Shackled To A Sinner

Trigger Warning: This short erotic tale is a dark bully mafia romance. Therefore, Shackled To A Sinner deals with the following elements that may trigger many: intimate partner violence/domestic violence (IPV/DV), dub-con or dubious consent, references to child abuse, suicide ideation, captivity & torture, and references to suicidal death. So, please read with caution. 

I silently stare at the Orange Pianist painting across the foyer from my seat on the bottom step of the winding staircase. The exact spot I parked my ass when my raging father told me not to move said ass if I wanted to live to see another day. In his mind, it was a threat, but in my mind, it sounded like a sweet escape from the tumultuous mafia life we live. I stare at the Orange Pianist painting until the rustic, burnt, neon orange hues swirl together, causing me to have double vision and see black spots. I try my damnedest to silence the ringing in my ears from where my father slammed his palm so hard against my left cheek; I swear he slightly deafened me in my left ear. I bit my tongue so hard I couldn't tell if the coppery flavor of pennies that filled my mouth were from the impact of his heavy palm or my determination not to let him see my pain. My cheek still throbbed from his assault. I still feel the stinging pain, knowing my cheek would be decorated with varying shades of sangria and mulberry purples as a hideous bruise bloomed on my ivory skin. I wasn't a stranger to my father's temper, leading to my mother and me being left black and blue most days. I envied my brother for having the strength to put the fear of God in our father by the time he was of age to dole out the same amount of violence. But nothing was worse than the venomous gaze Kian Walsh, my childhood best friend, cast my way as he readied himself for the far worst punishment he'd receive for my betrayal.

I tried to ignore the sounds of furniture breaking, heavy grunts of pain, and fists hitting flesh as our fathers punished him for our transgressions. Kian, my salvation, the other half of my soul, and I knew he wouldn't be angry at me forever. He'd understand why I did what I did. I had no choice. They'd backed me into a corner. I could deal with anger, humiliation, and temporary physical pain if it kept me from marrying a man older than my father in the next few years. Kian would have to understand I did what I did as an act of self-preservation. I had only been eighteen for a few months and freshly graduated from high school, and Kian's father, the Irish Mafia's boss, had condemned me to a future life as the third or fourth wife of the Polish Mafia leader. I didn't want to marry someone over forty years older than me. I didn't give a fuck if he wouldn't claim me the Irish Mafia's “Golden Beauty” until I was twenty-one.

I had to fucking save myself; when I shared the news with Kian, he joked about the matter, saying crush up sleeping pills in his dinner at night and that I'd probably be a widow by twenty-five or thirty. Kian told me to look on the "bright side" of the situation. The bright side? What. The. Fuck. There was no bright side. Even if I'd be the beautiful arm candy of a rich man that could afford my shopping habit and beauty addiction, I didn't want to be married to an old perverse paunchy man whose wives conveniently went missing when he tired of them. Kian's response to the situation stunned and infuriated me. He was my bestest friend, and I'd loved him since I made him eat sand in kindergarten.

 He was my first kiss. We explored each other's bodies, losing our virginities to one another only a few years ago. So he'd understand my actions. Kian and I's souls were tethered together. We were meant to have an undying love and infallible connection like what you'd read in a Nicholas Sparks novel. Kian and I were relationship goals. We were end game. So, I did what I had to do to make sure I wouldn't be taken from the other half of my heart. I recorded us having sex unbeknownst to him, which was a violation, I know, but I had no other way to save myself or give our love a fighting chance. Plus, the deed was done after I clicked the upload button and published our amateur homemade porno video to every free adult film site imaginable.

No matter how coveted I am for my beauty, the Polish mafia leader wouldn’t want a used bride. My virginity was the golden ticket to an alliance between the two syndicates. In the eyes of any made man, I was ruined and of no value without my, quote on quote, "virtue", which was total Stone Age bull shit if you asked me. My parents were mortified. My father blamed my mother for failing to raise and properly; train me from an obedient mafia princess to a well-mannered meek mafia wife like I'm some fucking lap dog breed. After berating my mother, my father dragged me out of the house, vowing to kill Kian for taking liberties that weren't his, like my father had the sole right to sell my body to the highest bidder as if my body wasn't my own. My father treated me like I'd committed the world's worst mortal sin of having the gall to gift my body to whomever I see fit. But I had destroyed the Polish alliance with the Irish Mob and didn't give two shits. Even if I felt chills in my bone marrow when I became unknowingly privy to Alistair, the heir to the Irish Mob throne and Kian's oldest brother, say callously to Blaine, the Irish Mafia's second son, that it was Kian's slutty best friend's fault that the Polish Braterstwo now shunned the Irish because of their whorish women.

I jump out of my skin as the heavy door to Kian's father's office slams against the wall pulling me out of the introspection of my past actions. The vibrations of the heavy door causes the Orange Pianist painting to shake against the wall causing goosebumps to cover my skin. My eyes widen when they land on Kian's bloody face. Bruises, swelling, gashes, and a broken cheekbone mar his beauty. He limps my way dragging his big, battered body, his left arm hanging limply as if his shoulder is dislocated with his older brother, Blaine, hot on his heels. Kian kicked his way through my suitcases my father had me pack as he delivered me to the Walsh's house, telling me that regardless of his meeting with the Irish Mob boss, I was dead to him and the Walsh family’s problem.

A monster looms over me that has never graced my presence. Kian’s reddish-brown hair is slick with sweat and blood, his breathing labored, and his teeth gnashing at me like a rabid attack dog. Gone is my beautiful, lively, goofy best friend with mesmerizing aquamarine eyes. His one good eye is bloodshot from the busted capillaries, leaving them a dark, dull depthless stormy blue. I feel tears burning the back of my eyelids, but none roll down my face because I have no more tears to cry over this situation.

"HOW. FUCKING. COULD. YOU? You, of all people, know how my father feels about me. I'm the fucking middle son of one of the worst mafia leaders known to man. I've spent my fucking life as his scapegoat waiting with bated breath for the evil man to snuff me out. If it weren't for Alistair's intervention, I'd have left that room on a stretcher, if not a fucking body bag for our cleaners to make me disappear. I trusted you, and you do this to us," Kian loudly whispers, inches from my face, spittle flying from his mouth as he wraps his one good hand around my throat, squeezing it until I feel my head start to swim. I gasp for air clawing at his fingers on instinct to try to breathe in much-needed air.

Blaine rips his hand from my throat, allowing me to breathe in a few raspy breaths. I grasp my throat, shocked by Kian's actions for the first time, seeing the made man in him that he masks so well. I guess his father's worries were misplaced. Kian was just as malicious as any made man. A soft man wouldn't have almost choked me to death. But, a weak man would place his hands on a woman, so maybe there was some truth to his father's emasculation of him. Who really knows anyone? At this moment, I realized I clearly didn't know Kian. I make eye contact with him as Blaine separates us in an attempt to keep Kian from murdering me.

"At first, Bev, you were a great ego booster. My brothers' joking about you following me around all these years like a lovesick puppy. I would defend you because we're best friends, right? But, really, it was just sad, pathetic desperation to find love in a man because your father couldn't love someone like you. A defective, cold-hearted bitch that won't thrive in our world. That's why he was so ready to throw you to the Polish Mafia, he'd look honorable amongst the other top men of the Irish Mafia, and he'd get rid of the child that was a failed abortion," Kian bites out, every syllable of every word feeling like a torturous stab in the back. Not deep enough to kill but enough to draw blood, leaving me feeling painfully raw.

"Cy, you don't mean those words. I had no choice but to-," I defend myself, my voice sounding raspy and unfamiliar from the aftermath of almost being strangled to death.

"No! Save your shit, Bevin Ryan. I don't want to hear it. I guess this is why they say men and women can't be friends. You've proven that correct, Bevin. So, since you're not my friend, I don't give a fuck about your feelings anymore. You threw me to the wolves, so fuck you and your feelings. I have a confession, best friend. You weren't the only one," Kian snidely declares. My mind swims. I'm not the only one? I try to rack my brain for the meaning of the statement as Blaine tries to convince him to stop while he's ahead.

But Kian, being one hell of an enemy, goes in for the kill. He gives me a bloody devilish grin, angrily announcing to the small audience of his brothers that have gathered, "You weren't my only fuck buddy, not even just over the years. Even now, I've been fucking other bitches outside of you. You aren't special. You're just any other hole for my usage. I tell you and every other girl the same nice, pleasant lies because it's a guaranteed one-way ticket into every Mafia princess with daddy issues panties. But I guess you got your wish. Let's just hope we don't kill each other, Mrs. Kian Walsh. I was told to come out here and inform you that we're getting married as soon as possible. Cheers!"

My stomach sours as bile burns my throat. At the same time, my mind tries to process hurtful bomb after bomb Kian just dropped on me, like a Call Of Duty Bombing Run. It seems like my best friend is as talented at destroying who he sees as opponents in the real world as he is as a gamer. I watch him slowly begin to limp away, freeze, then turn around, heading back toward me. Like a fool glutton for punishment, I hope he's coming back to tell me he's just being an angry asshole. We'd fought many times before, and it wasn't out of the ordinary for Kian to wield his tongue like an accomplished swordsman. But he'd never been this cruel.

"I totally forgot to tell you something, fiancée," Kian sneers, invading my space, causing Blaine to tense, placing his hand on his chest to keep just enough distance between us so he won't feel obligated to save me from another choking. I meet Kian's cold stare feeling unease creep up my spine as I wait for him to continue. He closes his one good eye for a second, and when he opens that eye, the steely gaze is colder than I'd ever seen.

"You’re a snake, and this is your one and only warning. If you pull another stunt like this again, Bevin Ryan, you will be dead to me as well,” Kian warns and seals the threat by hawking a bloody loogie into my face with what little strength he has left in him. My world tilts on its axis as his bloody saliva slowly slides down my forehead to my chin. I make the grave mistake of making eye contact with Blaine, who looks at me with pity making me feel small and humiliated. Blaine, Alistair, and Lochlan follow Kian to get patched up, leaving me to stew in my own self-misery. I want to stand up, I want to hide, and more than anything, I want the floor to swallow me, but my muscles are frozen in place from the shock I’ve experienced. I wasn’t going to be forced to marry my best friend, but the monster of a made man he’d never shown me until today. I’d be at the mercy of yet another calloused man if I couldn’t make things right between Kian and me.

