Like a television series, My Masters’ Nightmare is broken up into seasons and
episodes. A new episode will be published every 3 weeks until a season has
ended. There will be fifteen episodes per season.
characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely
into the hotel bar knowing there was a strong chance that I would be drugged
and kidnapped by the end of the night. Which was exactly why I was there. And why I’d slipped on the little black dress
with two slits up the side, anything to encourage it to happen. I paused to
look around the room, aware I was being watched by more than just the men in
the bar. Four surveillance cameras were positioned at strategic points, my
co-workers watching from outside of the New York hotel, where only the rich and
A blond man
pushed off a barstool and headed for me, his cream-colored Versace suit
suggesting he was a cut above the rest of the patrons. He looked familiar, possibly
a movie star from one of the many films I didn’t have time to see, my job as a FBI
agent all-consuming, which was the way I preferred it, so I didn’t have time to
think about my husband. I held up my hand before the man could get a word out,
showing him the ring I refused to remove, the diamond encrusted band lovingly
designed by my husband, who’d been killed by the very people I was going to
surprise, the man bowed, then returned to his seat, allowing me to get back to
my work. My gaze moved to the end of the bar, where I hoped Jagger D’Angelo was
still sitting—my predator, my target, the bait for unsuspecting women. And he
was the perfect bait, the man so beautiful he could’ve stepped right out of a
Versace catalogue, the suit looking even better on him than the actor who’d
approached me, the light material covering him a tease to the senses. The mob
certainly had picked well, because Jagger was a work of art.
as a woman sashayed up to him. She was drop-dead gorgeous like Jagger, but blonde
instead of raven-haired. I wondered whether she was his target for the night.
She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a better view of her stunning face,
which answered my question. She was too old, mid-thirties at a guess, and from
all the data I’d read on the case, the missing women were all in their early
twenties. I didn’t fit the profile either, but only on the birth certificate the
orphanage gave me. I was twenty-nine, yet looked like I’d just walked out of my
teens, the parents I never knew leaving me with good genes and nothing else.
deepened as Jagger’s hand slipped around to the woman’s behind, giving it a
squeeze. Was he out with a lover? But he couldn’t be, because he was supposed
to be working tonight, our informant telling us that another woman was going to
be snatched, no one in particular, the only criteria being that she was
beautiful and within the right age range, although from the intel gathered Jagger
tended to prefer blondes, his wayward hand confirmation of this, which was
another strike against me, considering I was a brunette.
my bracelet instinctively, which probably caused static to go off in my minders’
ears, the tiny microphones in the baubles well concealed. I nodded, a habit I
did before doing something insane, like abseiling down a steep cliff, jumping
out of planes far too close to the ground or right now, catching the attention
of a human trafficking mobster.
for Jagger, steering myself through the gaps between the tables and people. More
men turned to look at me, one of them getting a slap across the back of his
head courtesy of the woman sitting next to him. The makeup artist had certainly
done a brilliant job on me, the black kohl and gray eye-shadow around my eyes creating
an exotic look. One of the male agents had made a wisecrack that I would fit
right into a harem, but I wasn’t dealing with the Middle East here, the Italian
Mafia was my target.
A hand touched
my behind. I turned and glared at the perpetrator, or should I say pervert with
the way the sixty-something man was leering at me. He was handsome, his silver
hair and laugh lines not diminishing his looks, but the glint in his eyes told
me there was more than one predator working the room. I could read people well,
and right now this man gave off the vibe of Hannibal Lecter. Note to self: get
one of my co-workers to follow him.
touch what doesn’t belong to you,” I said.
“I would be
a fool not to,” he replied. “You have such a stunning body.”
that, and I wasn’t being arrogant either. I was in the best shape I’d ever been.
Over the past six months, I’d become addicted to exercise, working out until I
was past exhaustion, to the point that I could barely remember my own name let
alone my husband’s. But Matt’s sweet face always came back to haunt me, someone
I would never see again, no matter how much I cried for him, and it was all
because of one person: Frano D’Angelo – Jagger’s cousin.
man smiled wider, probably because I hadn’t moved, although if he could read
faces as well as I could, he would know not to mess with me, because right now
I wanted to kill.
your name?” I asked for my fellow agents’ benefit.
