Owned by the mafia boss

CARMELA

The nightmare was familiar.

My knees stung from kneeling on splintered wood. Nick’s steel-toed boots creaked the boards, the only part of him I could see. He was proud of those boots. They made up his identity, like the leather cut stamped with his biker name, Crash.

Nick’s dirty blond hair fell to his shoulders in a messy wave that I used to love touching. He wasn’t the best-looking man, but he’d once held the key to my heart. He’d lured me in with honey-coated poison, and now I couldn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t appreciate the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. His full mouth used to entice me until it spewed the most hateful garbage.

I used to picture us at the altar-him in his leather cut and me in a white dress. I’d given him my heart, and he’d grated it into a fine powder.

In my head, I defied him.

I called him Trainwreck. I did everything I could to stay sane, especially when he got this bad.

He’d beaten me in front of the clubhouse, the humiliation worse than the pain. I’d stopped looking at them for help. Anybody with a semblance of a conscience couldn’t meet my eyes.

I was naked, helpless.

He stopped, his soles inches from my face. Crimson had soaked through the leather. “Lick it off me, Beauty.”

“No.”

He fisted my hair. “Lick his blood off my shoes.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I’ll have to put your mouth to work some other way.”

I met his slanted gaze, refusing to show him fear. “Fuck you, Nick.”

“Poor choice of words.”

I ripped his hands into shreds, struggling to break free. I screamed so hard that my voice cracked. He tore at his belt and unzipped his jeans. His cock slipped out. It bulged in his hands like a pale worm.

Think of the ocean.

I pictured an endless sapphire-blue horizon on white sand. Nick’s steel-toed boots kicked the water as he walked, deep inside the blue, the waves lapping around his ankles. I was that ocean. I was the water he defiled. Filling my eyes with all that blue used to help, because he couldn’t turn it black. He was just a speck of darkness-a flea. Smaller than a flea, an amoeba.

He couldn’t hurt me.

It all faded to black.

I lay on a bed. Naked. A man’s body pressed into mine.

He palmed my shoulder, shaking me.

“Carmela-”

I slapped him off and dove from the sheets, but they’d wrapped my torso. The gentle touch returned, and I slammed my elbow into his body.

He grunted.

I freed myself and spilled onto a pile of clothing. There must be a weapon somewhere. If I could gain the upper hand for a minute-

The lights flared on.

I whirled, looping a belt around my fist.

Michael stood beside me, massaging his bare chest. A red mark glared on his left side. His heavy-lidded gaze flicked to my hand, and then his lips curved.

“What are you going to do, flog me?”

The panic from the dream lingered like a suffocating fog. “Stay away.”

He grabbed his briefs and pulled them on. “Put down the belt, Carmela.”

I tightened my grip on the leather. “Take a step toward me, and I’ll hurt you.”

“Go ahead. Your ass will be raw after I’m done with you.”

“I’ll fucking do it! Stay away from me!”

“Well, that put me in my place.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes as he lurched forward.

I loosed the belt and let the buckle fly. It missed his face and gouged the wall. Michael seized the leather, wrapping the strap around his arms. He yanked. I slammed into his chest. He gathered my wrists in one fist and knotted them behind me. A sharp pain jolted my elbow when I twisted. I couldn’t free myself.

This was familiar. Way too familiar.

“Stop-stop! Please!”

“You stop.”

“You have to let me go!”

Michael cinched his arm around my waist and utterly immobilized me. “I will when you calm the fuck down.”

I couldn’t.

My senses were filled with Nick. I stomped his feet and sank my nails into his legs. He snapped my wrists, stopping me. I screamed. I couldn’t break free. I was trapped.

“Let me go!”

“Stop fighting me.”

I jabbed my elbow into his abdomen, but it was like concrete. I shoved with my feet. His back hit the wall. His laughter vibrated through my body. I slipped from his loosened hold. He seized my arm and lazily yanked me into his embrace, which wrapped around me like ropes. He dragged me to the floor, one arm covering my torso, the other cinching my legs.

No.

A scream caught in my throat.

“Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you.” Michael crushed me against his burning chest. “Breathe.”

He tucked my head under his chin, and his earthy scent surrounded me in a cloud of intoxicating bergamot and spiced orange. Rough hands grazed my forehead. I flinched. My eyes screwed shut as he palmed my head. I expected pain-a stinging slap-but the soft pressure returned.

Soothing. Gentle.

What was he doing?

I recoiled even though it wasn’t painful. My heart pounded as I anticipated pain. I dug my elbow in his ribs, wrenching left and right. My panic reached a crescendo, and the air vanished. I sagged into his arms, numbed, giving up.

This was the part where I’d float above my body and disappear, but Michael pressed his mouth to my temple. I grimaced and shuddered, but after two more kisses, my body melted. The lump in my throat shrank as his metronome heart thudded into my back, and his scent enveloped me in a fog that embraced me like a tight hug. His knuckles grazed my hair. Warmth bloomed where he kissed me. Suddenly, there was nothing else, not his hands or his body, just the imprint of his lips.

It felt so good.

My breathing slowed. This was Michael. And he wasn’t restraining me.

I slapped his arm away and dove to the opposite corner.

Michael didn’t follow. He remained on the floor, back against the wall, his face flushed. He looked more alive than he had all week. He watched me with restless greed, head propped on his hand. His hair stuck up in all directions. He smoothed it back into a loose wave.

“That was fun.”

“Fun?” The word stuck to the back of my throat. “You almost gave me a panic attack.”

“I was controlling the situation before it got out of hand.” Michael’s tone darkened, and the smile flattened. “I don’t tolerate violence in my home.”

“Really? What the hell is all this?”

“They’re toys, and there’s a huge difference.”

A lump swelled in my throat. “You tie up women.”

“Only those who want me to tie them up.”

Michael fanned his flushed chest and gave me a look as though I’d made him too hot, and it replaced my fear with a dark thrill.

“You attacked me, Carmela. That’s not okay.”

“Are you lecturing me?”

“I’m telling you the rules.”

I ground my fingers into the carpet. “You backed me into a corner.”

“I’ll let it slide because you were scared, but you can’t do that again. I am not your punching bag.”

“All right.”NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

My stomach roiled as I imagined what might’ve happened if I’d landed a hit on Michael. I had never thrown a punch before my ex. My lack of control brought home the fact that I was damaged.

Michael sat beside me. “Bad dream?”

I looked away from him.

“Seemed pretty intense.”

I’d rather drink battery acid than tell him. “Drop it, Michael.”

An awkward silence settled between us. Evidence from last night throbbed between my legs. Blemishes marked my chest that I covered, buttoning the shirt. Michael stretched out his legs, pissing me off with his casual elegance. He didn’t deserve his good looks.

He dipped, kissing the shell of my ear.

I moved away from him. “Don’t.”

“What?” He sounded genuinely shocked.

“Kiss me. Touch me. Act like you give a shit. Ever again.” My anger boiled over when his eyebrow lifted even further. “You owe me honesty, not manipulation.”

“I’m completely lost.”

Liar.

He knew what he was doing.

God, I was tired of being used.

He seized my hand as I stormed away.

“I had you floating on cloud nine last night. Don’t pretend you hated it.”

I didn’t hate it, and that was the problem.

I couldn’t be that vulnerable again. “Never again.”