White paper towels wipe at my face causing me to flinch and breaking me out of my daze. I peer into the face of one of the Walsh terror twins. Big angry jade green eyes look at me with sympathy. I take the paper towels from his hand, cleaning the last residual of shame from my face. Devlin is a gangly twelve years old on the cusp of puberty. He is typically shy around me because of a secret crush he harbors, which I’m not supposed to know about, but is blatantly obvious. He sits beside me on the last step of the stairs providing me solace in the silence.

I stare ahead at the Orange Pianist, willing myself to fish for confirmation, “Is what Cy said true? About the other girls?” I take a few deep breaths trying to calm my heart, before chancing a glance at the solemn pre-teen seated beside me. Devlin looks anywhere but in my eyes, providing me with the depressing confirmation that I was an idiot to give my heart, my body, my soul, and my trust to a made man.

Devlin gives me a shrug and states, “I can’t say whether I believe him when he said you aren’t special. You’re practically family to us, Bevin. But we all know made men sleep with lots and lots of women until they marry and-“

I cut him off, finishing his sentence, “Some even after, like my father.” I feel hot tears escaping my eyes, quickly brushing them away before Devlin notices because I don’t want anyone to see my pain. I drop my head, staring at the marble flooring, still trying to process everything that happened. Not, even just from today but from the time my parents broke the news of my betrothal to being spat on by the closest person in the world to me.

Devlin gently pinches my quivering chin between his fingers, turning my face to meet his earnest stare. I can’t help but give him a small smile as I watch him blush profusely as his eyes shine with adoration for my beauty. Then he softly compliments, “Bevin Ryan, for as long as I can remember, you’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world to me. Well, that’s a lie, not only to me but to many admirers. But you’re also absolutely radiant because your amazing personality shines like a beacon of light in our dark world. That’s why you’re the ‘Golden Beauty’. Fuck Cy. He’s an idiot. If you were my soon-to-be wife, I’d never feel the need to look anywhere but in front of me to feel like I won the jackpot when it came to the woman of my dreams.” I burst into tears, laughing and crying at the youngest Walsh boy’s words. My heart bleeds, knowing that this sweet boy would be hardened when he got initiated into a made man, losing all his humanity, like my best friend and his older brother.

I peck Devlin on the cheek, giggling when they become rosier, and I say, “Devlin, made man or not. Whatever girl steals your heart will be the luckiest woman alive, and you will make that girl extremely happy someday. Regardless of what you’re told, being loving and kind to a woman who gives you her heart isn’t weakness but strength.”

Who knew the hope blooming in my chest would be due to Kian’s twelve-year-old kid brother? Instead of Kian, the man who always claimed he’d have my back no matter what ensued. I'd hoped and wished for Kian to be my white knight, but apparently, he didn’t want that position in my life.

I needed a white knight at this moment, but if it weren’t Kian, then I guess he’d never come to my rescue.

11 years Later

I hate weddings, and over the years, I’ve had to attend countless, being married to an Irish Mafia underboss and one of the ruling family's sons. Mafia weddings were these expensive, elaborate events, masquerading as celebrations, not of love, but of organized crime group alliances or men being rewarded with pussy for life for their services to the Mob. These weddings made my blood boil, and my stomach churned with disgust. I laugh to myself, thinking back to my own sham of a wedding day that was atypical due to the circumstances of me and Kian’s forced engagement. We married at city hall with Kian’s father, Alistair, and my parents as our witnesses. The thought of that day makes me laugh to myself as I feel the hot sting of tears brimming in my eyes. Kian had shown up the day of our wedding in rumpled streetwear, bloodshot eyes from smoking bowls, drowning his misery in bottles of whiskey, an all-nighter playing COD, and acting as if he was about to be strapped down and given the lethal injection.

The pitiful city hall wedding ceremony was just the tip of the iceberg of that horrific unforgettable day. My wedding night was a night Kian made sure I’d remember. That night, I’d awaken with a start by inaudible sounds and loud rap music drifting in from one of the guest bedrooms down the hall from the master suite. I felt fear and confusion because I could’ve sworn I was alone in our new townhome. For a short-lived moment, my young, naive mind was filled with hope that Kian had come home to be with me on our wedding night. But boy, was I in for a surprise. I waltzed in on him having a threesome with two random women I’d never seen in my life. Kian had started committing acts of infidelity before the ink had even dried on our marriage license. 

The cherry on top of the threesome sundae was that he found me later that night to inform me that it had never ever crossed his mind to make me his wife. Therefore, he decided we would have an open marriage. Not only did Kian encourage me to fuck around with other men during our marriage, but he didn’t even have the decency or respect for me to even screw other women away from the home that we shared together. I spent the remainder of our wedding night playing my harp to ignore the crass sounds of my husband fucking other women. That would also be the first night of many I learned to seek solace in my harp as my husband enjoyed our open marriage under the same roof as me. As a young girl, you envision your wedding day as the happiest day of your life because you’ll be with the man of your dreams for the rest of your life. Unfortunately for me, it was the day I realized that I had spent years seeing Cy as the man of my dreams, but I wasn’t the woman of his, apparently not even the wet ones.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts of the past when I feel the cold breeze of the Philadelphia night hit me as Kian practically rips the back door off the hinges of the Range Rover limousine. I swallow hard, averting my gaze from how handsome Kian looks in his black tuxedo with the forest green tie that matches my bridesmaid gown. Kian slides into the spacious backseat, ignoring my existence like he had most of our decade-long marriage. Anger still wafts off him in vibrations making the air in the back of the SUV feel suffocating as the driver pulls away from the wedding venue. I had spent most of Kian’s little sister’s wedding being shunned by bitchy meddlesome mob wives, sisters, daughters, and you name it. It has been over ten years since the sex tape scandal, and I am still being ostracized, gossiped about, and insulted by many in our circle. Tonight, my solitude gave me front-row seats to the debacle that unfolded with the youngest Walsh, Alannah, in the center of the drama.

I shake my head, looking out my window and watching the Philly cityscape pass by before my eyes. Alannah was lucky, and she didn’t even know it. Instead, she chose to act like an immature little brat because she’d been forced to marry Athan Kostas, the Greek mafia boss, to form the alliance between our two families. I couldn’t help but feel envious during their ceremony when Athan lifted her veil, revealing the beauty of the “Gorgeous Rose,” and his face filled with awe and reverence. At that moment, Alannah’s young, immature mind couldn’t even fathom that in that one look, she had one of the most powerful men in the country by the balls. In that one enamored gaze of adoration, he had promised her the world and, possibly, even his heart. Something that so many women wanted but not all women was lucky to get, especially in the mafia world. Even after ten years of a loveless marriage, I still felt a pang in my chest while watching Kian blatantly flirt and dance with every woman at the reception except me. The only person willing to dance with me was sweet Devlin. I’m pretty sure he only danced with me at the wedding out of pity, though.

While on my quest to numb my pain with alcohol, I’d overheard him and Kian bantering over who would be able to bed the sexy Lotus Kostas, Athan’s little sister, because clearly, they both had a death wish. Devlin had reminded him that Lotus seemed like the woman you married, not just used for a hook-up, while reminding Kian that a woman had already locked him down, and to that, Kian had responded, “Yeah, by a slutty bitch, no one likes, not even me.”

Over the years, I had gone from the “Irish Golden Beauty” to the “Irish Mafia Whore” to the “Irish Ice Queen”, but the insulting words of my former best friend and husband caught me off guard, cutting me deep. Too deep. His words made my soul bleed so badly that Devlin caught the defeat in my eyes before I could school my expression into the bitchy glare that had gotten me my latest nickname. Unbeknownst to Devlin, he had become the highlight of my night. Hell, my week when he spun me around on that dance floor until Alannah, being the shit stirrer she is, had sealed one of the Irish made men’s death certificate with a kiss, hence why we had to leave the wedding celebration early. All the Walsh men were on edge about how the Godfather of the Night would dole out punishment to the youngest Walsh.

I wrapped my arms around my waist, sinking more into the backseat feeling small, disgusted, and like a fucking nobody I’d grown accustomed to as Mrs. Kian Walsh. Athan, a complete and utter stranger to me, lashed out his anger towards me as he berated Alannah in that hallway. I feel uncontrollable giggles erupt from me, causing me to shake as I think about how I waited for Kian to defend my honor like I do every time someone makes a snide comment about me being a whore, but he acts unbothered. God, when will I stop being a fucking idiot when it comes to Cy?

“You think this shit is funny? God knows what the lethal lunatic has in store for Alannah. You’re over there laughing your ass off,” Kian yells at me.

I examine my perfectly manicured nails, allowing time for my icy façade to slip into place as a shield. I turn with a bored expression towards my husband and respond, “She did it to herself. Plus, she’ll be fine. He’s a made man. He’s not going to let other men have Alannah. She’s a beautiful young virgin that all men want to possess. Athan is a man with a huge ego and won’t let anyone have her. So don’t get your panties all in a wad.”

My cold hard gaze clashes with the fire ablaze in Kian’s aquamarine eyes. Still riled up with anger, his eyes slide from my face, scanning over my body in the form-fitting bridesmaid gown. It has a plunging neckline that shows off the round mounds of my full C-cup breasts before cinching me in at the waist and flaring out at the hips. The dress shows off a generous amount of my toned thigh because of the almost indecently high slit. I feel my skin breakout in goosebumps at every spot where my husband’s gaze lingers. When Kian’s eyes peer back at my face, my breath catches in my throat because my eyes might be playing tricks on me. His eyes are a smoldering cloudy dark bluish green of lust. His gaze follows my tongue as it darts to lick my lips, which feel suddenly dry. No matter how much Kian hates me, there are always moments when we’re in a tightly confined space where his eyes show me he’s still as sexually attracted to me as he has been since he’d talked me out of my panties in high school. Thinking of panties, I feel mine become wet with my sexual want as his gaze lingers on my mouth.

