Bound to the Mafia (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 2)

by Alexis Abbott

  I can’t save myself. And none of my friends know where I am or what I’m about to do. I haven’t had any chance to talk to anyone, not with Claudio and Dino shadowing my every step and monitoring my every breath. They took my cell phone. I have no idea where it is now. For all I know they’ve used it to tell everybody in my contacts list to fuck off and never speak to me again. Anything to isolate me further. I wonder if they did. If so, maybe they sent a message to the last number Bruno was using. Not that it matters. He’s probably moved on to a new number by now, and besides, he hasn’t shown any interest in me for weeks. I shouldn’t count on him or anyone else. I’m all alone in this, and I better get used to that.

  I’m standing in a dimly lit motel room, the blinking neon vacancy sign sending faint strobe lights through the thin curtains in shades of sickly pale green. Across the room is a rickety-looking bed with a lumpy mattress and threadbare brown sheets. The light bulb in the bedside lamp flickers ominously every few minutes like it’s ready to burn out any second. There are stains on the carpet I don’t even want to think about, pools of rust red and dark gold. Who the hell knows what all has gone on in this room? Or in any room of this shitty motel? I don’t want to know, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out. I’m going to get a taste of something horrible soon. It’s coming.

  My mouth is so dry. I wish I could get a glass of water or something, but I don’t have any cups here, and even if I wanted to try and collect tap water in my hands to drink, something tells me the water here probably isn’t quite up to drinking standards. So I just swallow hard and stare up at the ceiling tiles, trying to breathe slowly and calm my racing heart. The tears burn in my eyes but I can’t let them fall. It won’t help. And Claudio was very emphatic about keeping myself pretty. I need to prevent my eyeliner from running down my cheeks.

  I blink rapidly to stem the tears and hurry into the creepy little ensuite bathroom, slamming my hand against the clicker light switch. One of the bulbs over the mirror pops, sending tiny shards of thin glass flying, and I let out a shriek as I fall backward into the tub, tearing the shower curtain down as I go. I sit there stunned for a moment, my bare legs sticking up out of the tub while my head pounds from the pain of knocking it against the porcelain. I heave a deep breath and reach back to make sure I’m not bleeding. Thankfully, I’m not.

  “That’s gonna bruise,” I murmur to myself as I gingerly climb back out of the tub, trying not to step on any of the shattered glass. In this moment, I’m grateful for the ugly, oversized black platform heels Claudio forced me to wear. If I were barefoot right now, I’d probably have my feet all sliced up. I crunch across the glass to lean over the counter and survey my face in the filth-streaked mirror. My eyes are pink-rimmed from crying and even my designer mascara and eyeliner can’t conceal how tired and broken I look. I use my pinkie finger to fix a slight smudge of the dark red Yves Saint Laurent coloring my lips. It feels so strange, wearing my expensive makeup and slinky La Perla lingerie under my little black Moschino dress in a disgusting, barely-functional roach motel like this. I bought these things to impress my classmates and fellow fledgling socialites, my high-end friends. Shopping on Fifth Avenue was just part of my persona, the reputation I built for myself. It was expected of me then. Just a given. The lingerie I bought a couple weeks ago in anticipation of the time I would inevitably find myself stripping down for Bruno. It was a distant dream then, something I suspected would happen once we’d been together for a year or so. Once things smoothed out and we could see each other more regularly. I was already planning a life with him. Sixteen years old and in love and so, so stupid.

  Now I just want to rip off the lacy bra and panties and toss them in the dumpster below the window of this horrible motel room. I can’t believe how different I am now from the girl I was just a few days ago. I still had dreams then. I was so certain of how my life was going to play out. Even though it had been weeks since I last heard from Bruno, I was still holding out hope that he would show up and sweep me off my feet. I was thinking about the future, not realizing that even my present was in jeopardy. Everything I had, everything I was, I took it for granted.

