Chapter 5 Four

Arabella's hand went to her neck once more as she recalled how he had injected her twice with some substance.

She darted out of bed and sped to the door. Her trembling hand gripped the metal doorknob, yanking it.

"Shit!" She kicked the door with the black ballet flat she donned and tugged her hair.

She was in trouble. How had she gotten into a situation like this?

She huffed while searching the room for a means of escape.

She patted her chest as her heart constricted and the familiar feeling of a panic attack surged through her.

After controlling the intense feeling in her, Arabella stepped towards the door again.

She twisted the knob, and luckily it gave way.

A smile spread on her face as she opened the door but vanished as soon as it appeared when she noticed the person at the other end.

She lurched, and her hand clasped over her mouth. She let out an inaudible shriek and staggered backward.

"Oh, sleeping beauty is finally awake! We should have a feast to celebrate it." A devilish smirk formed on his sinful lip.

Sandro's sea-green eyes twinkled, and he clapped while moving further into the room. "I was right when I said you couldn't run forever. Do you believe me now?"

Arabella shivered. Sandro noticed all the emotion passing through her, and a chuckle slipped out of his mouth, knowing she was scared of him.

He believed she needed to feel that. At least, that was the only way to make her know he meant everything he had said to her father before.

Sandro placed his hands on each side of her head, caging her.

"What is it, princess?"

The deep baritone of his voice caressed her body.

Arabella's nipples tingled, reacting to him and she bit her lower lip hard before letting out a wince.

"Is a feast too small for you to celebrate your welcome, or is there something you wish to tell me?" Sandro sneered as he searched her face.

He didn't know exactly what he was looking for but he couldn't seem to look away from her. She was beautiful without trying. Even as she had just woken from her slumber, he found her extremely sexy, which annoyed him more.

Her platinum blonde hair was natural, unlike the many artificial ones he had seen.

Her bright blue eyes gazed up at him, almost as if she was looking into his soul.

He was sure she had gotten her good look from her mother and not her damned father.

He noticed them brewing with tears. Tears she was trying her best to suppress.

He couldn't help it. His hand itched to caress her face, but he stopped himself from doing so and cussed inwardly.

His body was reacting to the bitch. His fúcking traitorous body!

"Let go of me...." Arabella said. She grimaced, shaking her head.

She wanted the words to come out strong, but instead, it was weaker than she wanted.

"You should fúcking beg me!" He growled, gripping her chin. "You should fúcking grovel before me, bitch!"

Arabella bit her lip hard. Her eyes flickered to his, and she noticed he was still staring at her.

"Do you want me to make you beg?"

The words shouldn't sound sexual, but he made them so.

Her leg almost gave way, and her core dampened more.

"P-please, let me go." She mumbled, glancing down.

"I didn't hear a word, bitch." Sandro slapped his palms on the rough wall above her head, making her flinch.

"You should make it a little louder. I might decide to spare you after considering."

"P-please..."

Sandro tilted his head back and let out a peal of laughter. "That's more like it. I smell fear, and I like those feelings."

She flinched, and her eyes rounded as he brought out a gún from the leather jacket he donned.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Of course." He mumbled, putting the gun to her head. "Do you think I was going to spare you?!"

Arabella shook her head. She winced as her heart clenched, and she gripped her chest. Her heartbeat quickened, and she sniffled as tears began to drop down her cheeks.

She was weak; she couldn't help it. But the bástárd in front of her made it even worse.

She didn't want to die. Death was the last thing on her mind, but seeing Sandro point the gún to her head, she believed she had run out of luck.

"Please, don't kill me!"

Sandro snorted, "Do you believe I can spare you over mere tears? For all I know, those are fakes."

His demeanour shifted quickly. He wasn't the playful man he had portrayed a few seconds ago.

A grimace adorned his beautiful face, and he sneered before grabbing a fist full of her waist-length white hair.

"Do you think I would let you go so easily?" He questioned, then tutted.

Sandro's nostrils flared as he sniffed her hair wrapped in his hands, Vanilla and Strawberry.

The innocent yet naughty scent he remembered her with.

"That would never happen, Cara mia."

Arabella gasped as Sandro pressed his body into hers. She moved to shove him away, but he grasped her hands and pinned them above her head before pointing the gun at her temple.

Arabella shut her eyes tightly as the gun cocked. She inhaled and bit her tongue while saying her last prayer inwardly.

Although nothing came to mind, she wished he could spare her and not do the evil in his mind.

"You know, I truly wanted to kill you. But where's the fun in that?" He chuckled and used the butt of the gún to wipe the tears streaming down her face.

"Do you want to know what I'll do to you, Bella?" His voice was laced with a thick Italian accent as he said her name.

He tilted her chin with his fingertip, ensuring she maintained eye contact.

"Look at me, Tesoro." Sandro urged.

Arabella shook her head. But her eyes remained shut.

"I fúcking want you to look at me!" He grunted, gripping her chin roughly.

"Open your eyes, or you'll be sorry this instant!"

Arabella flinched, her eyelashes flustered against her cheeks as her eyes opened.

Her blue orbs collided with his sea-green ones.

"I have a lot of ways to punish you." His eyes roved over her body possessively.

"You should be glad I am being lenient with you. But it can make you wish for death, and you won't ever get it. Do you know why?"

Arabella shook her head. She didn't like the man she was seeing in front of her. She didn't like Alessandro De Luca.

She wanted to run far away from him. Away from the surface of the earth if possible. But she was sure no matter how far she went; he was going to find her.

"My darling, Bella," Sandro caressed her pointed chin. "It is because I am death itself."

Arabella trembled at the coolness of his voice. Perhaps, death was better, or she should have wished for it because she didn't think she could open her legs for him.

Goodness, being a sex slave to her foe, was the worst punishment ever she could think of. Worse than being blown in the head with a gun.

She grasped the gun and pointed it at her head, "Kill me!"

"I'll never sleep with a man like you!"

"Do not yell at me!" Sandro shouted. His hand gripped her neck.

Arabella gasped, and she punched his shoulder, "S-Stop."

Sandro released his grip on her and glared, "Be grateful I am willing to make you my slave...."

"Séx slave," Arabella grunted.

"There are a lot of women begging to be in your shoes."

Arabella trembled. The urge to smack him hard on his face surged through her, but she might get in trouble if she did that.

"What do you want with me? I did nothing wrong to you!"

"Darling, you are paying for the sin of your father."

Tears clouded her vision once more, and she willed it back. She didn't want to cry in front of him. It made her look weaker than she was, and he was freaking enjoying it.

"You should acquaint yourself with the room because today marks the beginning of your punishment, and if I were you, I wouldn't like to be caught unaware." With that, he strode out of the room, leaving her to stare after him.

Arabella sighed and plopped on the bed. She shut her eyes while weighing her options.

She didn't want to die; she didn't want to be his séx slave.

She wondered if there was an easy way out of her dilemma.