“Hoover, my dick like the throat GOAT so many men claim you to be,” Kian lashes out, unbuckling his pants to reveal his thick hard erect dick. He squeezes the shaft making my mouth water for a taste as I watch precum slowly drip from the tip of its dick’s head. I should say no. I should demand him to respect me. But, when I peel my eyes away from his erection and stare into his eyes, I see my best friend, Cy, that I’ll always foolishly love. Also, maybe this moment will make him not choose other women over me like the times earlier in our marriage. I begged him not to sleep with other women because he was the only man I wanted.

I unbuckle my seat belt scooting across the leather seats, closing the gap between us. I smack his hand away from his dick to replace them with mine. I begin rubbing my hand over his rigid shaft, changing up the pressure and strokes until I hear his breath become shallow. I lower my head to take the tip between my lips, but before I do, I peer into Cy’s unguarded face, quietly whispering, “I don’t like when you say shit like that to me.” I don’t wait for a response before I suck his dick to the back of my throat. I move my head slowly up and down while I run my tongue slowly over the protruding veins of his shaft. I swirl my tongue around the tip until he’s convulsing, using my hands to stroke his shaft until he’s sucking in deep breaths of pleasure. I play with his balls while I get his dick slobbery wet with my spit as I run my tongue teasingly over every part. I place my mouth back on his manhood, swallowing him to the back of my throat. I change the tempo by moving between deep fast motions to slow, shallow thrusts of my mouth, with my tongue dragging across every ridge before sucking and running my tongue around the tip. I suck Kian’s soul out of his dick as he loses patients and begins to thrust into my mouth, barreling toward his orgasm. Kian yanks my head away from his dick, painting my face with hot ropes of semen as he grunts out his sexual release.

The car comes to a stop. Kian shifts away from me and murmurs to himself, “Perfect timing.” He tucks his dick back into his tuxedo pants, making sure he’s decent before opening the back door, which sends a chill up my spine. I sit there with his cum dripping down my face onto my designer bridesmaid gown. He turns to face me with a smug look on his face and says, “If you didn’t want people to talk about your abilities in the bedroom, then you should have considered that before you released a video showcasing the dick sucking skills I taught you. You should be proud of the fact that I made you a well-known throat GOAT because you at least have that going for you in your pathetic existence. Now, clean yourself up. Cum doesn’t really mix well with makeup. You look disgusting.”

Kian leaps out of the back seat without a backward glance before I can make a retort. The black glove hand of Kian’s driver reaches through the open door with a crisp white handkerchief. I snatch it from his hand, mumbling thank you as I wipe Kian’s cum off my face. I’m so humiliated. I slide out of the backseat of the limo clutching the cum covered handkerchief in my hand, unable to make eye contact with his driver.

As I walk up the steps to the front door of our home, I begin to wonder if maybe I should stop expecting things ever to get better between Kian and me. After all, I understand more and more each day of my marriage to Kian how his father drove his mother to jump to her death.

I toss back my third mimosa in an attempt to survive the weekly “Sunday Fun Days” that Bridie hosts every week at her and Alistair’s beautiful home. I stretch out on the lounge chair by the pool, pretending to enjoy the scorching hot sun beaming down on my fair skin. The sun wasn’t my friend as a natural blonde because I easily burned. Still, I couldn’t refuse an invitation from the mafia boss’s wife, especially since my circle was already non-existent. Bridie and I were the same age and never liked each other. She was one of the fakest sweet, docile, and submissive women I’ve ever met in my life. But I couldn’t deny that her personality and classic beauty made her ooze the persona of the perfect mob wife. I watched her slather sunscreen on her five-year-old daughter, feeling the slightest bit of envy creep into my stomach. I hadn’t given much thought to motherhood, but anytime I saw my niece and nephew, I’d feel a tinge of jealousy over Keelin and Bridie’s motherhood statuses.

“I know you and Kian got married young, but when are you two planning on having children,” Keelin questions after catching me looking longingly at Bridie’s interactions with her little girl. Keelin is one of the sweetest girls I’d ever met, and although she was four years younger than me, I felt like outside of Devlin, she hadn’t ever treated me like a leper the way everyone else in the Irish Mafia, including my husband. I tried to find the words in my head to best answer Keelin’s question. She wouldn’t understand a tumultuous loveless marriage like mine and Cy's. Although she fought it at first, Keelin was one of the lucky girls that got to marry a decent man. Anytime I saw Blaine, Keelin, and their son together, my heart wept for the picture-perfect family I always envisioned for Kian and me.

“Oh, you know, Kian. He’s really immersed into his forever bachelor status, and he wouldn’t want a wrench thrown into that lifestyle,” I laugh, covering my eyes with my black aviator Gucci shades to mask the hurt lurking behind the lie of false aloofness to the situation. I laughed bitterly, thinking about how I’d had more sex with Kian as a teenager than in the ten years of our marriage. Kian only begrudgingly came to our marital bed for me to fulfill my wifely duties when he didn’t have the want to take the time to coax another woman into his bed. Anytime we’d had sex as a married couple, it'd only been for him to use my body to get his rocks off, leaving me feeling cold and emotionally disconnected from the man I once called my best friend.

“Maybe he’s hesitant to have children because that video is out there of you two being intimate with one another. Maybe he’s afraid they’ll see it, or he doesn’t want your kids to hear all the talk about you,” Bridie hypothesized, budding into our conversation. Thank God for my designer sunglasses that hid the huge eye roll I gave Bridie. Lucky for her, she was heavily pregnant; otherwise, she may have accidentally found herself splashing around in the pool with the kids. I swear, any opportunity Bridie found, she’d bring up my tarnished reputation and that sex tape. Bridie had always been jealous of me for being the Irish’s “Golden Beauty” and was never good about hiding her envy towards me.

I weighed the options in my head if I gave a shit about an explosive argument between Cy and me if I hurt his brother’s wife’s feelings or not. But, before I could give my best bitchiest retort, sweet Keelin, the forever peacekeeper, responded in my defense, “I mean, you guys were as thick as thieves growing up. Everyone wanted a friendship, like you and Kian’s. It was infallible. I was younger, but I always knew you guys were soul mates. You have matching tattoos and share a birthday, for heaven's sake. I think it may be worth a conversation if you haven’t had it in a while. People and relationships change when you have kids.” Bridie flushes with embarrassment from Keelin’s words of encouragement to me. I give Keelin a broad smile after mouthing the word thanks to her, which she returns with a squeeze of my forearm and a sly wink.

I found myself deep in thought about our conversation, subconsciously rubbing the gray-to-black ombre semicolon tattoo behind my right ear. Our matching tattoos had been something we had done together as teens because Kian had taken his mother’s death hard. These semicolon tattoos with a heart in place of the dot with a K outlined in the center of mine, and a B in the center of his were a reminder that no matter how terrible life in the Mafia became for us, we’d always keep going. Unfortunately, these past ten years, I’ve touched mine every day to remember to keep going and not to jump to my death.

But maybe Keelin was onto something about me having a baby. If I had a baby, it’d be someone to actually love me, want me, and see me as the most important person to them. Things I’ve desperately wanted in life but had yet to receive. I’d just needed to figure out a way to initiate sex with Kian, so I could have a baby to ease my loneliness.

 I had spent a few weeks trying to devise the perfect seduction plan to get Kian to fuck me. In the past, I had begged, screamed, and barred him from my bed in an attempt to keep him from sleeping with other women. But it had always been to no avail. It hurt more than anything to know that he was the only man I had ever wanted in my bed, but he willingly slept with anyone with a vagina. How could he still be so angry about something that happened over a decade ago? It’s hard to imagine someone holding a grudge for that long. It had to be something or someone else keeping him from our bed every night.

So operation “Get Kian Into Bed” would have to revolve around him feeling like he was fucking someone else. It’s not like I had any more self-respect or dignity to lose anyway when it came to Kian Walsh. I finish securing the combs of the dark brown wig to my head. The long brown wig fell in beautiful loose beach waves around my shoulders. I touched up the bright red lipstick that covered my pout. I looked like a fucking knockout as I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. Not even Kian would be able to say no to me once his eyes feasted upon me in my royal blue Agent Provocateur naughty lingerie set. I slid my feet into my silver Giuseppe Zanotti strappy Harmony heels.

I walked down the hallway ignoring the feeling of Simone Biles doing somersaults in my stomach as I approached Kian’s bedroom door. I feel cold sweat drip down between my lace-encased breasts, pushed up to my chin by the corset that leaves little to the imagination. I push the door open to Kian’s bedroom, using the adrenaline rushing through my body as a second wave of much-needed confidence to conquer my fear of possible sexual rejection. As I step into the bedroom, I am greeted by the delicious sight of Kian in nothing but a fluffy white bath towel fresh out of the shower. His thick reddish-brown hair falls onto his forehead in a mess of damp waves adding to his sex appeal. My mouth salivates at the sight of his broad, muscular chest that tapers into his thin waist and six-pack abs. My eyes follow the trail of curls that hide his manhood behind the white towel slung low on his hips.

“Damn, Bevin. I don’t know what to say. I’m actually about to leave. What’s with the hair,” Kian asks, trying to keep his lust-filled gaze on my face and not on my body clad in sexy fuck me lingerie. I had chosen a brown wig because every time I had the unpleasant fortune of meeting one of his bedmates, they were frequently brunette. In the ten years of our marriage, I’d never seen a blonde saunter out of our home. Maybe, I’d cause him to have an aversion to blonde women. Who knows? Ignoring his statement, I walk to stand in front of him and sink to my knees on the plush bedroom rug. I rip his towel from around his waist, making me eye-level with his growing, hard, thick erection. A bead of pre-cum drips from the deep red tip of his dick. I dart my tongue out to lick at his sticky tartness before teasing him by licking slow, sloppy circles around the head of his manhood until I feel his hips flex.

