Bound By Vengeance (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles Book 5)

I winced as the door slammed shut. Surprised the sound had managed to penetrate the fog of fear and the hammering of my heart. I felt dazed. Slowly I sat up. My body ached, and I wasn’t sure if it was from my fight with Growl or if it was terror manifesting in a more physical way. I knew nothing anymore. My world had been shattered, and soon I’d share the same fate. Growl had left, had spared me for now, but he’d return.

He’d return.

I turned my head very slowly and peered down at my torn shirt, at my naked shoulder. I remembered his touch there. My fingertips brushed the skin, and I shivered, then traced my throat and the spot beneath my ear. His touch was still there, like an imprint. I closed my eyes, released a harsh breath. My heartbeat didn’t slow. My heart raced, as if it was eager to beat a way out of my chest, away, far away from my body.

I wished it were that easy, leaving your body, drifting off to better places and times. But this was foolish thinking. There would be no miracle that would take me away from this place, from Growl’s reach. Most of my life I’d lived in a bubble, removed from the reality that so many people faced. I couldn’t allow myself that luxury anymore. If I wanted to flee my fate, I’d have to save myself. No one would come to my rescue, not my bodyguards who now served Falcone, probably always had. Not my traitorous fiancé. Not my father, who had probably already been dumped somewhere no one could find him, or been given to Falcone’s fight dogs as a snack. My chest clenched, but I fought the emotion. There was no sense in pitying the dead. They had nothing to lose anymore. But I had, my mother had, Talia had.

I let out a shuddering sob and quickly clamped my palm over my lips. I didn’t want Growl to overhear me, lest it excited him and he changed his mind about sparing me for tonight. I crawled toward the edge of the bed and put one foot on the hardwood floor, then waited for my muscles to stop shaking before I dared to get on my feet. My legs felt unsteady. Everything did.

I looked around. This room was even sparser than the last. The walls were empty. The wooden floorboards completely scratched.

Blood stains marred my shirt. It was ruined. I couldn’t bear wearing it a second longer. I ripped it off my body and wrapped my arms around myself. There were no clothes in the one shabby cupboard. Everything I owned was still at my house. There wasn’t another door except the one Growl had left through, so I didn’t have a bathroom to myself. There was nothing, except the shabby furniture. I sank back down onto the mattress. Maybe I could try to sneak out of the house after nightfall. I draped the blanket over my shoulders, covering myself up. If Growl returned, I didn’t want to wear nothing except for a bra. As if that would stop him.

I heard sniffing and then scratching at the door. My body tightened with fear as I crept toward the door. It sounded like dogs. When I arrived in front of the door, a deep bark sounded and I jumped back. The dog sounded big, dangerous. Hadn’t Father once mentioned that Falcone bred fight dogs for entertainment?

My head swam. This was all too much. I backed away and dropped back down on the bed. What if the dogs found a way inside? They would probably tear me into tiny shreds. That was what they had been bred and trained for. Rumors said that Falcone made millions with bets on dog fights.

My heart sank. I would never be able to leave the house without the dogs noticing. Even if I managed to creep past Growl, and even that seemed unlikely considering his vigilance, the dogs were an insurmountable obstacle.

I curled myself into a tight ball on the bed and buried my face in the pillow. It smelled stale, unused. Growl probably didn’t have many overnight guests. The idea almost made me laugh. I wrapped my arms around my legs and closed my eyes. Outside a couple was screaming obscenities at each other, cars were driving by with screeching tires, and doors were slammed.

I wasn’t sure how long I was lying like that but night fell around me and with it came a bone-chilling silence. I wanted the screaming and banging and screeching wheels back. This utter silence made me feel as if I were already dead.

I listened harder for sounds and then wished I hadn’t because suddenly there was scratching and creaking and rustling. I wasn’t sure what of it my mind had conjured and what was reality. I was tired and thirsty and hungry. Maybe I’d die from thirst or hunger. Maybe Growl would just forget about me. Starving couldn’t be that bad compared to what might lie in my future if I stayed alive, could it?

Stop it.

