Meeting that asshole was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. He sucked me out of my safe little bubble into his world, and I felt alive for the first time in my life. But it was a mistake. A horrible fucking mistake.
When you play with fire, expect to get burned. Over and over, I’d heard my mother’s warning, but I ignored it. The first time it happened, I knew I'd seriously misjudged him. Lorenzo smacked me so hard across the face that I fell to the ground. Even worse, I eventually tried to sneak out and leave his ass behind, but ran into his familia beating the shit out of a guy. Bags of dope were scattered everywhere as they made their threats. That was it for me. I saw and heard too much. I ran like hell, but they got me. They cornered me and took me back to Lorenzo and then to their Don.
Lorenzo beat the hell out of me in front of them. He told them he’d keep me in line for now, so they didn’t have to kill me right then. His familia were cold-blooded murderers who wanted me dead. I'll never forget the looks in their eyes. Or the disgusting joy that filled Lorenzo's dark eyes when he would repeatedly hurt me. I had one chance to slip away, and I took it. I ran like hell and blabbed to the police so they'd protect me.
That’s what living on the edge got me. As a result, I’ve settled my ass down tremendously. And now I’m back to being the good girl my mother raised me to be. Being through that shit and getting placed in the witness protection program will do that to you.
So now I stay in my cozy house feeling alone but safe, and surround myself with comfort and familiarity. It’s different now; I’m more alone than I’ve ever been in my entire life, but at least I’m safe. The last time the marshals checked in on me was nearly three months ago. Now I’m on my own and settled in.
This screened-in porch is now my favorite room in this snug, raised ranch house.
My toes sweep across the soft and high pile of the rug beneath the wicker furniture set. Across from me I have my antique curio cabinet. It contains my large collection of teapots and cups. When I run a load of laundry, I can faintly smell it from here. I inhale deeply and my lungs fill with all my favorite scents.
But the best part is the location. I’m nearly half a mile away from anyone. My home is set back into the woods and I’m surrounded by trees. The moonlight shines down and tonight it’s full, illuminating the woods as though it’s nearly dawn. Usually my ritual helps put me at ease, but tonight it’s less familiar, less comforting.
The night air feels a bit colder on my shoulders, sending a shiver down my back. I wrap the cashmere throw tighter around myself, all the way up to my neck. I feel my forehead crease as I realize I feel someone’s eyes on me. The sensation freezes my body for a moment as the fear I had nearly every night when I first moved here returns. I turn quickly in my seat and feel my heart racing. The sound of blood rushing through my ears is all I can hear. When I first moved here, I was terrified the Cassanos would find me. But they didn’t. It took a long time for me to feel safe, and an even longer time for the nightmares to stop, but it's all over now. I breathe in deep and concentrate on relaxing.
I settle my back against the seat, thinking I'm just being paranoid. A thought occurs to me. Maybe this is my survival instinct warning me. The idea causes a row of goosebumps to travel down my arms. But just like all of the anxiety I’ve dealt with this week, I push it down and chalk it up to my nerves.
I place the teacup down gently on the table and stand up, stretching slightly and covering my mouth as I yawn. The blanket slips off my shoulders, and a chill runs through my body. I’m quick to pull it back up to cover me and grip it close. Fall must be coming. It’s the change of the season that’s throwing me off. I close my eyes and listen harder. Some noises are faint, but they’re still present. I just need to relax and accept the approaching transition from summer to autumn. Some things can’t be helped.
Still, I check the locks at the front door twice after depositing my cup in the sink. Being alone in a cabin in the country isn’t the smartest thing for a young woman on her own. My options for disappearing and starting a new life were limited though, and when you want to hide, it's best to be far away and alone.
I move the curtain away from the large window in the front room and look down the gravel driveway, seeing nothing. The grass is tall and needs to be mowed. I sigh and again the throw slips, but it’s warmer inside the main part of the house, so I let it drape over the crook in my arm.
My bed is made and I can’t wait to sink into it and drift to sleep, but I need to check over my email and messages one last time before I can pass out. The one good thing about my job is that I can do it from anywhere. When I first moved here, I had to stop working on anything associated with my real name. My blog, my columns and articles, anything else tied to my online presence, you name it—done. I was crushed. I had been a renowned book reviewer, beta reader, and part-time writer. The money was great, but I would have loved it all regardless of the pay.
I had to say goodbye to my former life though because the Cassano familia could have found me that way. The mafia that saw me as a rat could have easily tracked me down if I'd continued working under my real name, and it wasn't worth it.
So I started over under a pen name, and it’s going better than I ever imagined it could. The experience and knowledge that I gained in my former life helped me tremendously. Now I'm firmly established in the industry, and I'm doing even better than I was before.
This is my life now--books and tea in a remote cabin in the woods. I love it, but lately it’s felt empty. I could go on like this, feeling as though I’m living a full life, but I’m so alone. I wanted nothing more than to be by myself when I was running and hiding. But now I find myself questioning if I’ll ever have anyone real in my life, and anything substantial.
