Page 3 of SINS & Lies

Kennedy

“Y-you?” I stammer, recognizing the man. Same greasy, disheveled gray hair. Same unlit cigarette behind one ear, which is just disgusting.

I'd managed to wrestle my hands free from the thick, knotted ropes, only to find myself trapped in a trunk, surrounded by the deafening sound of my own pulse and a riptide of fear and hopelessness.

Shivering, I tightened Enzo’s blazer around me. In the darkness, it was easy to breathe him in—his cologne and expensive cigars—and somehow draw strength from him.

I’d almost convinced myself I was ready for anything, steeling myself for what was to come.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for this.

Clive Weston. Owner of Weston’s Dance Academy. Or, former owner, according to his soon-to-be ex-wife.

He leers at my half-naked body as I scramble to get Enzo’s blazer over every exposed inch of my skin.

“Shy?” He chuckles, reaching out to touch my hair as I whip away. “No need to be, sweetheart. I’ve seen all of that whore body of yours.”

This time, he grabs me by the hair as I recoil, cowering further into the cramped space—trapped. I’d rather die than let this man lay a hand on me.

I cry out. “What do you want?”

“Me?” Clive asks, yanking me up and licking his disgusting lips. “I don’t want a thing.”

Out of nowhere, footsteps crunch from just out of sight. My pulse freezes.

“She’s all yours, Mr. Rocco.”

Dread tightens my chest as a man emerges from the trees. I know him too, and prayed I’d never see him again.

It’s him—the thug from the bar. The man who was seconds away from raping me and nearly shattered my hand.

I escaped him once. But Truffles isn’t here this time.

“Surprised to see me, cunt?”

His dark, bottomless eyes are strained red, and by the looks in them, he’s high, pissed, and about to pick up where he left off.

Frantic for an escape, I dart a glance around. Shit. We’re alone. In the woods. Presumably miles from where anyone will hear my screams.

The only thing that would make this any worse is creepy music, duct tape, and a sacrificial altar.

“Where’d you find her?” he asks Clive.

“D’Angelo’s club. Dante’s Inferno. She was spreading her legs real good for Enzo.”

The fact that Clive Weston watched Enzo lick me to heaven shoves bile up my throat. I have to fight the urge to gag, and swallow hard.

Panic claws at me as Rocco undoes his belt, and tears burn my eyes. He can’t do this. Please, God, don’t let him do this.

He’s three times my size and strong—so goddamned strong. I learned that from our encounter in the alley. Fuck, what do I do?

“You can go,” he snarls to Clive, but he’s so close to me, the stench of rotting eggs and booze nearly knocks me out.

Before he unzips, Clive steps between us, shoving him back with a fierce glare. I almost mistake his move for sanity until he says, “My money first, Rocco. Then you fuck the girl.”

Rocco laughs. “What are you, her pimp?”

Clive lunges forward, throwing his weight at him. “Give me my money.”

---