by Zoey Parker
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Bound: A Mafia Romance copyright 2019 by Zoey Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
***
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Contents
Bound: A Mafia Romance
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Books by Zoey Parker
Luka: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Steel Gods MC)
Gavriil: A Mafia Romance (Stepanov Mafia)
Ruthless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Violent Spawn MC)
Wicked: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Iron Raiders MC)
Savage: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Outcasts MC)
Zoey Parker Mailing List
Bound: A Mafia Romance
By Zoey Parker
Our wedding was fake, but my moans were real.
SAMANTHA
I should have known better than to go out that night.
My worst fears come to life when an enforcer for the Sokolov Mafia corners me to collect on my dad’s gambling debt.
He shoves his hand between my legs and tells me what I can do to work off what my father owes.
It’s sick.
It’s wrong.
But I don’t have a choice.
One wrong move and Trent will chop my whole family into pieces.
So I take the deal.
That’s how I became a mobster’s wife.
TRENT
I needed a fake wife.
And this pretty little thing with fear in her eyes is the perfect choice.
She knows what I’ll do if she doesn’t follow through.
Other men might feel bad for blackmailing her…
But I’m not other men – I’m the most feared enforcer in the city.
Marrying her was wrong.
And what I did to her on our wedding night was far, far worse.
In my defense, I never intended for this to last.
But before long, the innocent little toy becomes something more than just a means to an end.
And I decide one thing for certain:
I’m never, ever letting her go.
Chapter One
Samantha Black leaned back into the puffy vinyl backing of the corner booth at her neighborhood bar, On The Rocks. Nineties’ rock music thrummed softly, and the crowd was pretty sparse for a Friday night. She smiled at a waiter as he dropped off a plate with her favorite sandwich, the ‘Bacon Bleu Burger’.
Everything was in place: a tall glass of cold beer, hot food waiting to be devoured, and… She rummaged through her purse, eventually pulling out a worn paperback from its depths. One of her favorite thriller novels.
This was going to be a perfect night.
Sam came here on her own normally, but tonight, she’d met up with a group of work friends in celebration for a birthday. Once everyone made a group, albeit drunken, decision to go clubbing, Sam politely bowed out. After a childhood, adolescence and young adulthood full of appearances, galas, and events at the side of her famous investment banker father, Sam preferred to spend her mid-twenties taking it easy – like blending into the background and eating burgers in the back of dive bars.
The front door opened, and a man strode in. Sam swallowed her burger with a gulp, eyes riveted. Tall, dark, and handsome seemed cliché until she saw this guy. He breathed sexiness into the tired phrase, and his big work boots scuffed over the floor as he headed to the bar. Sam took a sip of her beer, unable to look away. To hell with it. She was going to stare.
Besides, she at least deserved the eye candy. After making the decision to reel in the socialite lifestyle, that inevitably affected the short list of lovers and curious suitors she’d strung along as well. She hadn’t gotten laid in a while – maybe a year – and while most nights she was content with her hand, this man awakened the urgent pulse of need inside her.
He had thick, dark, wavy hair, either black or hickory brown – she couldn’t tell in the dim lighting of the bar. He propped up a boot on the foot bar, his gaze sweeping across the room. He had thick, black brows drawn into a concentrated expression, and a jawline that would make a Ken doll weep. Despite his classically handsome features, he carried a darkness with him – more than just black stubble dotting his jaw, or the worn jeans and faded leather jacket. It was more like a shadow. Another shiver of need coursed through her.
Their eyes locked. Sam froze. She couldn’t even set her beer down. Something flashed across his face, almost like recognition, but that was impossible. She didn’t know this man – she would remember him. The bartender sidled up to him and commanded his attention. Mr. Sexy turned to order, and their intense connection broke like a tightrope being sawed in half.
Sam tried to focus on her book, but every few seconds her gaze slid toward the wide planes of the stranger’s back, imagining what sculpted terrains awaited beneath that worn leather jacket… Whether or not his biceps bulged... How big that bulge might be between his legs…
She gulped, squeezing her thighs together. Had she ever had such a strong reaction to someone before? Lord, let this man leave quickly. Clearly, she couldn’t be in the same room as him. Maybe she needed him to come and sit down with her and open his mouth, reveal himself to be a shallow idiot, to turn off the way her core cinched just from looking at him.