I’ve thought about getting a dog—a big one, to help make me feel secure. A dog's love is unconditional. I want that love desperately. I need it from someone, or something. But a dog would need walks and interaction, plus dogs have to be taken to the vet. Those are all opportunities for people to see me. I don't want that. I want to stay hidden. I need to stay hidden. But I do need companionship. I've been craving it more and more as I've settled into this new life.
At least I have my business. I have my blogging, my books, and my friends, even if they're all online. I almost didn’t start over. I almost gave up and poured my heart into a book of my own. But my life is no romance. And writing it down would make it real. Once I’d gotten over the fear, I didn’t want to relive it. So I did my best to move on.
I was hesitant to start from scratch, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. Within two months my new blog had taken off, and I’d revitalized my income. I log on and see twelve new messages in my email. The first few are easy enough to reply to, requiring nothing more than copying and pasting from a template of other answers I've already given. The next email takes some time to write out though. I'm responding to a new author who messaged me looking for advice on her series. I'll have to get back to her in the morning. I don't have the energy right now. But I take this business seriously, and it shows. And it pays. Just before I close the laptop, I hear a ping.
It’s a message from a new book friend. She joined my book club a few weeks ago. Right now it’s just a small Facebook group, but it’s my baby. Although she’s not very active in the group, she’s messaged me a number of times. I get so many messages a day. Some are from other bloggers and columnists who are just starting out and looking for advice. Others are from authors wanting to send me advanced reading copies and beta reads. I can read two books a day, so I’m always happy to help where I can. But Val’s messages are different. They’re more personal.
What did you think of the book?
I scan the message twice as my fingers hover above the keys. I read and receive so many books that most of the time I have to sift through my emails before replying in order to make sure I'm keeping everything straight, but not this time. I know exactly wh
ich book Val's referring to.
Smut, also known as erotic romance to some, is a genre with which I'm intimately familiar. I prefer the term smut though, because it fills me with life. Like I'm naughty for reading it. The book she picked out though is exceptionally taboo. Arousal heats my core. The idea of being taken by a strange man has certainly been a dark desire of my own. I clench my thighs and bite down on my lip. I won’t admit how I touched myself to some scenes.
I decide to respond with a professional answer.
I thought the author did a fabulous job of depicting the scenes with vivid imagery and capturing the heroine’s emotions and character arc. Overall a well-written book.
She’s quick with a reply. So you enjoyed it?
I did, I message back.
Is it so wrong that I’d want it to come true? Her reply makes me stop and consider her words.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the fantasy. But I’m sure real life would be much different.
You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life? Her question forces a small laugh from my lips. Although it’s wonderful to get lost in them, these books aren’t real. I know I’d enjoy some things. I’ve often fantasized about them. But this conversation is veering a little more into the territory of my personal preferences and is less about the book. It's also late, and I need to go to sleep while the melatonin is still active or I'll never get to bed. So I settle for a quick reply with a little humor that she’d enjoy.
Oh there are scenes I’d enjoy, but I’ll stick to role playing for that ;) Gotta go to bed, ttyl!
Night!
A shiver of want travels through me as I exit her message and look at the list of remaining emails. I’ll get to them all tomorrow.
I close my laptop, but I feel more awake now than I was when I first sat down. The book Val mentioned is all I can think about as I change into a nightgown. The imagery of a dark, damp cell and chains flood my mind. I can picture being the heroine. I can understand her desire to please her master. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending though. It wasn't the happily ever after I enjoy from romance. It was more realistic. After all, how could you ever fall in love with your captor, but still be sane? Would it even be possible to have both the sweet fantasy and the dark reality?
As I crawl into bed and lie on my back, I let my fingertips gently brush along my clit as I think about the book. I hear the clinking of the chains and the smack of the whip. I see her back arch as she raises her lower half to him for more. He takes her however he wants, and she’s more than happy to let him use her body. My legs part, and I dip my fingers into my slick pussy and run the moisture over my clit. A small moan escapes me as I see the scenes play out in my head.
She’s been trained to love the sting of the belt, and the feel of his hand slapping her ass. His bites. His marks. My hand grips my breast and I pinch my nipple between my fingers and pull, imagining it’s him. I turn my head as though his lips are touching my neck, as if his teeth are about to pierce my skin. Anything and everything he does to her is a reward. He thrusts into her and takes his pleasure, over and over. Using her body. And she enjoys it. She thrives under his touch. I circle my clit, wanting him to reward her for her obedience. It’s all she lives for. She is his, and that’s all she desires. She only lives to please him. He doesn’t stop until he has his fill and cums deep inside her. That alone is enough to bring her over the edge. And I find my own release with her.
You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life?
I remember Val’s question as my breath steadies and I turn on my side, feeling exhausted from cumming.
In real life, that scenario would be a fucking nightmare. Just as I close my eyes, I feel a pinch in my neck. My lips part as I wince and raise my hand to feel what caused the sting, but it falls lifeless to my side. I vaguely make out a dark figure rounding the bed to approach me.
“Sleep, kitten.” I hear his voice. But I can’t respond as darkness overwhelms me.
