Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Nine

WYNTER

S mile but never show your teeth. Do as you’re told, yet never be a pushover. Behave like a lady until they need you to be their whore. Repeat as many times as is necessary until your future is secured.

That was the mantra ingrained in my mind since the day I was old enough to understand my place in this vile society. Which in my case was the day I turned fifteen and my mother so kindly scheduled a house call with her physician to get me on birth control. It would have been different had she done it for my well-being, not that I was even interested in sex, but her reasoning was far from altruistic.

An unplanned pregnancy would not only ruin my figure and reputation, but it’d ruin my future and any chance I had of securing an equally beneficial marriage.

Beneficial to her, of course.

With wealth came responsibility, but with beauty came a duty. Arranged marriages were a dime a dozen amongst my peers. My two ex-best friends found themselves in one, even Stella nearly had. Not to mention my parents are currently still married, though I doubt they’ve seen each other in years.

Yet although I knew my future would be with someone I didn’t love or choose, I never expected it to be with a sick and demented monster–a man like my father.

Though it seemed fate had a funny way of fucking us when we least expected it.

Lying awake in bed, tossing and turning for the better part of four hours, I allow my mind to wander to one of my last nights in New York.

“You’re worthless, Snow,” he murmured in my ear, his rough fingertips covered in blood caressing my cheek in a way that made my skin crawl with disgust. “That’s why no one cares if you're gone, carina. There isn’t anyone in this world who’d come looking for you. Nor would I ever allow them to try.”

I closed my eyes to push back the tears that had been threatening to come out the moment we’d arrived at one of his casinos on the lower east side.

Dressed in a scarlet red dress he’d chosen for the night, one that per usual wrapped around every one of my curves like a second layer of skin, I entered on his arm with my head held high like it was my honor. Of course, from the moment we’d stepped foot through the front door, every eye in the room was on us.

On me.

My blonde hair glistened against the blood red of the dress that hung low on my chest and ended just above my thighs. It was less a dress and more just a piece of luxurious fabric wrapped around me and pinned with a delicate gold chain along my back, but it was exactly what Enzo preferred.

How else was he supposed to show off what he owned? They couldn’t envy him unless they saw every inch of what belonged to him.

After all that is exactly what I was to him, nothing more than a priceless possession he used to make others jealous of what he had.

An irreplaceable jewel whose shine reflected only on him.

It was no secret the people in his world believed he’d hit the jackpot in taking me as his wife. I was beautiful, young, and complacent–the ideal qualities of a mafia wife or any wife in particular. Not that Enzo was old, just shy of his thirtieth birthday, but his demeanor made him seem older, more mature than anyone his age. Maybe it was the aura of authority and fear he instilled in everyone around him. He’d been groomed to take the seat of Capo since the day he was born.

He wasn’t hideous either–olive skin, chocolate brown hair, and equally dark brown eyes that carried the weight of the entire world. Though his personality made him the most despicable devil, one I, not only loathed but also feared.

And now I was his wife, though that title meant nothing to me.

Our marriage was a sham. Luckily it had been quick, a simple signature on the dotted line below my name, metaphorically written in blood. We stood before a judge and Enzo sealed the deal with a chaste kiss to my cheek.

Despite what everyone believed, we never consummated our marriage. Enzo hadn’t ever touched me, and I had my own suspicions why–not that I’d ever voice them aloud to anyone. I didn’t have a death wish. Yet the fear of him one day changing his mind and forcing himself on me, never faded from the back of my mind.

Fear ensures the weak remain loyal, and betrayal was his number one fear. He knew I feared him more than anything and it was exactly how he wanted it.

Especially on nights like this one when his jealousy and possessiveness got the best of him.

“But by my side you are worth more than you could ever imagine,” Enzo reminded me, just like he did every single day.

Tonight was no exception. Tonight, the well deserving asshole who’d dared touch the wife of Enzo Marchesi, lay on the floor at my feet, an inch away from a merciful death. Merciful would be if he died, and not the agony that awaited him if Enzo was in the mood to play. After he’d put his hand on the small of my back while I waited at the bar for Enzo to finish his “meeting”, he’d been dragged down to the basement where we were now, and taught a lesson never to touch what belonged to his Capo.