The bartender slid a bottle of domestic beer his way. Mr. Sexy took a long swig. And then he turned around, leaning against the bar, kicking up a heel.
Staring straight at Sam.
She drew a fortifying breath, focusing on her book again. But even as she attempted to pretend reading, her face flamed red. Her natural blonde, fair skinned features betrayed her all the time, but this betrayal somehow seemed the worst. She could practically feel the way he smiled, like laughing at her silently across the room, without even looking his way.
Sam straightened her back and set her book down. She wouldn’t let the intense scrutiny of this sexy man ruin her evening. She grabbed her burger, and right before she took a huge bite, stared this man straight in the eye.
The corner of his mouth lifted as she chewed. Somehow, this was a victory. Or a dismal failure. Either way, it didn’t matter.
Mr. Sexy took another pull of his beer. And then he walked forward, the heavy thuds of his boots sending electricity coursing through her. She swallowed, swiping a napkin across her mouth. When he slid into the booth next to her a mom
ent later, she could hardly speak.
“Looked lonely,” Mr. Sexy said, taking another swig of his beer. His electric blue gaze slid her way, eyes the color of a crystalline sky. Her breath evaporated. Being handsome wasn’t enough; he had to have a killer eye color too.
“Not lonely,” she said, clearing her throat. Even though the thrum of attraction pulsed through her, she didn’t want to just throw herself at the first handsome stranger who showed up. That wasn’t her style – at all. Even still, the question marks that danced around this man intrigued her in a way that made her ready to throw the rule book out. “Just hungry.”
He grunted, setting his beer down. He slid closer to her, so the side of his leather jacket brushed against her sweater. Her thighs clenched again, and it wasn’t from annoyance. Her arm tingled where he’d touched her.
“I’m pretty hungry myself,” he said, his voice low. “Not for food though.”
Shock rolled through her in slow waves. That had been a come on. And though the rational part of her brain screamed at her to tell this guy to fuck off, she couldn’t. Because she was hungry for the same thing.
“Not sure what to tell you,” she forced out, the words almost sticking to her throat. She bit down into her burger again. “But if you are hungry, I could give you a bite of this.”
“I saw the way you were looking at me,” he murmured, his voice coming out like pure silk and grit. “You’re just as hungry as I am.”
And then his warm, rough hand appeared at her knee. A gentle touch, one that from any other man might have had her running. But there was something in that touch that begged for more.
“Maybe I am.” She cleared her throat, setting the burger down. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll indulge.”
Something dark flashed across his face. His jaw flexed. “What if you had no other choice?”
She reeled back a little. His question was a slap in the face. And she didn’t like what it implied. “I don’t follow.”
“You’re Samantha Black. Jeffrey Black’s eldest daughter.” His nostrils flared as he spoke, and the darkness that lurked around his edges finally bloomed. This was the recognition she’d seen in his gaze when he’d come in. This wasn’t just a booty call.
“So?”
“He’s got something that my crew needs.”
She smirked, trying to keep it cool on the outside. Even though on the inside, her heart had started racing a mile a minute. “And who is your ‘crew’?”
“Sokolovs.” When she didn’t react, he added, “The guys who own your father’s out-of-control gambling debt.”
That was all she needed to hear. The final confirmation. Sam couldn’t keep up pretenses anymore. She set the book down, taking measured breaths.
Just a few weeks ago, her life had started a slow crumble, like the inner rumblings of a volcano that warn of a future eruption. In a matter of days, the blows came one after another.
Her dad revealing that he couldn’t make the mortgage payment – phase one.
Her dad revealing that he’d gambled away his life savings – phase two.
Her dad asking if she could lend him a grand just to make it until the next payday – phase three.
And now? Vesuvius had exploded.
Everything was ash and grit.
“Yeah. My dad had some gambling debts.” She smoothed down the napkin on her lap, equal parts scared and curious about what this man might say next. She didn’t know what the Sokolovs meant, but if this guy was tracking her down, then it didn’t bode well. “I don’t understand what I have to do with it.”
“Seems like he’s not too keen on paying them. I’m going to change that.”
She steeled herself, sending him her best hard stare. “I don’t have anything to do with his debts.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned in, and his hand found her knee again. “Maybe you’d be interested in settling the debt on his behalf.” His hand pushed up her leg, dragging the hem of her skirt with it. Her breathing went ragged as his hand slid between her legs, those dark, chocolate-colored eyes steady on hers.