Catherine
My shoulders are so sore. I roll onto my back against the cold, hard concrete and wince. After taking a moment to adjust to the discomfort, I push off the floor and into a sitting position. My eyes open and try to adapt to the darkness. I can barely see anything. My heart pounds in my chest, beating faster than it ever has before. I have no idea where I am or how I got here, but this shit isn’t good. A cold sweat pricks my skin as I think back to last night. I remember lying down in my bed. I was tired, and then I fell asleep.
I have no clue how I’ve ended up here, in the middle of what looks like a small basement cellar. It’s nearly pitch black. The only light is streaming through three small windows high up on the ceiling of the far wall. Each window is only about the size of a cinder block, and all three are blocked by something, but a small bit of light is still shining through. Terror runs through me and seems to freeze my blood.
I open my mouth to scream, but I’m too scared. They’ll hear me.
I’ve been taken. They found me, and they took me. I know exactly who it is. The Cassanos. Fuck! I never want to go back to him, to Lorenzo. I won’t let him touch me ever again.
Tears threaten to reveal themselves. But it’s useless to cry. Some small part of me always knew it would come to this. You can’t escape your death. I didn’t really think I’d ever be able to run. I swallow the lump growing in my throat. My eyes fall to the ground. I have no idea why they would keep me alive, since I’m no use to them. I’m certain they’ll kill me soon. Or worse.
There are only two options I can think of. One, they left me alive to torture me because I went to the cops. Two, they left me alive to torture me for fun. Knowing Lorenzo, it’s number two.
I close my eyes, letting the realization settle in. My body shakes as tremors of fear run through my limbs, but I try to soothe them. I got out before. I’ll do it again. I may be a meek little mouse, as that fucker used to call me, but I fight when I have to. And right now, I have to.
My eyes slowly open and adjust to the light.
The air is cold and damp, but my throw is in a pile on the floor next to me. I quickly grab it and wrap it around me as though it can protect me. Fear cripples me as I hear the sound of a chair moving across the floor. My heart stills and a chill prickles my skin. I’m not alone.
As I search the dark, vacant room, I see him. The look of a hunter stares back at me. I don’t recognize him. His broad chest and chiseled muscles flex as he leans forward. His eyes are a brilliant light blue and they pierce through me. His cheekbones are sharp and only appear more contoured with the shadows from the dim light. If he had any other expression on his face, I’d think he was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met.
As if reading my mind, he smirks at me. The fucking bastard thinks this is funny. My heart tries to climb up my throat as he sits back in his seat and his hand settles on the raging erection in his jeans.
Fuck!
My eyes dart back up to his. That shit’s not happening. I’ll claw his fucking eyes out. I look for a door and then back to him. I don’t see one, but I don’t care if I kill him and I’m locked in here and starve to death. I won’t let that happen.
We stare at each other in silence. I want to ask him what he wants from me, but I already know. I want to plead for him to let me leave, but I’ve learned that doesn’t work. Instead I wait for his move. He cocks his head after a moment and slowly stands.
As he moves toward me, I resist the urge to scoot away. I can’t do that. I can’t back myself into a corner.
He crouches in front of me and leans in closer. His eyes hold a hint of danger, but also a spark of desire. I’m just not sure what he wants to do with me exactly, besides the obvious. “I’m supposed to kill you,” he says. His deep baritone voice is low and threatening. He tilts his head as I slide slightly backward on my ass out of natural instinct. I take control of my body and tilt my chest away from him, giving myself leverage to kick this motherfucker in the balls if he gets any closer.
; His full lips pull into an asymmetric grin. “You can’t get away from me just yet.” I hate how he’s taunting me, like he expected this.
My breathing is ragged, and my heart is beating so fast I swear my chest won’t be able to contain it. It feels as though my heart's trying to leap out of my throat. I barely get the words out, but I manage to say, “I don’t want to die.”
His grin widens into a perfect smile. This man’s too handsome to be a predator. There’s a darkness about him, but he could fool anyone with just a small amount of charm.
“I don’t want you to die either, kitten.” His pet name sends a bolt of desire to my clit. Shame washes through me. I shouldn’t like it. This is wrong. He stands up and towers above me. I tilt my head to keep my eyes on him. “You have a choice,” he says.
I wait for him to continue as I stay huddled in a ball beneath him. My blood rushes loudly in my ears and I try to calm my racing heart. He doesn’t want me to die. That should relax me; it should make me feel even the faintest bit better. But it doesn’t.
“You can die.” He speaks to the far wall, not looking at me. I find my eyes searching for a door, looking for a way out. To my right, I finally spot a steel door, with a keypad to its left. “Or,” he continues, and I feel his gaze on me as my eyes fly to meet his and my heart thuds painfully in my chest. “You can agree to be mine.”
I can’t help that the way he says it makes my core heat. A wetness pools between my thighs and I feel ashamed. This isn’t a fantasy. This is real life. I feel the blood drain from my face as I become lightheaded. The only reason I’m not dead is because he wants to keep me. But I doubt his intentions are anything but kinky and sick.
I don’t want this. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and I shake my head. “No.” My voice is hoarse and barely audible.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I wait for him to grab me. As soon as he does, I’ll strike. But he merely searches my face for something and stands far enough away that I can’t do any real damage.
Bad Boy: Valetti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) Page 2
