Bound by Lies: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Sienna Blake

  Nineteen. This Harper is too young to be Caden. Unless… I check the date of the article. This happened almost fifteen years ago. I calculate the years and realize that would put Harper Lexington now at almost thirty-four.

  So this could be Caden.

  Oh my God. This could be Caden whose whole family was murdered fifteen years ago. Could the girl whose photo he keeps in his wallet be Hayley, his dead sister? A rush of pure sadness washes through me, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. My heart aches as I imagine a young Caden trying to deal with the fact that his whole family had been killed.

  Further down in the article is a photo of a youthful looking couple in their mid-forties that looks like it could have been taken from the society pages. She is a dark beauty with hair swept back, green eyes and long legs shown off through the classic black Chanel pantsuit she wears. He is a thick-jawed man with dark hair with a touch of white at the sides with a build like a wrestler evident under his Armani suit.

  Could these be Caden’s parents? They certainly look like they could be based on her eyes and his jaw. There is no photo of Hayley nor is there one of Harper.

  The article continues by talking about Lexington Industries, a construction company that Mr. Lexington and his father started several decades ago. At the time of Mr. Lexington’s murder the company ownership transferred solely to young Harper Lexington.

  I click on the links to subsequent follow-up articles.

  As Harper Lexington was the sole beneficiary of his parents’ will, he was questioned over his family’s murder and became a suspect. He was later cleared as his then-girlfriend was his alibi. No one was subsequently arrested and charged for the murder.

  I slump back in my chair. Is this really Caden? Is this dark past really what he’s hiding?

  Now that I looked was I glad that I did?

  Chapter 5

  Tonight I have one of my nightmares.

  I am running barefoot through grass in the moonlight. Sweat pools under my armpits and makes my white dress stick to my back. The stars are bright enough in the sky that I know I’m not in the city anymore. I can hear laughing behind me and footsteps that keep up with me. It doesn’t matter how fast I run, the footsteps just match my pace. My skin is crawling at every crackle and crunch, and I want to scratch it all off.

  The grass gets taller and taller and the blades start whipping around my legs. They get taller until they become trees. Soon I’m running through a forest. The leaves above are keeping out the moonlight, which makes my path harder to see. Roots reach out to trip me. Branches scratch at my bare arms and legs. Rocks cut my feet. But sheer terror keeps me running.

  Even though I know I can’t outrun the footsteps, I keep on running.

  Click.

  The gun loading behind me sounds like it is right in my ear. I’m breathing so hard I can’t scream.

  Bang.

  The first shot echoes into the night and it clips the tree trunks that I am running quickly past. They keep coming. Bullets pass through the trees, but instead of splinters, pink and grey chunks of tissue and flesh spatter on my skin. I shake as I run, trying to fling the pieces off me. My skin crawls as if bugs are all over me.

  From the wounds in the trees, blood begins to gush. The warm spray is like fire to my skin. Some of it gets in my mouth as I strain to suck enough air into my lungs. I spit and spit to try to expel the foul bitter blood. Under my feet the ground starts to get damp as the forest fills with death’s sap.

  But the gun keeps going off.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  I wake up as I usually do, air tearing out of my lungs, in a mess of sheets and sweat and hair. Immediately I switch on my bedside light and reach for my gun in the drawer beside my bed. A 9mm Smith and Wesson M&P Shield. Compact but deadly. With my eyes and my gun I seek out every corner and possible hiding spot in my apartment. When I’m sure that there’s no one in here with me, only then do I breathe.

  Just a dream, just a dream. I repeat this mantra over and over until my heart slows.

  After turning on all the lights in my apartment, I walk to my small kitchenette, still clutching my Smith and Wesson. I stick my face under the cold water and gulp down the liquid until my stomach groans from the volume. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn to the small calendar on my wall. I mark today’s date with a red pen. I flip back to the last month. Last month there are three red marks. The month before that, there are two. I flip back further. I don’t know why, but lately my nightmares have been getting worse.