Enzo was not only a cutthroat monster because he had to be, but he enjoyed every second too. The worst kind of predator because the thrill of the chase fascinated him before going in for the kill. It made him disgustingly aroused to see the look of terror in his victim’s eyes and watch every sign of life leave them. His own twisted fucking foreplay.

This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed Enzo deliver one of his “warnings”, yet it seemed like despite the constant threat and whisperings of what would happen if they dared come near me, every time we were here some poor assholes couldn't resist.

I’d be flattered, if the mere thought of being touched by any man didn't utterly disgust me.

The lewd stares already made me sick to my stomach. I was content with spending the rest of my life without the touch of a man. I had my own ways of self-pleasure, an arsenal of toys that could keep me busy and satisfied for the rest of my life.

No one had touched me in almost three years. No one had fucked me since Damon.

I’d like to say it had nothing to do with the fact that Damon was the best sex I ever had. Nor was it he knew exactly what I needed and how to deliver it. After all, before him I had Luke and a few others to keep me busy, though none of them compared to the daunting Dragon.

Damon was who I saw in every one of my fantasies. The moment I closed my eyes and brought my fingers to my pussy, he was who I’d picture touching me and bringing me pleasure.

But he wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t come to save me.

It took three of Enzo’s men who were in the room with us to bring the man to his feet. They sat him in the empty metal chair tying his hands behind his back to secure him. Not that the asshole could escape. He was hardly alive. His head hung low, his mouth dripping blood, but I could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. I could hear the soft whimpering of a man in agony.

The chair creaked as Enzo drifted behind me, his right hand coming to rest on his lower stomach. Enzo’s finger dug into my flesh, holding me in place as his free hand gripped my chin with force. “Look him in the eye mi tesoro, look at him as I slice his throat for daring to touch what belongs to me.”

I scoffed, not purposefully but if I’m being honest, I don’t think I really tried to hide my disinterest. Enzo responded by pressing his cock against my ass so I could feel how hard this was making him.

Bile rose inside me. I wanted to puke. I wanted to cry, and scream but I knew it was no use. He’d make me sit here and watch just like he did every time.

Not only did Enzo murder every man that dared to look my way and make the mistake of touching me or getting too close for comfort, he always forced me to watch only to clean up the mess when he finished.

I’d become desensitized to the smell of blood. It took three times for the sight to no longer make me queasy. The first time I vomited for a week straight. Every time I closed my eyes it was as if it was happening in front of me all over again. After the third time, I held it back, the bile burning as I pushed it down my throat refusing to let him see me fall apart.

He enjoyed it, thrilled by the sight of me sick to my stomach.

“Get it over with Enzo,” I spit out at him, instantly regretting it. The hand gripping my chin spun me around faster than I could react while the one wrapped around my waist came crashing into me. The slap was loud, and it stung like hell but I didn’t let him see how much pain I was in. He’d only do it harder if I did.

So instead, I fell to my knees, doing what I always did the moment I stepped out of line and forgot my place. With my hands on the cold, dirty floor beneath us, I lowered onto all fours and kissed his feet, silently begging his forgiveness for my rebuttal.

His fingers found the top of my head, twisting into my hair and pulling my head back to look up at him. With gentle strokes he caressed my cheek, petting me like you would a dog.

“You’re lucky you're beautiful, Snow,” he muttered as I closed my eyes, just before the gunshot rang behind me.

I awake in a cold sweat, dry heaving as I sit up to catch my breath, my palms trembling and bile churning in my stomach. Unable to take it I get up and rush to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet before falling back against the cold marble.

The nightmare I was relieving felt so real I almost thought I’d find Enzo standing before me when I opened my eyes. It’s supposed to be impossible. I saw him lying lifeless at my feet yet now he’s back, messaging me from his phone.

It can’t be true. It has to be someone playing a sick fucking joke on me. One of his guys must have found out what I did and is trying to scare me.

My hand comes up to my cheek, the dream so real I can practically feel my skin burning underneath my palm the way it had that night. Slowly getting to my feet, I head straight into the shower, undressing as I reach for the plug to shut the drain in the tub. I open the faucet of hot water, just slightly turning on the cold, letting the water pool at my feet.

