by Bella King
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
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
Epilogue
More by Bella King
Chapter 1
Sinner’s Saint
A Dark Mafia Captive Romance
Bella King
Copyright © 2019 by Bella King
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Join the Bella King mailing list to get updates on the next book! No spam, just good content for you.
Introduction
He is no saint.
More like a sinner.
And he has me as his prisoner.
I thought it was the crooks who got enslaved and locked away.
But I soon found myself bound in rope and surrendering to his wicked ways.
I was only meant to be used.
I never thought I’d fall in love with the pain.
I was the crown jewel in an empire of crime, and I didn’t even know why. Everyone in the mafia wanted to get their hands on me, but he fought harder than the others, whisking me away to his luxurious billionaire penthouse suite, bought and paid for by a life of crime. I didn’t know what he had arranged for me, but I knew that it would be dark.
If this was suffering, then why did it feel so good?
If he was the enemy, why did he feel like a lover?
Sinner’s Saint is a dark standalone captive mafia romance. It contains mature themes and adult language.
Chapter One
God, no. Not like this.
My heart thumped in my chest as I ran down the block, six pairs of feet clambering down the pavement after me. I was sorely outnumbered, and I doubted that I could outrun them all. My only hope at this point was to run into someone else on these dark streets, but who else would be out at this hour?
Why the hell was I out at this hour? I knew the answer. It was because I took risks. I refused to conform to the life that my parents had wanted for me, and this was the result – running through the slums at midnight, weaving through grimy nooks and allies in hopes to outmaneuver my attackers.
I was the perfect bait for them, and that was unfortunate. Blonde hair topped a nearly perfect face, set on a pair of slim shoulders that led to moderately large breasts and a narrow waist. I was tall enough to be a model, but that wasn’t exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be an actress.
Auditions shouldn’t be this late at night.
My lungs hurt as I took in desperate lungfuls of the humid night air. Down in Florida, the nights were always warm and wet, something these men were probably after. I couldn’t let this happen to me. I wasn’t a victim.
Thank god I wore flats instead of heels. The producer said it would be an active audition, and lord, was it ever. I was flying down the streets of South Florida like I was going for a marathon record. I wouldn’t be winning any medals for this, only my life.
I knew better than to let thugs get close to me. I had taken off the minute they came into view. It wasn’t worth it to stay calm in a situation where your gut begged you to bolt. I had learned to listen to my instincts and get the hell out if the situation felt wrong. This wasn’t the first time I had to run for my life.
A shoe fell off my left foot, but I kept going. These flat could never stay put, but I couldn’t wear sneakers to an audition. It wasn’t a good look, and I was desperate to get a role. That’s why I had agreed to come out all this way when I knew damn well it was dangerous at night. I let my drive get the better of me again.
My foot stung as it slapped against the rough asphalt. I was tempted to dip down through an ally, but that could spell trouble for me if it didn’t break out into a neighboring street. Nobody would see me or hear my muffled cries in an ally. No, my best bet was to stay on the main street and hope someone else was out there.
But it was empty. The whole city was empty at this time of night. Everyone but me knew better than to wander around south Florida at this hour. Alligators were the least of my worries. It was the men who were the true monsters.
I could barely breathe anymore. My lungs were drawing in as much oxygen as they could, but they couldn’t process it. My hands and feet tingled, and I felt myself slowing down. It was like one of those dreams where you’re running, but you barely move.
“Fuck,” I panted as I gripped the corner of a building and flew around it. At this point, I had to confuse them and catch my breath, or I’d be done for.
A green dumpster sat against the back of a building. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of even touching something so filthy, but this wasn’t a normal situation. After a split second of hesitation, I dived into it like a competitive swimmer. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disgusting.
My shoulder met with a black plastic bag full of soft trash. I assumed that it was leftover restaurant food from its pungent aroma, which was a relief. It could have been impaled by a broken shower rod or a board full of nails instead.
I lay still in the trash as the sound of deep voices and footsteps approached. They echoed down the street and around the corner, slowing down as they tried to figure out which way I had gone.
My heart was beating so fast that I feared they would hear it. I was trying not to breathe heavily, but I felt like I was starving for air after having run so fast, especially when the air I was breathing was mixed with the rancid fumes of rotting waste.
I took in a deep gulp of air and held my breath as the men approached the dumpster that I lay inside. If they looked over the edge, they would spot me easily. What happened next would be up to fate to decide. It was out of my hands.
Only two seconds into holding my breath, my lungs were already screaming for more air. I was having trouble staying still as my body urged me to rise from the awful trash and gasp for breath.