“I’m sure I
will be seeing you again,” I said, that one line relaying to my co-workers that
I wanted him followed, because he was definitely a sex offender—no doubt about
to waste any more time on him, I headed for a barstool two seats down from
Frano’s cousin. Jagger turned to look at me. Relieved that he had noticed me, I
sat down on the stool and and waved at the bartender, who instantly came over.
He reminded me of Captain America with his slicked-to-the-side blond hair,
square jaw, and muscles. He just needed the star-spangled banner suit and he
was ready to go.
you like, gorgeous?” he asked.
I answered, hoping that Jagger was listening in.
bartender leaned on the bar, his rolled up shirt exposing muscular forearms. “I
bet you taste better than the drink.”
my ring finger in front of him.
said, looking disappointed.
with that, which is why I intend on spending the night with as many margaritas
as I can handle, or should I say, cannot handle.”
“I caught my
husband in the arms of a cliché.”
his head. “What kind of crazy man would cheat on you?”
with a taste for blonde bimbos.” I shot a pretend glare at the blonde woman for
effect, happy to find that Jagger was now openly staring at me. “So, I’m here
to drown my sorrows.”
certainly help you with that.” The bartender winked, then moved away to get my
drink. I swiveled around on the barstool, pretending to survey the room, though
unsuccessfully, because Jagger’s stare drew me straight to him. The blonde
glanced behind her, giving me the evil eye, then took a hold of Jagger’s chin, trying
to get his attention. He yanked free, snapping, “Vai via!” which I knew was ‘Go away’ in Italian, or with his tone
‘Beat it’. The woman started talking in rapid-fire Italian, begging him to
ignore me, that she would pleasure him until he came in all her holes. I
refrained from screwing up my face at her vulgarity, because there was no way I
wanted him to know I spoke his mother tongue. I had learned it from my foster
parents, plus my skills at picking up languages was now legendary in the FBI,
one of the reasons why I was put on assignments relating to foreigners. I could
speak French, Russian, Arabic, and of course Italian, as well as Spanish and German,
only the Asian languages proving more difficult to master.
to stare, his intensity telling me he wanted to fuck me ... no, he was going to fuck me. When my boss had asked
me to take the assignment, I had said yes without hesitation, my need to make
Jagger’s cousin pay all-consuming, but when I was told I was to become a sex
slave to my husband’s murderer, for the first time I was left speechless, blinking
like a stupid airhead as my boss continued to outline my role. After his long
spiel, he’d made me go home to consider every aspect of the assignment, telling
me I had forty-eight hours to decide. Then on D-day, he’d brought in two families,
forcing me to sit and listen to the parents and husbands of the stolen women, all
of them begging for their loved one to be returned. Up to that point I was
going to say no, the thought of Frano touching me making me feel sick, but after
I saw a battle-hardened father break down, crumbling before my eyes, I knew I
had to take the assignment—no matter how much it repulsed me.
bartender returned with my drink, planting his elbows on the bar again. “What
does your husband look like?” he asked, probably assessing whether he had a
chance with me.
arrogant ass of an Italian with black hair and striking hazel eyes, far too
gorgeous for my own good.”
then glanced at Jagger, my description a perfect reflection of the man.
from looking, Jagger no doubt listening in. Instead, I pointed to a customer further
down the bar, the man trying to attract the bartender’s attention. “Looks like
you have an order.”
it’s for you,” the bartender smiled. “One tall blond who’s getting off at—”
darling, I’ll take the drink but not the man,” I said, smiling at his pun.
you do, but I’m likely to take my rage out on the next man who touches me.”
amused, he straightened, no doubt thinking I was no match for his brawn, but my
black belt said differently, although I wouldn’t tell him that, nor Jagger,
that talent needed to remain hidden for the time being.
at the customer again. “You really should serve him.”
bartender sighed, then headed for the man, finally getting the picture I was so
clearly drawing for him.
