Copyright © 2021 by Billie Lustig
Catching Fire Copyright © 2021 by Billie Lustig
All rights reserved.
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First Edition.
Cover Design: © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Editor: Kim BookJunkie
Formatting and Proofread: Katie Salt at KLS Publishing
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
1. Callie
2. Callie
3. Callie
4. Callie
5. Kane
6. Callie
7. Callie
8. Callie
9. Kane
10. Callie
11. Callie
12. Callie
13. Kane
14. Callie
15. Callie
16. Kane
17. Callie
18. Callie
19. Callie
20. Callie
21. Kane
22. Callie
23. Callie
24. Kane
25. Kane
26. Callie
27. Callie
28. Kane
29. Callie
30. Callie
31. Kane
32. Callie
33. Callie
34. Callie
35. Kane
36. Callie
37. Kane
38. Callie
39. Kane
40. Callie
Epilogue
Franklin: Chapter One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Billie Lustig
Author’s Note
If you don’t know me, let me give you a heads up:
I say fuck.
A lot.
My books are no exception.
This is a dark, mafia romance that contains strong language, explicit sex scenes, and both sexual and physical abuse.
If that is not your cup’a tea, don’t read it.
If you are not sure and you want to know the details, feel free to send me a DM on Instagram or fill out the contact form on my website!
Love is permanent, once you’re burned,
there is no way back.
Billie Lustig
Prologue
Twenty-Four Years Ago
I cross my arms in front of my body, my gun in a loose grip in the palm of my hand.
“Did you kill her?” I ask.
“Does it matter?” the asshole at my feet spits.
“Did you kill her?” I repeat, my lips pressed together in anger.
“We came for you. She was there. You weren’t.” He shrugs as if it was nothing.
I close my eyes, shaking my head.
I didn’t love the woman. She was the mother of my child, a one-night stand turned regular who comforted me on the occasional night because my real infatuation was with a woman I couldn’t have. A redhead who burns me with her laugh and fire-filled eyes. A strong Irish goddess who was never meant to be mine.
Until now.
“You killed her. I guess I’ll just have to take your wife as a replacement.” I open my eyes.
His face falls, the blood draining from his face until he’s practically white as snow. Then he recovers his stance, and spits on my shoes.
“She will never love you.”
His gray eyes shine like silver lightning, and he gives me a defiant look while strands of his light blond hair dangle on his forehead.
Hijo de puta.
He’s on his knees, his hands tied behind his back, and his face bloody from all the punches he’s received in the last ten minutes. His t-shirt is covered in blood spatter and dirt, showing off the muscles in his arms. The warehouse is partially sheltered from the freezing weather outside, yet his Russian heritage keeps him from being bothered by it, even though it’s still cold as fuck.
“Maybe not, but either way, she will make me a rich man.” The corner of my mouth moves up in a malicious grin while I crouch in front of him, pressing the gun under his chin.
His brows shoot up at my words, and I can see the fear slowly creeping into his eyes.
My gaze never leaves his, waiting for some kind of snarky comment that is probably on the tip of his tongue. Instead, his face relaxes as if he’s accepting that this is the end of his story.
“You won’t have access to that money until she is twenty-five.”
“I know,” I admit with a smile. “That’s why I will raise her as my own, while I fuck your wife every night.”
“She left you for me. If you kill me, you will be competing with a ghost for the rest of your life,” he scowls.
I have to admit, this is kind of disappointing. I’d hoped he would be squirming in front of me, begging for mercy, but all the cabrón does is piss me off even more.
“Not for the rest of my life, just until I’m sick of her.”
“Twenty-five years is a long time.”
“We are talking about $1.5 billion. I think it’ll be worth the wait.”
“Jacky will find out, you fucking psychopath. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean you’ve won.” He spits in my face with a look of disdain.
I calmly wipe my face clean with the sleeve of my jacket, before my eyes land on his, moving the gun from his chin to his forehead.
“Si, Dimitri, that is exactly what it means,” I whisper before I pull the trigger.
One
Callie
Six years ago – 18 years old
I hate this.
This is definitely not what I thought my big brother had in mind when he said, “Let’s have some fun, you’re eighteen now.”
