Page 12 of Fatal Bonds

A throaty chuckle of surprise rushes from me. I didn’t expect her to make it back to witty while she’s still locked up down here. “Maybe that’s why I told you,” I tease, relishing a little too much the thought of her occupying one of those cages. Only, if Lindsey were to dance for me, she wouldn’t be in there with anyone else—and she would be dancing for me alone.

“As long as I don’t have to wear another gag,” she quips, playing along.

“If I were to gag you, I promise you’d like it.”

My voice dips low with desire, and Lindsey inhales sharply, her eyes dilating in a clear sign of arousal despite the dark vow. My pulse kicks up a notch, all the blood rushing to my cock, which is suddenly rock-hard. She flushes, her eyes dropping shyly as she turns her attention back to her food. I must be some sick kind of twisted to be turned on right now—when Lindsey’s probably more than a decade younger than I am andtrapped here against her will. I force my mind out of the gutter as she delicately soaks up the last of the soup with her final bite of bread and places it between her lips. The gesture isn’t meant to be sensual—like Annika’s blatant invitations are—but fuck, it’s hard not to notice how attractive Lindsey is.

Clearing my throat, I jerk my chin toward the empty bag. “Did you get enough?”

“Mm.” She nods and quickly swallows. “It was perfect.” Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she packs up the trash and grabs the large bottle of water I brought her, cracking it open for the first time.

“If there’s anything you’d like, in the future, I’ll see what I can do about getting it for you. Just let me know.” I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I like knowing what pleases her.

“Thanks.” Lindsey smiles as she pulls her blankets more firmly around her. “Can I ask you something else?”

This time, the question sounds more intrigued than tentative. “Shoot.”

“Since we’re being honest and all, I guess I’m just curious about this guy you want dead. Why is killing him so important?”

The tendons in my jaw crack as my teeth clench, that familiar, consuming hatred rising up in my chest. The image of Don Costanzo’s face rises in my mind—his sleazy sense of entitlement hidden behind an oily mask of old-school traditions and respect. My family trusted him.Itrusted him, and that fucking animal took advantage of it. For Lucian Guerra, this is about overthrowing the don’s reign and putting a new power in charge of Chicago’s Italian mafia. But for me, this is solely about revenge. I intend to crush Don Costanzo. I want to watch the light leave his eyes—and while I know I’ll never get close enough to have the opportunity to do it myself, I won’t rest until he’s dead. I will do whatever it takes to make that happen—even if that means taking Lindsey out of the equation.

“I’m still debating whether I’ll need to kill you just for knowing about it,” I state flatly. “Telling you anything more would only give me more motivation to need you dead.”

Her breath catches, and fear flickers across her face, but it’s quickly replaced with determination. “I swear, I won’t tell. You can trust me, Maks.”

She leans forward, removing the space between us to clasp my hand, and an electric jolt races up my arm, the simple touch warming my entire body as my fingers close around hers automatically. Her eyes hold mine, their deep-blue open and genuine, wanting to understand me. The air between us feels charged, ready to ignite at the smallest of sparks. That same intense attraction I felt that night we met at the club consumes me, waking my body and turning each of my nerves into a live wire. I want to believe her. I want to trust her—and oddly enough, I want her to trust me. She shouldn’t. I’ve done nothing to earn that trust. But right here, right now, I don’t want to be the villain she must see me as.

Considering I won’t be letting Lindsey out of my sight until the murder is done, I suppose I can’t see the harm in telling her at least a little bit about it. I don’t intend to be close enough to the murder that anything but motive would implicate me.

“Do you know anything about the Costanzo family?” I ask, running my thumb across the tops of her knuckles absentmindedly.

“No. Should I?”

I shake my head. “Only if you were a Chicago native, I suppose. Emiliano is the family’s patriarch. He’s been around a long time—long enough that he was friends with my parents before their deaths. He took advantage of that friendship, and what he did—it’s unforgivable.”

“So, is this some kind of mafia-Bratva feud, then?” she asks, scooting in a little closer.

“No.” The response echoes hollowly off the basement walls. “This is much more personal than that.” Kira’s smiling face rises to the surface of my mind—my niece, my ward. Pain lances through my chest, a deep, resounding sense of guilt because I failed to protect her.That bastard will pay for what he did.“Trust me, I’ll be doing the world a favor by removing Emiliano from it. No one will miss him when he’s gone.”

The hint of jasmine and citrus whispers to my senses as Lindsey leans in, her blond hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder. Even after a night in this cell, she still smells incredible. But the compassion in her eyes makes my chest tighten.

“So much pain,” she murmurs, her free hand lifting from the cot as if to caress my face.

The tension between us electrifies, the oxygen vanishing from the room as I realize just how close we are—how we’re alone, sitting on the bed she’s slept in, our lips mere inches apart as I turn my head to face her. Air rushes past her lips—a soft, quick intake of breath—and my eyes drop to them as the sudden urge to kiss her overwhelms me. My body screams with the need to close the distance between us, to feel her pressed against me. I ache for the comfort of holding her in my arms, the intimacy of claiming her for my own.

All I would have to do is lean in.

But those feelings are dangerous. My instincts to protect Lindsey, to make her mine, will only put her in danger. Casual sex—taking her home from the club for a night of fun—would be one thing, but what I feel for her is becoming something else entirely, and I can’t risk it. As if snapped out of a daze, I jerk back, rising from the cot as I force space between us.Why is it that everytime we touch, I feel this unbearable need to run? Like it’s my only chance of survival?

Only it’s not my survival I would be protecting. Women don’t live long, healthy, happy lives in my world. They’re either used and abused by the men who hold power over them, or they’re disposed of, taken off the chessboard like a pawn. If my sister’s fate weren’t proof enough, Kira’s most definitely is. No, I need to keep my head on straight and figure out my plan for Lindsey so I can send her on her way.

“Maks?” she says, her voice small and frightened once again, and I realize my face is twisted in a grimace, my body rigid with the waves of conflicting emotion threatening to pull me under.

“I have to go,” I state, turning abruptly to exit her cage.

“No wait!”

The fear in her plea makes me pause, and when I turn around, she’s up off the cot, her blankets tossed haphazardly behind her, exposing her bare arms, the low cut of her crop top shirt, the glimpse of midriff above her skirt. Everything about her outfit appeals to my baser instincts, my desire to know just how firm and warm and eager she would feel beneath me. My fists clench as I force my eyes back to her face, and her tongue darts out nervously to lick her lips.

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