Kian lets out a low throaty groan as I inhale him to the back of my throat. He places his hand on the back of my head as I hollow my cheeks and begin to deep throat his cock. I lick, tease, stroke, and hum around his dick until I start to feel his balls draw up and hit me in the chin. I know he’s about to cum, so I tug away from him, making him let out a low hiss of frustration. I stand up, pushing him against his chest until his knees hit the end of the bed, and he falls onto his back.

“Bevin, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Kian whispers, subconsciously stroking his angry erection. I pull the sopping wet piece of lace from between my thighs to eliminate any barrier between my hot wet pussy and Kian’s dick.

I straddle Kian’s big muscular thighs, hovering slightly above his weeping dick, my arousal coating my inner thighs as my core clenches around the emptiness in desperate need to be satiated and full. I peer down into Kian’s eyes, which have darkened with desire, and anxiously plead, “Please, Cy, fuck me. I want you desperately. If it helps you, t-t-then pretend I’m someone else. Pretend I’m someone you don’t hate.” I nibble on my plump bottom lip, teasing his cock by running the tip of it through my slippery wet folds, coating his pulsating dick with my desire for him. I feel his body wince from the words of my plea as he grabs my hips slamming me down onto his erection.

I let out a yelp from the pain of the stretch as Kian pounds into my hot wet pussy. I meet the harsh rhythm Kian has set with his fucking as I grind down on his pelvis, so my throbbing clitoris gets some love and attention. We don’t give each other eye contact as we greedily take from each other’s bodies while racing toward the finish line of sexual ecstasy. I shout out a loud moan as I reach orgasm, and Kian’s growl of sexual bliss follows shortly after. I lift my head, wiping sweat from my brows, and peer down into Kian’s unguarded face. I hold back the tears as I witness the many emotions and words that have gone unsaid and flitter across my husband's and best friend’s face. I press a hard kiss to his soft lips before getting off of him and heading back toward my bedroom.

Suppose you had asked me eleven years ago. Would I have ever dreamed in a million years that the only way to get the horny man I knew that couldn’t get enough of my body to fuck me would be to introduce role-play into the bedroom by dressing up as someone else and begging Kian to fuck me? I would’ve laughed at the insanity of that question. Once I made it back to my bedroom, I let the burning hot tears of humiliation flow freely from my eyes as the realization set in that Kian would indeed fuck just about anyone as long as that someone wasn’t me.

Since that night, I’d donned a brown wig and pranced into Kian’s bedroom in the scantiest lingerie; he’d been showing more sexual interest in me. Over the past couple of months, our sex life had gone from non-existent to him being unable to keep his hands off me. We had begun to get really creative in the bedroom with our role-playing. He’d shoot me a text with a theme, and I’d dress up as it, and we’d been having more and better sex than I had ever imagined. But Kian was spending more time with me not only in the bedroom but also out in public. He’d been inviting me out to dinner and, as his escort to public functions rather than choosing to fly solo like he usually did so that he could meet and bed nameless women. Kian’s efforts in our relationship have made me feel elated and less depressed about my situation. Since it seemed like our marriage had taken a turn for the better, I’d been allowing hope to bloom in my heart that our relationship could be a happy and loving one. Kian’s current behavior made me feel more excited about bringing children into our marriage, no longer as a thought to make me feel less lonely and loved for the first time in my pathetic life.

I sat beside Kian at the dinner table in Alistair’s formal dining room for one of Alistair’s monthly family dinners, which I typically dreaded. I squeeze Kian’s hand with a smile as Alannah enters the dining room with her husband’s brother, Draco. Even with her raven black and purple-tinted hair, the young woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Finally, now that everyone was here, we could finally get dinner underway. The quicker dinner ended, the quicker I could have Cy all to myself for the rest of the night. I had something extremely sexy and exciting planned for us.

I shiver at the feeling of Kian’s hot breath close to my ear. I wait in anticipation for him to nibble my bottom earlobe or press a hot passionate kiss to my neck, but neither of those acts of intimacy happens. Instead, he whispers in my ear, “Bevin, I think it’d be the best for the both of us if you disappeared. I think we’ve been married long enough, and my father’s been dead for a while that if you ran off, no one would care or notice. Of course, I’d give you money to start your new life. You could think of it as an adventure.” My breath catches in my throat at his request. Nervous laughter bubbles from my throat because I’m sure I heard Kian wrong. Did he really just ask me to disappear?

I turn my head to study his expression and witness a humorless expression. In fact, I’ve never seen Kian look so serious in his life. My heart feels like someone has literally reached their hand into my chest and is twisting and squeezing it until it’ll eventually and torturously give out. Clearly noticing that the expression on my face has morphed into one of confusion, Kian continues to torture my heart with harsh words, “I’ve fallen in love with someone, Bevin, and she’s pregnant. If you disappear and leave Philly, I can be more open with the woman I’ve loved for a long time and who carries my heir.” I see fucking red. How could he do this to me? How could he be so fucking reckless and get someone else pregnant? If that wasn’t the biggest fuck you and good riddance, then I didn’t know what could possibly be worst than finding out the man I loved was having a baby with someone else.

For the first time in many years, I give into my poor impulse and toss my glass of wine in his face. I stand up from the table, roaring, “HOW FUCKING COULD YOU?”

“Bevin, Jesus, can we have one night without your theatrics and tantrums,” Blaine asks, gently placing a hand on my arm. I give Blaine an incredulous look because, of course, I’m always the issue in every situation where Kian is involved. I can’t wrap my head around the grenade Kian threw into our marriage to detonate our relationship. I rush from the dining room with tears burning my eyes, feeling distraught about the situation heading towards the nearest restroom to gain composure.

My skin begins to feel prickly, like a thousand tiny needles have been stuck into every inch of my body. I feel lightheaded, and my skin feels aflame. The room begins to spin as I gasp for breath. I feel like I’m trying to get my head above ground, but Kian continues shoveling dirt down my throat, making it impossible for me to breathe. My anxiety overtakes me as the hyperventilation and chest palpitations happen simultaneously. I stagger to the bottom step of the staircase to sit as I stare at the Orange Pianist painting, trying to get my panic attack under control. I stare at the Orange Pianist painting until the rustic, burnt, neon orange hues swirl together, causing me to have double vision and see black spots. My breathing starts to slow, but the tears come harder and faster as I begin to ugly cry. Kian had been being nice to me these past few months trying to find a way to break his news to me and make his request. I felt disgusted with myself, feeling as if a thousand showers were warranted for all the pity sex Cy had forced himself to have with me. Or maybe his willingness to role-play with me, I had just become the ass of one of his many jokes.

Before I can get more lost in my thoughts, the front door is kicked down as gunshots ring out. Fuck! I get to my feet and turn to run, but I’m frozen in place as my eyes shift from Oleg Levin to his enforcer, whom everyone calls The Silencer. The Silencer has his revolver pointed right at my head, and for a moment, I close my eyes, praying that he’d end my misery once and for all. Instead, I feel the ground shift from beneath my feet, opening my eyes to realize I’ve been thrown over a big broad shoulder. The cold air of the Philadelphia night cools my heated flesh as I’m thrown into a black SUV.

A shudder of horror runs down my spine, turning my blood to ice once the SUV begins to pull away from Alistair’s mansion. Fuck, I had been captured by the Russian Bratva! Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse. My eyes clash with the cold, soulless ice blue eyes of the Silencer, my captor. I close my eyes, slowing my breathing and trying to get a handle on my emotions.

“Please, take anyone but me. I promise you, Kian, and his brothers won’t give a fuck that I’ve gone missing! I don’t even know anything about the Irish Mafia to even be of help to you. You could have taken anyone else, and they’d be more beneficial to your cause. I’m just the whore of the Irish Mafia. Trust me when I tell you Kian won’t jeopardize himself, his brothers, or even the lowest of his soldiers to rescue me from the Bratva,” I beg, but I’m met with silence and callous ice blue eyes filled with aloofness.

I flinch when my captor leans forward, pushing my head towards his black-gloved hand, a white handkerchief smothering my face with a pleasantly sweet, delicious scent that causes my eyes to become heavy.

Shit! He chloroformed me.

As my head starts to swim, all I can think is that it costs Kian nothing to get his wish. My heart becomes heavy as I think about how I’d lay down my life for Kian, my husband, my best friend, but he wouldn’t do the same. The next thing I know, I sink into a dark abyss.

Bridie would love to see me now. She would rejoice in the Golden Beauty’s fall from grace. You’d think my fall from grace would’ve been the sex tape scandal that caused me to bear the scarlet letter of the Irish Mafia’s Whore. Many would probably consider being trapped in a loveless marriage to a manwhore as my fall from grace, yet, I was a Walsh. The Walsh family is one of the strongest and most powerful families in Philadelphia and the majority of the Midwest. So, I could still hold my chin high and hide behind a false shield of pride while being the most disgraced woman in the Irish Mafia.

But I am lower than a cockroach in Russian Bratva territory, especially as their useless Irish Mafia captive. I flinch at the pain from the bruising grip around my forearm where The Silencer holds me too tightly as he escorts me to the Pakhan’s office. I feel my nipples pucker against the thin damp cheap robe that barely covers my ass. My hands turning shades of boysenberry and magenta because of how tight he tied the scratchy jute rope to render me immobile. The past few weeks in captivity had passed with a slow agony. I’m confined to a murky humid, damp basement with a toilet and a dirty mattress on the floor. The cold bruising blast from a gardening hose after The Silencer threw a bucket of soapy water on me was the first time my body had been thoroughly cleaned since I’d been abducted.

Even if he bathed me like a dog, it beat sitting in my own filth for days on end. As we enter Arina Levin, the Bratva Pakhan’s office, I am momentarily blinded by the bright lights of the Las Vegas skyline contrasting against the dark night sky. The powerful and ruthless Bratva Pakhan is a rarity, not only because she’s a woman but because she was raised as a middle-class American. Arina sits beautifully and poised behind a modern black glass executive desk. Her sandy brown hair is in a sleek ponytail without a hair out of place. Her grayish-blue eyes are deceivingly filled with warmth. Oleg Levin, her younger brother and second in command, stands beside her, tall and athletic in a black button-down and dark jeans, demanding the attention of the room.