  Not anymore. Maybe this is payback for how wonderful my life was up until a few days ago. I was so fortunate, with my loving parents and my fancy apartment and my designer clothes. I never wanted for anything. I can admit it now easily: I was spoiled.

  I guess it makes sense that now I’m being punished. Good luck or good karma or whatever you want to call it… can’t last forever, can it?

  It used to be that my job was just to get good grades, make myself appealing to colleges, maintain my looks, and stay out of any major trouble. I used to think all of that was so boring, so mundane. Now I would give anything to go back in time and slide back into that comfortable, dull life.

  Tonight I have a different responsibility. Claudio drilled it into my head.

  I am here to seduce a client. Well, not so much a client, as a victim of the mafia. A man who owes them money and has a penchant for underage girls. In other words, a complete and total scum bag in every imaginable way. I’m posing as a sex worker tonight, pretending to be something I absolutely am not. For god’s sake, I’m a virgin. I mean, I’ve seen movies. I’ve read books and magazines. I haven’t been living under a rock or in a convent for my whole life. I get the idea, the general setup I’m in right now. But I’m not prepared for it.

  Of course, Claudio told me that I won’t have to actually go through with it. I’m just supposed to act as bait, lure the guy into a false sense of security. I’m supposed to distract him and make him think he’s in for a treat.

  I shudder involuntarily. Ugh. Gross doesn’t even begin to cover it.

  And once the guy is totally vulnerable, caught up in the game, Claudio said that’s when the Costa boys, his associates, will swoop in to “take care” of the guy. I honestly don’t want to know what exactly that entails. I just hope my part in this will have ended by that point. It’s bad enough I have to pretend to seduce the guy. I know I don’t have what it takes to actually hurt him or anything. I just hope to god he doesn’t touch me.

  But that’s too much to hope for, I think. And I doubt that tonight will be the end of my servitude to the Costa family. It’s too easy. They’ve caught me, killed my father, distanced me from my mother—I have no idea what’s happened to her—and they have so much rage toward my family. I know they won’t be finished with me after tonight. Who knows how many more nights I’ll have to do this very same thing?

  Or worse?

  Claudio and Dino didn’t explicitly tell me I’m going to have to work for them more after tonight, but I can put two and two together. If my dad really did take that much money away from them, then surely one night isn’t enough to repay his debts. They probably just think they can trick me into thinking this is the only thing I’ll have to do for them. I know they think I’m stupid. And maybe I am. For believing that my father was a good, clean guy, that our good fortune was well-earned and deserved. For thinking that my amazing life could go on forever that way.

  Nope. Tonight is just the beginning.

  That thought makes me feel weak. Lost. Full of despair. My life as I knew it is over. This new, horrible chapter is on page one, and I dread reading the rest of the book. Sure, I could try to make a run for it. Climb out the window and shimmy down to the street. Beg somebody to let me in their car and drive me to the police station. But I know I wouldn’t make it that far. I can’t see where they are, but I know Claudio and Dino are close by, watching and waiting for the moment to strike. They’d stop me before my shoes even touched the pavement. There is no escape.

  A bright light flashes through the window and I rush over to look outside. There’s a beat-up truck pulling into a parking spot below. A dark green truck. The driver steps out and my heart sinks as I recognize that he fits the description of the mark for tonight. A tallish man with a potbelly. Balding. A graying mustache on his paunchy face.

  That
’s the guy.

  My pulse quickens and I start to panic. It’s happening. It’s really happening. I feel my knees buckle beneath me and I stagger backward, grabbing hold of the chipped counter of the kitchenette, trying to steady myself. I close my eyes and count slowly to ten. It’s something I read online once, that when you’re having a panic attack you’re supposed to try and clear your mind and just focus on counting. Focus on the numbers. Slow your breathing down. Find your center and push away your surroundings.

