Bound by Lies: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  I sometimes wonder if he practices his insults at home. I swear they get more creative the more I train with him. Some days, when I’m having bad days, his insults make me angry. I hit harder and soon I feel better.

  Finally we move on to knees then kicks. My two favorites. I love kickboxing because it lets me use my legs and knees in a fight. A woman’s strongest part of her body is her legs. I love my legs for this reason. In five years my soft twiggy legs have grown toned, curvy and powerful. I’d like to think that anyone I knew from back then wouldn’t recognize me now.

  At the end of our session I’m sweaty and grunting with a kind of happiness as the adrenaline swims through my bloodstream. Mick grunts and throws a towel at me. “You did alright, kid.”

  I nod. In Mick-speak, he means he’s happy with my efforts.

  That afternoon I slip into a low-ceilinged bar to start my shift at Dixie’s. Dixie’s is like a well-used sofa, warm and welcoming with bottle-green windows, exposed beams and generous booths that curl around tables like sets of fleshy arms. It has a basic food menu: pies, sausages and mash, steak and chips – all the things you would get at home. It doesn’t serve cocktails and only offers house wine, but it has more than twenty varieties of whiskeys, rums and bourbons.

  No sooner am I behind the counter then I hear a whip of cloth and feel a sharp sting on my ass. I whirl around.

  “Dixie!” I scold.

  My forty-something-going-on-twelve red-headed boss is standing there, all five-foot-nothing of her, snapping gum between her teeth, holding the offending dishrag in her fingers and grinning at me. “I couldn’t help it, honey. You have the cutest little tush packed up in them shorts.” She winks before throwing the dishrag at me and pointing to a tray of glasses fresh from the dishwasher that are sitting on the counter.

  Our “uniform” is a black “Dixie’s does it better” t-shirt paired with any kind of denim bottoms. Today I am wearing denim cut-offs because it gets hot running around orders. Dixie’s is a small bar, but it gets busy.

  I roll my eyes and start to dry and reshelf the damp glasses with the dishrag. I mutter something about sexual harassment. Inside I like the way she’s so comfortable around me. She’s been like that from the moment she hired me on the spot, cash in hand, without a reference or ID check, after I had fallen into the bar drenched from a storm outside in answer to a handwritten ad in the window.

  Jeff, the other bartender sharing my shift, walks out of the back area with a tray of napkins and cutlery, eyes my denim shorts and makes a noise of agreeance before he begins to restock the tables.

  Dixie narrows her eyes at him then points a finger his way. “Hey, you are not allowed to ogle her ass. Rein it in, buster.”

  He splutters. “But−”

  “But nothing.” Dixie strides towards the kitchen to prep for the Friday after work crowd.

  “How come you’re allowed to, then?” Jeff yells after her.

  “‘Cause when I do it, it’s funny. If you do it, it’s harassment.” She disappears through the swinging kitchen doors.

  Jeff shakes his head.

  I pick up another glass, still warm from the dishwasher. I can sense his eyes still on me, so I look up and arch an eyebrow at him. Jeff doesn’t flinch at being caught staring.

  “You got plans after work?” he asks after a short pause.

  “Nope.”

  “Rest of the weekend?”

  I shake my head.

  “Been waiting for me to ask you out, huh?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Am I that transparent?”

  He grins. Jeff is a cutie, a baby face with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles but with a burgeoning man’s body, wide shouldered and coming to terms with a growth spurt that has put him just over six-foot-two. I’m guessing by the way he curls his shoulders in and hunches over slightly that this growth spurt has been recent and none too welcome. The way he moves is still all boy and he seems awkward in his freshly grown man’s body, like he isn’t used to it yet.

  From the little things I have heard here and there, I understand that he left home over a year ago when it became too rough to handle. Sometimes I hear him making snarky remarks about his new stepdad. They don’t get along. Nothing violent or anything like that, all verbal. Sometimes the verbal stuff can cut deep, too.

