Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Seventy Six

Benji

He struck me again, his belt snapping against the already raw and bruised skin from the morning's beating. I shouldn't have challenged him so quickly after volunteering myself as a sacrifice; I should have remained silent, allowing him to take her without a whisper of dissent. She means nothing to me; at least, that's what I tried to convince him—and myself. Yet, if he goes through with his lethal intent, how will I find a way to break free from this suffocating prison he has constructed around my family? The very thought gnaws at me, twisting in my gut like a vile serpent, tightening its grip with each passing moment.

I watch her sleep, her delicate figure wrapped in the gentle embrace of my warmth, nestled against the expansive landscape of my body. I hold her close, an instinctual urge to shield her from the world's harshness pulsing through me. It is a forbidden act to share a bed with a woman unless Derek, my father, grants permission for intimacy, and though he did imply that we were to... 'breed' with her, the go-ahead has yet to be offered. Not that I intend to conform to such demands, but I have no action plan for avoiding those demands just yet. Even so, the unspoken rule of never lingering in a woman's bed keeps me alert and restless. I shift just enough to signal my presence to him, aware that he is most likely watching us from the shadows, his gaze fixed on our entwined forms.

I know I shouldn't study her so intently, but how could I not? She's stunning—an ethereal blend of beauty that captivates me completely. A delicate fragrance wafts around her, reminiscent of ripe apricots mingling with the fresh scent of the ocean breeze. It's as if she embodies the very smell I long for in the world above. Freedom—a place I yearn to belong to. My heart races wildly at her touch, every gentle brush of her fingers igniting a fervent rhythm within me. Her soft sighs fill the quiet morning air, creating a wild drumbeat that echoes against the stillness, especially as she flexes her hand against my chest.

I returned her to her room last night, the air thick with a suffocating tension that hung over us like a heavy shroud; my intent was never to stay. Outside my father's torture chamber, I sat in the dim light, planning to take her back, if only to show myself she was okay. I strained to hear the muffled screams that echoed from within, each cry a testament to her enduring spirit. It was a resilience I had borne witness to throughout my own life, an unyielding force that seemed to pulse in the very marrow of my being. Now, I find myself standing at a crossroads, the weight of my choices pressing down on me like the oppressive darkness of this underground prison. Should I let the cruelty that has surrounded me seep into my soul, transforming me into a vessel of bitterness and revenge? Or do I summon the courage to rise above, advocate for my freedom, and carve out a path illuminated by hope and self-discovery? The choice feels monumental, teetering on the edge of despair and the promise of liberation, and I know just how to get what I want. This girl. Bambi. Bianca Rossi.

She holds the key to my escape, a fragile thread that dangles tantalisingly before me, and I find myself biding my time in this tense game of trust. Every moment feels like a delicate dance as I strive to prove to her that I'm not defined by the dark blood coursing through my veins. If only she knew I knew her trigger, that I was there before when my father raped her.

It's not an act; it's a phrase, one Antonio Rossi spoke aloud whilst my father was too consumed with using her body. But I remember.

Yet, she resists me at every turn, blissfully unaware of the fierce urgency that drives me to protect her, unaware of the conflicting shadows within me that compel me to manipulate her. Bambi is my ticket to freedom, but the weight of knowing that to reach that freedom, I must exploit her trust is a bitter pill to swallow. The very thought gnaws at my conscience, making the line between salvation and betrayal blur painfully.

That's why it pierces my heart when her eyes fly open, revealing a guarded expression that speaks volumes about the walls of distrust she has carefully constructed between us.