  But there’s no pushing away this world around me. I glance out the window again. The man is gone, clearly on his way through the building to get to me. “Oh god,” I mumble, nervously tucking the loose tendrils of hair back behind my ears. My hair is pulled back into a messy half-updo, which Claudio suggested. I wonder how I’m supposed to act when the guy gets here. I know he’s going to knock five times and then I let him in. I’m supposed to smile. Be coy, but available. Vulnerable, but not easy. I’m supposed to be the innocent young girl, but still be sexy.

  I’m not sure I know how to do any of that. But there’s a knock at the door, followed by four more crisp knocks, and I know I have to try. It’s time.

  With my blood rushing in my ears I walk over and undo the three locks, opening the door to allow the man inside. I plaster a smile on my face and greet him.

  “Good evening,” I say, willing my voice to stay strong. I have to act natural.

  The man steps inside and immediately looks me up and down, his eyes drinking in my tight little body, my breasts squished together in my fancy bra, the glittery lotion on my skin, the way the straps of my black dress slip ever so seductively off my shoulders when I shrug.

  “You’re much prettier than what I’m used to,” the guy says lewdly. “The agency did really good this time. All along I thought they was sending me their best, but it looks like they’ve been holdin’ out on me. You new or somethin’?”

  For a moment my voice seems to have disappeared. The guy stares at me expectantly.

  “Oh, uh, yes. I-I’m brand new. Just started,” I reply. “You’re—you’re the first.”

  A huge grin splits his face and he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Oh, I am, am I?”

  I nod and smile, taking a few steps backward. “Yep. Yes. So if I’m a little nervous, that’s why. I-I’m sorry if you were expecting someone more experienced.”

  “No, no. The greener the better,” he says, a predatory flash in his beady eyes. “I’ve been hopin’ for an opportunity to break a girl in. It’s an honor.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll do my best not to disappoint,” I respond, desperately looking for some way to stall. It occurs to me how little I know of the plan tonight. How far am I supposed to let this go before Dino or Claudio or whoever is out there steps in to take over? I’m not prepared for this.

  “Well? Let’s get started then. I paid for an hour and I intend to make every second count,” the guy remarks, rubbing his hands together. I freeze up, glancing around nervously. But I have to try to be calm. If this guy catches on and realizes something is up, who knows how badly this could turn out. If I let the mafia down… I hate to think what they’ll do to me.

  “Okay. Yeah, um, just m-make yourself comfortable,” I suggest with a smile. I throw in a wink for good measure and gesture toward the bed. To my relief, he follows my instruction and walks over to sit down on the edge of the mattress, starting to take off his boots.

  But when he begins to unzip his slacks, my stomach turns. I feel like I might vomit. This is all getting far too real now. I can’t do this. I can’t.

  But I have to.

  “Wait!” I interject, and the guy looks up at me with a confused, slightly put-off look on his ugly face. “Um, let me… let me dance for you first.”

  The guy sits up and fixes me with a suspicious look. Then he shrugs. “You’re a little awkward. I can tell you’re a beginner. But why not. Go on then.”

  With my heart racing, I take a deep breath and start to sway, shaking my hair down out of its updo to fall in loose waves around my shoulders. I turn around and move my hips slowly, shaking my ass for this complete stranger. I move this way for a minute or so, turning in circles, raising my arms up over my head, tousling my hair, blowing kisses. I feel incredibly stupid, like it’s obvious how inexperienced I am. I know this isn’t going to keep him entertained for long. After all, he didn’t come here for an amateur burlesque show. He came here to fuck me.

  I keep hoping that any second now, the Costa guys are going to burst through the door and end this charade before it goes much further. But the seconds tick by with no sign of the cavalry. I’m alone here with this guy, and I have to up the ante or he’ll get suspicious. Or worse... angry.

  So I bite the bullet and start sliding the straps of my Moschino dress down my shoulders, peering back at him coyly. I bite my lip and look down at the floor, trying to glance up at him through my eyelashes like a sexy girl in a movie. The guy is watching me with a hungry expression on his face, his jaw twitching slightly as though he’s trying to rein himself in. I rotate back to face him, curling my fingertips over the bottom hem of my dress to slowly slide it up my thighs, exposing myself in tiny increments. I’m doing my best, even though I have no real idea what is supposed to happen here, but I can tell it’s not enough.