  Dixie took him into her spare room above this bar, and this job is paying his way through a part-time graphics design course. He’s always sketching something in his black art pad during breaks.

  He’s way too young for me, barely out of school. His flirting is harmless and we both know it. I can’t help but enjoy his little attentions. It’s…nice.

  A box is delivered to my home the next day, a white box tied with a single pale blue bow.

  I sit on my floor against the front of my bed with the box placed between my legs. I stare at it for the longest time, suspicious. There’s no return address, no note on the front, no indication that it’s even meant for me. Except that the delivery man insisted that this was the right address when he dropped it off.

  I pull at the ties and the pale blue silk comes apart in my hands and tumbles down over the sides of the box. With trembling fingers I lift the lid.

  The inside is swathed in pale blue tissue paper. I brush it aside and frown when the light shines against green silk. On top of the material is a small envelope with the words “For kitten”. I swear my heart stops for a moment. This is from him.

  “Be good, kitten. I’ll be in touch.”

  I open the envelope and pull out the note. The first note. Plain white paper, written in black ink.

  Hotel deCrystal bar. Sunday 9pm.

  A date? I don’t do dates. I won’t go.

  I shouldn’t go.

  Damn it, I’ve been thinking about his voice and his tongue against my neck and his hot breath rumbling across my skin since he left me standing outside my apartment. My hand rises to my neck where his hand held me so firmly, and it presses into the invisible handprint that he left behind like a depression in wet sand.

  I snatch my hand away from my neck. No. I’m not going. I can’t.

  I turn back to the box and finger the emerald silk material. I pull it out, the green silk cascading out in front of me into the form of a dress. A gorgeous dress that will match his eyes when I stand next to him wearing it. I rub the note again with my fingers.

  Hotel deCrystal is a swanky bar and this is a swanky dress, both more than I can afford. My eyes wander to the tag at the neckline. Holy Hell. The designer name on the dress makes my eyes water. I already know that this dress costs more than I make per month.

  I’m not even going to try it on. I’m just going to put it back in the box and return it, thank you very much. Except there’s no return address on the box. I’ll have to take it with me and return it to him. I guess it wouldn’t hurt just to go if only to return the dress. Nothing to do with the fact that I want to see him again. No, nothing to do with that.

  I lower the dress into my lap. I run my fingers across the silky fabric and across the hand-stitched detailing under the bust. It’s so beautiful. When would I ever get to wear something so beautiful?

  Maybe I’ll just try it on. Then I’ll pack it away and forget about the Hotel deCrystal.

  I undress and stand naked, holding the dress out in front of me. I undo the zipper and the dress peels apart like an elegant waterfall. I step into the swathes of material and pull it up over my hips. When I pull up the zipper the bodice closes around me as if it was tailored for me.

  I step in front of the mirror and gasp at my reflection. The emerald silk is bold and vibrant against my skin. It sits off the shoulder and dives like a swan across my collarbone. The skirt skims off my hips and falls to a gather at my knees and calves, giving me a screen-siren-like hourglass shape. I blur a little behind the moisture in my eyes. It fits me perfectly. Like he has been dressing me all his life.

  The thought that his fierce green eyes had been all over me,
studying my body so intently that he fitted me like he was my damn tailor, has my whole body buzzing. Suddenly, I’ve never been so aware of my skin, from the ends of my toes up to the tips of my ears.

  A wave of fear rushes through me, cracking against the heat like cold water. I can’t go. I can’t wear the dress. I won’t let him dress me like his little doll. I can’t let him. If I take the gift then I’ll owe him. I don’t want to owe anyone anymore.

  Jacob makes me twirl in this large plush dressing room. I can barely breathe as I stand in this silk red corset, matching G-string and garters turning my legs into two dark pins in black stilettos. He instructs me turn around and bend over so I am touching my toes. My cheeks heat with shame as I feel his eyes on my barely covered ass and pussy, held in the air for him like a cheap stripper. The whale-boning digs into my hips as I bend. Like bars of a cage.