“Don’t hide, bitch,” I heard a man growl, quickly coming toward my dumpster.
My hand closed around a bag of trash beside me, preparing to fling it at the man if he leaned over the dumpster and spotted me. I had never seen this coming, but then again, I was far too headstrong to ever pay attention to the dangers that lay ahead of me. If I wanted it, I would get it, no matter what I had to do. Finally, it seemed like the dangers had caught up to me, and I was about to pay the ultimate price for my overconfidence.
A gunshot rang out so close that I went partially deaf as the sound split through my eardrums. I anticipated the impact of the bullet, the pain, and the blood, but none of that came. I hadn’t been the one to be shot.
How could I be when I was tucked into a dumpster, hallway buried under black bags of garbage? It was someone else who had been shot, but that wasn’t the
final round. Another shot split the air, and then another as the scene outside of my hiding spot turned into chaos.
I heard shouting, and then a loud bang of someone falling against the metal side of the dumpster. There was the sound of people running, and then everything fell silent. It all happened within a few seconds, but it felt like hours. I didn’t dare move from my hiding spot.
Who had been shooting at who, and why? I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I was thankful, nonetheless. Whatever happened outside of the dumpster, it had prevented me from falling into the hands of the six men who had been pursuing me.
“Get out slowly, and with your hands up,” a gruff voice shouted, clearly directed toward me. Was that a cop? I had never felt so relieved.
I took a deep breath, finally able to get air, and reached to the sides of the dumpster, the slippery residue of a thousand bags of trash rubbing off onto the palms of my hands as I hoisted myself into a sitting position. I thought that I would see a man in a blue uniform when I came up, but the man I saw didn’t look anything like a cop.
This wasn’t a rescue, and I wasn’t safe.
Chapter Two
“Get out of there and keep your hands up, or I’ll fill your body with so many holes that they’ll use you as a cheese grater,” a tall, muscular man said as he kept his pistol trained on me.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I pulled myself out of the dumpster and landed on solid ground. My bare foot sank into a shard of glass as I landed, and I yelped in pain.
“Stop moving,” the man ordered, jabbing his gun in my direction.
“I stabbed my foot,” I said, trying to bend down and pick the glass out of it.
“Keep your fucking hands up,” the man demanded, growing even more serious.
“Fine,” I said abruptly, coming back to a standing position with my hands held high.
“What’s your involvement with the Southside Syndicate?” he asked, squinting his eyes at me in the dark.
“What? Are you an undercover cop or something?” I asked, confused.
“Answer my fucking question,” he yelled.
I guess this wasn’t the time to argue. He was the one with the gun, after all. I sighed, looking down at the blood that was running out of the bottom of my foot. “I’m going to assume the Southside Syndicate was the gang that was chasing me.”
“Correct,” the man said.
“So, I have nothing to do with them. I was just trying to get home. What’s it to you?” I replied.
“I’m the one who asks questions, woman. What’s your name?” he asked, stepping toward me, but keeping his gun up as though I might try to attack him.
As he got closer, I could make out more details of his face. He was definitely not a cop. Policemen just weren’t that good-looking. This guy looked like a model who had spent his life in the streets instead of on the runway. His eyes practically glowed green, and there was a deep scar on his strong chin.
“My name is Ruth,” I said.
“Ruth what?”
“Bishop,” I replied.
He lowered his gun, a hint of worry in his eye. “Bishop?”
I nodded, a smug look involuntarily spreading across my face.
He seemed to know the name, and he should if he was a criminal like members of the Southside Syndicate were. Both of my parents were well-known judges, and my bother was a ruthless lawyer. Nobody crossed the Bishops without landing in prison. Even an ignorant street thug would know that.
“So, why don’t you answer some of my questions? What’s your name?” I asked, growing a bit more confident.
The man lowered his gun and stepped even closer. He was a few feet away from me at this point. It was close enough so that I wouldn’t be able to run from him if I needed to. My only hope was to talk my way out of whatever this was.
The man cleared his throat. “They call me Saint.”
“Saint? That’s not your real name, though, is it?” I asked, lowering my hands to my hips.
“It’s the only name I have, Ruth Bishop,” he answered, sounding slightly offended by my content.
I shouldn’t have been taking an attitude with a thug who carried a gun, but I couldn’t help it. It was in my nature to question everyone and everything. Hell, I would have made a good lawyer like my bother if I had bothered to pursue it, but I chose acting. So far, it wasn’t paying off.
“I really have no idea what’s going on,” I said as Saint studied me, looking me up and down suspiciously.
