The Alpha's Surrogate - Chapter #2 - Free To Read

Aviana

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Aviana

I keep running through the woods, my lungs are burning, every muscle aches, and I keep dragging myself. They can't find me; I refuse to go back, and I cannot help the smile on my face. Leaving hell after years in it feels good.

Two weeks ago:

Smack. Kick, Kick. I fall to the ground, blood coming out of my mouth. He’s pacing back and forth, his chest heaving, holding his forehead. He takes off his jacket before crouching down, holding my collar so tightly. His eyes are cold, piercing daggers at me.

“What did I say about talking to my partners?” he whispers in my ear, tightening his grip. No words come out, and he drops me, my head hitting the floor hard as I take in as much air as I can.

After composing myself, I stand up, trying to fix my wrinkled dress. I don’t want to cry. I won’t cry, at least not in front of his men. He leaves the room, shutting the door behind me. One of them comes, getting a handkerchief to wipe the blood off. I smile gratefully at Troy; he’s the youngest of them all. What does he call him again? Apprentice. He loves him the most. He leads me to my room of terror.

Troy looks around; it’s dark red in here, a big king-size bed, a big walk-in closet since he always wants me to look my best, like some sort of trophy he gets to show around to his partners. There’s a huge two-doorway leading to the balcony, but I don’t go there; all I’ll see are huge men with guns, patrolling the whole perimeter or shifting drugs.

“Are you okay, madam?” I nod, taking off my dress. He evades his eyes, blushing and holding the back of his neck.

“Blushing are we?” I tease, moving closer. He looks for a moment, taking me in. I go past him, taking off my thong. I like how he blushes; Troy is too cute for his own good.

I go to the bathroom and close the door. I sigh when I get in the tub, and I take my time scrubbing my body and putting shampoo in my hair. A young woman comes in to help me with my hair.

“I like your hair, Miss.” Indeed, my hair is one of the things I like about myself these days; it’s long, curly black hair. She continues to wash it and scrub my back but suddenly freezes and stands up, leaving the room.

“Mario,” I sigh, leaning against the tub border. He bends down to kiss my forehead before coming to my lips, but I move away; his every touch disgusts me. He holds my chin tightly. I hate him so much.

“You know if you obey me, things will be less difficult.” He sneers, pushing me. “I hate that you have to be so stubborn, Aviana.”

“I’ll always be until you let me go. Please, I’m so tired.”

“You’re mine, to hold, keep, and fuck!”

“I’ll never be yours, never,” I tell him truthfully, getting out of the tub. I wrap a towel around my body and let my wet hair down. When I leave the room where both are in, I breathe. How have I survived this long with a monster? I need to leave soon and fast. I need to go to my mother, but does she even care? She knows I am here; can't she at least try to fight for me? Is money more important than her child?

Is she well? Does she miss me? Think about me. Who took over Papa’s business when he was killed? I don’t want my mother near it; I don't want her at risk. For two years, I've endured this hell just to keep her safe. Two years of torment, torture, and abuse.

Mario saw me when I just turned fifteen; I remember that day well. My father threw a very luxurious party at our home for all his associates. He was new in the drug cartel business. I was always against it, but my father hated that we were poor; he was willing to do anything to make money, even deal with drugs. I lay on the bed, closing my eyes as memories come flashing.

“Mama, I don’t want to go,” I told my mother as she helped me into a blue dress, zipping it.

“Aviana, you have to be there, my love; all those people are the people you’re going to work with in the future,” she says, looking at me through the mirror and placing a sweet kiss on my hair. She smiles, gesturing for me to the door; my mother looks happier now. She always hated poverty as much as Father; she despised that we lived in a small house and didn't have much. She's a woman who always wanted more: jewelry, good food, the boat cruise—just the good life. But we couldn't afford it back then when your father is only a simple miner barely making enough. But we were happy, life is simple, and there was no stress, no guns, and no hundreds of men in our living room. But my parent hated that; maybe mother even pushed father into the Drug Cartel.

“Mama, I don’t want to,” I complain truly; I know the work my father does is not good. It isn’t dignified and is unacceptable by the law.

I look at my mother, who is looking at me beautifully; it is from her I got my flawless porcelain skin and my father’s jade eyes.

"Exactly one year ago we didn't have all these; can't you just be grateful?" she scolds, drinking her champagne in a classy manner. I chuckle; since when are we this classy? Mama looks at the emerald necklace my father recently purchased for her, especially for this occasion; she does look like a queen in her high-waisted pants and high heels.

"Ser Rico te sienta bien," I tell her in Spanish. She smiles, looking in the mirror once more.

"English, Ava," I roll my eyes as I put on the new heels.

"Being rich suits you," I repeat what I said earlier. She and I go downstairs.

I look in awe at all the beautifully dressed people talking with glasses of champagne in their hands.

“Papa,” I tap his shoulder; he turns to me with a smile and then kisses my cheek.

“Everyone, this is my daughter Aviana,” he tells his colleagues who slightly lower their heads to me. A man comes out; his black hair is shining; he’s very handsome. He takes my hand and kisses it gently, not breaking eye contact.

“Mario.”

I smiled at him, blushing a little. This man looks way older than me, but there are butterflies in my stomach. Father talks to him for a while about their business, but Mario keeps glancing in my direction next to my papa until he pushes me away gently, intensely looking at Mario now.

"Ve con tu Madre," he says not taking his eyes off him; something is going on, and my father smiles gently nodding. I sigh as he says, going to my mother.

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