I hadn’t seen him since I was abducted two months ago on my eighteenth birthday. I’d told myself that he left as soon as I was safe because the thought of almost losing his little sister had been too much for him. Now he’s back in New York for some job, appearing at my doorstep out of nowhere. When he told me he wanted to do something with me tonight, I felt excited that he wanted to spend time with me. But growing up with the psychopath my brother continuously proved to be, I should have known that we have different definitions of fun. I just thought that maybe I was wrong. That for once, since I first came to suspect that my brother doesn’t have an ounce of empathy in his skinny frame, he deserved the benefit of the doubt. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he really wanted to spend some time with his baby sister.
Childish, little Callie, still seeking her brother
’s approval.
I don’t even know what I was expecting, but I do know that I wasn’t expecting to be dragged to a strip club I’m not even old enough to be in.
It took my brother less than five minutes to slip the bartender a C-Note, telling him to keep an eye on me before he told me he had some ‘business’ to attend to.
Well, unless he’s becoming a pimp now, I’m pretty sure disappearing into a back room with a trashy stripper has nothing to do with work.
I raise my hand in the air, quietly asking for a refill of my gin and tonic. The bartender gives me a wink while he puts a new glass in front of me. I gratefully give him a small smile before I turn around and press my back against the bar, my eyes roaming the rest of the club.
The room is filled with about a dozen Reyes men, circling the pretty brunette hanging upside down from the stripper pole, wearing nothing more than her thong. They look even more menacing, with nothing more than the strobe lights occasionally illuminating their faces. The rest of the men appear to be businessmen, corporate dicks who come here to unwind on a weekday.
My mouth is curled in a bitter smile as I let out a long sigh, trying to release the disappointment that is filling my body.
I should have listened to my mom. She warned me that everything my brother says or does comes with a catch. She didn’t want me to go tonight.
Said I would be doomed to a night of disappointment.
She was right.
In fact, so far she has never been wrong. But I’m a stubborn girl, and even though, deep in my heart, I know it will never change, I can’t stop hoping that someday he will.
Junior will never become the big brother I want him to be.
Loving.
Protective.
I still hope that someday I will actually be enough for him to want to act like a brother.
“Having fun, Hermanita?” I glance to my right, and give my big brother a scowl, my teal eyes peering angrily at his.
“Not exactly my type of fun, Junior.”
“Need you to come with me.” He takes a pull from his beer, ignoring my remark.
The smoke from the cigarette in his mouth enters my nose, nauseating me as I notice the redness in his eyes.
Great, he’s drunk as fuck.
My brother is as fun as a fucking doorknob. When we were younger, his definition of fun was torturing small animals or terrorizing the kids in the neighborhood.
Come to think of it, even a doorknob is more fun than Frank Reyes Junior. But he’s even worse when he’s drunk. As soon as his boundaries lower from the amount of alcohol surging through his body, I’m the target he wants to terrorize.
For some fucked up reason, I’ve always been his favorite toy to torment.
Don’t get me wrong, I can hold my own without any effort against him, but fuck me, it’s exhausting. I know he went through some ugly shit in his life, but does he really have to take that out on me?
“What for?” I turn my head the other way, noticing Ronnie Distucci and his army of sidekicks entering the club.
Ronnie’s sun kissed face falls on mine, and he blows me a kiss like he used to do every day in high school, making me roll my eyes out of habit. The corner of his mouth rises in an arrogant grin before he takes a seat at one of the free tables. I just shake my head. With his slick black hair, designer clothes, and fine Italian shoes, he’s the epitome of the mob prince he really is.
Eager to one day fill his father’s big shoes.
My focus moves to one of the boys in his entourage that I don’t recognize from school and who doesn’t look like the typical Distucci minion. Ronnie mostly runs around with guidos in his circle, but this guy is definitely not Italian. His hair is cut in a high fade out, leaving it longer on top of his head. No guido would ever touch his hair once they leave the house because of the ridiculous amount of shit they put in it, but this guy casually runs a hand through his ashy brown strands. He’s wearing ripped jeans with a short brown lammy coat, his lean body becoming visible when he casually throws it over his chair. His army green t-shirt shows the strength in his biceps and his chest, making me wonder how his body would feel under the tips of my fingers.
I take a sip of my drink before I lick my lips, staring at him without any restraint.
“Callie, let’s go.” I hear my brother growl next to me.
Knowing the state he’s in, I know it’s best to just comply with his request, but I tune him out without a second thought, unable to move my focus away from the new guy.