Today’s meeting with me would determine my fate as their captive. I stood in front of them with my head held high, not letting the fear show on my face even though I could not only feel but hear my heart as if it were ready to take flight from beneath my breastbone. It had been almost two months since they’d stormed into Alistair’s mansion, ripping me away from the only shitty world I’d ever known. After the first two weeks of hearing nothing from Alistair, Arina, and Oleg took matters into their own hands to ensure that the Irish Mob knew they had kidnapped me. Levin had held me down while Arina had gleefully brutalized me by slicing off my left ring finger with a hacksaw. I swear you could hear my screams days later, still echoing off the walls of one of their many torture chambers. The leaders of the Bratva had one of their men deliver it to Alistair’s doorstep with my wedding rings still attached to it, along with a bullet with my initials on it. Unsurprisingly that gruesome, unnecessarily dramatic taunt to the Irish Mafia was answered with radio silence, signifying to Arina that I was worthless. Honestly, Alistair was probably ecstatic about the situation and considered it one less migraine for him.

“Untie her hands and strip her,” Arina barked, her beautiful eyes scrutinizing my face. Even naked, I managed to hold my head high as Arina stood, circling my body for a full examination. I had a nice physique, and after the sex tape scandal, it’s not like my nude body carried any mystique. Arina placed her index finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet hers once she stood before me. Arina and I were about the same height, but she towered over me in her sky-high stilettos. A cold smile spreads across her beautifully sinister face before she says, “Well, Golden Beauty, two things have saved you today. The fact that you fuck like a porn star and are extremely beautiful. You’re too attractive for me to place a bullet in that pretty little head of yours. You could make me money as a worker at the Pleasure Playhouse. Plus, outside of selfish gains, it’s rather sad that the mid-west ruling Irish Mob gives zero fucks about one of their own. I don’t know if it says more about you or them.” I heard Arina’s words but felt nothing because it is a reality I made peace with years ago. Arina waved her hand in dismissal as I quickly shrugged back into the robe before being tied up and escorted back out of the office by The Silencer.

As we walk down the hall, I feel bile start to churn in my stomach, my tongue feeling heavy, my mouth becoming wet, and tasting as if I ate something with a putrid sour odor. I stop walking, my eyes darting around the empty hallway, searching for the nearest restroom. My captor tugs at my arm, but I don’t budge. He roughly swings me around to face him, peering down at me with those cold, soulless ice blue eyes. The jostling of my body in such a quick maneuver had been a poor calculation on his part because when I opened my mouth to tell him I needed the bathroom, I projectile vomited my entire stomach contents onto the front of his crisp white tee and black skinny jeans.

The Silencer curses under his breath letting out an exasperated huff of ragged air before dragging me into the nearest room that looks like a state-of-the-art conference room. My captor pulled off his soiled shirt, revealing mouthwatering abs I couldn’t even expend the energy to admire because I felt so nauseous. Squatting before me, he uses his shirt to clean my face, pressing the back of his palm to my clammy forehead.

“Why are you always sick? You’re constantly throwing up and unable to keep any food down that I bring you. At first, I thought it was nerves. Now the obvious reason would be the fear of being forced into sex work, but something in my gut tells me there’s something wrong with you,” my captor rasps. His deep gravelly voice sent ribbons of desire to my clitoris. Over the past couple of months, the man had barely muttered two words to me, so I’m surprised by the sexy hoarseness of his voice.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Well, I’m pregnant. I found out the day that you decided to steal me away from Philadelphia. I feared you would all hurt me or use my baby as a bargaining chip with Alistair. But I’m weak, tired, and need medical attention. I could care less about you all selling my body at the Pleasure Playhouse if that means I can keep and care for my child. Although, I’m not sure how much money I’d make as a pregnant high-class call girl. But then again, that place is known for catering to a variety of kinks. I’ll do anything. Please don’t tell your boss so she can’t use it in her favor against the Irish Mob. None of them know anyways,” I confess, feeling like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders. My declaration was a dangerous one, not only for me but for my unborn baby, that I loved more than life itself.

The Silencer’s eyes analyze my face as if he’s a walking lie detector, but I stare back at him, laying bare all my emotions and secrets, allowing my enemy to peer into my unguarded soul. He closes his eyes, frantically running his hand through his thick dark brown tousled waves, almost as if warring with himself. Damn! Even his just got out of bed hair is fucking sexy. He stands to his full height, pacing back and forth, before coming to tower over me.

“I can tell them that you’ve fallen ill and then pay one of my confidants that works as a Bratva doctor to smuggle you back to Philadel-“ The Silencer begins.

“No! Please. Please! Don’t send me back to them. I am willing to work at one of your whorehouses rather than return to the Walsh family. I only told you because I need medical care for the baby. My husband has a mistress that he wants to elevate to wife status. If you all don’t kill me, he will,” I furiously shout, cradling my hand to my barely there baby bump. My captor narrows his skeptical gaze at me, trying to get a read on my cagey behavior.

He shakes his hand and carefully responds, “The Irish are known for being almost as traditional as the Italian fuckers. There’s no way Kian would kill his pregnant wife.” I close my eyes, feeling bile burn the back of my throat as I remember Cy’s horrible request before hastily storming out of the dining room.

I let out a slow deep breath saying, “He’d cut the baby out of me at the earliest possibility. Then, trust me. He’d kill me. I’m the wife he never wanted. The wife standing between him and his dream life. Please, I will be indebted to you forever if you keep my baby and me safe.” We hold each other’s stare for what feels like an eternity. For a second, I swear I notice an emotion flicker across his soulless ice blue eyes, but I’m unsure if it’s pity or one of internal turmoil. I can no longer bear the silence that stretches between us as my fate dangles on an imaginary string of despair between us. An insane idea pops into my head, but it has to work because I’m all out of options.

 “I have an idea. Tell them you want me for yourself. I’ll do anything. I promise not to be any trouble for you. I just want to raise my child. I’ll even disappear to Texas, or somewhere no one will find me,” I beg, placing a trembling hand against The Silencer’s broad chest. As I tilt my head back to gaze into his eyes, I feel an electrifying spark pass between us, causing my stomach to turn cartwheels. I feel dampness coat my inner thighs as the thumping of his heart quickens beneath my palm, signifying I’m not the only one that feels the sexual energy passing between us.

The Silencer snatches my hand off his chest, pulling me flush against his body. My nipples grow so hard and so erect from the heat radiating off his bare muscular chest. I stare at this beautiful man as his eyes shift across my face trying to see into the dark empty hole that once was my soul. At this moment, The Silencer could ask me for anything, and I would make it happen if it protected my baby.

“If I put my fucking neck on the line for you, a sworn enemy, then there has to be something good in it for me. So, what do you have to offer me,” The Silencer questions causing me to rub my thighs together, trying to get some relief as his dark raspy voice makes my clitoris throb from sexual desire.

I slowly pull away from him, allowing the robe to fall from my body, and sink to my knees in front of him. The Silencer lets out a snort lifting me underneath my arms, and sits me on the edge of the conference table. He pries my thighs apart before sinking to his knees in front of me. I’m confused by his actions as I look down at his handsome face between my trembling thighs.

“I can get pussy anywhere. That’s not a bargaining chip, love. If I do this favor for you and claim you as my woman, then when there comes a time for me to collect on this debt, I will. You’ll have to do whatever it is that I ask of you. However, I’ve wanted to taste you since I saw you that night at the dirty Irish fucker’s home,” he whispers; before I can process his words, he sends me into a state of shock with the flick of his tongue. I feel entirely out of my element with this gorgeous man’s face buried between my legs because I’ve never had anyone pleasure me with their mouth; this was something Kian had never done. He acted as if it were beneath him to eat pussy, or at least mine.

I lose myself in the foreign feeling of ecstasy as The Silencer runs his tongue at the opening of my hot wet center and rubs his nose against my pulsating clitoris. He licks his way through my wet folds that are slick with desire traveling to my clitoris, causing me to whimper when his hot wet mouth closes around it. I can’t think of anything else as his tongue swirls, flicks, and sucks my clitoris while two of his big thick fingers deliciously massage the walls of my vagina. I feel my body flush from sexual delight as it begins barreling towards orgasm, causing my hot wet pussy to clamp down around his fingers. But, before I reach climax, he pulls away, leaving me teetering on a cliff of frantic sexual need. I mewl in frustration from being left in a sexual frenzy.

I open my mouth to protest, but my captor silences me with a long, deep, passionate kiss. The sweet tart taste of my essence bursts across my taste buds as I get lost in this kiss. He breaks our contact to softly demand, “Lay on your side for me, love.” Without hesitation, I lay on my side, my hot skin soothed by the conference table's coolness. I watch him from my peripheral as he quickly sheds the remainder of his clothing. My mouth falls open in shock. His dick is bigger and thicker than Kian’s, making me wary of whether or not I’ll be able to take him. But I am so wet and so horny, I am willing to accept the challenge if it means I’ll be rewarded with an orgasm. The Silencer lifts my right leg, gently resting it on his shoulder as he bends my left to wrap it around his slim hip. He teases my entrance with just the tip of his big thick erect cock while he rubs circles around my clit with his thumb. The heady mixture of his shallow thrust and the magic of his fingers make me feel intoxicated. I start to feel the orgasm build, and I’m toppled over the edge of the cliff into earth-shattering pleasure. The Silencer takes this moment of my drunken haze of euphoria to slam into me. He penetrates me deeply, hitting my cervix before pulling out of me and setting a tempo of thrusts that teases my G-spot. His fingers flick across my clitoris, teasing out inaudible words of desire from me as he fucks me stupid. The Silencer coaxes my second orgasm from my body, and as I take that plunge over the cliff of sexual ecstasy again, he falls with me, grunting out his release pumping me full of his hot wet semen.

