Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (54 page)

And at Abu Ghraib prison.

“Take one step back, and then get on the balls of your feet.” Marc complied. “Lean forward, and press your nose against the wall. Stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

Marc moved into position quickly, feeling off balance from the get-go. Silence. Time crawled by, as far as he could tell. How long had he been in this position? A cramp seized his calf, but by lowering his heel and stretching out his calf muscle, he eased the pain away.

Where the fuck had Adam gone?

Click-click-click-zzzzt!

Marc’s forehead slammed against the brick wall, crushing his nose as pain radiated from his side.
Dio
, Adam had zapped him with a stun gun or Taser.

“What the fuck, Adam?”

“What did you say?” Adam stood to his left, judging by the direction of his voice.

Marc pushed himself away from the wall and tried to resume a normal breathing pattern.

“Sorry, Sir. I just didn’t expect that.”

“Good. Now why didn’t you tell me you had a leg cramp?”

Adam shot him full of electricity for not reporting a leg cramp.
Shit.
Marc’s heart beat double time.

“I took care of it myself, Sir.”

Adam hit him with another jolt of electricity to his side, and Marc screamed in pain as his knees nearly buckled.

“Since when is a chickenshit like you able to take care of himself? You were given a simple order to tell me when you have a cramp, numbness, anything like that, and you couldn’t even do that. It’s
my
job to assess your condition. If you withhold information, you’re going to get hurt—unintentionally—and piss me off. Got that?”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.” He still didn’t comprehend the need for extreme force, though, just for working out a problem on his own. Marc had been taking care of himself a long time. He didn’t need to have someone baby him.

“Back in position.” Adam yanked him slightly sideways. Disoriented, Marc stood a moment trying to determine where the wall was in relation to his face.

Click-zzzzt!

Marc jumped away from the sound before he realized Adam hadn’t hit him with it this time. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t reach out and feel for the wall. He had to trust that Adam had placed him where he needed to be. Slowly, he leaned forward. Just when he thought he was going to topple forward onto his face, his forehead made contact with the wall. He quickly adjusted his position so only his nose touched.

His muscles ached from the stun gun. Surely Adam hadn’t gotten access to a Taser. It wasn’t an Air Taser for sure. Maintaining the stress position became harder now. The only thing breaking the silence was the ticking of the clock. Marc didn’t know if hours had passed or mere minutes. He hadn’t heard Adam move or even breathe for a while and didn’t know if he had stayed in the room. Responsible Tops never left restrained bottoms in a room alone—ever—so Marc trusted that Adam was still with him.

“At ease.”

Relief at hearing Adam’s voice again washed over Marc as he relaxed, lowered his heels to the floor, and stood upright. He flexed his legs at the knees, trying to get the feeling back in them.

“Did I give you permission to move your legs, grunt?”

Marc straightened his legs and stood still. “No, Sir.”

“You always this slow to follow commands?”

“No, Sir. I’ll do better, Sir.”

“It’s my job to see that you do.” Adam paused before adding, “Maybe we need to make you a little less comfortable.” Adam stood behind him now and began cutting through the rope, not worrying about saving it for a future scene.

Once freed, Marc waited for instructions before massaging his sore arms and shoulders. Permission didn’t come.

“Strip.”

It’s just Adam.

He removed his outer shirt and khakis then his undershirt. Standing in his boxer briefs, he hoped Adam would be satisfied and not demand the full monty.

“What part of strip don’t you understand, you devil dog?”

Being naked definitely would increase his anxiety level and vulnerability. Marc sighed and shucked them off. He wasn’t sure what Adam wanted him to do next, so he waited. After what felt like maybe twenty minutes, Adam grabbed his forearm and pulled him backward. Marc fought to remain standing, having no idea where Adam was taking him until he felt something pressing against the backs of his knees.

“Sit!”

Marc hoped there was a seat behind him as he eased down. When his naked ass slapped against a cold, hard surface, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if this was part of a mindfuck and not an actual chair at all, at least he hadn’t wound up sprawled in a heap on the ground.

