Bound by Lies: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Bound by Lies (Bound #1)

  Hanna Peach writing as

  Sienna Blake

  Bound by Lies (Bound #1): a novel / by Hanna Peach writing as Sienna Blake. – 3rd Ed.

  First Digital Edition: January 2014

  Published by SB Publishing

  Copyright 2014 Sienna Blake

  Cover art copyright 2013 SB Publishing. All Rights Reserved Sienna Blake. Stock images: shutterstock

  Editing services by Proof Positive: http://proofpositivepro.com.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Bound Forever (Bound #2)

  Dear Readers

  Excerpt of Bound Forever (Bound #2)

  Acknowledgements

  “You won’t realize how strong you are until you are given no other choice.”

  ~ kitten

  This book is for the strong in all of us.

  Chapter 1

  Bound is a loud, moralless pit hole slunk in the shadows of the warehouse district of this city, gritty exposed-brick walls, exposed ceilings and rusted pipes, and medieval furniture made of thick wood and black iron. The staff is costumed in structured leather, whalebone and PVC. Some of them wear masks to protect their day-time identities. Others wear their faces open and proud with painted red lips. Some adorn themselves with spiked collars or jewels on chains strung across from various body piercings like Christmas decorations.

  The music is so wild it almost sounds like it has no beat. Just a furious epileptic noise that bangs through the bodies on the dance floor, a perfect soundtrack to the carnal stills of thrusting hips and flicking hair given up by the flickering strobe lights. It is a perfect place to meet like-minded people who just want to forget.

  I come here when I need to forget.

  No, I lie. I can’t forget. The most I can hope for is a distraction. It may not seem right to you, but it’s the only way I’ve learnt how to cope.

  In this private booth in Bound, I yank the stranger’s pants off him and they drop to the black marble flooring. With one hard push he falls back onto the black couch, his erection waving slightly at me.

  He grins at me from under his floppy sandy hair. “You’re an aggressive one, aren’t you?” Dimples mark his cheeks.

  “You here to talk or to fuck?”

  I lift up the hem of my dress to reveal that I didn’t bother with underwear. His eyes drop to my freshly shaven pussy and I see them widen a little. I straddle him and reach past him to the pieces of leather piled on the shelf behind the chair. It’s dark in there, but I know what I’m looking for by feel. As I lean forward my chest pushes against his cheek. He pulls my left breast free from my dress and gives my nipple a lick.

  “You don’t even want to know my name or anything?” His voice reverberates against my skin.

  I grit my teeth as the frustration builds in my body. Finally, my fingers find the piece of leather I’m after. I lean back to sit on his thighs. “I don’t give a shit what your name is.”

  Using both hands I stuff the ball gag into his mouth and push the leather strap down over his head. That’ll shut you up. With a swift move I tighten the strap and buckle it off behind his head. His eyes widen further and his fingers flinch up to the leather gag. Before he can protest or unbuckle the piece, I lick a generous line of moisture across my palms and wrap them around his shaft. I start to move my hands apart in a twisting motion, almost like I am wringing out a towel, then back together. He lets out a muffled groan and his head falls back onto the chair as I continue to work him. The feel of his hard smooth skin sliding in my hands raises the itch under my skin to an almost unbearable level.

  I can’t. I need. Release. Now.

  I tear open a foil packet and roll the contents down onto him before lifting myself up and sliding down onto him. I dig my nails into his chest to leverage myself, ignoring his hiss, and start to ram my hips against him. He raises his hips to meet me and his hands grab my ass. I panic, scratching at his chest then pushing his hands off me. “Don’t touch me.”

  He scrunches up his face and looks down to the raw red marks across his pecs, before holding his palms up in a surrender.

  Yes, you surrender. I’m in control. I am. I start to move again and he settles back, his arms laying across the back of the small couch. His fingers grip the leather tighter and tighter as I work against him. He groans again and his eyelids flutter shut. My own pressure builds inside me. My head falls back and my eyes close. Under this darkness I am empty, if but for a moment. The rhythmic motion of my hips against his is like waves crashing against cliffs, violent and furious. It numbs me and I can almost mistake it for freedom.

  The wave of heat rises through my body. I grind against this stranger, taking what I need, hoping that this time it will be enough to last.

  It isn’t enough. It is never enough.

  That was last night.

  Tonight, I’m here again, leaning my elbows against the bar, stirring my straw through my vodka and tonic, trying to pay attention to the guy on my left who bought me this drink. My mind is too scattered. This itchy, uncomfortable feeling clenches me like too-tight skin, and my unwanted memories are like a buoy. They keep bobbing up to the surface no matter how much I keep pushing them back under. “You’re hurting me, Jacob.” God, I need a distraction.