  I don’t dare turn any lights off. Just the thought of being consumed by darkness makes my skin crawl. So I sit in bed with my knees up, blankets tucked around me like a cocoon, hugging my gun to my chest. I desperately need Caden. But I have no way to reach him. I try to tell myself that cold steel is a better thing to have by my side. It doesn’t ease the ache I have for Caden’s warm protection.

  Fucking bastard. The anger rises up through me like a geyser. If he had given me his phone number I could call him and he would be here for me, stroking my hair. Better still, if we were a real fucking couple, in a real fucking relationship, then he would already be here, sleeping next to me. Instead this hateful weapon is my best friend, my lover and protector.

  What if something happened to me? Did he think of that? Did he think to leave me some way to contact him? Fucking fucker. Screw him. I’m going to shoot him the next time I see him. He’s gonna get a big fat bullet right in the leg. Then he’ll be sorry.

  Then something inside cracks like a glass that has taken too much heat too quickly, and I start sobbing until day breaks.

  Thankfully, as it always does, the sun’s light helps to disperse the darkness. After a cup of home-brewed coffee, last night seems less terrifying and my reactions seem almost silly. My hands still shake when I bring the coffee cup to my lips.

  At a respectable hour, I call Dix to tell her that I can’t come in to work. She understands and she doesn’t ask. This isn’t the first time I’ve called her in this state. I shower and dress and make my way to the safest place in this whole godforsaken town.

  I pull into the parking lot of Felltham’s Gun Club. I sling my bag carrying my Smith and Wesson over my shoulder and make my way into the building. Inside is a wash of faded green carpet and cream walls.

  Bang.

  I jolt from the noise of a gun going off. And I see blood all over the walls.

  No. No blood. No one got shot. Calm down. You’re in a gun club. I can’t move any further into the place. I feel sick. It was a mistake coming here. I have to get out of here. I force myself to turn, and with stiff legs I march out of the club and get back into my car.

  I call Mick on his cell.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “Are you in the gym today?”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to train.”

  When I get to the gym, I barely say hello to Mick before I am gloved-up and bouncing up and down in front of a bag, beating the living shit out of it. He’s talking to another regular, but it’s not long before he comes over. I’m not surprised. He’d have to be blind not to see that I’m in a fucking mood.

  “Somebody kicked your cat or what?” Mick’s gruff voice cuts in through the sound of leather hitting leather and my own rhythmic breaths.

  “Don’t. Want. To. Talk about it,” I say between hard punches that make the bag swing erratically.

  Mick grunts as he holds the bag steady for me. “Maybe you just need to get laid.”

  I swing wildly, and Mick jumps back before I can pummel him. “Jesus, woman. I was just joking.” I hear him mumble under his breath, “Bitches are crazy.”

  I glare at him, causing him to raise up his hands in surrender before I refocus on the bag. I am not in the mood.

  He lets me bash away for a few more minutes before he says, “Alright, hurricane. How ‘bout I put you through a circuit. We’ll see if we can’t wear some of that PMS out of you.�
�

  I’ll fucking show him PMS. I imagine the bag is Mick and I grab it, giving it a couple of wallops with my knee before slamming my fist into where the groin would be. I turn to Mick and slam my gloves together. “Show me watch you got, old man.”

  He grins. A small part of me curses at myself for the punishment I know he’s about to inflict.

  And inflict, he does. My muscles groan and strain with every power-filled movement, fighting to generate explosive energy at fast as I’m depleting it. In less than twenty minutes I’m drenched and my chest is heaving, hands on knees as I try to suck in enough oxygen. Mick is looking pleased with himself although he keeps rubbing his throat. I’m not surprised with all the yelling he has done at me. “Move faster, you sorry sac of weasel guts. Jesus Christ. You couldn’t scare kittens with those soft-ass punches. Aim for the pads, the God damn pads. What? Did my feckin’ beauty blind ya? The pads, you poodle.” Yup, he certainly is a creative one when it comes to dishing out motivational quotes. It works for me. I’m numbed and it is bliss.

