Zero and Beauty's Breath (A Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club Series Book 3 - 4)

Chapter 6 (Beggar)

Present

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulls me out of my mind. There is no need for me to look up

as I already know who is here.

Even if I didn't recognize the sound of his shoes as he walks toward me. I never could, but now I would

know.

Not from the scent in the air of his cologne but from the evil aura of death that clings to him like a

second shadow, a silent man, for a silent monster, the evilest of its kind.

“Already waiting for your punishment. Very good, but today I don't have time. I need to leave in ten

minutes so let's make this quick, shall we, stand up and face the window.”

This is the Lucca I know, this is the man who married me by force with a gun to my head, who left me in

a ditch naked so his men could rape me and torture me with fire and metal rods.

This is the man who lives in my hell. My very own demon.

Obedient, I do as he says.

I don't flinch as I once did when I hear him slide his belt out of the hoops of his pants.

My back does not arch as he grazes my spine with the buckle.

I shut my eyes, focus on the colors I see mixed between the blackness and open my mouth as the first

lash of the buckle hits my shoulder.

This is my monster, my familiar evil.

He is the reason why I couldn't be the girl for Zero or any man.

Why I call myself Beggar.

Lucca Sanati is the reason why I chose the streets over my family,

Why I would never hold my daughter.

The buckle of the belt hits my shoulders, my spine, my hip bone, over and over again. It doesn't stop.

There is no words as he belts me.

I keep my silence in this empty room, but my mind is screaming. My body is howling for this to stop.

Saying that one gets used to this is a lie. No one gets accustomed to this type of torture, not even a

filthy beggar like me. Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

We just learn to bury it deep within us, remember to breathe through it, and understand that it is what it

is- A fucked up part of life.

The blood drips and like he said I scream, but not to him, to myself. It is what it is.

My beating feels like forever, ongoing from day till night.

Yet, I know only ten minutes have passed when his alarm goes off and it is his time to leave.

I remain stationed as he said, he hasn't given me permission to do anything else.

“Your food will be here in twenty, make sure you are bathed by then.”

He walks out and the slam of the door drops my shoulders, allowing me to feel, even if it is the physical

kind. When it comes, it is only then I crumble.

My back bleeds, my shoulder blades further damaged by the times they have caught the end of his

buckles.

But rather me than someone else.

I had six years to accept my monster, yet it took me a few weeks to forget that I could never be freed

from him.

One man, with a scar under his eye, helped me believe that even if it was just a temporary relief of the

cold hard truth that is my life.

Physically, I would have to do it myself, the only way to remove myself from Lucca would be if one of us

is dead.

'I said scream Beggar, scream, you filthy dirty beggar, SCREEEAM'

The door bangs open again and I jerk from my thoughts ready to do damage to anyone who walks in.

Only it is Magdelaine and her eyes are frantic as she rushes to me.

“You have to leave now Mia, Lucca has left with Marone, this is your chance, you won't get another

one, please come.”

She starts pulling me up from my crumpled position. If I had some humanity left in me one could say

she was a witness to my fall.

Magdelaine flinches, noticing the blood that drips on the floor in splatter. But I got to give her credit

when she grips my upper arm and still helps me get up.

“Thank you,” I croak, even a filthy worthless beggar like me knows some manners.

My voice though, ain't going to get better than what it was this afternoon when I last spoke to her.

The steps I take are dodgy, my back throbs from the beating it took just a while ago like I have five

different heartbeats at the same time.

I don't bath as I normally do after my whipping. Instead, I sit silently and allow Magdelaine to clean my

wounds on my back with a face cloth.

The gray t-shirt and jeans are a mission to get on. My mind is blank in this damp scented bathroom. I

can't think even if I wanted to.

My head feels empty.