  He wants more. He’s expecting much more than this.

  “Take it off,” the man says gruffly, waving his hand in a forbidding gesture.

  “I-I, uh, I’m a little shy,” I stammer quietly, feeling my face turning bright pink. His eyebrows furrow together and he narrows his eyes.

  “Shy? In this business? You’ll get over that fast,” he comments. Then he stands up, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I can help you get over it.”

  As he takes a step toward me, I reflexively take a step back. A flash of anger flickers in his eyes and he walks toward me more aggressively. I fall back and shake my head, feeling my stomach turn with dread and anxiety.

  “No. Please don’t,” I murmur helplessly. It’s getting hard to breathe, my heart is pounding so fast and hard. “I-I’m a virgin.”

  The man stops in his tracks for a moment, staring at me blankly. Then he grins, a shark-like, ravenous smirk. “You know, I’ve had other girls feed me that line before, but I never believed any of ‘em. But you… I believe you. I bet you really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

  Instantly I realize that was the wrong thing to say. It was a reflex, an instinct to plead for mercy. But it’s had the opposite of the effect I hoped for. He doesn’t pity me... he just wants me even more. He wants a virgin.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” I whisper, my throat tightening so it’s difficult to even get a word out. The guy shakes his head and quickly closes the space between us, his hands falling on my shoulders in a tight grip.

  “I didn’t pay for an hour of teasing and moping,” he snarls, leaning in close to my face. “I paid to fuck a pretty girl for an hour. Do whatever I want with her. I don’t give a shit if you’re a virgin. I don’t care who you are or what you want. For this hour, you belong to me.”

  He easily rips the straps of my dress and starts yanking it down my body as I whimper, tears springing to my eyes. This is it. I can’t fight him. It occurs to me that maybe this was the plan all along. I’m not here as bait. Claudio and Dino brought me here to be punished, to be some gross, horrible man’s sex toy. I bet they’ve got some candid camera set up somewhere in this shitty motel room so they can watch, get their sick, sadistic pleasure out of watching me suffer.

  The john scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder, roughly carrying me across the room and tossing me onto the lumpy mattress. The tears fall heavily now, and I don’t make any effort to stop them. It doesn’t matter if I cry or not. This guy is going to fuck me anyway.

  He starts to crawl over me, stripping off his jeans as he comes my way.

  In this moment, I wish I were dead.

  Bang!

 
I scream and scramble backward against the headboard in fear at the deafening sound from across the room. The man turns around, bewildered, and we both see it at the same time: someone has burst through the door, through the various deadlocks, and is barreling across the room toward the bed.

  “What the hell,” mutters my attacker, swiftly pulling his jeans back up and reaching down into one of the back pockets to pull out a small, shiny metal object. My heart does a somersault as I realize it’s a gun. But before he can turn and aim, the dark figure quickly grabs the john by both arms and jerks him off the bed, wrestling him down onto the filthy carpet. The gun goes flying across the room, sliding across the linoleum of the kitchenette area. I flatten myself down on the bed, my instincts warning me that it might go off, like it does on television. Amazingly, it doesn’t.

  “What the fuck is this? Some kind of sting operation?” shouts the john. He protests furiously, flinging his legs and arms around in a vain attempt to throw off his assailant, changing his story every couple seconds. “I wasn’t gonna do anythin’ to her! That girl... she—she’s my daughter. No harm, no foul. Okay, she’s not my daughter, but we—we’re on a date! It’s all consensual, I met her at a bar. I ain’t a pedophile, man! And she said she was eighteen!”

  I’m so in shock that it takes me a full ten seconds to register what’s happening. I went from being in fear of imminent sexual assault to complete and utter confusion. I don’t know if this is following the script Claudio led me to expect. And the man who burst into the room isn’t Claudio. It isn’t Dino.