  As my breathing starts to subside and the lactic acid pain drains away from my muscles, the tension starts to resurface. No. I’m not numb enough yet.

  I stand up, suck in another breath and say, “Again.”

  Mick’s eyes flash wide with surprise before he shakes his head. “Fucking animal,” he mutters under his breath.

  You’d better believe it, Mickey boy. I’m going to wear your throat out before you wear me out.

  I finally stop after three rounds. Mick’s voice is almost gone. More importantly I feel better. More in control. Just.

  I drop onto a bench and spray some water down my throat. Some of it gets on my face and neck. It contrasts with the heat which burns like a furnace inside me. I needed this. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.

  I feel the bench move as Mick sits down next to me. When I open one eye at him, I notice he seems uncomfortable for some reason, twitchy. So I just wait. Give him space. Mick… sometimes he needs some space.

  Eventually he speaks. “So, kid, if you ever need to tell me anything…” he trails off.

  I raise an eyebrow at him.

  He scowls. “I’m not saying you should come over so we can talk and drink tea and I’ll plait your feckin’ hair. Just, if you’re ever in trouble. Or whatever. You let me know.”

  I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. Underneath the gruffness is a sweet old man, but I won’t damage his pride by letting him know that I know. He scowls again and looks away. With my glove I tap him lightly on the side of his nose, a bulbous and crooked thing that has obviously been broken a few times in his life. It’s as close to a hug as he’d ever let me give him, but it means as much.

  “Thanks, Mick. I appreciate it.” I mean it. I really do.

  “Yeh, well. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble. Sometimes I worry about you, kid.”

  Me too, Mick. Me too.

  I am praying for a note in my letterbox all the way home. The numbness from my workout is already wearing off and I’m starting to shake again. I need Cade. Need his arms, his strength. I need him to be my shield and my warmth. I don’t care that he has secrets. I have secrets and right now they are eating me alive from the inside. I need him to hold me so bad.

  Please, God, if you’re up there, I haven’t asked for anything in a long time and you know I’ve been good… sort of… at least lately. Please let there be a note from him when I get home.

  My heart sinks like a stone when there is none.

  That night, I lie in bed with the lights on and touch myself under the covers as I think about Cade. I don’t dare close my eyes.

  But eyes closed and in the dark is all I have of Caden. I have no memories of his naked body moving against mine, no memories of his eyes on mine. I don’t know what he looks like when he shudders with pleasure. He has all those memories of me, but I don’t get to have any of him.

  I remember the dark look in his eyes as he woke to find my hand near his chest. My wrist burns with the memory of his fingers around it. I remember his threat. “If you try to break my rules again… it would have to be over between us.”

  Fucking bastard. How dare you threaten me with that? Don’t you need me like I need you? Don’t you want to let me in? The anger burns in the back of my throat like a shot of whisky. It mixes with the lust running through my veins.

  The fingers of one hand work furiously against myself. In my mind I imagine that I bring a small knife into bed. I hide it near the head of the bed where my hands are tied. I feel Caden’s weight as he lowers himself onto me. There he is, my naked Caden, just beyond the flimsy strip of material over my eyes.

  I take out the knife and cut away my bonds, freeing my hands. My legs are wrapped around him so when he realizes what has happened he can’t get away. I pull the blindfold off my eyes and I see him for the first time. God, he is glorious and thick and rippled and golden like the desert. My hands run across his chest and his stomach like fingers through silken sand. I watch his eyes darken like a setting sun across the sky as we both fall into night.

  Finally, with eyes wide open, I come.

  But my self-induced orgasm feels hollow and it barely soothes this ache. As I stare up into the ceiling I’m reminded of the nights I spent watching the ceiling over the shoulder of a stranger. This feels just as hollow.