  “Yes,” his voice cuts through the air towards me. “You’ll wear this tonight and only this.”

  When I stand again and turn to meet his eyes they are already tearing me apart. My arms come up to cross my chest. “But I don’t feel comfortable−”

  “You’ll wear it.” His eyes narrow to slits. “Because I tell you to.”

  I shake my head until that memory dislodges from my mind. I won’t let him dress me. I won’t wear this dress. I need to get this off. I can’t. Oh God. I can’t breathe. A wave of panic overcomes me and my fingers grab at the zipper and tug it down. I fling the material from my body.

  I stand up straight and glare at the crumpled material as my breathing returns to normal. I thrust my chin in the air. I don’t have to wear his dress. I’ll just go in a different one. I’ll show him who’s in control.

  It’ll just be the one date. Just one. Just to tell him that it will only be this one time. We can have sex so I can get him out of my system then I can disappear back into this piecemeal existence that I call my life.

  I’ve never been to the Hotel deCrystal bar before. As I step into the opulent space I try not to gape. Chandeliers drip with real crystals, the cream and gold carpet is so plush my heels sink into it, the waiters are dressed in tailored coat and tails. In my left hand I hold a bag containing the box of unwanted obligation in the form of emerald silk. I wear a red dress, strapless and knee-length, the most formal thing I own, but I still feel so out of place. I almost wish I’d worn the green dress.

  My heart pounds more than it should at the thought of seeing him again. My stomach is in knots. What will he say when he sees that I didn’t wear his dress? How will he react? I glance around and remind myself that I’m safe from his reaction in this public place. I was feeling so assured before, but now that I am here…

  I don’t even know his name.

  I see him sitting at a small table, staring out the full-length window beside him. He looks thoughtful, his finger tapping on his chin, a frown marring his profile. For a second I almost panic and run. He spots me and his face softens as he stands to face me. For a moment, my world becomes silent.

  He is devastatingly beautiful. More beautiful than I remember. He has shaved his face since the last time we met, revealing smooth golden skin that glides across the strong plain of his jaw and his protruding cheekbones. His dark hair has been slicked down and back. He is dressed in dark pants and a white button-up shirt under his dinner jacket. Holy Jesus. The way he fills out that suit makes my belly tighten.

  I get the feeling like I’m standing on the edge of the sea about to dive in. Below me sharp brutal rocks have been submerged in a calm and elegant high tide, flawless and alluring from above, but underneath, the danger remains.

  I force myself forward. My knees are trembling so much I have to focus on each step to make sure I don’t trip on my face. He meets me halfway. Even with my heels on I have to stare up at this man. God, he is huge, thick and tall and towering. I catch his scent of wood smoke and that feeling of safety washes over me. His eyes are hooded and intense and they have me caught in his gaze.

  “You look incredible.” In that moment, under the spotlight of his eyes, I feel it.

  He scoops my hands up and places a soft feathery kiss on my fingers, sending tingles all over the back of my hand. I try to pull my hand from his. He won’t let go just yet. His lips part and he drops his mouth over my knuckles to give me a second kiss. Eyes still on me, he drags the tip of his tongue across my skin in a lick that I feel all the way down to my toes. I swallow a moan.

  Two kisses. One sweet, one wicked. These two kisses represent the duality I can already see in him.

  He leads me to the bucket sofa next to the seat that he was sitting in when I arrived. When he lets go of my arm I sink into the softness. I expect him to sit in the armchair to my left. He doesn’t. He squeezes his frame in between the table and the couch, one leg pressing against mine. He looks down expectantly at me. I choke silently as he towers above me. I realize he wants me to move up so he can sit next to me. For some reason I can’t move. I don’t want to. Without meaning to, my gaze drops to find the delicious bulge at the front of his pants. My mouth parts around a silent Oh. God.

  He pushes one leg between mine. Then the other, forcing my knees further apart. Now he’s standing with his hips right there for me. Oh yes. We both want this. My mouth waters as I lean forward, my hands quickly unzipping his pants and finding his...

