Marrying the Mob Prince

Evie

I'm grateful that I had a good life. Tony warned me.

Did I listen?

Creep manhandled me onto the couch. He'd imprisoned me in his iron grip and I was as limp as a rabbit in a wolf's jaws, unable to fight. My pale hands twitched with the need to punch this motherfucker.

He tutted as he rolled a palm over my shoulder, rubbing me with an intimacy that I'd only craved from one man. My gaze traveled along his crisp white shirt, stretched over bronzed skin to his hideously normal face. His brown eyes burned with a perverse intensity.

Lead bottomed my stomach.

"Let go of me."

"Shh. Be a nice girl." My skin chilled where his unwanted touch skated up my arm in a nauseating caress. "Do you like drugs?"

I shook my head.

He fished through a side pocket, producing a vial. "What about fentanyl?"

I clenched my mouth shut.

"I'll give you a taste. It'll help you relax."

Pain shot into my teeth from my clenched jaw. I shrank from him as he produced a knife. He dabbed something onto the blade. The knife waved in the air as I shook with full-body tremors. The dull edge kissed my mouth. He slid the steel between my lips.

I shoved his hand off me. The blade went flying, and I sprung from his lap.

He yanked my waist.

I slammed into the man's bruising embrace. He cinched me to his chest, smothering my scream. His other arm pinned my elbow, and then a fierce pinch stabbed into my shoulder. I yelped as I glanced at a syringe protruding from my flesh. Oh my God.

"Shut up and listen," he began in a low, toneless voice. "You've been stolen to be used as a sex slave. As far as I'm concerned, you're a pretty piece of meat. I don't give a fuck how you feel about it. You may be married, have a kid, a boyfriend, car payments-fuck it. I don't want to hear about it. I make a point to never like slaves, and I sure as hell don't like you. Your only value to me is your body. I don't want to hurt it, if I can help it." No, no, no. Please God, no.

"Fighting is pointless. It pisses me off and it disturbs the other girls. It upsets them when a new girl doesn't behave. So you have two choices. I drug you, or you act like the sweet girl I know you are." He thumbed the plunger, his horrible voice vibrating through my back. "What's it going to be?"

Oh God.

Oh God.

He slowly uncovered my mouth.

I swallowed hard, shaking so badly my teeth chattered. "Tony Costa is my husband. He'll torture you for this!"

"Everybody has a brother or a husband or a father-in-law who will cross the ocean and kill me, and I'm still trucking along."

What do I do?

He'd hurt me. The only question was-how much? What could I do to survive? I scanned the room for an escape, but men bigger than my father blocked the doors, and I had no hope of overpowering them. "Tell me, pet. How old are you?"

Someone, help me.

Tony. Anyone.

His tone darkened. "I don't like repeating myself."

"Twenty-two."

He made a pleased sound.

Warmth shot into my muscle, and then a flood of disorientation swung me sideways. I sank into his embrace. My pulse rocketed with the sickening realization that I couldn't move. "You said you wouldn't!"

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"I lied, pet. Better get used to that."

No.

Panic rioted within me as I went limp, as though snapped by a marionette.

I plunged into an oblivious daze, sprawled over his lap. Such an unhindered feeling. My body had never been so relaxed. All my senses dulled with euphoria. My breathing slowed and my mouth gaped. My skin tingled with a medicated calm. My eyelids were so heavy.

All I wanted to do was drift into oblivion.

"All right. I only gave you a third of the full dose because I'm going to make so much money off you. This won't mess you up too bad. If you're a good girl and do what I say, I won't drug you for the rest of the trip." Trip?

He lifted me. I sagged like a doll in his arms. He strolled through the room and into another with a bed and floor lamps. He dumped me on the mattress, where I rolled like a bag of oats, settling onto my back. I tried to stand.

My leg responded with a feeble jerk.

The dead-eyed monster loomed over me. He stole my wedding ring. He pulled my dress down my arms with a detached swiftness that recalled visits to the doctor. He dug at the clasp of my bra.

"Please," I begged in a hysterical voice I didn't recognize. "I don't know what you want from me."

"Don't you?"

He removed my bra. He sighed, the sound stabbing my gut. Dimly, I felt the tugging on my dress. Nausea pitted my stomach.

This was wrong. I had to stop it, but I couldn't move.

"I don't want to have sex with you."

The weight of that crashed into my chest. The man's smile widened, as though my fear was more intoxicating than the idea of fucking me.

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"Whoever buys you gets to destroy your cunt. I don't sample the goods." His cold fingers singed my flesh as he seized my panties. He slid them off my ankles, his appreciative groan poisoning me. A vague terror coursed through my veins, fighting the numbness coating my heart.

He sat back and turned on a floor lamp, the white light bleaching the bed. He swiped his iPhone. "I'm taking some pictures of you. Then I'll upload them. I suspect we'll have a lot of interest." What?

He arranged my body in vulgar positions as he took photos, the clicking as degrading as his comments. He cupped my breasts and kneaded them, but I couldn't feel any horror. All of that was muted. "Who are you?"

"No need for introductions. You won't see me for long."

"That's right," I growled, struggling to keep my eyes open. "Because you're going to die."

He laughed, his hands gliding down my torso.

"Tell me your name. I want to know who I'm killing."

He aimed a shot between my thighs. "I go by K."

"Where are you bringing me?"

"A place where girls like you are sold." K lowered his phone and cycled through photos. "Perfect."

"Sold? What the fuck-ow!" A sting pierced my arm. I met his gaze, pleading. "No. I don't want it!" He sank the plunger.

K blurred into flesh-toned colors as his arms looped under me and dropped me into something small, with sides. He shoved my head between my knees. The light zippered shut. My weight shifted as we swung upright, and then we rolled forward.

Was I in a suitcase?