Stop ignoring me!” the blonde woman yelled.
I looked to
the side. Jagger was still blatantly staring at me. The blonde moved in front
of him, blocking his view. He placed a hand on her hip and gave her a hard
shove, repeating: “Vai via.” The
woman stumbled into another man, then spun around, giving Jagger a slap across
his face. Jagger shot up out of his stool, making the woman shriek, his glare
Jagger,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek.
her hand away, cutting her down in Italian. The blonde started begging for his
forgiveness. I glanced at her hand, noticing the wedding band, probably the
reason why he was with her, the man obviously having an obsession with things
he shouldn’t have.
“Basta!” he snapped enough.
a face. “Please, Jagger, you don’t need her, I’ll be all you want tonight.”
“Leave now or I tell Alberto what a puttana
“I’m not a
whore, I’m your lover, and he’d kill you if you tell him such a thing.”
my lover, and you’re taking a risk being here. Alberto could walk in at any
for him again. Jagger grabbed her wrist, making her cry out, his grip no doubt crushing.
I’d read he was a sadistic bastard, someone who enjoyed inflicting pain, which
suited his role as a slave trainer.
Bianca,” he let go of her, “before I teach you your place.”
flinched, making me wonder whether she had firsthand knowledge of his sadism.
She wiped at her eyes, then turned to me. “I hope he ruins you like all the
others,” she growled, then walked off, leaving me opened-mouthed, although that
was only an act for Jagger’s benefit.
attention moved to him as he slipped into the seat next to mine. He waved the
bartender over, then tapped the glass I hadn’t yet started drinking. “I’ll have
bartender nodded, moving back down the counter to make the margarita. It was
suspected that the man was under Jagger’s payroll, possibly the person who
spiked the women’s drinks, although we weren’t sure that was how they were
taken. We’d managed to catch two on camera, both of them leaving straight after
drinking what the bartender had given them, their gait a little unbalanced, but
not enough to be certain. I looked down at my margarita, wondering whether it
was spiked. I picked it up and took a sip, knowing it didn’t matter either way
since I still needed to be taken.
for Bianca’s behavior,” Jagger said, his accent as rich as his dark olive skin.
I turned to
look at him, stealing myself for the view, because he really was breathtaking.
I just needed to remind myself of the prostitute that had almost testified
against him, the beating he’d given her horrific. “No need to apologize,” I
finally said, wishing he looked as ugly as his soul.
his head to the side, the light picking up the gold flecks in his hazel-brown eyes.
For a second I wondered whether they were contacts, but remembered the image of
the man as a boy standing next to his mother, a severe looking woman in black.
His eyes were the same color, just vulnerable, not this devil in front of me
rather overprotective of me,” he said.
Doesn’t that mean white?”
“Sì. You know my language?”
Bianca and pizza, oh, and pasta, no.”
I turned back to my drink, not wanting to look at him, the man way too
beautiful for my senses to handle. It made me want to punch him, to kick him,
to do anything to take away that beauty, because he didn’t deserve it, not like
my husband, who’d been beautiful both inside and out.
I took another
sip of my drink, trying my best to appear disinterested in Jagger. From all the
intel I’d been given on the sex trafficking case, I knew the women he’d
kidnapped were all tough nuts, beautiful but feisty, and on the camera footage I’d
watched two of them do the unthinkable—turn Jagger down, both of those women married.
D’Angelo,” he held out a hand for me to shake.
the offering, instead taking another sip of my drink.
his hand. “What is your name?”
Petrov,” I said, needing him to know.
unusual mix: Mexican and Russian. I thought you said your husband is Italian.”
do you have a Russian surname? Or are you one of those modern women who find it
insulting to take a man’s name?”