“You have some ID on you?” he asked, looking over my green silk dress for a pocket.
I had left all that in my apartment, which was still several blocks away. I thought it would be a good idea to walk to my audition because it wasn’t that late when I let my place, but the audition was crowded and ended up stretching out for several hours, putting me into a dangerous position when I finally left.
I shook my head at Saint’s question. “I don’t have any ID with me. It’s all at my place.”
Saint stepped toward me, coming all the way up within an inch of my face, a grimace marring his handsome face. I could feel the hot air from his nostrils hitting my forehead as he towered over me. I hadn’t noticed how tall he was until now. I was nearly six feet myself, tall for a woman, but he was at least half a foot taller, if not more.
A model? Maybe, but I was starting to think he could have been a basketball player if he hadn’t chosen the thug life.
“If you can’t prove you’re a Bishop, then I have no reason to show you any respect,” he said in a low whisper.
A chill slithered down my spine at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t even the words that got me, just the way that he spoke them. It was equally arousing and terrifying, and I knew myself to be attracted to things that were dangerous.
“I don’t think you want to risk it, Saint,” I replied, giving him a stern look.
His serious face broke into a chuckle, and he stepped back. “You’re a bold woman, but I respect that.”
Oh, thank god. I internally sighed in relief.
“But you did disrupt my targets, so I’m not letting you off the hook so easily,” he said, shaking his head.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, growing fearful again.
“I had a hit on the Southside Syndicate, but as you can see, I only got one of them,” he said, pointing behind me toward the dumpster.
I turned my head and jumped when I saw the horrific sight of a blood-soaked man slumped over against the dumpster. His white shirt was stained crimson in several places, and his lips were a pale blue. The man was definitely dead.
“You killed him,” I said, my voice shrill and panicky. It was the first time I had ever seen a dead body in real life.
Saint chuckled as though I was making a big deal out of nothing. “Yeah, and you’re lucky I did. These men had nothing nice in store for you.”
“You’re going to go to jail for that,” I said, ripping my eyes away from the corpse to address Saint.
He smirked. “It’s cute that you think that, Ruth, but no, the police don’t care if you kill a gangster. We’re disposable to them, like cockroaches littering the city when the lights turn off. They don’t care when we kill each other.”
“So, you’re just going to leave him there?” I asked, bewildered by how casual Saint was about all this.
Saint nodded. “Yep, that’s the plan.”
“Fuck,” I said, shaking my head. “This is crazy. I have to get home.”
“Not until I search you, darling,” Saint said, raising his gun up to me.
“Search me? I didn’t do anything,” I said, holding my hands out in front of me to show my innocence.
“Listen, all I know is that you were with the Southside Syndicate when I was trying to pick a few of them off. That’s sabotage if you ask me, so the least I can do is figure out why you’re out here and if you’re really who you say you are,” Saint explained.
“I’m going to tell my parents
about this,” I said.
“Good for you, princess,” Saint replied, seeming irritated at me now. “Turn around and spread your legs. I have to give you a pat-down.”
“I’m not okay with this,” I said, but I obeyed him. What else could I do when he had a gun pointed right at me?
Chapter Three
“Are you hiding anything in your panties?” Saint asked me after he got done feeling up and down my curves.
I rolled my eyes. “My pussy,” I replied dryly.
“Okay, enough jokes. Take them off,” Saint grumbled from behind me, stepping back.
“Seriously?” I asked, turning my head back to look at him.
He nodded, running a large hand over his scarred chin. “You heard me. Take them off.”
“You’re a nasty man,” I said, reaching hands under my dress and sliding my panties down to my ankles. I stepped out of them and simultaneously kicked them back toward Saint. I was both surprised and slightly amused when they landed on his face. I hadn’t meant to do that.
He didn’t seem amused as he took them off his nose, pinching the fine fabric between two thick fingers. “Cute,” he said, his eyelids low and his lips pursed. “I suppose you’re not hiding anything then.”
“I already told you that I wasn’t,” I said before looking toward the dead man slumped against the dumpster. “Can I go yet?”
“You can go when I figure out who the hell you are and why you’re interfering with my business,” Saint replied.
“I already told you that too,” I said, growing weary of his increasingly outrageous requests.
“I need to see your ID,” Saint said.
“It’s in my apartment.”
“I need to see your apartment.”
“I’m going to call the police if you follow me home,” I said, now worried that he wouldn’t leave me alone. Was he playing with m before he did something worse?
“I’m not going to follow you home,” Saint said, a smirk flickering across his lips. “I’m going to drive you there.”
