Abducted

by K. I. Lynn

  “What if I don’t want to be yours?” I spat, even though my body reacted to his, my blood heating up at his closeness as it always did.

  His fingers splayed out across my neck, eyes dark. “If that were true, why are you breathing hard and begging me to fuck you with your eyes?” His hand trailed down, squeezing my breast. “First, there were whispers—split her open, see what she looks like from the inside, tap that shit until she’s airtight—remember?” I shook my head. “Roman doesn’t think much of me, so he doesn’t always notice when I’m around.”

  “Why doesn’t he think much of you?” I asked, trying not to seem as desperate for his touch as I was.

  Domenico was the leader, and every man in that space gave him respect and didn’t question any order he gave. The way he interacted with Roman, their shaded words and tense atmosphere. There was history there.

  “Because he is the son of Giovanni and Renata Ferrante, and he believes that makes him above everyone else. Like I said, I heard the whispers, the plans they had for you. I wasn’t going to touch you, but as they were talking, you began to change.”

  “What did I do?” I asked, still in disbelief that Roman, quiet, sweet Roman, was really like that.

  “Your lips were parted, and you shed your sweater so that you could touch your skin.” His fingers slipped around my nipple and pinched. “Your nipples were hard.” He moved his hand down to my waist and tugged on the waistband. The seam pressed against my clit, and I drew in a sharp breath. “And you kept pulling at your jeans, just like that. Little moans slipped out, and I watched you become more and more aroused while they devised a plan to share you. You don’t remember, but afterward I threatened anyone who touched you and shot the vilest one in the leg.”

  I didn’t remember anything after he made me come and come again.

  “You asserted your dominance.”

  He nodded. “I was forced to. Roman doesn’t like that he has to follow my command.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because he is a Ferrante, and above everyone in the organization who isn’t a Ferrante.”

  There was more. A secret, but he wasn’t going to willingly give it up.

  “What’s your last name?” I asked. I knew him only as Domenico or la Bestia.

  “Mancini.”

  “So you’re not a Ferrante, but he has to follow your commands?” Something didn’t quite add up. There was animosity between them—I’d felt it before.

  We both had secrets, and I wasn’t sure if they would destroy us or set us free.

  “He does.” He stood. “Go take a shower. I’m going to order some food.”

  At the mention of food, my stomach rumbled. “I’ve been on the edge of starving for weeks.”

  His jaw clenched again as he handed me my bag. I could barely lift it as I dragged it to the bathroom.

  A shower. A real tub with real plumbing and temperature control. I didn’t care that we were in a shithole. It was an upgrade from no heat and no real shower.

  I stripped off my clothes, happy to burn them the first chance I got, and stepped into the shower. The warm water rolled over my body, relaxing my muscles, bringing blood flow back to parts of my body that were cold to the bone.

  And then I scrubbed. Weeks of dirt and grime were scoured from my skin, washed down the drain. Again and again, every inch I could reach until I was satisfied I was actually clean before doing the same with my hair. Then I shaved everything.

  I was in heaven. I couldn’t remember a time when a shower felt so good. After three weeks of sponge baths and hillbilly half showers, nothing could beat it. Even better was the knowledge I would have clean clothes to put on when I got out.

  Clean. Clothes.

  Something so innocuous and simple—and so desperately missed.

  When I got out, my reflection was a pale version of myself. I barely recognized the woman who stared back. Weeks of near starvation had adverse reactions. I’d lost a fair amount of weight, leaving me in an almost skeletal state, every rib showing.

  Every part of me was too thin, including my face. Lack of proper nutrition had left my skin an off pallor. My eyes held a dull edge, as did my hair.

  Sifting through the bag, I found clothes to put on, opting for a pair of yoga pants and a tank top—both of which were too big. After brushing through the rat’s nest that was my hair, I twisted it up into a bun, then gave my mouth the same kind of scouring I had my body.

  “I look like death,” I said when I came out of the bathroom. While I looked terrible and was malnourished, at least on the outside I felt refreshed.

  He clenched his jaw as he looked me over. “It’s to keep the girls alive, but weak.”

  I nodded as I placed my bag on the bed. I needed something on my arms and some socks. “I just can’t believe the difference a few weeks makes.”

  He stepped forward, his fingers lightly tracing the ink on my back.

  “I saw these,” he said as he traced the gauzy-looking wings that draped over my shoulder blades. “But I could never get a good look at them.”

  “Is that why you tattooed me? Because you knew I could take it?” The tattoo of his name was still healing, and I knew it would take some getting used to seeing it in my reflection.

  “It didn’t matter if you could take it. It was another way. They all had to be reminded. Everyone needed to know that you were mine.” His touch was softer than I was used to. “Why wings?”

  I returned to sifting through the bag, looking for a long-sleeve shirt to wear. “Because I freed myself. I grew wings and flew away. Freedom.”

  There was a knock on the door, and I froze.

  “Food,” he said as he stepped toward the door. He opened it just enough to get the boxes in and hand over some cash.

  Cash. Crap.