Because I would be an idiot to use my real name, not
to mention that I have to be sold to the Russian, so I can bring him down along
with you. My boss had
told me that the D’Angelos weren’t the main target, that they were only a means
to get to the Black Russian, the man at the center of the world’s biggest sex
trafficking operation. Still, Frano D’Angelo was my target, the Russian just a
“I have a
married name,” I finally answered Jagger, “but I’m throwing it away for the
night, like my husband threw away our vows, and by the way, it’s rude to
hard not to with the description of your husband.” He placed his hand on my
knee, making me hold in everything I had not to break his fingers, although I
imagined doing it anyway. “And he’s a fool to cheat on such a beautiful lady as
why I’m not interested in you. You look just like him, so kindly remove your
hand from my knee.”
certain about that?” he said, his cocky smile too sure of himself.
his hand, the smile not leaving his face. He appeared to be enjoying himself,
the man unusual, but with his looks my rejection was probably a novelty for
him, and most definitely a challenge.
back to my drink, willing myself to ignore him.
leaned into me. “Take your frustrations out on me, pretend I’m your husband. Hit
me, whip me, even kick me in my balls, I can take it.”
choked on the drink. I hit my chest and coughed, trying to get myself under
shock you?” he asked, his voice telling me he knew the answer.
into BDSM,” I spluttered out.
“I was only
referring to SM, because I won’t allow anyone to tie me up, that involves trust
and I trust no one.”
is just as bad.”
“No, and I
don’t ever intend to.”
know if you like something if you don’t try it.”
like pain, and I certainly don’t like hurting someone who I’m having sex with,
because I only have sex with people I care for, not a random man who asks me
silly questions. Hence, I won’t like SM or
having sex with you.”
out a laugh. “You really are a strange woman.”
Because I’m turning you down.”
you hit on a married woman what do you expect?”
husband cheated on you.”
don’t make a right.”
mean you’re going back to him?”
know what I’ll be doing.”
“You’ll be doing me.”
“I don’t have the right equipment for the job.”
“What do you mean?”
He straightened, looking like I’d slapped him. “Obviously, I’m not gay,”
“I don’t know what or who you are, and you need to learn English better.
Men do, women receive.”
“If that’s your view then you’re inexperienced in sex.”
“I am not!”
“Then don’t say things that suggest you are, because womencando
men without penetrating them: they ride them, like I want you to ride me,” he
leaned closer, “they suck cazzonelike
I want your pretty mouth todoright now.”
“Do you know whatcazzone means?”
“I can take an educated guess withsucknext to it.”
He glanced down at his crotch then back up at me with a cheeky grin, his
eyes sparkling. “But do you know howgrandeit is?”
“An exaggeration—I’m sure.”
“You really should stop being a tease.”
My eyebrows shot up, my hand aching to slap him. “I amnota tease! You’re just an arrogant,
chauvinistic pig who thinks women should grovel at your feet.”
back against the bar with a smirk. “True. But if you weren’t interested in me,
why did you sit so close?”
“It was a
and are, other free spots in the room, like the one that Americano actor was sitting next to, the same man who approached
you, but you turned him away so you could sit near me.”
I stared at
him, taken aback that he’d noticed, because I hadn’t seen him looking. That was
bad, because it was my job to see and hear everything.
means you’re playing hard to get,” he said, looking smug. “I don’t mind that
game, just as long as the outcome is the same.” He leaned closer, brushing my
ear with his lips. “You doing me—like
you were born to.”
I yanked my
head away from his mouth, again willing myself not to hurt him, but for the
love of God, I wanted to so badly it hurt me.
Interested,” I ground out.
“I beg to
differ, because you are definitely attracted to me as I to you.”
“I only looked
at you because I thought you were my husband for a moment, your resemblance
uncanny, and I almost left because of it, but decided I wasn’t going to let
another man rule my world.”
“You’re a masochist then.”
at him. “How the hell am I a masochist?”
tormenting yourself by turning me down, when obviously all you want to do is me.”
crazy. I don’t want anything to do with
never come across a woman who’d rather insult me than bed me.”
there are plenty others.”
“Sì, they’re called lesbians. So, would
you rather do Bianca or me?”