Climbing in, I lower myself and lie my head back against the cool porcelain as the water rises, filling up around me. I need a distraction, something to take my mind off the fear of Enzo being alive. Of coming after me.

I allow my mind to latch onto something else to rid me of these terrifying thoughts and find the one thing which brings me pleasure.

It’s been two days since I sat across from Damon in his office and signed along the dotted line to be his. Though only on paper, the idea of being his again is making me feel a way I never imagined feeling with him.

Especially after letting him touch me again, allowing him an innocent taste of what he claimed he didn’t want. I nearly lost my shit after coming for the smug bastard and hearing him say I was his. The nerve he had to touch me that way and make me orgasm one second, then push me away the next saying nothing can happen between us.

Yet here I am, sitting in a tub full of water thinking only about him as I try to erase the torture of my past. How can I be getting myself into this mess when Enzo may still lurk in the shadows? If he tries to come after me and finds me with Damon, he’ll kill him without so much as blinking.

I can’t let that happen, yet I'm too selfish to end this arrangement before it’s even begun.

Stepping out of the bath an hour later, I ruffle back and forth through my newly restocked closet, unable to choose what to wear for our first official outing as a couple.

I’ll admit after my initial wallowing in self-pity, I spent a little longer on my personal grooming than I’d care to admit. It’s been almost a year since my last laser hair removal appointment and I needed a little upkeep especially since I’ve been with Damon for a week and he’s touched me three times in seven days.

Right before I lay down to bed last night, I received a text from my mother. I almost didn’t open it, afraid it was Enzo once again texting me since I’d failed to respond to his threats. But when I saw a different number appear, I opened the message realizing it was Willa who was making the threats this time around.

I knew it was coming. She wouldn’t risk showing up and once again disappearing without getting what she wanted from me.

Taking a break from tearing apart my closet I sit back on the bed and pick up my phone from the charging port on the nightstand. I unlock my phone and reread her text.

Willa: Lunch today at Saint & Second at 1pm. I’d love to get to know your new beau.

I cringe at the message, falling back onto the plush pillow at my head.

Mustering the courage to text him, I grab my phone and type out a quick message, holding my breath when I hit send.

Me: I have a request.

A moment later the phone dings with his response. With shaky fingers I tap it open.

Damon: Don’t you always.

I roll my eyes in annoyance.

Me: I’m serious.

Me: It’s more of a favor.

The next message comes in before I can type out what I’m asking.

Damon: Stop stalling Wyn and just ask.

A smile pulls at my lips when I realize how well he knows me and knows exactly what it is I’m doing,

Me: I need you out of the hours agreed upon on our contract.

Three dots appear to show he’s typing, but no message comes through so I send another.

Me: We’re having lunch with Willa at 1pm.

Damon: I’m working.

I groan. I knew there was a risk he’d decline or at least make me beg, but what the hell? Isn’t this what I’m paying him for?

Me: I thought the two hundred thousand covered these kinds of arrangements.

Damon: Out of hours will cost you extra, Princess. I’m with a client, and now I have to leave early.

The mention of him currently with another client stings. I mean I knew he still worked for Kingsman, but hearing him say he’s out with another woman, fulfilling her every desire, doesn’t sit well with me.

What the hell Wynter, did you really think he’d drop everything for you? Isn’t that why he arranged a set of hours only for you?

I try to go a different route, ignoring what he’s said and resort to begging.

Me: Damon please. She wants to meet you.

In other words, she wants to judge the authenticity of our relationship.

Me: If we indulge her she’ll back off quicker.

Damon: Wynter.

I picture him saying my name in the exact tone he usually uses, and a rush of heat makes me involuntarily press my thighs together. God this man is purely sexual. The thought of hearing him whisper my name as his hands graze my naked flesh is haunting my every waking thought.

Me: Please Damon, it’s just lunch.

Damon: With your mother.

Me: I need this Damon. Willa’s insufferable. I can't do it without you.

Damon: It’s not that I don’t want to go with you, Princess. I don’t like the way she treats you. If she says something to insult you, I can’t promise to hold back.

My heart skips a beat as I reread his last text.

Me: I promise we’ll leave as soon as she orders her third martini. That’s when her filter drops.

