Free My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3 by Marita A. Hansen Page A

Matteo?”
    “ Yes, they call him
that.”
    “ The girls said he trains
the male slaves.”
    A nother scream went up, Jagger pleading for
mercy.
    “ I wish they would kill him,”
Red repeated. “It would be kinder.”
    “ You want everyone
dead.”
    “ No, only the ones in agony, and at least
I don’t hear Mario scream, I couldn’t handle that. I only hear him
shouting, not screaming like Jagger or that Russian
man.”
    I clenched my fists, wishing I
had stomped
on the priest’s neck when I had the opportunity—regardless of the
consequences.
    The door next to us
opened , the
light from the hallway breaking through the darkness. As though it
would burn them, the women scurried to the opposite side of the
room, only Red remaining by my side. She looked up at the guard in
expectation, making me wonder whether she was sitting by the door
to get noticed. I wanted to ask why she wasn’t like the rest, but
remained silent.
    A heavy-set man with a potbelly looked
down at me and Red. “You two. Up.”
    Red helped me to my feet, her
hands not tied. We followed the guard out of the cell, which
appeared to be one of many, eight at a quick glance.
    “ Forward,” the guard said,
indicating with his gun.
    We headed up the staircase, both of us
naked. Turning the corner, we came upon a large room filled with
beds, a number of them occupied. A few feet away from me, a fat man
grunted on top of a woman, the woman remaining still, her eyes
dead. Another man headed down an aisle, stopping by a black
woman—not Mario’s slave. The man took his clothes off then climbed
on top her, the woman not moving.
    I looked at the guard, knowing I would
fight to the death to stop that from happening to me, but instead
of pushing me towards a bed he shoved me up another staircase. Red
walked ahead of us as though she knew where to go, the guard
ordering her to slow down.
    I stopped at the top, the opulence
stunning me. It looked like the decorator had thrown up the worst
of the Baroque period, everything over the top, the large room
nothing but an eyesore. Golds and reds filled the space, while
floral curves abounded. Large white sculptures with expressions
belonging to people in ecstasy were positioned between
uncomfortable-looking furniture, the settees not giving the
appearance they were made to be sat on.
    Both Red and I were
directed across the lounge, then up another flight of stairs and
down a passage. We came to a stop in front of a door, where another
guard stood, a grisly man who reminded me of Federico. A stab of
pain speared me, the memory of seeing Matt shooting Federico making
me want to cry. I may not have known him for long, but right now I
wished he was alive and Matt was dead. That thought hurt too,
because I didn’t understand how I could go from loving a man to
wanting him dead within such a short space of time. I had laughed
with him, told him my biggest secrets, cuddled him—and had made
love to him. He may not have thought of it as love, but I did, and
the memory of that old Matt, even if he was a lie, was hard to let
go.
    The Federico clone opened the
door for us, telling someone inside: “The women are here.”
    “ Enter,” a voice came from
within .
    The first guard pushed both me and Red
through the doorway. My eyes instantly went to Matt. He was sitting
on the bed dressed in camo pants and a tight black top, smiling at
me as though everything was a big fat joke. He pointed to the
floor. “Kneel.”
    The guard shoved me and Red to our
knees.
    Matt wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You
stink of piss. Move back,” he said, waving his hand at
us.
    Red shuffled back, but I remained still,
glaring at the bastard. I wanted to yell and scream at him, but I
couldn’t even utter a word, my anger making me mute. I’d mourned
the bastard when all along he’d been playing me, laughing at my
pain and leading me to hurt another man over his deceit.
    “ Move her back,” Matt said
to the guard.
    The guard grabbed my hair