CHAPTER 407: CIARA II

Ciara finally let the tears fall when the hefty man, standing at about 6ft 4inches, grabbed her to himself, a sneer curling on his lips; in his eyes, wicked glee.

"I am the one tasked to watch you, to make sure you don’t kiss and tell, and I have to say I appreciate a good woman when I see one... I like my woman loyal, but I don’t like them crying... it dampens my mood."

"Please..." Ciara pleaded, her voice trembling as she pushed the tears the more. Maybe if she cried enough, he would be totally turned off.

"More of that, and I will blow your brains out. I doubt you are any useful to the boss really... they could just hire another idiot at the hospital. So you better keep that mouth shut."

As he spoke, his eyes trailed lustfully over her face, down to the mounds almost hidden in the shapeless dress, and her quaking legs.

"You will be a delight, I am sure, and I must enjoy you."

And then he threw her rougly to the long sofa where she and her family had watched many TV shows.

"Please... let me go." Ciara’s hands had clasped as in prayer, her lips trembling, but the hefty man laughed, pried them apart, and dropped a kiss on her lips—a gentle one which belied his true intent.

"Relax, baby girl, I will take care of you... it will be over before you know it."

But the smirk on his lips told Ciara that it was anything but, that this was the kind of male that derived pleasure in long, painful sex, where the female is left demoralized, hurt, and abused.

Would this be a daily occurrence?

She knew it would be, if she survived today. And if she survived today, Ciara knew she might commit suicide. No way could she live with herself, could she live with the abuse daily, even if they released her family.

And just when she tried to space out, just when the man’s hands slipped into her dress, knowing the screaming would only prolong the pain, there was another knock on the door.

And Ciara–hell be damned–couldn’t keep the relief that shone on her face.

"Who is that?" The man’s voice had taken a gruff quality, unhappy with being interrupted. "Do you have someone visiting?"

Ciara nodded timidly. "A friend."

"Then why hadn’t you said so? Now, I might have to kill him too."

Him too? Was he here to kill her to start with? She quaked as he allowed her to get away from under him.

"And if you say a word... your family will join you in the afterlife. Send him away, as a matter of fact..."

She nodded again, her hands shaking, watching as the male hid behind the sofa, crouching low.

Ciara moved to the door quickly. Clasping her hands tight, she said a prayer, and then looked through the peephole.

It wasn’t anyone she knew, but from his demeanor, from the way his eyes were fixed firmly on the peephole, she knew that the handsome male was the fellow Mr. Giacometti had told her about.

Her breath shook, her chest rising and falling unevenly, guilt washing over her that she would be the cause of his death. But there was no choice. She was between the devil and the deep blue sea, and she couldn’t even warn him off without tipping the devil behind her.

The monster had told her to get the male away, but how could she, with the determination shining on the latter’s face?

There was no way out of this.

So, she opened the door. Her eyes were tumultuous, darting with desperation.

"Hey Ciara... how are you doing?" A casual, friendly greeting, like they were friends.

"I am fine," she muttered, while she gestured with her eyes, frantic movements that screamed she was in trouble, that she needed help—should in case he had come with back-up.

The male, in a short white-sleeved shirt and grey slacks, with a tall build and sharp grey eyes, cocked a brow and gently pushed the door inward. He was coming in.

Ciara wasn’t sure what to think; not with the swagger he had about him.

"You aren’t dressed yet?" he questioned, stepping into the room. "Aren’t you going to the party again?"

"Sorry, I was busy." Ciara played along, her eyes darting to the sofa where the hefty man was hiding.

The male, confirming location, immediately pulled out a pistol from underneath his shirt and pointed it at the sofa professionally, while he continued speaking.

"Go upstairs then. I will wait for you here."

Ciara, obeying the instruction, hurried upstairs without looking back, leaving the two males in the room.

Meanwhile, the agent sat down carefully on the sofa, crossed his legs before him, gauged the point where the criminal would be hiding, and pointed his gun there, waiting for the idiot to raise his head.

And that the idiot did—he raised his head a few minutes later, his eyes widening when they met the barrel of the gun, when they saw the smile on the visitor’s lips, just before pain ransacked his skull, plunging him into oblivion.

The agent blew the smoke off his gun, winking at Ciara, who he saw at the top of the staircase. She must have rushed down when she heard the sound of the gun.

"You killed him..." she stammered, stepping down slowly, her eyes wet, her lips quivering.

"Did you have a better alternative for him?"

She shook her head, remembering that he would have killed them both—killed her after raping her.

"It’s a good thing to the world that he is dead."

And then she pulled her suitcase with her and met the agent downstairs.

"Thank you."

The agent shrugged, tucking the gun to its previous position. "Don’t mention. We have to wait a little. My friends will join us soon... it will help push the façade that we are all going for a party. They will also help with cleaning this bloody mess. Is there a back door?"

Ciara nodded quickly. "This way." She pointed, but the agent wasn’t moving.

He rather gave her a quick nod, and settled back into the sofa. "Do you happen to have a light snack lying around?"

Ciara frowned. "Light snack?" How could he eat with the mess before them? She was finding it nauseating already.

"Yes, I said that."

She bit down her curiosity and hurried to the refrigerator.

"What’s your name?" she asked a few minutes later, watching the agent gobble down chips like he hadn’t eaten for the past two days.

"No name."