Page 41 of Darkest Sin

“You wanna get out of here, Lara?” my boss asks with a ridiculous smirk across his face, one that I’ve become all too accustomed to over the past few years working in his run-down bar.

He’s called me Lara since the day I started, and after telling him a billion times that my name is Chiara, it eventually became a running joke. Since then, the name has stuck.

“I thought you needed me to close,” I ask, positive I was on the late shift tonight.

“Nah, it’s all good. Give yourself an early night,” he says. “It’s quiet. I’m gonna close up early.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Finish up what you’re doing and get out of here,” he says, reaching for a discarded glass on the bar. “Hell, maybe even enjoy your weekend for a change. Fuck knows you need it.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help feeling grateful. I’m behind on three assessments, and while an extra few hours isn’t going to help that much, it means I can get to bed earlier, have a decent night’s sleep, and spend all weekend trying to smash them out.

I’m so close. Only one more year of college and I’ll be free. I can get a proper job with decent pay and maybe even save some cash for a better life, but I can’t slip yet. Twelve more months until everything changes. I can practically feel the optimism burning inside of me.

After closing out my register and grabbing my bag from under the bar, I take off. It’s a little after ten, and I can’t help but smile to myself as I make my way down the street. I never get to leave this early. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and the tips it brings in, and not having the extra tips from a busy night tonight is going to suck, but getting to leave early for a change is too good of an opportunity to skip out on. I’m usually the first to raise my hand for a close shift. The other girls prefer getting out early so they can have a life, but unfortunately, I don’t have one of those, so I don’t mind the late shift. I usually get off work at one in the morning, but most of the customers are gone by eleven, so I spend two hours with my face shoved in textbooks while filling the occasional beer. It’s perfect for me.

It’s a short walk, and on a good night, I’m usually home in eight minutes. When the bar has been crazy busy, and I’ve been run off my feet, crawling home can then take up to thirteen minutes, but tonight, I’m flying.

My attention is locked on my phone, scrolling through anything I’ve missed on social media over the past few hours, and surprise, surprise, there’s not a lot to hold my focus.

My gaze shifts to the busy road, and I take in one of the bars that’s a little closer to the college campus. This bar is always packed, and while I feel for the girls working the bar, I can’t help but feel a little jealous. Their tips must be insane.

A scowl stretches across my face, and as I turn the corner, I do what I can to put it out of my mind. I’m lucky to have my job. While the tips aren’t incredible, they’re still considered good, and that’s more than I could ask for.

As I get closer to my shitty little apartment, I dig through my bag for my keys, passing under the one streetlight that’s been out since before I even moved here. Everything darkens as shadows stretch out across the road, and I can’t help but notice the random guy leaning up against the neighboring apartment complex.

I meet his eye for a moment, hoping like fuck this guy doesn’t intend to try something, but when he looks away, seeming bored and disinterested, I let out a soft sigh of relief.

Continuing on my way, I keep searching for my keys, feeling around every crevice of my bag, when I hear a scuffle behind me. My brows furrow, and I whip around to find the man launching toward me. My eyes widen in horror, and I suck in a deep breath, preparing to scream, but before I can make a single sound, he clamps one hand over my mouth as his other arm locks around me, keeping my arms pinned to my side.

My heart races as fear pounds heavily through my veins, and I do what I can to fight back, scratching the asshole’s arms as I desperately try to fight for my freedom. Fear-filled tears spring from my eyes when he starts dragging me backward. “Scream and I’ll fucking kill you right here, you little bitch.”

What the fuck?

What the hell does he want with me?

My attempts to fight are useless as his arm tightens like a boa constrictor around me, threatening to squeeze the life out of me. I can barely move or breathe when a blacked-out van screeches to a stop on the sidewalk. “Hurry up,” the asshole seethes as the back sliding door tears open, revealing another three men inside.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

I’m dragged toward the van as my panic begins to overwhelm me. He shoves me toward the door, and I kick my foot up against the side of the van, refusing with every last bit of strength I possess, but it’s not nearly enough as he pulls me back just out of reach of the van and tries again, only this time he throws me around like a ragdoll.

The men inside hastily reach for me, their fingers digging into my skin as I cry out in agony. They work together with the man on the street to get me inside the van, and before I know it, I’m thrown down on the hard ground.

“Go. Go. Go,” someone yells out as I scramble to sit up and find my bearings, only as I do, I come face-to-face with the man from the street. His eyes are impossibly dark, filled with pure evil, and as he grins at me, my stomach coils.

A hand clamps over my mouth, and my eyes spring open to find myself in the darkness of my bedroom in Killian’s home. I’m covered in sweat, my heart racing as consciousness brings the agony of my body to the forefront of my mind.

Something weighs down on the bed beside me as I try to suck in a breath, but it’s almost impossible with the hand clamped over my mouth. I try to make out the person sitting on my bed, but it’s too dark to make out any features, though judging by the size of the hand and the heavy weight on the bed, it’s a man, and considering the scent of his cologne, it’s not Killian.

“Even try to scream, and I will make your life a fucking misery,” the familiar chilling tone rumbles through my room. “Do you understand me?”

Sergiu.

Fuck.

Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t work out if it’s fear from having him in my room or the panic of having to relive the night that asshole snatched me off the side of the street—the same nightmare which haunts me every time I close my eyes.

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