Life Of A Mafia King

CHAPTER 26

She Changed, Not Over Night
Like In The Books You Read,
Over Years,
Slowly, Painful And Brutally,
No One Is Here For Her
Until She Deside To Ask Death
To Be Her Friend..
___________________________________

Still 6 Years Ago..

Master motion me to sit again, I know I'm going to be punish for this, In order not to make that punishment worse, I sat down.

Master sat across from me, he appeared calm, bemused and it's dangerous.

I hold my little brother close to me as much as possible, away from his stare.

"Don't look so disappointed. You were never going to get away, I own these streets." He snapped his fingers, ordered two drinks.

When that waitress set mine in front of me I did not bother to ask what it was. I simply drank it, fast. My limbs tingled as the alcohol took effect.

Master leaned back, spread his legs wide, as if providing his arrogance room to stretch. He set a pack of cigarettes on the table.

He lit the cigarette and blow smoke on my face, i cough "well, i enjoyed the run" he said in calm voice.

He stand up and grab my elbow, when I refuse he called his men, Michael is the one who come and snached my brother from my hold.

I shout at him but he didn't even react, master tied my hands, I kicked and tried to grab on anything with my feet. I knocked over chairs, a table covered with empty glasses, kicked the doorjamb of the entrance.

I would have done anything, absolutely anything, to save myself from returning to that cage, to the men who used my body.

There was one moment when I was facing the interior of the café as the master struggled to hold on to me.

Master will take me to his room filled with the trappings of his lack of imagination. His anger at my attempt to escape would be cold, cruelly measured and brutal.

We reached mansion, master drag me holding my hair in his fist.

Master closed the door to his bedroom and stood against it, smiling. He is a man who smiles without any change in his eyes.

His eyes are dull, uninteresting. There is not one original thing about the man except for the scar on his face.

There was a different way to fight. I knew I needed to find it, to live, to make it, to my little brother.

He pulled his gun from his waistband and began running his fingers along the length of the barrel, over the trigger, the slight curve of the handle, a beautiful affair with pearl inlays.

I walked over to him and got on my knees, I have to do this for me and my brother's survival.

I held his wrist gently, pressed my lips against the underside. I became someone different, a girl who could satisfy a man with his desires.

I held his wrist and opened my mouth and swallowed the barrel of his gun, occasionally massaging his arm.

The gun was hard, even though my throat was swollen, raw, I relaxed as best I could and I took the barrel of that gun into my throat.

I looked up at Master, who gazed back at me curiously. He leaned against the door, relaxed. I tried to breathe and treated the gun like I would his dick.

I choked myself on that weapon, making soft, wet, strangled sounds. I could see how much master appreciated the display, how his breathing changed, the stiff rise of his pants.