He lowers my leg from his shoulder. I flip around, panting to lie on my back. I didn’t know sex could be so amazing, making me reflect on whether I ever really enjoyed sex before this moment. No, this wasn’t sex. Sex this good could only be classified as a good dirty fucking. I wrap my legs around The Silencer, so he can’t pull away from me. But, unlike Kian, he doesn’t fight against me. He leans down, cradling his sweat slick body to mine as our heartbeats neutralize and our heavy breathing slows as if we were riding along the same wavelength. The Silencer gives me a hard, bruising kiss on the lips before touching his forehead to mine.

His hot damp breath tickles my ear as he pridefully whispers, “I’m going to tell them I want you for myself, which means you’ll be mine. I’m a possessive man. There will be no going back to the filthy Irish fuckers. You will become my woman, a Bratva woman. So forget about Kian. As of today, that bastard is dead to you. You will be mine and only mine.” After his declaration, he quickly dresses, locking me into the conference room and leaving me alone with my thoughts. Absentmindedly, I caress the gray-to-black ombre semicolon tattoo behind my right ear. Undeniably, I could give a sexy man like The Silencer my body.

 However, could I allow another man to burrow into my soul and have my heart?

“If you weren’t born into the Mafia. What would you have done with your life? I’m in love with classical music, and I’m a trained harpist. I was always inspired to be a famous classical harpist like Joanna Newsom,” I stated, snuggling as close as possible into Dimitri Levin’s, my captor, The Silencer’s arms. I loved being cocooned in his warmth. The spicy scent of his body had a magical way of calming my nerves. The past few weeks between us had been a whirlwind of experiences. I was able to get in with one of the best OB-GYNs in Vegas, elated about finally receiving the prenatal care I needed. Dimitri had moved me into his beautiful condo and had told me to start addressing him by his real name because when I screamed it during sex, it sounded like music to his ears. Slowly but surely, we began bonding over our fucked up childhoods. Dimitri is known as “The Silencer” amongst every organized crime syndicate because he’s a silent killer, like a disease. Dimitri kills his targets so quickly that no one sees it coming until it’s too late, silencing them before they can even beg for mercy. But that nickname is fitting even beyond his job as a Mafia Enforcer because he’s the silent broody type which adds to his sex appeal. Yet, it detracts from the ease of living with a former sworn enemy.

So I had made it my job to seep into every aspect of his life so he’d become comfortable and let his guard down. That way, I’d no longer have to be wary of our every interaction with each other.

“I guess a contract killer or assassin. They say if you do what you love, it’ll never feel like you’ve worked a day in your life,” he jokes. Dimitri’s response sends chills up my spine like any time I hear his deep, raspy voice. I over-exaggerate the roll of my eyes. Spoken like a true brainwashed Made Man, the Bratva had raised and groomed him into a skilled calculated killer, and there was nothing more he thought about doing in this lifetime.

He presses a chaste kiss to my lips before turning his gaze back to How I Met Your Father playing on the television. I turned that show on as background noise as I snuggled in beside him on the couch in the living room earlier that evening. But we found ourselves slowly becoming engrossed with the show. The comfort and normalcy I had craved for years in my marriage were quickly beginning to bloom between Dimitri and me. It was surreal how I could feel at ease and at home quicker with a sworn enemy than with the man I had considered my best friend my entire life. Dimitri's fingers gently caressed my belly, laying on his side behind me, where my beautiful, healthy baby was growing and maturing as expected.

I felt a sharp pang in my heart of how seamlessly Dimitri had fallen into the role of protector of my baby and me. I don’t know if it was the kindness of his actions or the pregnancy hormones, but I found myself pathetically admitting, “The night you captured me, I had been over the moon about this baby. I had planned a fun reveal for Ki-I mean, my husband. I was foolishly excited to tell him, though. I can’t believe I’d convinced myself that the baby would bring us closer together and give me my best friend back. It felt like a dagger to the heart when he told me the news about his secret lovechild with a woman he actually loved. I swear, in that moment had I told him I was pregnant, he would have dismissed me anyways. He never wanted me, so I’m pretty sure outside of his pride, he wouldn’t have wanted the baby either.”

Dimitri’s hand stroked my stomach, pulling me closer to him in a gesture of comfort and kissing my hair. I was glad my back was to his front so that I couldn’t see his face. It felt amazing to get these thoughts out of my head and into the open, so I continued, “The first year of our marriage, his actions made me really dread my decision and stupidity of wanting to be with him. I began to second guess my disastrous choice and thoughts that I’d be better off as an Irish mobster’s wife than married to the leader of the Polish Mafia. Of course, with my amazing luck, a year after I’d been told I’d married him in three years, the old man of the Polish Mob died, and I would’ve married his successor, his son, who is your age and about five years older than me to keep the alliance in place. Anytime I’d see him out at social events from afar with his beautiful wife, they always looked happy and deeply in love. Since their marriage was an arrangement with the Italians, I couldn’t help but get lost in thoughts of that could’ve been me.”

“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I think you still would’ve fought to be with the devil you knew then didn’t. But don’t worry about that bastard. One day he’ll have to atone for his sins, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be the judge, jury, and executioner,” Dimitri growls, turning me in his arms to face him and gently wiping the tears from my eyes I hadn’t realized had fallen. He kissed away the residual tear tracts from my cheeks before capturing my plump bottom lip between his teeth and sucking on it before pulling me into a hot, lust-filled kiss. Dimitri made me feel more desired than I had in years, if not my whole life, anytime he kissed me. He kissed me like a man going off to war in fear that he’d never see me again. Our tongues tangled. Kissing Dimitri felt natural and almost second nature to me. It had never been awkward, almost like my soul sang a siren tune that called to Dimitri’s.

He broke our kiss to peel his oversized black tee from my body, revealing my nakedness to him. Dimitri admired my breasts, which were becoming full and swollen from pregnancy. His eyes darkened with hunger as his thumbs caressed my elongated nipples while his hands stroked my under boob extracting a long throaty groan of need from my body. I palmed his growing erection through his sweatpants as his hot wet mouth traveled from my lips, detouring to my neck to suck on a sensitive spot causing me to shiver under his skillful touch. His mouth finally reached my breasts; he tugged and massaged my right nipple as his mouth closed around the swollen bud of my left breast. Damn, this man was as skilled at fucking as he was as an assassin. Anytime Dimitri touched me, he set me on fire with desire. Dimitri was so good he could talk a seasoned nun out of her panties and make her care less about repentance.

I pulled down his sweats, firmly grasping his huge dick in my hand. My small, slender fingers barely meeting around the circumference of his dick because he is so scrumptiously girthy. I teased him with slow tight jerks of my hand, caressing his manhood as I allowed myself to get lost in my sexual bliss of the feeling of his teeth lightly nipping at my sensitive nipple before his tongue swirled around it, soothing the waves of painful pleasure he incited in my body. Dimitri lifted my leg onto his hip so he could delve two fingers between my soaking wet pussy lips. He lazily strokes his fingers in my hot wet core in a come hither motion, massaging my G-spot as the heel of his palm rubs against my clitoris, creating delicious sensations that have me panting, wanting, and begging for more of what he has to offer in his sexual arsenal.

My core clenches around the sudden emptiness it feels when Dimitri slides his hand from between my thighs and sits up with me, straddling his lap, his dick standing to attention between us with my hand still steadily stroking his big erection. I massage the dribble of precum from his tip onto the head of his cock, lubricating it. Without having to be asked, I turn to face away from him in his hold, squatting above him and slowly taking his big thick erection into my wet hot needy pussy until my ass cheeks touch his pelvis. I kegel his dick, making him groan low in his throat in anticipation as I slowly bounce up and down on him. His hips slowly join in on the pace I’ve set for us. His big hands grab my boobs, rolling my nipples between his fingers and sucking on my neck as he gives my horny pussy a delicious, dirty, and addictingly good pounding.

“Yes, Dimitri! Yes. I. Love. The. Way. Your. Cock. Fills. My. Pussy,” I praise him between moans. I swivel my hips as he picks up his pace, thrusting harder, faster, and deeper into me. The sounds of our fucking fill the air. Flesh slapping against flesh, his grunts and groans, my moans and cries of pleasure. Our bodies sound like a beautiful symphony that propels me toward orgasm as I squeeze his dick, attempting to milk every ounce of cum from his body. I scream out my orgasm at the top of my lungs as I convulse around him. He pounds into me harder and faster while stroking my clitoris in a fast, quick windshield-wiper motion that sets me off like a rocket launching me into a galaxy of euphoria as I yell out my second orgasm. I lean back into his chest, my nails digging so hard into his muscular thighs I probably draw blood. He screams out his own release as I feel his dick twitch inside of me, shooting me full of his hot wet cum.

I lay back against his chest, our bodies slick with sweat. Dimitri’s semi-erect dick jolts inside me as we sit conjoined on the couch, basking in the aftermath of our phenomenal fuck session. Dimitri slings his dick so well that he could make a woman lose her mind. After every time he fucks me, he leaves me thinking, surely sex can’t get any better. Dimitri being an incredible fucker proves me wrong, like he can read my inner thoughts and amps up his dick game every time we screw.

“I’m the true eldest son of the Levin Mafia. I’m not Arina and Oleg’s cousin. I’m their older half-brother, so I know what it feels like to be unwanted by a father—the pain of being a mistake and the burden of a man that never wanted you. Bevin, you have my word that I will be a wonderful father to this baby. The day I claimed you. I claimed your baby. My baby. Our baby. Unlike us, I vow no harm will touch this baby, and as its father, it will only know what it feels like to be wanted and loved. It’ll be the center of my world. You have my word,” Dimitri vows against my ear, kissing my throat, gently splaying his hand against my abdomen. My vision becomes blurry, and tears spill from my eyes at his declaration. For the first time in my life, I felt a sincere sense of safety and security in the embrace of a Made Man’s arms.