Adam tied his ankles to what must be the legs. He jerked Marc’s arms behind his back, and Marc’s fingers latched onto the slats in the back. Definitely a chair. Adam soon had him restrained so that he couldn’t move.

“What’s your name?”

“Marc D’Alessio.”

“You sure about that?”

Marc thought a moment. Sitting here, stripped naked, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I think I might have been born Marco Solari, Sir.”

“Where were you born?”

“Milan, Italy. In Lombardy, Sir.”

“You sure?”

Slap!

Marc paused a moment too long, and Adam slapped him on his thigh with what felt and sounded like a tawse. He didn’t like that implement. Wouldn’t even use it on Angelina when she’d asked him. Without a warm-up, the hard leather strips stung like the dickens, but Marc wasn’t going to give Adam the satisfaction of knowing that.

“I asked you a question, grunt.”

“Yes, Sir! It’s what my birth certificate says.”

“You’ve been sold a bill of goods. You were born in Brescia, same as Gino.”

Certainly possible. It wasn’t all that far from Milan. Marc certainly had been told other lies surrounding his origins. What’s one more? Or had Mama and Papa had more than his name changed on his updated birth certificate after the adoption?

Wait. How did Adam know where he was born? Had he gotten access to Marc’s and Gino’s military records? How? Through Grant’s connections, no doubt. She’d tracked down Adam’s mother.

“That’s where we lived when we were kids, before we emigrated.”

Slap!

What the fuck did he do to deserve that one?

“You don’t open your fucking mouth unless I ask you a direct question. Got that, chickenshit?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Natal—no,
Emiliana
. Emiliana Zirilli Solari.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’m sure of nothing. Mama, my adopted mother, told me so.”

“You believe her?”

Marc didn’t know if she’d told the truth or not. “Not sure, Sir.”

“Any siblings?”

“Yes, Sir—Gino is my full brother. Then I have two cousins, Alessandro and Carmella, who I was raised with in my adopted family. They’ve been my brother and sister…until this year.”

“Who changed that status?”

“Melissa told me I was adopted.”

“What’s that got to do with your relationship with Alessandro and Carmella?”

Nothing.
“I guess I just put distance between us. I didn’t feel like I belonged in their family anymore, Sir.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with Gino growing up?”

“Typical brothers. Played hard. Fought hard.”

“Fought over a woman.”

“Biggest mistake of my life.”

“I didn’t ask a question, and I don’t want you making observations with that fucked-up mindset of yours. Just answer direct questions. Got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So you let some conniving bitch come between you and your brother?”

Shame washed over him. “Yes, Sir. I did.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

Do? What the fuck can I do? Gino died more than a decade ago.

“Nothing I can do. It’s too late.”

“What’s the worst thing you ever did to your brother?”

Marc drew a blank. “I can’t think of anything, Sir.”

The tawse slapped his ass. “Try again.”

Marc was the one wronged. Gino’s the one who had fucked Marc’s girlfriend, not the other way around. What did Adam want to hear him say? Why was he focusing on Gino? Marc’s problem was women, not Gino.

“I’m going to leave you here a while to think about how you’re going to solve the problem with your brother.”

What the fuck was he talking about? Hell, Adam had retrieved the body after Gino had been killed in an ambush in Afghanistan. How could he expect Marc to do anything about fixing that relationship? He’d come here to deal with the issues revolving around Angelina, not Gino.

The clock ticked loudly. Marc heard the door to the dungeon open and close. Rule one in a safe scene was never leave a restrained sub or bottom alone without supervision. But SSC rules didn’t apply in this scene where safe and sane weren’t guaranteed or even expected.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Marc thought back to that early September day in 2001 when he’d brought Melissa home with him from college to meet his family. He’d left her alone at his apartment and returned to find her naked and on top of Gino, fucking him.

Marc’s blood began to boil as he found himself back in that bedroom. His big brother had deliberately gone after the woman Marc intended to marry.

“Gino, get the fuck out of here!”