  I flinch and sink back into the seat, snapping my legs shut, my cheeks on fire. He has already moved past me, oblivious to my dirty mind, and is turning around so he can sit down. His proximity is making my brain turn to mush. I need to put some space between us. To regain some of my control.

  I expect him to sit on the other side of the couch from me. He doesn’t. He sits right in the middle. Right next to me. Right. Next. To. Me.

  As he settles in and his knees fall out a little, our thighs touch. My skin practically burns through this dress. I could push myself up and over him and slide right down on him and I’ll bet I would fit perfectly around his…

  I lean back against the arm of the chair, needing space, needing air. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t act this way around men. Not even good looking men. I am always the one in control. I am the one who they are flailing around. Not the other way round. Not like this.

  He turns his torso towards me and rests his left arm along the back of the couch. At this angle it only serves to highlight the leanness of his waist under that tucked-in white shirt, and the width of his shoulders are highlighted by the soft black cotton of his suit and its wide lapels. I can feel the heat of his forearm through his jacket across my bare shoulder blades. Good lord. I can’t move. I feel like I am being held here. Imprisoned. Even though he’s barely touching me.

  “I am so glad you came.”

  Somewhere through my haze, I find my voice. “Did I even have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice with me.”

  Do I really? At the moment it doesn’t feel like it. My eyes move across this muscled form so lavishly cloaked in black Armani. It feels like my body is planning a mutiny on my sensibilities; its sole thought is to completely submit to this beautiful man. Whatever he wants…

  Damn him.

  “You sent this dress as emotional blackmail.” I shove the bag at him, pushing it between us like a shield.

  He ignores the bag and doesn’t take his eyes off me. “It isn’t emotional blackmail.”

  “Really? Then… what the hell is it?”

  “A gift.”

  “What do you want for it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you give it to me?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  For a second I’m stunned into silence.

  No. He’s lying. He must be. I push the bag into his chest. “I won’t accept it.”

  Only then does he look down at the crushed bag in his lap. “You didn’t like the dress? You aren’t wearing it.”

  I lift my chin. Stay strong. “I didn’t want to.”

  He smiles and places t
he bag at his feet. “You look beautiful regardless.”

  I peer at him closely, looking for a twitch in his jaw, a crease between his brows. For a sign of the monster underneath. But… I see none of those things. “You… You’re not mad that I’m not wearing the dress?”

  He laughs and the sound rolls over me like silk. “No. I wouldn’t get mad if you said you didn’t want to do something I asked you to. I would instead make it so that you didn’t want to say no.” His finger strokes along the back of my neck, a light touch that awakens my nerve endings all the way down my back. I have to fight not to visibly shudder. Stupid carnal needy body. I can’t deny that a part of me wants to say yes to him. He can’t know this. I have to regain my control over this conversation and myself.

  “Ha,” I scoff. “You’re so sure of yourself.”

  “You think I’m arrogant.”

  “You are.”

  “You just think that because you don’t know what’s coming.” He leans in close to me, so close I can feel his breath rushing around my cheeks. His green eyes crackle with fire. “You’ll say yes to me. You’ll say yes to me and only me. You know how I know?”

  I shake my head, trying to swallow but failing. The heat emanating off him is so intense it has caused my mouth to go dry. With his nose he nudges my cheek to the side so he can access my neck.

  His voice, so low and hot, fucks my ear. “I’m going to make you feel so good that it’ll ruin you for all other men.”

  Oh dear God.

  I whimper.

  He pulls back so that I can see his face. The intensity of his expression hasn’t softened – if anything it has darkened. There’s no playfulness in what he has just said, no lightness to his expression, no quirk of his lips. Just a promise. A promise I know he’s going to deliver.

  A single white-hot flame licks between my thighs, leaving me aching and my thin lace panties wet. I tear my gaze away in case my eyes have become transparent and he can see how much he’s effecting me inside. I cross my arms over my breasts to hide my nipples which are pressing so torturously against the material of this dress.