“Damn! Getting this nanny cam installed on our phones was a bad idea. Even if I trust the teen daughter of one of our underbosses to watch our little girl, I can’t pull myself away from watching her on camera,” Dimitri utters, pocketing his phone as the elevator dings. He entwines his fingers with mine as he ushers me towards the door of our hotel suite. It had been two months since we’d welcomed our gorgeous baby girl, Alastriona Levin, into this world. Dimitri had been a Godsend helping me through my pregnancy and the delivery. Initially, he had been an end to a means, a person I clung to out of desperation when our paths had first crossed. However, I’d grown to care a lot for Dimitri, and he warms my heart every time I watch his interactions with my baby girl. Most Made Men were partial to boys, but Alastriona had one of the most feared men in the country wrapped around her little baby pinky finger. His attitude didn’t change from his earlier vow to me to love this baby, even when we discovered it’d be a girl at an ultrasound appointment. However, when he laid his eyes on her for the first time after cutting the umbilical cord, his eyes I once thought of as soulless and icy, filled with so much love and adoration, I knew he’d move heaven and hell to make her the happiest girl alive.

Tonight is our first night away from Alastriona since becoming new parents. Dimitri had planned an amazing date night for us by spoiling me with his Amex Black Card, so I could shop online for a sexy new outfit to wear for this date night. He’d booked us into one of the most exclusive steakhouses in the city, and we were ending our night at an upscale hotel. I felt my heartbeat accelerate as he unlocked the door to the hotel suite, placing his palm on my lower back as he escorted me into the room. I gasp in shock as my eyes land on a handcrafted custom King Louis XV twenty-three karat gold leaf harp adorned with a bright red silk ribbon tied in an intricate bow.

Dimitri’s gift had rendered me speechless. My heart begins to swell with adoration for this gorgeous man. I feel a warm finger wipe the wetness from my eyes as I look into his concerned face trying to process the myriad of feelings that filter through me.

“Don’t cry, love. I wanted to make you happy. I wanted to buy you a push gift for giving me the most beautiful girl in the world, whom I’m honored to call my daughter. It’ll get delivered to our home, but I wanted to hear you play it sometime tonight before we leave because I knew you’d be apprehensive about playing at night with Alastriona asleep,” Dimitri explains, kissing my forehead. I look down at my left hand, missing a ring finger, and my body goes from elated to deflated. Dimitri being so attuned to my mood and body, provides me with hopeful words, “At least with the harp, you only need eight fingers to play, unlike all ten that you need for the piano.” He kisses my left hand, that only has nine fingers.

“Yes, but the pinky tends to be too short of reaching the strings in the proper hand placement needed to play, but trust me, I’ll make it work. There are no words to thank you for this act of kindness and wonderful gift, Dimitri,” I whisper, still in awe of this kind gesture. He gives me a wink, wiggling his eyebrows and descending his mouth to claim mine. He kisses me with so much fervor that my head spins. Desire pools between my thighs as he pulls away and guides me toward the bathroom. Dimitri Levin is surreal. This man is the dream out of any young girl’s fairytale. He’s almost too good to be true. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket next to a jacuzzi bathtub filled with calming scents of lavender and jasmine with rose petals scattered everywhere. I am so amazed by the scene in front of me that I’m afraid if I pinch myself, everything will disappear, and I’ll be back in my lonely bedroom in Philadelphia, listening to the sounds of Kian making love to other women.

Dimitri begins to undress me, unzipping my skin-tight navy blue ruched velvet bodycon minidress. His heated gaze peruses my body while I stand in nothing but a black strapless pushup bra and lace panties. I cover myself self-consciously, not quite feeling like the old sex pot Bevin I was before postpartum. But Dimitri steps forward, pushing my hands away from my midsection, kissing every stretch mark, and singing me praise about how I’m more beautiful than ever before. He sits on his haunches before me, dragging down my black lace thong and helping me step out of the scrap of fabric. Dimitri kisses my sensitive mound, his head traveling between my thighs to lap up my arousal that coats my pussy lips and inner thighs. I let out a moan undoing my bra to speed up the process. Dimitri pulls away after mercilessly teasing me with his tongue between my thighs. He gently removes my Jimmy Choo heels from my feet before picking me up bridal style and submerging me into the warm bath water. I close my eyes and lean back, waiting for him to undress and join me. I’m so amazed by the kindness I have grown accustomed to in the short time I’ve been with Dimitri. He cuddled me, rubbed my back, and doted on me my entire pregnancy. I assumed he was just being kind to a pregnant lady, but these few weeks post-birth, he’d only handled me with more care, making me feel like I was the luckiest woman alive.

I didn’t know men were willing to prioritize your pleasure in the bedroom or fuck you so slowly and thoroughly that you felt like the only woman in the world and not like they were just fucking anyone to get themselves off. I feel like I could shed my icy bitch persona and that being in a relationship with a man that treated me reverently had begun to heal my bruised and battered self-esteem of living so many years in an emotional desert. I open my eyes when I hear a splash of water from Dimitri getting situated in the bathtub with me. I tread through the bath water, wrapping my legs around his waist and situating myself on top of his lap. I feel my hands with a dollop of shampoo, lathering it in my palms, and begin massaging it into Dimitri’s gorgeous thick wavy brown hair. His ice blue eyes roll to the back of his head as a moan of pleasure escapes his lips as I wash his hair.

Once I’ve rinsed all the shampoo from his gorgeous mane, he begins gently washing my body, his eyes never leaving mine, making me feel so emotionally connected to him than I’d ever felt to anyone. He gives me a small smile breaking this tender moment by saying, “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I know the video is old, but I got it scrubbed for as many places on the internet as possible.”

“Oh my gosh! The Video? You could do that? It’s gone,” I ask with shock, hoping I was understanding his words correctly.

“Yes, I don’t know why the Irish didn’t do it in the first place. It’s the internet, so it may not be completely removed, but it’s gone from anywhere our cyber team could remove it. I knew you worried about our little girl one day stumbling across it. So, I got rid of it,” Dimitri shrugs, kissing my nose. Happy tears flow freely down my face, and before Dimitri can say anything else, I slam my lips against his. My tongue darted into his mouth. I kiss him with every fiber of my being, pouring in all my gratitude for this remarkable man. Our bodies slip and slide against each other’s slick from water and soap, creating delicious sensations as my nipples rub against the light dusting of hair on his chest.

I slowly pull away, ending our kiss as Dimitri moves his lips forward, biting my lower lip. I let him pull me into another kiss, breaking away to nibble at his chiseled jaw, running my tongue across his stubbly cheek. I grab hold of his erection, teasing the tip with my fist. Dimitri leans back, tilting his hips above the water, making his hard cock easily accessible for me. My tongue subconsciously darts out for a delectable taste of the precum glistening at his tip. I lick it up, swirling my tongue around the frenulum until his body shudders with pleasure. I lick down the shaft while toying with his balls, and I feel the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat. I bob my head up and down deep throating his massive erection until it’s sloppy wet from my mouth. I slowly drag my tongue from the base to the tip, sucking and licking his tip until his balls draw up in my hand and his cock twitches in my mouth.

I pull away, lowering myself onto him until I’m deliciously full of his big thick dick. I slowly begin to grind on him. Dimitri brings his face to my nipples, sucking on them and making me feel a zing of sexual energy in my clitoris. He bucks into me, chasing the pace and rhythm of me bouncing on his cock. He fucks me so hard, so fast, and so dirty water splashes over the rim of the bathtub. I snatch him back by the hair bringing my lips down on his kissing him vigorously as my orgasm builds in my hot wet core. He roughly tugs and rolls my nipples as his thrust become jerky. He slaps my breasts together, causing me to shatter to pieces as I grind down onto him, coming so hard and so loud I’m shocked my high-pitched screams of ecstasy don’t shatter the mirrors. He thrusts into me hard, once, twice, thrice, before he cums so hard Dimitri breaks the skin where my neck and shoulder meet as he grunts out a muffled groan of pleasure. I collapsed, tired, and spent on his chest. My limbs relaxed and limped from my intense orgasm. My heavy eyelids falling close.

I hear the firing of gunshots, and I wake with a fright. My heart is ready to jump out of my chest, and my breathing is labored from the nightmares that still haunt me from the night I was kidnapped from Alistair’s home. I try to ground myself as I look around the dark bedroom of the hotel. Dimitri must’ve carried us at some point from the bathroom to the bedroom. Dimitri strokes my hair softly, trying to help calm my panic attack. Anytime I’ve awakened, Dimitri was always alert and wide awake. I was unsure if the sins of his past kills kept him up at night or if it was the vigilant sixth sense all Made Men adopted because too many enemies lurked in the shadows.

I gave him a small smile, laying down and cuddling into Dimitri’s chest. As he placed a kiss on my right temple as I lay on his chest, I wondered if I could ever fall in love again. But, I knew that even if Kian had done irreparable damage to my heart that kept me from loving again, I would have a comfortable and happy life with Dimitri, Alastriona, and any other children we welcomed into our lives.

Fate had a way of amazing me because The Silencer was the man of my nightmares, while Dimitri quickly became the man of my silly childhood fantasies that the wrong leading man once filled. Who would’ve thought they’d be the same man?

I sit on the park bench enjoying the cool breeze during one of the many warm days in Las Vegas. I can’t believe this place has been my home for almost four years. What’s more insane to me is that I never dreamt I’d ever be this happy in a million years. I give a broad smile to my three-year-old daughter, Alastronia, as I watch her play in the sandbox of the secluded park. My little girl will be turning four soon. She grows more beautiful with each passing day, but what warms my heart the most as a mother is that Dimitri has spent every day of his life honoring his vow to me that our little girl would be happy and loved, even if she’s growing up in the harsh mafia world. He treats and spoils her like a true princess, not just a Bratva princess.

I try to provide Alastronia with as much of a normal life as possible, even though we’re constantly surrounded by one or two bodyguards that work for the Levin family. Since the Bratva rule over Vegas, Dimitri allows more liberties than he would anywhere else, as long as we stay within a short radius of Vegas, where the Levin family is powerful and feared. So, the one Russian Mafia soldier that works as our personal bodyguard is always around when we go to the park but stays out of sight and out of our way. Still, our biggest threat would be the Irish Mafia; yet, Dimitri and I knew they gave no fucks about me, even if the Bratva was anticipating retribution for the previous direct attack on Alistair’s home. If they didn’t come to my rescue after they received my fucking finger and bullet with my name on it, then I’d be the last point of attack. They probably presumed I’d be dead by now, anyway. I casually glance down at a book I’m reading, enjoying the fresh air and the musical sound of Alastriona’s playful giggles.

