Mafia Slave

Chapter One

"Ah, home sweet home!" Wells shouted as we walked through the large, grand entryway.

The punctual sound of heels clicking on the polished wooden floor echoed throughout the foyer. A young girl, maybe around the ripe age of 20, came towards Wells. Soft brown curls framed her angular face and swirled down her back. Impeccably smooth skin was perfectly tanned and lightly freckled. Long legs adorned by ruby red kitten heels supported her small waist, wide hips, and curvy bust.

Her full red lips parted into a dazzling white smile as she took off Wells' long leather coat and kissed him on the cheek. She went for my short flannel jacket and hung it up on a curved copper hook in the hallway. A smile plastered her face, but her eyes didn't share the same affect.

I sat down gently on the deep red suede armchair in the main office on the second floor, with my 'new boss' across from me. The young lady set a silver tray in front of us, offering up a caramel colored brown liquor. I accepted and kindly showed my gratitude, while her older husband just snatched the decorated glass from her dainty manicured hands. She stood there in a old school pink, knee length dress with cherries dotting every inch. Right when she was about to step away, a foul liquid flew into her well made up face.

Wells sat like a king with an empty glass. He had a murderous look in his blue eyes, causing the woman to shake in fear. Yet she still stood tall, not squeaking out a single word. Even in the front of complete disrespect, she managed to look her husband in the eye and apologize profusely.

"I wanted scotch you stupid bitch! This is whisky!" Wells screamed like a banshee, with spit flying out of his mouth. She apologized again and took our glasses, walking out of the fire lit room. Truthfully, I didn't even know the difference between scotch and whiskey.

Wells turned to me, his wrinkled face now indifferent. "I apologize on behalf of my wife's mistake, she's an imbecile," he laughed heartily to himself at her nickname. I just nod my head silently, wanting to leave as soon as possible. The dark wooden door opens silently and his wife hands us our drinks and leaves, with only her lovely perfume trailing behind.

"I hear good things about you, Jasper. Catching not one, but two traitors. That son is what I call impressive. Have you ever thought of being a personal body guard?" He asks, as if my mind couldn't comprehend what a body guard was.

"I can't say I have before," my voice rings out clearly. This is exactly what I need in order to complete my mission. Tip off my own boss about Wells' hideouts, and get as much information as possible.

"Well you're one now. You'll be staying here with the other three guards, my slut, and myself." He sounded proud of his decision to foolishly trust me. I mocked happiness as I shook his rough hand. "Thank you sir, that means a lot to me."

His cold, calculating blue eyes reflected the blazing fire in front of us as he looked up to the old analog clock. He grinned, making him look more crazy than happy. Wells met my honey brown eyes and told me dinner was ready.

I looked at him quizzically. The aroma of food wasn't yet in the air, and his wife hadn't announced supper as ready. Wells looked at me knowingly.

"My wife feeds all of us at 6 PM exactly unless told otherwise. The food is good too, since I bought that spoiled brat a cooking book. Can you believe she didn't know how to cook when she first came here? I mean for Gods sake, she was 15!" He roared in laughter, only making his words more foul.

I was right to say she was twenty. He had 'removed her from her previous home' as he called it. In my mind, that screamed kidnap. He smiled genuinely at the memories of kidnapping his 15 year old wife. Truly, this man was sick.

I am no Saint. If anything, I'm soulless. But even the devil has lines he won't cross, and treating someone with such disrespect is one of them.

Downstairs, the smell of meat and spices exploded into my senses, causing an overwhelming case of homesickness. A homemade meal is not a luxury I've had in months. Already sitting at the table were three burly men, all shorter than me. One of them looked a bit like a Neanderthal, with an oversized brow bone and a protruding lower jaw. The other one was the tallest, but he seemed skinnier than a bean pole. The third was perhaps the most intimidating, with a wide neck and a crooked hook, showcasing many right hooks to the nose.

Two of the henchmen sat on the far side of the cherrywood table, while Beanpole sat closer to the narrow doorway. Wells took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for me to take the other leading side. Slender arms set a large rotisserie chicken in the center of the table, surrounding it with other plates and bowls filled to the brim with mouthwatering food.

The young woman took a seat next to her husbands right. She had cleaned off the mess the whiskey had caused, looking a little fancier in her knee length aqua dress with candied heels to match. She smiled and waited for everyone to eat, before she asked her husband if she could have a morsel of the food she slaved over.

He looked at her as if she had grown an extra eye. "How dare you, you fat bitch! I told you to lose weight, not gain. Greedy bitch," he mumbled that last part. She apologized and agreed with him, staring down at her small hands in her lap.

This was pitiful to watch. This gorgeous woman has done nothing but care for and slave over Wells, and he treats her like a piece of gum under his Italian leather boot. My insides coiled at the hollow look in her eyes. She was probably imagining being anywhere but here. Honestly, I couldn't blame her.

The beauty of a girl held onto her flat abdomen as her stomach rumbled with hunger. She paled as her husband turned to her, like the life was draining out. Wells smiled wickedly.

"Are you hungry baby?" He asked in a soft tone. She nodded, her brown curls bouncing like waves on an ocean. Wells took his half full plate and swiped all of it onto the hardwood floor beneath him. His wrinkled hand motioned down to her. "Eat."

The woman slid her chair back violently as she stood up, her 5'10" frame towering over us. All of the body guards kept their eyes downcast as they continued eating the delicious food. I had no appetite.

"No! I am not a dog!" Her beautiful voice wavered as she stood her ground. Wells just shook with fury as he stood up. My eyes followed the back of his hand as it collided with her perfect skin and high cheekbones. She fell to the ground hard, letting out a pained yelp after her face was hit. My jaw clenched in anger.

"Eat darling. Or we are going to have a special night!"

Her dark, round eyes widened. She stood up again, looking almost intimidating in the face of Wells' 5'4" height. Her shapely jaw tightened, and her fists clenched.

"No." She managed to ground out one word before a sleek gun was pointed at her. Her red lips parted as she took in the cornered weapon in his shaky old hands. She put her soft hands towards the ceiling as she got down on to her knees. Fat tears rolled down her face and her hands went to the fresh green beans.

I have to get this girl out of here. But truthfully, I knew there was nothing I could do until my mission was complete and my job was done. Nausea rolled into me as I thought about what else Wells has done to this woman. If this is what happens in front of dinner guests, what happens away from prying eyes?

And on that day, I vowed to save that girl, if it was the last thing I do.