Page 23 of Darkest Sin

He leans right into me, pressing down against my mouth to keep me quiet. His large hand almost covers my nose, making it almost impossible to breathe. There’s an awful stench lingering on his skin that has bile rising in the back of my throat, but when he snatches my blanket with his other hand and tears it off me, the fear turns to a sickening horror.

His dark eyes begin scanning over my naked body, and I immediately curse myself for falling asleep so quickly last night. I should have forced myself to dress. I shouldn’t have let my guard down, but when my Romanian captor was finished with me, the exhaustion quickly took over. Just as he promised, I’d forgotten how the hell I’d come to be here, but now in the wake of a new day, the sex fog has cleared, and I’m all too aware of the dangers around me.

I go to squirm out from under his hold, but he quickly captures my hands, holding me under his weight. “I don’t get it,” he says, his hungry stare rolling over my body and sending a cold chill over my skin. “There is nothing special here. What does Killian see in you?”

Killian? Is that his name?

I swallow hard, tears forming in my eyes, but I refuse to blink them away, terrified that they’ll fall, and he’ll somehow win in . . . whatever the hell this is.

All I know is that this isn’t good. There’s a wickedness in his eyes that I haven’t witnessed from the other guy—Killian. There’s a nastiness about him that warns me to run as far as I can. Hell, I can’t even allow myself a moment to wonder where I’ve heard that name before.

He presses his body weight against me, moving over me and forcing my legs apart as he lifts both of my wrists to my face and gathers them in the hand that’s braced over my mouth. I’m immobilized, unable to move an inch, and when he presses his knees painfully over the top of my thighs, I’m completely pinned and spread apart, my body now freely open for him to take as he pleases.

I can’t hold it back a moment longer, and the tears finally begin to fall down my cheeks.

I’m incapable of screaming or doing a damn thing to save myself, and when he takes his free hand and moves it down between my thighs, I give one last fruitless attempt to fight him off.

He’s too big. Too strong. I don’t stand a chance.

I’m at his mercy.

I feel his fingers at my entrance just moments before he roughly slams them inside of me. I cry out, the sounds muffled by his hand over my mouth. “Ahhhh, it makes sense now,” he murmurs, thrusting his fingers again and again. “You’ve got a tight little cunt to go along with that pretty little face.”

The tears come in heavy streams, blurring my vision, but I keep my gaze locked on the window, refusing to meet this asshole’s eyes as he violates my body, taking me as though he’s entitled to. And while I don’t truly know my captor or what he’s capable of, I somehow feel he won’t be okay with this. At least I hope he’s not. The alternative is that he knows exactly what’s going down in here and has given this asshole his full approval to violate me in any way he sees fit.

He tears his fingers from inside of me and reaches for the front of his pants, popping the button with ease. “I wonder just how tight you really are,” he murmurs as he works the zipper down.

I try to buck him off as his knees begin to bruise my thighs, desperately trying to cry out beneath him, but not a sound comes from my mouth. I gasp around his hand, struggling to take a deep breath, and just as he reaches inside his pants and fists his cock, a knock sounds at the door.

He freezes, and the brief flash of fear in his eyes tells me that my suspicions were right. He’s not supposed to be in here, and if he fears my captor, that must mean he’s below him on the food chain.

“Chiara, honey. Are you awake?” a feminine voice comes from the other side of the door. I immediately recognize the sweet tone of the personal chef I’d met yesterday. Kiersten, maybe. Kristy? My head is in no place to try and remember her name right now.

My chest heaves as my attacker bares down on me, pressing harder against my mouth, a stern warning to keep quiet as his words from earlier circle my mind—make a single peep, and I’ll snap your fucking neck. I don’t doubt that he means every word, and all I can do is try to swallow the fear.

His glare is like two lasers penetrating right through my eyeballs as the knock sounds again. “Okay, you must still be sleeping. I’ve made you breakfast. I’ll just leave it here at your door. I’ll come back in a few minutes to make sure you’re eating. You need your energy.”

I hear the soft rattles as the chef places something down in front of my door, and not a moment later, she’s gone.

My gaze snaps back to my attacker’s just in time to see anger flashing in his putrid stare. He clenches his jaw before finally pulling away from me, clearly realizing that if he lingers in here just a moment too long, it’ll be his head on the chopping block. “You got lucky today, girl,” he spits, getting to his feet and fixing his pants. “But let me make one thing clear. If I find out that you’ve even whispered about this, I’ll come back here every fucking night, and what happened in here today will seem like child’s play in comparison. And if you even think about offering him a DeLorenzo heir, I will tear your baby right out of your womb.”

I swallow hard, unable to make even a single noise as my chest heaves with unease.

Did he just say DeLorenzo? As in the DeLorenzo Mafia family?

Oh fuck. I’m in bigger trouble than I thought.

I watch as he finally walks away, taking big strides to the door. He reaches for the handle, turning it just an inch before looking back at me, and while he doesn’t say a word, the venom in his glare is enough of a warning to get his message across.

One word from me, and my life will become a living hell.

He finally leaves, plunging my room into silence, and before the door has even closed behind him, heavy sobs tear from deep in my chest. I bail out of my bed, my stomach clenching with unease, and within seconds, I’m hanging my head over the toilet, throwing up what little resides in the pit of my stomach.

He’s right. I got lucky today, but what about tomorrow or the day after that? A man like that doesn’t simply accept defeat. He will be back, and when he does, I’ll be ready for him.

11

CHIARA

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