“You know, never in a million years could I picture the Bevin Ryan I knew as any poor kid’s mother,” the all too familiar voice sarcastically jokes from beside me. My world comes to a standstill, my book falling from my hands as I whirl around in my seat to face the ghost from my past. The one and only Kian Walsh. My husband and best friend lounge next to me on the bench with a sardonic grin on his face. He’s wearing a baseball cap low over his brow and a pair of Ray-Ban aviators, looking as handsome as ever as he pulls them off to reveal his beautiful aquamarine eyes. Kian wears dark jeans and a Vegas shirt, blending in as if he were any ordinary tourist off the strip.

“Cy,” I whisper in disbelief. His name leaves my mouth in a shaky voice I don’t recognize. I sit there stunned into silence. His name hangs between us in the awkwardness of the moment. I never thought I’d see Kian Walsh again in this lifetime. You could cut through the awkward silence between us with a knife. I begin to fidget under his harsh scrutiny like he’s taking me in for the first time. Trying to piece together anything about me he may have missed in the almost four years we’ve been apart. The longest time we’d ever spent consistently apart in the entirety of our lives.

“When I suggested that you fuck other men, I didn’t think it’d be our enemy,” Cy jokes, trying to make light of the tension between us. Is he fucking serious? I feel my spine go ramrod straight as rage courses through my body.

“Well, you treated me like an enemy our entire marriage. So, an enemy of my enemy is my friend,” I responded hatefully. Kian’s body tenses with uncontrollable rage like the few years we’ve spent apart only made him grow more callous and malicious. I flinch under his disapproving gaze at the tone of my remark. I start to say something to him that will soothe the sting of my comment feeling myself slipping into my old ways of wanting his validation and approval, but I bite my tongue. I realize I don’t owe this man a damn thing. I never did.

“But, with the way our men have reported back to me that you’ve been all cozy with The Silencer and acting as if you don’t have a care in the world, it makes me think you’re the one who endangered our family, and set up the attack with the Russian Bratva,” Kian accuses, invading my space to intimidate me. The longer I’m in my husband’s presence, the more the rage I lock away in the deepest depths of my soul begins to fight its way out. I feel the thin hairs of my skin stand to attention, and my heartbeat accelerates. Fuck! That means Kian has been watching me this entire time. I had to calm my nerves and choose my words wisely because I didn’t want to risk the chance of him realizing Alastriona was his biological daughter.

I school my expression in a bitchy glare that I thought I could retire along with the old me from Philadelphia, but Kian always brought out the worst in me. I narrow my eyes at him, demanding, “Cy, don’t you have the love of your life and your own child to concern yourself with? I’m sure that would be a better use of your time than flying thousands of miles away just to insult me. So, tell me, why the fuck are you here?”

A look of despair flickers across his handsome face for a very brief second. It would have been unnoticeable if I hadn’t known Cy so well. That hint of emotion made me feel almost sorry for him. I close my eyes, telling myself not to think about him as the young boy I thought of as my best friend because that boy hasn’t existed for many, many years.

 “To answer your questions, the love between that woman and me wasn’t real. The baby wasn’t even mine. She was just out for personal gain from the Walsh family. Like you, another woman trying to trick me into marrying her. Alistair decided it was time for me to bring my ‘real wife’ home because he was tired of humoring me. So I’ve been watching you for months, and this is our window of opportunity to get you back to Philly,” Kian states coldly.

What. The. Entire. Fuck? My mind couldn’t process it. Not only the words that came out of Kian’s mouth but how he delivered them without any remorse. He wasn’t concerned for me until he needed me to stay on his brother's and boss’s good side. I blinked back tears of anger, devastation, and disgust. Had Kian always been this self-centered? I lost a fucking finger for the Irish Mafia and could’ve been killed, and he made it sound like his broken heart should take precedence over my traumas.

“Plus, Mrs. Throat Goat, I could use some comfort,” Kian flirts, running his thumb over my bottom lip. His vile comment made me roil, and bile burned the back of my throat.

I slap his hand away, snorting, “Funny. I once needed comfort and for you to talk me off the ledge. From my recollection of the events, you fucking spit in my face. So, I have no fucks to give about your sorrows.” I wait for an apology, but, big surprise, it doesn’t come, which fuels my growing rage. I angrily continued, “So, you didn’t come because you were worried or cared about me. Initially, I’m sure you were probably relieved I was no longer the thorn in your side. Probably secretly hoping that maybe they’d kill me so divorce would no longer be a necessity. All up until your ideal woman and family didn’t materialize, huh?”

“Bevin, I’m your husband. Based on Mafia standards, I fucking own you. So enough with the dramatics. We were friends once, so don’t sit here and spew all this bull shit like I wanted you dead. I offered you the ability to disappear. If I wanted you dead, you would’ve been dead, trust me,” Kian responds, grabbing my wrist hard and pulling me off the bench.

“Cy, our friendship died years ago. It died that day in your house when you berated and humiliated me in front of your brothers. The day I needed you more than anything and realized you had lied about running away with me for us to live normal lives together,” I croaked, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.

“Bevin, it wasn’t all lies. You fucking betrayed and humiliated me,” Kian fires back as I tug at my wrist, fighting his hold.

“Jesus, Cy! I humiliated myself over and over again to try to win your love. I threw my dignity out the window too many times. I became a fucking ‘pick me’ girl for you. I was almost Meredith Fucking Grey to your Derek Shepherd, screaming at you to choose me! Pick me! Love me! But you wouldn’t. I’ve wanted you to love me since we were kids. But everyone and anyone was always the better option. Then you told me the biggest lie of all, that you’d set the world on fire for me, that we’d always have each other’s back, that if you were in my stead, I’d never need anyone else. But when I realized I had to save my-fucking-self, you didn’t even stand beside me. Hell, you joined in with the rest of the Irish clan when they ostracized me. Sometimes you were the cruelest of them all. You were supposed to be my knight in shining armor, but you never materialized. So I won’t do it anymore. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and if we were ever anything, please, just tell them I died because I can’t go back. If you drag me back, you’ll end up with my blood on your hands because I’d rather drown myself in a bathtub than be Mrs. Kian Walsh ever again. Trust me. As a Mrs. Walsh, I understand how your father drove your mother to suicide. My happily ever after never came, at least not with you,” I shout, too angry to care if I cause a scene and draw attention to us. I looked up at the sky, willing myself not to waste another tear on this man.

Kian’s face fills with fury, his nails biting into my shoulders, spittle flying into my face as he grinds out between clenched teeth, “You know better than any fucking one. Don’t ever bring up my mother’s death. You’re fooling yourself if you think The Silencer will truly give you a happily ever after. You’re just leverage, and if he can get his dick wet in the meantime, why not. Stop always trying to elevate yourself above your whore status. This charade has gone on long enough, so I’m bringing my wife and my baby home.”

My baby.

His words chill me to the bone, and I try to mask the fear from my face. “It’s been almost four years. What do you mean, your baby? If any fucking charade ends today, Kian, it’ll be the one between us. You got your wish. I disappeared, remember,” I fumbled the words out in shock.

His aquamarine eyes darken with hatred and narrow into slits. I’d said my peace and began to sidestep him to leave the bench area, but he seized me by the throat, pulling me flush against his body. Kian shoves his hand down the front of my shorts and lightly slides his finger back and forth between my slick folds, making me shiver and my clitoris throb as it gently grazes it. I feel confusion and fear as my body readily responds to his familiar touch. His hot wet breath rasps against my ear, sending my senses into overdrive, “I claim you first. I’ll claim you last. Your body will never want a man’s touch like mine.” I swallow hard, shaking my head, trying to think through the terror fogging my mind. I knee him in the balls and surprise him with a hard slap to the face, allowing me to break free from his hold.

I run away from Kian, heading towards the sandbox. I just needed to grab Alastriona and get us to safety from her delirious sperm donor. I stand in horror as I realize that the sandbox is empty. I begin screaming her name at the top of my lungs and look around for our bodyguard, trying to keep my wits about me. When I finally spot the bodyguard, I feel dizzy, and everything begins to spin. I see blood. There’s blood coming from his nose. There’s blood dripping from his mouth. He’s lying in a crimson pool of blood. My flesh breaks out in goosebumps when an arm tightens around my waist. I notice the tattoo of the Irish Mob peeking out from beneath a dark long sleeve shirt.

Kian comes into view with Alastriona in his arms. He gently kisses my daughter’s beautiful fiery red crown of curls.

“Kian,” I warned, trying to fight my way out of one of his men’s arms. He passes my daughter to another man that carries her out of sight. I feel as if my heart is leaving my body the further away Alastriona is carried away from me.

“Imagine my surprise when some of our men informed my brothers and me that they’d seen you with a more beautiful daughter than the ‘Golden Beauty’ and the ‘Gorgeous Rose’ combined. You were mistaken if you thought you could keep my child away from me,” Kian smirks sinisterly.

I elbow the guard in the chin, which loosens his hold on me, and I try to run in the direction they’d taken Alastriona, but Kian snatches me back by the hair.

“Dimitri will wade through your blood and that of anyone in the Irish and Greek Mafias to get our daughter back,” I yell at him. I feel a sharp pain across my cheek, and my head throbs from the impact of hitting the pavement.

“You know, I tried to play nice. Allow you to come back as my wife, but if you want to continue your disappearing act, then fine, I’ll tell them you’re dead. But my daughter is a Walsh, so she’s coming home with me,” Kian says, barely audible above the ringing in my ears. I try to raise myself off the ground from where Kian hit me, but my limbs feel heavy.

I needed to get to Dimitri. I needed to save Alastriona.

But I couldn’t fight the darkness that slowly overcame me, causing me to sink into another dark abyss.

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