind me I couldn’t be Owen’s, not here. Not in front of Wilco. He’d smell my weakness.

I didn’t move a muscle, I didn’t so much as twitch when my cheek throbbed from Wilco’s slap.

More would come.

I knew it.

And it would be worse than an open-handed smack across the face. Wilco liked to use his fists. Those would come soon.

“Franco?” Wilco snapped, and like the good little soldier he was, Franco appeared at Wilco’s side in a flash.

“Yeah, Boss?”

Boss. Gag. Franco sounded like an eager puppy ready to sit, roll over, or play dead. A far cry from how he behaved when Wilco wasn’t around.

I didn’t hide my smirk. Franco didn’t miss it. And he didn’t bother masking his response.

Not so tough now that your master’s yanking your chain.

Franco’s face turned a deep shade of red.

Oh, yeah, he could read my mind .

“How much longer until the plane’s ready?” Wilco asked and I was pretty sure all the blood had drained from my face.

Pretty sure became positive when Franco smiled and replied, “Less than an hour, sir.”

“What?”

Wilco’s head snapped back in my direction and his hand whipped brutally across my face.

“Shut the fuck up.” Same cheek, he always went for the same cheek. “You seemed to have forgotten your place. Pussy stays quiet until it's ready to be used.”

God, he was gross.

“Are we clear?”

I pinched my lips and nodded.

“Something for you to think about, Sarah. You’ll be paying for all the trouble you caused.

And I mean all of it. No more of your bullshit.

I was too soft on you, I see that now. I’ve got clients lined up in Canada.

Clients who are eager for fresh. I suggest you take the next hour and catch up on sleep because, from the time we land until you pay me back every dollar I’ve lost because of you, you’re working.

Due to your reputation, I had to get creative, so there are no rules.

The client gets what the client wants—whatever he wants.

Rest up, dear niece, you’re going to need it.

” Wilco’s gaze sliced back to Franco and he ordered, “Get this bitch out of my sight.”

Franco didn’t delay. He stepped close and grabbed my bicep harder than he needed to—way harder, so hard my control slipped and I cried out.

Wilco smiled.

Disgusting pig.

“And, Franco, for your trouble, you don’t have to be gentle.”

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

“Freebie?” Franco asked hopefully and I whimpered .

“Soon, friend, soon. She’s got some work to do first.” Wilco held my eyes and my loathing built to an all-time high.

I’d hated my uncle all my life. I’d never had a shred of respect for him. I’d never felt anything but revulsion. But right then with his handprint stinging my cheek and his depravity unbridled I hated him more than I ever had in my life. More than any human had ever hated another person.

I had less than an hour to find a way out of this mess. Less than an hour to figure out a way to kill my uncle.

I was not getting on a plane. I wasn’t going to be whored out. And I wasn’t waiting for Owen.

“Move,” Franco grunted and yanked on my arm.

I was going to kill him, too.

And as he dragged me up the stairs I plotted.

By the time he shoved me into a bedroom, I didn’t have a good plan.

That seemed to be the reoccurring theme with me, none of my plans worked and I got an in-your-face reminder when Franco slammed my back against the wall.

I was still reeling from my head cracking against the drywall when his hand snaked between us and grabbed my breast with such viciousness I screamed in pain.

Without letting go he lowered his face to mine and his bad breath overpowered his bad cologne. My mind was still fuzzy but I had the wherewithal to struggle. The problem was Franco was stronger than I was and the more I struggled the tighter he gripped my breast.

“Keep fighting, bitch,” Franco sneered. “Nothin’ gets my dick harder than a bitch fighting.”

Oh. My. God.

I forced my body to still. I forced the bile not to rise. I forced the air out of my lungs because I was getting lightheaded.

“Soon, Sarah,” Franco growled.

It wasn’t sexy like Owen’s gravelly, rough voice.

It was predatory in a way that made me feel dirty. Franco was a filthy, disgusting rapist. An animal who needed to be put down.

His hand on my breast loosened and he slowly dragged his palm back and forth.

No. Hell no.

I could stomach him manhandling me, but something inside of me broke when he touched me.

“Get your hands off me,” I demanded.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Get your hands off me, you fucking pig—”

I said no more.

My breath came out in a whoosh when his fist connected to my solar plexus.

“What’d you call me?”

“Fucking pig,” I repeated. “Piece of—”

Whoosh.

My breath was gone again.

“You either gotta be stupid pussy or this is you begging for my dick. Which is it, Sarah? You a stupid pussy or you—”

That time it was Franco who didn’t finish his sentence when my knee came up and smashed his balls. Unfortunately, Franco had turned and deflected most of my upward knee thrust but I knew I clipped him. Which was really, really bad for me proving just how stupid I was.

It could’ve been five minutes, a half-hour, five seconds.

I wouldn’t know because by Franco’s third strike blackness was swimming in my peripheral vision.

By his fourth punch I went to a place so deep in my head I could no longer feel the pain of his blows, and sometime after that, I lost consciousness.

At least I knew he wouldn’t touch me. After all, he liked his women struggling, and I had no fight left in me.

However, sometime later when my eyes opened my first thought was I was going to kill Franco then I was going to kill Wilco.

I just needed to find something—anything—in the room that would do the job.

If I could just search the desk drawers.

The thought was fleeting because the pain was so unbearable I once again gave in to the darkness.

Mark this, Natasha, I’m coming for you.

God, please hurry, Owen.