  I watch Barry or Bozo, or whatever this clown’s name is, waving his fingers around as he talks. I nod my head like I give a shit and wonder how long decorum dictates that I wait to suggest that he pay for a private booth. His brown hair is conservatively cut and combed to one side; he reminds me of a Ken doll. Especially when he flashes that expensively purchased smile of his. He wears a tailored pinstriped suit with a red silk folded handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Who the hell wears a frickin’ handkerchief in their pocket to a club? Corporate-douchebag-Ken does.

  His right nostril is dusted with white powder and he has that gunky white residue at the corner of his mouth as most coke users do. Gross. I hope he doesn’t expect me to kiss him. I look down at the bar counter, shiny from polish and spilled liquor, because I just can’t keep looking at him. Otherwise I fe
ar I’ll get put off to the point where I can’t do this. And I need this.

  I place my lips around the straw and pretend to take a sip of my drink. They are generous with their shots here, so I can taste the sting of the vodka mixed with the sharpness of the lime on my lips as I draw up the cold liquid. I stop sucking without swallowing any liquid and let it all fall back down the straw. I don’t drink. Especially not when I’m on the hunt for a distraction. I don’t like losing control of my faculties. I won’t do it. I don’t like it. Most importantly, I can’t afford to.

  At that moment something in the music changes and I look up. It’s then that I spot him leaning against the wall across from me. His giant form with overbearing shoulders and intimidating arms straining against his dark shirt makes it difficult not to notice. From here I can see that he has messy dark hair and dark eyebrows. I can’t tell what color his eyes are, but I’m desperate to find out. Black as night, I guess, to match his hair.

  He’s staring at me, an intense stare that makes my lungs flutter, and making no attempts to hide it. I can’t help but smile.

  I noticed him several weeks ago. He had been standing in almost that very spot fucking me from across the space with his eyes like he’s doing now. I thought he would approach me. He didn’t. He just watched me. He didn’t even come to lay claim after a good-looking suit sought to charm me into giving him some of my time. I left with the suit that night. Although later I was imaging it was him buried between my legs. Since then, I’ve found my eyes being drawn to that very spot where he stands now. It’s the first time he’s been back.

  “Hey, sweetcheeks.” My attention is diverted back to Bozo. This wannabe lover is frowning at me, obviously ticked off that he isn’t getting his vodka tonic’s worth of attention from me. The dim bar lights flash off his hair like an oil slick, making it look like someone has spat all through it. I cringe when I imagine running my hands through it to pull at it. “You even listening to me?”

  I smile and I can feel it dripping thick with fake honey. I pull in the corners of my mouth so that it forces dimples to my cheeks. “Of course I am, babe.” I giggle and place my hand lightly on his arm.

  Bozo’s face relaxes. Predictable fucker. He leans in close so I can smell a mix of rum and cigarettes on his breath. I rack my brain for why I even let him buy me a drink.

  “Well, why don’t you drink up, beautiful, and we can go take this party upstairs into a private booth?”

  This is what I want, isn’t it? I feel his hand slip onto the small of my lower back then slide down to feel the round of my ass. He presses his partial erection against my side.

  Usually the touch of a sexed-up man ready to go gets me excited, but tonight, for some reason, it only serves to make me feel queasy. I swallow and try to fight this feeling from showing on my face. For some reason I look over to the wall again.

  Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable is gone. I glance around in an attempt to find him. I don’t see him towering over the mass of bobbing heads in the crowd. My heart sinks into my stomach, making my nausea feel worse.

  “Sorry,” I say, taking my arm off Bozo and stepping aside so his hand drops off my ass. “I just remembered I have to meet someone. Maybe next time.”

  Before I can step away his fingers grab my arm, pulling me off balance. “Don’t play games with me,” he grunts, his breath coming out hard and fast like a bull. “You were all over me a second ago. You wouldn’t have come out here wearing no underwear if you weren’t up for it.” He runs his other hand up the back of my ass again to prove he was right. “I can smell that you want me from here.”

  I cringe. I try to shake his hand off, but his grip is like a vice. “Let go of me, you pig.”

  Instead he pulls me to him and tries for a kiss, his disgusting mouth puckering like a fish. His other hand slips under the hem of my dress. I lean back and try to balance on one heel so I can kick him where it hurts. Before I do, he releases me, almost causing me to fall over. He disappears behind a wide back wrapped in black cotton. I grab the bar to steady myself.

  Oh God. It’s him. The man from the wall. I know it’s him. Even though I can’t see his face, I recognize his presence. I stare up at his thick shoulder muscles pushing out against his shirt, then down his lats, which are wide enough to hang off, tucking down into a trim waist. Finally to a round ass and lovely strong thighs hugged by dark blue denim. Holy sweet Jesus. My mouth is already watering.

  “She said she had to meet someone. Now back the fuck off,” Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable’s words rumble to my ears over the thump thump of the music. Even his voice sounds like sex, deep and rough and demanding.