Damon: She has a filter.

I laugh to myself. Yeah believe or not the other day was Willa playing nice and being on her best behavior.

Damon: I’ll pick you up at 12:30.

12:29 PM.

Of course, the bastard shows up just before our arranged time, not bothering to drop inside before demanding I come out to the car to meet him.

After all, he’s the one on a tight schedule, and I'm forcing him to skip out on one of his clients to make room for his fake girlfriend . Jealousy tastes utterly bitter on my tongue but it’s something I can’t help. I’ve always been the jealous type, only before I had no need for it. No significant relationship, other than my on and off arrangement with Luke, but even that was more a convenience than a necessity.

No one ever had what I wanted and if they did, I could just as easily make it mine. But knowing Damon Drake might be mine temporarily and only on paper, while he gives it all away for a price to everyone else makes my skin crawl with disgust. I guess I’m paying for it only according to him, yesterday was a one-time thing and I won’t be reaping any of the benefits any longer.

So, while he sees this arrangement as just another one of his business contracts, I have spent the better part of the morning trying on outfit after outfit and obsessing about what I would say to my mother when we see her. Three years and I’m once again going to be face to face with her, listening to her spew out lie after lie. It’s like I'm suddenly teenage Wynter again obsessing over ways to please my mother even if only temporarily.

I figure she must be in the clear with the law if she’s risking being out in public again but from what I heard from Ace last night when he texted me to ask if I’d seen our mother since the wedding, the investigation into Wesley's extracurricular affairs has been shut down since the arrest of his accomplice Stephan Silver last year.

Which means she might be here to stay.

Grabbing my purse, I head down the stairs to the front door, taking one last glance at myself in the full-length mirror hanging in the foyer. I kept it simple, a fitted, mid-length white dress with thick straps that with a slit in the back that ends just below my ass in the four-inch clear strapped heels I’ve paired it with. My hair falls along my shoulders in sleek waves, while my eyes glisten under a soft shimmery shadow.

I’ve toned my look down on purpose, trying to blend into the aesthetic of the women in this town, but feel it’s impossible with the almost snow-white color of my hair. I’ve thought about potentially dying it, perhaps a dull and uninteresting shade of brown but just can’t get myself to do it.

Knowing where we’re headed to lunch, I’m sure my mother’s old society friends will be there ready to judge every hair on our heads. I’m not doing this for her , I remind myself.

Though just as I’m about to twist the doorknob to open the door, it’s pushed open from the outside. Damon stands under the doorframe in an all back ensemble, fitted slacks and a dress shirt, crisply ironed and tailored to perfection. The fabric of the shirt strains against his chest while the pants are doing the same around his thighs and ass.

I falter slightly in my heels, having to grab onto the frame to steady myself as I take a step back to put some distance between us. The scent of his cologne hits me like the breath of fresh air I’ve been dying to take. My eyes flick over his body as his gaze refuses to leave my chest, which moves in sync with the tick in his jaw.

The sexual tension is excruciatingly painful, wrapping around my neck and threatening to suffocate me if I don’t walk away or give into the temptation. But the look on his face as he takes in my full appearance, the pain etched into the corners of his eyes, is proof he doesn’t want me to choose the latter.

Thankfully, my phone chimes, breaking the tension between us and I thank the gods for this brief interruption before reaching in to find it's my mother who’s texted me reminding me of our lunch date.

Willa: Don’t be late, darling. I would hate to have to come looking for you. I’m offering to meet on neutral ground but I won’t hesitate to come to you, my sweet girl.

I can taste the bitter sneer in her tone just as another message comes through, this one more antagonizing than the last.

Willa: I hear your beau has a pretty swanky place of his own I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hosting me at.

Drake grunts as I slip my phone back into my purse, looking up to meet his gaze. “We should go, my mother’s waiting.” I don’t give him a chance to respond, instead rush out the front door and toward his car afraid he’ll call me out on what he just saw. That my mother still makes me cower down like a scared little girl is embarrassing.

Quickly, I slip inside his car and rest my hands on my lap trying to calm the nerves in my stomach. I have no clue how I’m going to survive this lunch but I better make this relationship between Damon and I believable if I want to ensure she doesn’t make meetings like this a recurring event.