I threw my
hands up in the air. “You’re impossible!”
been told that many times.” His smiled widened even more, displaying a perfect
set of pearly whites, although the two at each end were sharper than the rest,
like they were made to rip into me. “And I’ll be quite happy to watch you two...”
he cocked his head to the side. “How do you Americans say it? Going at it.”
I glared at
him. “Fuck off.”
“Such unladylike language, and I must say, you really are taking this too far.
We both know you want me, yet you persist on pretending you don’t.”
believe you. However, since I can see you’re going to play me all night, and
not in the way I want, I will leave you in peace, bella, and find a more honest woman to bring to ecstasy.” He blew
me a kiss then left, stopping for a moment to speak to the bartender.
out, hoping that I hadn’t overdone things. But from what I’d seen on the surveillance
footage, his last victim, a married woman, had slapped him, then walked out of
the bar alone, never to be seen again. Maybe I should’ve slapped him too,
because he more than deserved it. I imagined my finger marks on his cheek,
tainting his beauty. I wondered whether he truly meant it when he’d offered
himself up to be whipped, because I would do it, using it to punish him, not to
turn him on. I frowned, not liking where my thoughts were heading.
bartender came over a minute later, handing me another margarita.
from Mr. D’Angelo,” he said, then left to serve someone else.
I picked up
the glass, wondering whether it had been drugged, then took a sip. It didn’t
taste any different from the other one, although I knew that meant nothing,
that it very well could contain something that could knock me to my ‘unladylike’ass. I drank it down fast, then stood
up and headed past the bartender, giving him a glance. The man looked like he
was watching me out of the corner of his eye, maybe assessing whether the
drinks were affecting me. Again, I wondered whether he was involved in the
out of the bar, purposely swaying a little as I headed for the elevator. Jagger
was standing in the reception area talking to a gorilla of a man, who had his
back to me. Jagger’s gaze shifted to me, then he turned to the receptionist. I pressed
the elevator button, continuing to watch him, hoping he would come up to me. Or
maybe he was getting my room number. After all I did give him the false name
I’d booked under.
something to the man next to him, then before I knew it he was gone, heading up
the sweeping staircase. The elevator door pinged open, my nerves telling me that
he hadn’t asked for my room number, because I had a sick feeling in my stomach
that I had failed, and it wasn’t the margaritas. I should’ve ignored my boss’s
instructions to play hard to get, should’ve said yes to Jagger, making things
easier. No, I couldn’t have done that, because the footage had shown that all
the women who’d gone with him willingly hadn’t been snatched, which we knew
because we’d traced every one of them, only the two who’d turned him down vanishing.
I wondered how many more women had been taken, and how many hotels Jagger had used
as personal hunting grounds.
inside the elevator.
“Hold the door
please,” a man called out.
I placed a finger
on the hold button as the gorilla who’d been standing next to Jagger lumbered
inside. I pressed my floor number as the door closed, my heartbeat and hopes now
picking up, because the man was Alberto D’Angelo: Jagger’s cousin and Frano’s
brother. Alberto’s file was even bigger than Jagger’s. The man was notorious, a
true mafioso who’d clashed with the
law on many occasions, the first time during his teens when he’d killed a man with
one punch. But he’d avoided jail due to a technicality—the judge being in the
stood still, not pressing any floor numbers, again making me think he was here
for me, plus it made sense: follow me to my room, wait until I opened it, then
bundle me inside, wrap me up, and post me off to the human yard sale.
straight ahead, both nervous and excited, wanting this to happen, but also
wanting to rearrange his already busted-up nose for even considering taking me.
The elevator stopped on my floor, the door opening with a ping.
swept a hand out, “You first, signora.”
His Italian accent was gravelly, the voice of heavy smoker.