  “Shit. Okay, man. I’m going.”

  “The fuck you are.” This sex god steps back so that I can see that he has Bozo by his shirt. He yanks Bozo forward. “You apologize first. And make it a good one.”

  Bozo starts to grovel at me, but I can’t hear him. I’m mesmerized by my first close-up look at this man’s face. He was good looking from far away, but up close he is just… beautiful. Not in a structurally perfect Abercrombie and Fitch pretty boy-model come-run-with-me-through-the-fucking-daisies kind of way. God no. He is beautiful like the wild, untamed mountains. He’s tan skinned, thick jawed and stubbled, and there’s a scar that cuts across one of his eyebrows. His generous lips are pulled into a scowl that makes him look dangerous and a little bit nasty in all the right ways. This combination sends a rush of heat through my veins.

  I was so wrong about his eyes. They aren’t brown. They are the intense green of rough seas, turbulent and luring with depths that fear I might never be able to swim out of.

  He stares back at me, meeting my gaze head on. His snarl softens into a smirk. He still manages to make it look mean. Like a warning.

  I definitely should not be staring back so boldly. I definitely should not be wondering how dark a shade his eyes get when he’s turned on. I definitely definitely should not be going anywhere with him to find out.

  I only realize that Bozo has finished groveling when he is shoved away. “Get lost and stay lost.”

  Bozo disappears into the crowd. I’m left with him. He still hasn’t broken eye contact with me.

  I hear a little voice in me begging me to be the first to look away. Play it cool. I snap out of my reverie and lean one elbow against the bar so that my other hip rolls out, something I know showcases my small waist.

  “So I guess I owe you a thanks then, huh?” I tilt my head down so that my hair falls across one eye and look up at him. I give him my fake name just quiet enough so that he has to lean in to hear it. Now that he’s right where I want him, I hold out my hand and give him my slowest, sexiest smile – the one I reserve for when I want to impress, the one that never fails to have a man eating out of my palm.

  He laughs.

  The prick laughs at me.

  I’m so shocked I just blink at him like an idiot, my hand still stuck out like a misplaced limb. What. The. Fuck.

  “Your games won’t work on me,” he says.

  I straighten up, my body flushing with shame and lust, a heady combination. “Let’s not play games then.”

  “You don’t want to mess around with me.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  His features harden. “I’m no good for you. I just thought I’d do my moral duty and help out.”

  I bristle. “I don’t need saving.”

  “I was talking about him. He was about to get his balls kicked up into his head.”

  He leans in so that he’s only inches away, so close I catch my first smell of him. Musky and manly with a hint of wood smoke underneath. I want to bury my face into his chest and just inhale him in, long and deep. Musk and wood smoke. For some reason it makes me feel… safe. This feeling washes over me as his scent does and my limbs feel warm. It startles me. Safe is not something that I remember feeling in a long time.

  He speaks low. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

  “W-what? What the hell are you talking
about?”

  Only then does his gaze leave my eyes to give me a long, languid once-over. It isn’t the kind of look that I’m used to. It doesn’t rip at my clothes or grab at my skin. This look caresses my body like a tender kiss. I’m stripped until my wretched soul is left with nothing to cover it.

  I swallow. I stand up straighter and lift my chin a little higher. But my fingers are fiddling with the hem of my dress. Suddenly I’m not feeling so comfortable in my skin-tight mini dress and black patent leather sky-high come-fuck-me heels. What felt like armor, now feels cheap and flimsy.

  He looks back up to meet my gaze and I catch the sadness in his eyes. When he speaks there’s no trace of anger left in his voice. “You’re so much more than this. You just need someone to remind you.”

  He turns without another word and starts to push through the throng of bodies. For a second I’m so stunned I can’t move.

  Bastard. How dare he? Don’t you dare go after him.

  My heart slams in protest as I watch him leave, taking my safety with him. He has tied himself to something deep inside me that remembers who I am. It remembers all of what I am. The good parts, the worthy parts, the parts of me that are more than this parade I put on for the world. “You’re so much more than this. You just need someone to remind you.” I want someone to remind me. I want him to remind me.

  I go after him.

  I can’t see him as I elbow my way through the crowd. Move. Move! Can’t you see I have to get to him? Where is he? Has he left already? What if I’ve already lost this chance?

  I catch a glimpse of him stopped up ahead at the coat check, and it renews my hope. I yell at him to stop, but he can’t hear me over the noise of the music. No one can. These arms all feel like they are conspiring to hold me back as I struggle and shove my way through the thick forest of bodies. I watch helplessly as he turns from the coat check and disappears through the club doors. I push and scramble my way through with renewed vigor.

  Finally I pull free. I burst through the club doors and scan the lot in front of me, a cool night breeze teasing at my hair. Where is he? Oh God. I lost him.