C2 Owned by the Mafia Don

The inside was a total surprise.

Heavy chandeliers sparkled high up in the dome-like ceiling.

The walls were draped with lengths of cloth, deep red and black and I felt a twinge of unease. From the distance, for we were in a long corridor, I could hear the sound of music, muted but definitely loud, and I hurried along the dimly lit corridor, behind the girl who had brought me here, although she was barely acknowledging me now.

We passed a few men well dressed and sophisticated-looking, who glanced at me disdainfully, as though I was trash. I felt their eyes linger on my breasts and jogged forward quickly.

Marianne was waiting impatiently at a door and she flung me a cool look as she entered, pushing past the bouncers who stood guard. Instantly, we were assailed by music, the smell of sweat and smoke, the fragrance of assorted perfumes and alcohol, and the sounds of…fists on flesh?

I almost drew back in horror. But my companion, devious as she was, must have sensed my fear.

She turned and gripped my wrist, her nails digging in as she hissed,

“Oh, NO. You do NOT run away, little Marty the Mouse. I did not bring you here, all dolled up, just to turn tail and run.”

And she was dragging me forward as I stumbled in her wake, mumbling something about teaching me a lesson. My heart sank and I felt a roaring in my ears.

WHAT DID SHE MEAN?

Wildly, I looked about as we pushed through the crowds and she headed to a corner, where some plush, black leather seats and lazy-boys had been laid out in separate cubicles at the edges of the room.

I could see a myriad of cages and raised platforms, rings, and to my horror, the men, bare-bodied men in rings all over the place, swarming around, stripped to the waist, sweaty as they fought each other like mad animals in enclosed spaces. The crowds howled, men and women alike, all dressed well, the elite, the rich, assembled here to watch this gruesome spectacle. Mixed martial arts, boxing, and some other forms of fighting that I had never seen before. Gawping, I stumbled behind her, my panic rising. The music was loud, throbbing, and deafening. Serving women flitted around, dressed a little better than I was, their bodies on display, offering drinks and some other things that I blushed to see.

“Please,” I whispered,” I want to go home…” but Marianne was relentless.

She smiled gaily as she spun to me and said,

“Welcome to the Minotaur, the Fight Club of the century, darling.”

My heart sank further as I saw the group sitting around indolently around the table we were heading for, grinning at us like sharks who had spotted fresh prey.

Marianne’s crowd of friends at college.

Harry Lovelace II. Thomas Harding. Salim Mustafa. And the girls, Paige East and Jennifer Boulton.

All of them were part of Marianne’s close circle of friends and on more than one occasion, I had been forced to stand outside the door of my hostel room because Marianne was having a wild party; read that as an orgy.

Now I felt the eyes of the young men running over me as they ogled and I tried to hide behind Marianne. Mustafa’s thick wet lips pursed in a soundless whistle as his gaze skimmed over me.

The girls were not pleased to see me. Haughty Paige was shooting daggers at me with her narrow blue eyes as she asked frostily,

“Marianne darling, I thought you said you were bringing us a playmate?”

Marianne giggled and her voice was spiteful as she almost flung me to the table where her friends sat. I narrowly missed landing up in Harding’s lap and the shouts of laughter that went up as I evaded his hands, made me want to sob in terror.

“I did one even better, doll,” she drawled and I saw the evil hate in her eyes, making me want to turn and run.

“I got you guys a toy!” She cackled as she flung her hands about Lovelace, almost throttling him as she sank onto his lap, her arms around his neck.

“I wanna play…” slurred Lovelace with a huge grin and I saw he was sozzled as his blue eyes roved over me, and then fixed on my breasts.

Mustafa had his large hand clamped on my upper arm as he licked his thick lips and said,

“Well, well, Lil’ Marty the mouse looks …edible!” and he lunged, gnashing his teeth as I cried out, trying futilely to wriggle away.

Pulling me onto his lap, he added,

“Ummm…baby, Marianne, I want a piece of this bod.”

Vainly, I tried to fight him off, looking about wildly, but my arms were pinned and he was forcing me against his chest, his lips nuzzling my nape.

“Please, “I begged, for no one in the room seemed to give a care about what was happening. The noise was too loud and the fighting happening on the multi-stages around us was too engrossing.

“Let me go…” I said again, struggling and becoming more agitated as I felt the disgusting thrust of his manhood for I was perched on his lap.

My helpless pleas seemed to be encouraging him, making him more excited.

“Get a room for us, baby,” said Lovelace, leaning forward, putting out a hand to squeeze my thigh as Mustafa continued to maul me and I saw the annoyance on Marianne’s face as she realized she had made a mistake.

If her motive had been to humiliate me, she had ended up making me the centre of attraction for these disgusting men who could not wait to get me into bed.

“After you, Sal,” crowed Harry Lovelace who was blond and beautiful but an arrogant prick. He was a playboy but Marianne and her family were angling to have her marry him for it was rumoured that his mother was wealthy and onto her fourth boyfriend who was some millionaire business tycoon. He was stroking his member through his trousers and his current girlfriend Jennifer, who looked doped, giggled.

I screamed but my voice was drowned in the loud cacophony of sounds around us as Mustafa laid a hand on my near-uncovered breast and squeezed.

I knew had to get away. The man holding me tried to turn me around, to kiss me but as his wet, disgusting mouth landed on mine, I kicked him hard, using the sharp stiletto as a weapon. He grunted in surprise and I pushed him away, fiercely. Grabbing a drink from the table, I flung it at his face and even as the shock transformed into rage among the group, I was off.

I ran blindly, fleeing through the crowd, unheeding where I was going, pushing, shoving, ignoring the curses and the hands that tried to restrain me. And suddenly, I hit a wall that was not a wall at all; I was winded as I looked up into the coldest eyes I had ever seen, pale and emotionless, cruel, hard, and unrelenting as two hard hands sank into my upper arms and held me imprisoned.