She shouldn’t like this. She shouldn’t want it. But dammit, she couldn’t force herself to stop being wet. It was impossible.
“You think,” she forced out, her core tightening as his hand ventured closer to her pussy, “that I’m just some sort of available whore or something?”
He dipped his head, so close to hers that their foreheads almost brushed. Before he spoke, his knuckle nicked the damp crotch of her panties. She inhaled sharply, unable to keep herself from jolting. From wanting more of it.
“I wouldn’t call you a whore,” he said, scraping his knuckle over her pussy again. This time, he knocked her throbbing clit, and her legs spread wider. “But available? Oh yeah.”
She scoffed. “Please.” But when the word slid out of her, she didn’t know what she was even trying to say. She’d meant Oh Please but what had actually come out felt more like Please touch me more.
Sam’s gaze drifted down to her lap, where his hand was bunched beneath her skirt. He dragged a finger along the crease of her pussy. She rolled her lips inward to silence the moan that threatened to escape.
This was wrong. This was so wrong. But still, she couldn’t keep her body from reacting. Her pussy throbbed the longer this handsome devil stayed at her side.
Mr. Sexy grunted, running his thumb in a slow circle around her swollen clit. A mischievous grin played at his lips, and his voice came out all husky:
“Seems you wouldn’t mind paying off his debt at all.”
Chapter Two
Trent Flannigan didn’t normally get thrown for a loop. He was the one in control, all the time, in every situation. So when this jaw-droppingly sexy girl started moving against his hand, subtly but definitely moving against him, he about ripped her from the booth to take her to the back room.
His entire body prickled with awareness. He’d come to On The Rocks for one thing only – to hunt down Sam Black and deliver a stern message. But the second he laid eyes on her, he decided he wanted to have some fun first. But now, it was too much fun. She fucking wanted it. And he was all too ready to give her what she wanted.
“In fact, I know the perfect way to settle the score,” Trent murmured, catching a whiff of her amber-infused perfume. “It involves you riding my cock like a pogo stick.”
Sam gasped. Crack. Her palm slapped the side of his face. He’d pushed it too far. He reeled back, the sting more of a surprise than an affront. But he had a job to do. An appearance to maintain. So he curled his lips into a fierce smirk and grabbed her wrist, pinning it down at her side.
“Don’t mess with me,” he said, though it came out as more of a hiss.
“Don’t mess with me,” she shot back.
With her free hand, she pushed at his shoulder. He grabbed that wrist too, jerking both her hands behind her back. He kept her pinned there, using the back of the booth as leverage, while he leaned in close again.
“Nobody’s going to come check us out unless I do something a lot worse to you,” he whispered, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. “Right now, we just look like two lovebirds.”
With her hands pinned behind her, he let his free hand travel back up between her legs. The sweet heat there attracted him, made him desperate to feel more. This wasn’t how he usually threatened the people who owed his bosses, the Sokolovs, money or time. No, his game plan was usually shows of force. Surprise beatdowns. A robbery here or there.
Hand beneath the skirt? This was new territory. And strictly because Sam was the sexiest woman he’d seen in… fuck. Way too long. And the fact that she seemed to like it egged him on even further.
“Right.” She’d breathed out the words, that emerald gaze sliding down his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Lovebirds my ass.”
Her glossy blonde hair hung over a shoulder in a neat, tight braid. From afar, she looked like a wholesome model, someone a magazine would hire for winter par
kas and skinny jeans. But with her legs spread for him, she was every inch the porn star right now, tucked away into the corner of the bar, and so wet for him that it took every ounce of self-control not to shove his cock inside her right here at the table.
“You’re gonna love what I’ll do to you,” he whispered into her ear, tracing the folds of her pussy with a finger. “Especially if you don’t make sure your old man settles his debt with my boss.”
“Oh yeah?” Her chest jutted forward, sending those round breasts higher beneath her sweater.
Fuck, he wanted to rip that off her. Send it flying across the bar.
“Maybe I should leave you with a preview,” he said, yanking at her earlobe with his teeth.
She inhaled sharply, and he pushed a finger beneath the wet fabric of her panties. He plunged his middle finger deep inside her. Her pussy was velvet; a tight heat that made his vision go spotty for a moment. A strange noise leaped from her lips; a moan. Thinking quick, he pressed his lips to hers. Partly an effort to silence her and partly because he was dying to get a taste of her.