  I had a stash of cash I forgot to grab. It wasn’t much, but a couple hundred dollars that was probably confiscated when they trashed my apartment.

  The only things I had to my name were in the few bags sitting on the floor. I was about to check the contents of my Louis Vuitton when the scent of pizza hit my senses and I began to salivate.

  I almost jumped him for the cardboard boxes in his hand, but he held me at bay with a look.

  “Drink this first,” he said, holding out a bottle of Coke.

  I didn’t ask why. Instead, I chugged the soda, moaning at the sweetness that bubbled on my tongue.

  “Oh, sweet heaven.” Once it was half empty, he handed me a slice of pizza.

  “Eat slowly. Don’t just devour it.”

  “Why?” I asked. Every part of me said to take the entire thing in one bite.

  “So that you don’t throw it up. You haven’t had much. You need to take it slowly to get your body used to food again.”

  I blinked at him. “Why are you being so…caring?” There had been instances over the last weeks, ones laced with his dominance, but it didn’t feel the same.

  “Eat.”

  Apparently the time for revelations was over.

  As much as it pained me, I took small bites, and when I’d eaten a whole slice, he had me finish the Coke before handing me a second slice. I got only halfway through it, despite my body begging to inhale the entire pie.

  “Fuck, this is good,” I said as I took one last bite before surrendering.

  “Try for more in an hour,” he said, moving the boxes to the dresser.

  I finally took the time to look around. It was unlike any hotel I’d ever stayed in by less than a few stars. Everything was dated, dirty, and stained, but it was a big step up from my cage.

  I fell back onto the mattress, a moan crawling out of me. The mattress was old and lacked a pillow top, but it was clean, as was I.

  The bed dipped beside me and I turned to find Domenico propped up against the headboard, his long legs extended.

  “I haven’t decided if I should thank you or not,” I said.

  A deep chuckle, something I wasn’t used to, rumbled from him. “A
ll those times you said that to Roman and you never saw through that friendly facade. I free you, and you have to think about it.”

  I shrugged. “Different reactions. A smile goes a long way.”

  “To making people believe you’re something you’re not.”

  “It’s politeness as well,” I pointed out.

  His eyes met mine. “So if I fucked you with a smile, would I fall into that category?”

  “Hmm, I suppose not.”

  I turned back to stare at the opposite wall. “It was all his act.”

  “You’ve never been anyone that you weren’t.” It was a statement. La Bestia was who he was through and through.

  “No reason to be. I am who I am.”

  I rolled onto my side and scooted closer, drawn to the warmth of his body. “I wish I was that confident in my own self-image.”

  “Is that why you dance?” he asked.

  My brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you dance? Why choose to do that?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. While not lies, secrets sat just below the water, ready to bubble up and be exposed. “Why not?”

  “There are other ways to make money.”

  “Maybe,” I said, not mentioning the need for proper identification, which I didn’t have. I’d bought my car in cash, Al had registered it for me, and I’d made damn sure to drive by the rules. Al had also paid me under the table. I wasn’t the only runaway, and at times I thought he felt like a surrogate father and helped how he could.

  At nineteen, I had a crash course in life and he helped to guide me.

  I sat up and faced him. “But they’re just another cage. Dancing is freedom. Dancing is power and control. What I do, the way I move, entices. I control the game—I control what is done. I control how turned on a man is. And I control whether or not he touches me.”

  He straightened at my last words. “That’s it, isn’t it? Someone touched you.”

  His perceptiveness was spot on again. “Someone forced me to stand naked in a room full of men after ripping the clothes from my body and calling me a whore. Someone who was stronger and more powerful than me touched me to show his dominance and to put me in line.”

  I blinked away the wetness filling my eyes. After over three years I still feared him. His home was not my home. It held no comfort or sense of family. No, he had killed it all until it was a temple, a testament to his power.

  “Then I touched you.”

  I blinked at him. He had. Again and again. It didn’t matter if I wanted it—he’d taken me. And I had to admit one of my deepest shames—I did want it. Every single time. In his grip, a possessive passion set me aflame.

  He’d never hurt me. He’d grabbed me and dominated me but never truly hurt me.

  I crawled up the bed to him and straddled his hips. I tore at his belt. The button of his jeans and his fly were next. Then my hand was inside his jeans. His dick was limp but began to fill as I pulled it out.

  A groan rumbled from deep in his chest. I fisted his growing cock, running my hand up and down.

  His hands landed on my hips, fingers digging in. My arms stretched as he pushed me back.

  “Ella,” he growled as he tried to pry me off, but I could see the lust darkening his eyes, taking over. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Then don’t. And it’s Ari,” I reminded him.

  I wanted this, wanted him. It was a desperation inside me. A need crawling in my veins, expanding like a virus. I needed to know the difference between the man making a show and his true desires.

  Still dominant, but different, reverent.

  I stood and pulled my yoga pants and thong down. They were just past my knees when Domenico leaned forward and ran his tongue against my slit, giving my clit a little flick at the end. My knees went weak and I fell forward. He caught me and settled me right over his face.