I’m still mad at my brother, anyway.
Finally, he looks my way, and I suck in an excited breath. His lips curl in a boyish grin, and he raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment. I seductively take a sip of my drink, my eyes never leaving his. His tongue darts out, and he licks his lips while my mouth automatically mimics his move, thinking about everything else I want him to do with his tongue. I push my body off the bar stool, having every intention to place myself on his lap in about five seconds, when I feel a hand enclose around my upper arm, yanking me in the other direction.
“Junior, what the fuck?!”
“NOW, little sis.” Junior tosses me in front of him, pushing me to walk towards the red door that leads to one of the private back rooms. I straighten my body, then quickly glance one more time at the pretty boy who’s now looking at me with furrowed brows.
I turn my gaze away, annoyingly walking into the tacky Bordeaux room. A black leather couch stands against the far end of the wall, and I don’t even want to think about all the disgusting things that have probably happened on that ugly thing.
I spin on my biker boots in the middle of the room, facing my pissed off brother.
“What the fuck is so important, Junior?” I incredulously lift my hands up while my eyes meet the devilish look on his face.
He holds the door open, and a guy wearing a pinstripe suit walks through it like he owns the place. As the man walks past me like I don’t exist, I give Junior a confused look before he closes the door. His face splits into a wide smile, showing off all his teeth, while his eyes turn darker with every second.
Fuck me.
My eyes widen a little in shock, blinking rapidly, trying to understand what the fuck is going on. I can feel my heart stop for a few seconds, my feet slowly stalking backwards away from the couch.
“What’s going on, Junior?” The uncertainty is etching its way into my voice, and I feel every muscle tighten in my body.
“You’re eighteen now, Hermanita. Time to earn some money for la familia.”
I snap my head to the man who is getting comfortable on the couch, rubbing his dick through the fabric of his pants.
“You’re not serious.” My body freezes in horror, and my brain has trouble processing his words. It’s in this final moment that I understand how wrong I was.
My brother is a psychopath.
It’s not even a question. It’s a fact.
I’m frozen as terror creeps inside me, waiting for him to tell me this is some sick joke. Not because I don’t believe him, realizing what a sick fuck my brother is, but because I don’t want to believe him.
I try to look around the room for a way out, wondering if I can make it back to the door.
Junior is blocking my path, but I’m smaller and quicker, which may give me a chance.
I close my eyes for a brief second before I take a deep breath and make a run for it.
My body is fueled by fear running through my veins, and for the slightest second, I actually think I can make it. That I can save myself from my biggest fear.
Silly girl.
I quickly dart out of his grasp, my feet moving quicker than ever. My hand reaches for the doorknob, gracing it with the tips of my fingers before Junior’s arm circles my waist.
“NO. Let me go!” I shout as hard as I can before he places his hand over my mouth, walking us back to the piece of furniture.
“I told you she was feisty, Vernon.” With ease, Junior throws me next to
the man on the couch, and I do my best to kick and punch my way out of their reach.
“Oh, I love it. I’m not disappointed,” he replies as he pushes his pants down, making his twitching dick slam against his stomach. I keep screaming in terror until Junior’s palm roughly slaps my cheek, like I’m one of his whores instead of his little sister.
The burning feeling of his hand connecting with my face shuts me up for a second and makes me freeze long enough for Vernon to crawl on top of me, pinning me down by my neck. Junior places himself above my head, his hands preventing me from making any noises. Tears are welling up in my eyes as I start to moan in defeat. Vernon tugs my skinny jeans down with one rough pull, giving him full access to my lace thong.
“Oh, yes,” he huffs when he rubs his fingers over the fabric.
Two months ago I was scared as fuck because enemies of my father took me as leverage. They locked me up in a room without any daylight for four days, and I didn’t see anyone except for three times a day when they would bring me food.
The uncertainty felt like it was killing me. I was constantly scared they would hurt me in any way, and even though they never did, I thought I was in hell.
I was wrong.
I close my eyes, trying to keep myself from crying while I do my best to buck him off.
I don’t stand a fucking chance.
The man is taller than me, stronger than me, and definitely bigger than me. My tiny body puts in everything I have to fight this, but I can’t move an inch.
Catching Fire (The Fire Duet Book 2) Page 1
