Stolen by the Mafia ☑️

Bree

Bree's POV

I woke up in a dark room.

My mind was racing, as I took in my surroundings.

My arms were covered in bandages and I knew that someone found me.

I don't remember much besides taking the blade from the package, after pressing it against my wrists, letting go of everything and letting the pain calm me.

The door clicks open and the tall man the stole me that night stood there.

Bastard.

"How long was I out?" I asked calmly. He walked towards me slowly and I backed away as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Two weeks, you woke up a couple times but you were totally oblivious," He said, looking at me, then my hands.

He reached out his hand, causing me to flinch, but he didn't react, "Give me your hand," he said.

I slowly moved my hand towards him and he jerked it into his grasp.

He took off the wrapping and  both my wrists and my arms seemed to be healed.

He let go of my hands and motioned me to come to him.

I sat there, not moving.

I ain't going to follow around my kidnapper.

"Come sit on my lap, pumpkin," he stared at me and I just looked at him like he was psycho, which I have enough of in life.

He stood from the bed, slowly walking around it, straight up to me.

He set his hands on my hips and I kicked him in the nuts, scooting the other way.

He grunted loudly.

He then pushed me over so my back was facing him. I wiggled, trying to escape but his body was already on top of me. I let out a muffled scream, squirming and throwing fists, forcing him to get up.

I jumped up ignoring the pain in my lower back and ran into the fucking wall.

Go me.

Before I could get up my arms were pinned to the wall and I was twisted around. His face was inches from mine.

My eyes forced to stare into his.

I didn't like being this close to him.

It brings back to much.

"Why'd you run pumpkin?" he asks, his warm breathe on my neck as he started gently placing kisses neck.

I stifled a moan, because he defiantly knows how to use that mouth.

He pulled away and grazed my cheek with his hand.  I slid down the wall wanting to get away.

"Stop doing that!" He snapped, anger clear in his voice.

He followed me to the ground, right beside me, well I scooted away.

He gripped my wrist causing me to whimper.

"Stop!" He pulled me into him and I started kicking and screaming.

"Let go of me!" I shout, slamming my hands into his chest, squirming, as he just pulled me into him tighter.

"If you don't stop kicking, I'll punish you," I froze, I let out a small whimper and he softened his grip.

"See, now that wasn't so hard," he kissed the top of my head and I flinched.

"I want to go back to my room," I tried to sound brave but it came out as a small request.

"Well you see, I can't let that happen," I looked into his forest green eyes, confused.

"But, why?" I didn't want to be around him. The smell of his cologne made sick to my stomach.

"You see, you hurt yourself.  I can't have that happen again." he stated.

I nodded, laying my head against his chest.

His grip finally loosened on my so I elbowed him in the guts and scooted away again.

His face contorted in pain and rage.

He was going to hit me.

He was going to hit me like my father.

Just like HIM.

He stood and walked over to me.

There was no were to go so I sat, my eyes facing the ground to not make eye contact, like I was taught.

His hands gripped my waist again, and he lifted me up and turned me so I was facing him.

"You really need to learn not to hit me," he chuckled at the thought, and continued walking me towards the stairs.

"Let go of me!" I screamed.

He was going to throw me.

I wiggled around in his arms and tears welled up in my eyes.

"I can touch you whenever I want to! Your my MINE!" I successfully fell out of his arms then sprinted  down the hall.

He caught me easily, his hands back on my waist for the third time in the last ten minutes.

"Please," I begged. "Please don't," I said, successfully stomping on his foot and running down the hall, to a dead end.

Fuck.

I sat my back against the wall, well he leaned down in front of me and moved his hands towards my face.

I flinched and tried to move away.

He was going to hit me.

"STOP!" he yelled, his voice full of authority.

I froze.

"Why would I hit you?" he asked, confusion laced into his words.

I didn't answer, so he raised his hand to brush the hair out of my face, but I flinched.

Again.

And he noticed.

Realization slowly dawned on his face.

Concern morphed to anger, which radiated off his skin.

My mind raced as I thought of my dad.

He was no different.

He was going to hurt me to.

A tear fell down my cheek as a awaited the blow to any part of my body.

Instead, he took a breathe, his voice calm and gentle when he asked the next words.

"Who hurt you?"