I forced myself
to smile. “Thank you,” I said, then headed for my room, again purposely swaying
as I walked. His footsteps followed, heavier, threatening, the thud, thud, thud
echoing my heartbeat. Willing myself not to fight back, I stopped outside my
room and pulled out the keycard from my evening purse, dropping it with a
‘drunken’ giggle. I bent down and picked it up, then unlocked my door, going
still as he headed past to the room next to mine. He opened the door with his
keycard, then disappeared inside. I stared in confusion, because I knew where
the D’Angelos were staying, and that wasn’t their room, the penthouse booked
under their name. My eyes widened, things finally clicking into place. I was in
a conjoining room where a door connected the suites. Still, how did they
arrange the room so quick? Had someone warned them about me, told them I was a
FBI agent? I looked down at my purse, wondering whether I should use the ninja
star hidden inside, something I’d taken without permission. My boss had wanted
me to appear helpless. But I never went into a job without a backup plan, and
if I had been found out I would use the ninja star as a distraction, so I could
get the hell out of there.
the door cautiously, not wanting to be taken by surprise. When I didn’t see
anyone, I closed the door and slipped the keycard into its slot, which lit up
the spacious room... I froze at the sight of Jagger standing in the adjoining doorway
that was meant to be locked. He was leaning against the jamb, smirking, like
he’d played the world’s funniest joke on me. I had expected Alberto, but it still
wasn’t a surprise, although the man must’ve run up those ten flights of stairs
like a wild person to get to my room before me.
you doing in my room?!” I shouted, wondering whether I should pretend to run or
demand he leave, one a natural reaction, the other not so much, but the second would
give him a better chance of grabbing me.
to take you,” he said.
snatch, abduct, capture...”
still, although my brain was now telling me I had to run regardless of whether
I needed to stay.
an eyebrow. “Normally women scream and run when I say that; not stand still,
making my job easy.”
“I’m not a
normal woman, so get out of my room before I call the cops.” I opened my purse
and pulled out my cell phone.
do you any good, because we’ll be out of here before the polizia show ... off to get you primed for the auction block.”
“No, I have nuts, and right now I’m thinking you have some too. You’re the
first woman to show some balls. I wouldn’t mind keeping you for myself.” He pushed
away from the door and headed around the bed.
I needed to be taken, I couldn’t let him know this. I turned for the door,
Jagger not even trying to stop me. As I opened it I discovered why: Alberto was
standing on the other side, blocking the exit.
in a bear hug, he lifted me off the ground and entered the room, heeling the
door closed. I struggled against him, but keeping it at a level where it
wouldn’t help me, although I could make him let go in an instant with a
stiletto heel to his shin.
go!” I yelled.
clamped a beefy hand over my mouth, but the yell was just a ruse, although my eyes
still popped as Jagger pulled out a syringe from behind his back.
so I don’t hurt you unnecessarily,” he said, reaching for my arm.
with my eyes for him not to do this, because I wanted to stay awake during the
ordeal, to take in as much information as I could, but the sting still
happened, the needle pushing into my arm.
your hand,” Jagger said to Alberto.
hand disappeared from my mouth to be replaced by Jagger’s lips. He kissed me, then
pulled back, his eyes going to mine, his intensity making me panic along with
the drug now coursing through my veins. He could do anything to me while I was
out. It made me want to fight back, regardless of my job. I tried to lift my
leg to stiletto him, but couldn’t move it, my body beginning to shut down. I closed
my eyes, sleep now pushing at the borders of my drug-addled mind.
brushed my hair aside. “I hope you fight me every step of the way, because I
like inflicting pain, and contrary to what you said about not being a masochist,
once I’m through with you, you will beg me to hurt you, to whip you, to fuck
you.” He nuzzled my ear. “I now own your body, your mind, your soul,” he
whispered. “You are mine to do as I please. I’m your master, your god, your
No, I’m yours, I thought, I’m
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I didn't see it coming, didn't realize how different everything would be within the space of a month. I would fall in love with one man, I would kill another, and I would lose my body, my mind, my soul - my freedom to them. I was an operative, a strong woman, someone sent in to save others, but under these two men I became weak - or pretended to be. I didn't like being weak, it angered me. If I had free rein I could cut my masters in two. But I wasn't there for pride, I was there to free those women and to take down the two men who sold them as sex slaves.