  I don’t just ache for Caden’s body and his sex anymore. I ache for him. I need to know what shade of green his eyes turn when we make love. I need to see him, to connect with him. I need to be with him. I need to know him.

  Caden Thaine. Harper Lexington. Whoever you are. I need you like I need to breathe. I promise myself that the next time we meet, my eyes will stay wide open. Whatever it takes.

  Chapter 6

  Hotel Bellevue, Friday 10pm, Suite #1501

  I pull my car into the lobby of the Hotel Bellevue, a glitzy but boutique hotel. The valet takes my keys in exchange for a token with the hotel’s signature HB emblem on it, which I slip into my clutch.

  I am wearing a black Hervé Léger bandage dress which wraps me tightly like a present, paired with black leather Christian Loubouton pumps, both another one of Caden’s gifts. Both selected specifically to seduce him so thoroughly that he won’t care if we leave the blinds and bounds aside. I notice a few heads turn as I walk towards the glass entry doors, pulled open by the doorman, but I don’t care about the attention of other men. Everything I wear, I wear for Caden. It’s my armor and my weapon, and it’s what I will use to bend Caden Thaine to my will. He will make love to me with eyes wide open.

  At the door of suite #1501, I knock. When it opens Caden greets me with his trademark smile, but when he sees me his mouth drops open. Exactly the reaction I was aiming for. I ooze myself past him and meet his gaze through my thick lashes. As I strut into the suite I can feel his eyes roaming all over my ass.

  The suite is huge and soft with plump furniture in muted colors broken up with carefully placed pale blues – cushions, a vase, the tie for the curtains – like ornaments. It’s on the top floor of this boutique hotel with floor to ceiling wraparound windows and a huge balcony overlooking the city and eventually the ocean. Through several open doors I can see the bedroom and the marbled bathroom, both richly decorated. The room is softened by the low lighting and the croon of Sade through the speakers positioned in the ceiling.

  I shake my head slightly. This suite must have cost him a fortune. I feel a curl of guilt in my belly. How can I say that what he gives me already isn’t enough?

  Suites and dresses aren’t everything, I remind myself. My resolve firms.

  I slip my bag off my shoulder and drop it on the closest couch as I walk deeper into the suite. I can feel him following me, stalking me like a panther would, his footsteps muffled on the carpet. The sensation makes my skin rise in goose bumps. He closes the gap between us.

  His arms go around my body like a net. He has caught me. One hand closes aroun
d my breast while the other tangles in my hair and pulls my head back so my neck is exposed to him. The possessiveness with which he grabs me sends moisture between my legs.

  He touches his nose to my neck and I hear him inhale. He lets out his first possessive growl. “You smell so damn good. You look so damn good.”

  I swear his voice is set on the exact frequency that makes my legs shake. Although my body is aching to stay within the fiery bounds of his touch, there are greater desires in me now. I force myself to push his hand from my chest and to pull my head away from him. I can sense his shock when I do and he lets me go.

  “What’s wrong?” I hear the lace of fear in his voice.

  I knew it. He would die like I would die if he had to leave me. He was bluffing. He can’t leave just like I can’t leave. We’re in too deep. We’re bound to each other.

  This infuses me with confidence. I don’t look at him. I thrust my chin in the air, position one hand on my hip and start to walk towards the glass door to the balcony. “Can’t a girl get a look at this view before she’s mauled?” My voice is light and teasing.

  I feel the tension behind me break as he laughs, a low rumble that I feel through my body. “I see.”

  I hide a small smile of triumph as I push open the door to the balcony, hearing him begin to stalk me once more.

  Outside a light night breeze tosses my hair about my shoulders. I stride to the balcony and place my hands on the railing. The city below twinkles like a black sea of white and pale yellow fish.

  His hands find me once more. This time they span around the sides of my waist. A thrill runs down my spine at his touch. I wonder if I will ever get used to his hands on me. His body presses up to the length of my back.