Page 3 of Moss

Freak On A Leash - Korn

Riot

I sit in my office, elbows resting on the dark oak desk, my half-open laptop in front of me. My head rests in my hands, fingers trying to reach my brain with how hard they press into my skull. I have Penelope Russo tied up in my basement. Her father’s debt is half paid because of her. He has six months to get me the last five-hundred-thousand dollars. If he delivers, he lives; if I still don’t have my money, he gets a bullet in between his drugged-out eyes. My mind wanders back to when I first saw her.

2 days earlier…

My foot slams into his trailer door, caving under the pressure and opens, slamming against the wall inside. I walk in, stopping in the doorway as my eyes travel to the small girl lying on the floor.

I was unaware that Harold had a daughter. He has never mentioned one. Despite her hair matted in dirt and her clothes so torn they almost aren’t even clothes, she was still the most breathtaking girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Her long blond hair is matted, chunks of it falling over her face.

She has a mark around her ankle like been chained up, and rage immediately flares in my chest. Half-lidded green eyes locked with my masked ones. Her eyes are daring me to take her with me, daring me to get close to her, daring me to do something. But what is she daring me to do? I have no fucking clue. Her green eyes are captivating. Drawing me in from first glance.

Her father’s deep, raspy voice starts speaking, my gaze snapping to him. “Riot, thank you for coming.”

I grunt at that, responding with, “Don’t waste my time.”

He continues, “I hope this is enough, if it isn’t, I hope it could be enough for an extension to get the rest. My slutty daughter, Penelope Russo.” He looks proud of himself. I look back down at her, tears starting to form in her wide mossy eyes. Her full lips part slightly, her chest heaving up and down. Something jerks in my chest, the feeling foreign.

I look back up at Harold. “Your daughter?” I say, my voice controlled and dark, it echoes through the almost empty trailer.

“Yes, sir.” His voice trembles as he looks down, not daring to look at me, or his daughter, even though her eyes are still glued on me. “She has lost her virginity and has been slutting around with my friends.” With his friends? This girl looks like she’s been held captive for her entire life. There’s no way she consented to multiple people. The thought of him potentially touching her first makes my blood boil.

“Very well, Harold. I will take the girl for half the price. And I will be so generous to extend your time. You have six months to get me five-hundred-thousand, or your head will be on a plate at my table.” I grind out, stomping over to the girl, folding her into my arms, her small hands resting on my chest, her body pulling itself into an impossibly tight ball.

I don’t give Harold time to answer before I march out the door, Penelope in my arms. Mossy girl.

I don’t know why I took her. I have no need for her. No use for her. But I’m curious about her. I never knew Harold had a daughter. After all the years he worked for me. With a proper shower and nutritious meals, I know she’ll look gorgeous. She looks gorgeous now, but she definitely needs a shower.

A sharp knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I put my mask on, the neon green lights filling the dimly lit space. “Come in,” I grunt.

My little brother Viktor walks in and closes the door behind him. I pull my mask off, putting it back on my desk next to me.

Nobody but my family, my second, and my third know who I am. The only person outside of my family who knows who I am is Damien Bentro, my third, and Head of Arms. My brother Viktor is my second. He’s been in this life as long as I have, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for each other.

Viktor wears a purple mask sometimes. Usually when we’re really wanting to fuck with someone’s head. He makes a habit of barely wearing it though.

“What are we to do with the girl, Брат?” His thick Russian accent speaks up. Viktor and I are the only ones out of the family that still have our thick accents, as we frequently return to Russia, but are based out of New York.

The girl. Mossy Girl. “Leave her to me,” I gruff out, leaning back in my chair. I let my head fall over the back of it.

“It has been two days, shall we start feeding her, or wait?” His question pisses me off immediately.

“Дерьмо,” I spit. “Start feeding her. Bring me the first meal, I will take it. Full meals, full of protein, carbs, and good drinks.” My brother nods stiffly and exits the room swiftly.

I internally berate myself for allowing the thought of her getting food to slip my mind. I was going to bring her first meal and assess any damage done to her. See how easy she’ll break. She looks fragile. I hope she breaks pretty.

I have no plans for her. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her, but until then she stays here, under my watch. And if I could get her under me, that’d be nice as well.

…

An hour later, someone knocks on my office door. I grunt a ‘come in’ as I put my mask on. A maid walks in, food tray in hand, and sets it on my desk, bowing and rushing out of the room.

The soft click of the door latching has me pulling my mask off to examine the food in more depth. Chicken with seasoned rice and steaming vegetables on the side, along with some mashed potatoes and gravy. A glass of milk sits on the corner of the tray with a little white straw sitting in it.

I let it cool for a few minutes, finishing up an email before securing my mask on my face and heading out the door, food in hand.

When I reach her cell, I see her sitting limply in a chair, hands bound behind her. She looks unconscious. Anger flares in my chest as I take in her state. I set the food down on a table outside of the cell, quickly unlocking it and closing the distance between us with a few quick strides.