Marc launched across the room at them, and Melissa scrambled across the bed to the opposite side.

“She’s mine, you bastard!”
Marc straddled Gino and began pummeling his brother’s face until Gino heaved his body upward, knocking Marc to his ass on the floor. Gino had always been bigger, stronger. Marc had more of a skier’s wiry body. While Marc had bulked up some later while training with the Marines, he probably never would have been able to take his brother down.

But he’d never seen Gino alive again after that morning when Marc had severed all ties.

Gino, why’d you have to be such a fucking bastard?

His brother had everything—their parents’ love, the career he wanted. He could have had any girl in Aspen with their family’s money and his good looks. Okay, neither of them had done a lot of dating because the resort kept them so damned busy. Marc had spent less time with his nose in a textbook than Gino and more time instructing female guests in the techniques of skiing, hiking, and submission.

Most of the women seeking BDSM training were older, not to mention married.

Marc didn’t want to think about those days anymore. He couldn’t change anything about his past or his life with Gino.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Time passed slowly, as far as Marc could tell. He didn’t know what time it was or how long he’d sat here thinking.

Having had so little sleep the past week, he let his head drop back and decided to catch some sleep while he could.

“Who the fuck told you you could sleep, grunt? You think you’re back at your family’s resort?”

Marc sat up straighter. Adam hadn’t left him. He’d seen Marc dozing off quick enough. Almost too late, he realized Adam had asked a direct question. His responses were slow. “No one, T—Sir.” He’d almost slipped and called Adam Top.

“You’re not going to sleep until we get to the bottom of every fucking thing you need to figure out to get your sorry life back on track.”

So they would be using SERE resistance tactics. Sleep deprivation. Hell, he was halfway there already. Should speed things up.

Adam didn’t say anything more. Marc listened for movement but didn’t hear anything. He got the impression Adam was staring at him. Waiting for him to slip up or nod off.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Time. Nothing but time on his hands. Marc had been ordered to figure out how to unfuck the problem with Gino, so he’d better damn well focus. But on what?

His mind wandered to an unfamiliar kitchen, yet he felt at home there. Terracotta tiles on the floor, a weathered table that would seat only two comfortably, four including children. On it sat a Mediterranean blue ceramic bowl filled with pears and plump red grapes. The smells of coffee, garlic or onions, and rosemary permeated his senses. His stomach growled. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? The fast-food lunch on his way to meet Adam had worn off. How long had he been here? Surely only a few hours.

Gino’s voice as a young boy, speaking Italian, filtered into his consciousness, calling out to Marc from beyond the grave.
“Marco, andiamo alla nostra tana!”
Marc hadn’t thought of the lair in what seemed like a lifetime. Tears stung his eyes.

They’d been happy as kids back in Lombardy. No worries. He missed his homeland sometimes, although he loved Colorado and being an American.

Marc heard his own voice speaking his native Italian.
“Go play with Gino?”

The pretty lady he didn’t recognize dried her hands on her apron. “Put on your coats first! It’s still May, you know.”

Wait! What was the woman’s name?
Dio
, he hadn’t thought of her in forever. She babysat for Gino and him. As best he could remember, he and Gino had spent a lot of time there as young children.

Gino helped him put on his coat, and they ran out the kitchen door into the yard. “Let’s take our rifles in case we find enemies.” Gino led him to the place at the back corner of the yard where they kept their secret weapons stash. He handed Marco one of the tree branches they pretended with, and the two squeezed through a hole in the fence, soon to scamper off to their favorite place to play.

“Drink this.”

Marc came back to the present with a jolt, feeling a tug on the hood as Adam uncovered his mouth. He pressed something cold and hard against Marc’s lips, which opened to accept what turned out to be water.
Dio
, he was thirsty. He gulped it down, not caring that some trickled down his chin to his chest. He quickly drained the contents of the bottle but wanted more.

“Stand up.”

Marc stood, surprised the ropes had been removed from his arms and legs. When had Adam done that? Had he been sleeping? Adam allowed that?