I had to stop these crazy thoughts. Going crazy wouldn’t get me out of here. I needed to keep my wits about me, needed to figure out a plan. An image of my mother and Talia flashed behind my closed eyelids, so vivid as if they were right before me. Happiness and deep sadness overcame me at the image. Would this memory be the only thing left of them? Would I ever see them again?

Tears welled in my eyes and I didn’t stop them, let them squeeze past my lids and trail down my cheeks. It felt good, a relief after pretending to be strong. I wasn’t, not really, but maybe I could learn. My family, what was left of it, I could be strong for them. If not for me, at least for them, I could gather what little courage I possessed and fight against Growl. Again. And again, until one day, perhaps I’d escape my prison.

Growl

He hated feeling. Hated the sharpness and intensity of it. Hated being reminded that he was still human in that regard. He needed to be the monster everyone expected of him, he wanted to be that monster.

He’d fought so hard to be something, anything, more than the bastard and the scar around his throat, more than the son of a whore, more. Always more.

He pushed the gas pedal hard. Perhaps he should have run. He needed to get rid of that excess energy, of that dangerous tightness encompassing his chest. But where he needed to go was too far. He couldn’t wait that long. He needed to release some tension now. Needed to get rid of that sensation in his body. He needed to become himself again. Needed to remind himself.

In the past he had to do so almost daily. Convince himself of his worth, of who he was but recently he had felt like he’d arrived, and now that girl so out of his league was ruining everything.

He pulled up in front of the Baton Rouge in the non-parking zone, ignoring the car behind him that honked. He threw open the door and got out of the car. The bouncer didn’t say a word about the hazardous way Growl had parked, only took a step back as Growl stalked past him without a word of greeting. Growl was almost sad the asshole hadn’t told him off. He wanted to break bones, wanted to maim and kill.

The inside of the brothel was stuffed with whores and their johns. There was false laughter and too sweet perfume. There was sweat and sex and smoke in the air. There was a tension so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

Some of the tightness in Growl’s chest loosened. This was familiar. This was what he needed. A few whores glanced his way, then quickly away, hoping he’d choose someone else. Their refusal didn’t matter. He’d never cared for their opinion. He’d had them all and most of them were not worth his time. They couldn’t give him what he wanted, what he needed.

But there was someone who could, who liked to scratch and bite, who liked it hard and merciless.

Lola had turned away from her potential suitor, a fat asshole in a dark suit. Growl didn’t know the man, so he didn’t matter. Growl knew everyone who mattered in this town, everyone you shouldn’t cross, and most of them were clever enough not to get in his way anyway.

Fatguy clamped a meaty hand down on Lola’s thigh but she shook him off, and opened her legs wide for Growl. Her dress riled up, revealing a clean-shaven pussy, a piercing glittering in the dim overhead light. Fatguy glowered, then followed Lola’s gaze toward Growl. His expression fell. He quickly slid off his stool and disappeared from view, looking for another whore perhaps.

Growl didn’t give a fuck. He walked past the bar toward the back before he stepped into the second room on the right. It was vacant, but the smell of sex, disinfectant, and rubber lay heavy in the air. He stalked toward the bed and seconds later the door closed behind him.

“Hard day,” Lola said in a raspy voice. No question, a statement. She knew better than to ask questions. He knew she was close when the smell of stale and fresh smoke closed around him. When she didn’t have a drink or a dick in her mouth, she was smoking.

He turned. Her lips were coated in red lipstick, looking glossy and false. Everything about her did. Her black hair, dyed too many times, fell straight down her back. Held down with hairspray and whatever else women used to make their hair do things it wasn’t meant to do. Her lips twisted into a flirty smile, her eyes, rimmed with too much make-up flickered with eagerness. Oh yes, she liked it.

She wasn’t out of his reach.

He grabbed her arms and twisted her around, then threw her down on the bed. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling hard as his other hand opened his fly, then shoved up her skirt and thrust into her in one sharp merciless thrust. She cried out, in pain or lust, he didn’t know, didn’t care. She twisted her arms back, raked her long nails over his thighs, drawing blood. He hissed and fucked her harder, and harder until the image of porcelain skin left his mind, until he was back to being who he was meant to be.

A monster, nothing less.