  I drew in a ragged breath, my fingers tightening on his hair, fisting it as he devoured my pussy. I was practically seeing stars, and I couldn’t stop sharp little moans from slipping past my lips. His eyes were hooded as he stared up at me, watching me.

  My legs shook and he gave one last long lick before pulling my leg from my pants and moving me down to where the head of his cock kissed my opening. His hands left me, arms spreading open.

  His eyes never left me. “Take it.”

  I stared at him, trying to understand. I lifted my hips, thinking he would grab my waist and plunge into me, but he didn’t move.

  Take it.

  Take the power back.

  I cradled his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his before reaching between us and repositioning him.

  I sank down on him, my lips parting as he filled me. Euphoria, fireworks, and every other wondrous feeling collided the deeper he went.

  Still his hands didn’t move. A groan left him as I lifted off.

  “Kiss me,” I whispered. “Kiss me like it’s the last.”

  His arms finally moved, and his fingers gently cupped my face as he drew me closer. “Never the last.”

  Plush lips pressed to mine. Then our lips parted. Each swipe of his tongue against mine drove me to ride him harder, faster. I dug my nails into his chest before wrapping my hands around his neck, holding him close.

  His stubble was rough against my skin, lips burning as he moved up my neck, tongue soothing. “This is what I’ve been fucking dreaming of.”

  “What?”

  “You wanting me.”

  “Domenico,” I whimpered. My legs began to shake, and he understood.

  He gripped my waist, pushing and pulling me along his length to meet his thrusts.

  “Make me come,” I said against his lips.

  He changed the angle slightly and began drilling up into me. My mouth opened in a silent scream as every muscle froze—a stuttered breath, a tightening grip, then his teeth digging into my neck.

  I snapped and began rocking in his grip, a keening sound ripping out of my chest. My pussy pulsed around him, and a low groan vibrated against my skin. His hips thrusted up as his hands slammed my hips down, his muscles jumping with each twitch of his cock.

  After cleaning up, I fell asleep draped over Domenico, feeling oddly safe for the first time in weeks.

  Feeling cared about for the first time in years.

  The next day I was feeling better. While not the healthiest, pizza was definitely higher in nutrition than my sandwiches. By noon I had managed to eat three slices. I also drank and drank and drank. Dehydration was part of my issues, it turned out.

  The more food and water I was able to get in me, the better.

  Domenico was different. Still dominant and grating, but now his touch set me on fire. I knew more, understood why.

  He was not a sadist. He was my savior.

  “He told me to do whatever it took to keep you safe.”

  Whatever to keep me safe included how he had to hurt me, because the alternative was far worse.

  “How long are we going to be here?” I asked, nibbling on the crust of the last piece I’d gotten down. Even full, I felt a surge of energy that I hadn’t felt in weeks.

  His lips formed a thin line. “I’m still working out a plan.”

  “You planned out the whole escape, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “But there wasn’t time to plan past this point. There are those loyal to me who informed me of a plot to kill me, and there were only a few hours’ notice.”

  I stared at him. “Kill you?” It was unfathomable. I’d seen firsthand the way those men worshipped him.

  “Marco sent everyone out right before a shift change, then went to dinner.”

  “Did you tell him…you did all that to take me with you? Why didn’t you just leave? Form some other plan.”

  His gaze bored into mine. “I couldn’t leave you to be taken by Roman.”

  “Why?” My constant question. Why would he risk so much for me?

  Domenico’s phone went off, and I ju
mped at the sudden sound. His jaw clenched as he glanced at it.

  “Can’t they trace us with that?” I asked, my eyes wide as I looked toward the door.

  He shook his head. “Not mine.”

  He pressed his finger to his screen, and a voice floated through the speakers. “You know what this means. Return with the girl and you won’t be killed.”

  My brow scrunched. “Know what this means?” He turned the screen toward me. The man speaking wasn’t in the frame. Instead there was a single red rose sitting in a black vase. “I don’t understand.”

  Domenico stopped the video. “If I don’t return by the time he takes the last petal out, he’ll kill me.”

  The last petal… “You already knew that would happen when you freed me.”

  He shook his head. “This is to show me there is leniency. That death is not the end if I return you.”

  “What would happen to you?” I asked. Concern crawled in, and I began to feel on edge. Would he return me if there was a chance he could go back to his life?

  “Sometimes death is better.”

  The significance wasn’t lost on me. The rose, just like mine. “How long until all the petals are gone?”

  “At least three weeks. He’ll pull one petal a day.”

  Memories of Domenico gently plucking the rose each day ran through my mind. It wasn’t without purpose. “Just like you did,” I whispered.

  Did that mean I’d been days away from being killed? That thought didn’t sit right with me, and I knew I was going to have to come clean.

  He nodded. “Your petals were running out.”

  “And then you were going to kill me?” I asked.

  He took my face in his hands. “I will never do that to you. You’re mine, and I will do anything to keep you alive.”

  “And if you didn’t want me?” I asked, my breath hitching. The conviction in which he said I was his made my chest clench. There was more than just ownership, something deeper that stirred.

  “Then you would have been sold off as a sex slave to the highest bidder or given to the men.”