Page 10 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I’d laugh if, you know, I wasn’t chained to a bed in a dark room owned by career criminals.
Clearly, this guy doesn’t know Cat at fucking all. My father wouldn’t give his pinkie nail to set me free; I’m as good as dead to him. As soon as he finds out from Crown what I did—I’m sure he already has—then he’ll start orchestrating my death, just in case the mafia doesn’t do what needs to be done.
Blood in, blood out.
That’s my daddy’s motto.
“You look the part,” I breathe as the man reaches into his pocket and I close my eyes. Rape has been something I’ve been lucky enough to avoid for years; most girls aren’t so lucky. As the daughter of the club president, I was afforded some level of decency from his men and a wide berth from lesser criminals or boys at school. Looks like my luck has finally run out.
The man— Alvise—pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocking one shackle and then the three others.
Freeing me.
“Get up and follow me,” he says, turning and heading from the room with absolutely no fear of leaving me at his back. I sit up, breathing heavily, eyes wide as I look down at my hands. The bandages have been removed, and the road rash looks quite a bit better than it did that first day when I was tied to the chair.
Flicking my eyes toward the open doorway, I scramble to stand up—and then promptly fall to my knees on the floor. Not only have my legs buckled, but my head is spinning, my vision blackening at the edges.
“If you have to crawl, crawl,” the man says, and there’s an ironclad authority to his words that says he’s used to being obeyed. My jaw clenches and I grit my teeth, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. Forcing myself forward, I plant one palm against the ground, then the other. Again and again and again, I move forward. Progress is slow, but that doesn’t matter much. All that matters is that careful placement of my palms, the scooting of my knees. I’m sure I’m bloodying the skin underneath the bandages, but if it means I get to live, then I’ll do it.
After a while, I find myself at the Don’s feet again. He seems to like that, looking down and seeing me there on my hands and knees.
We’re in a doorway leading to a luxurious suite, one that’s outfitted with champagne silk and burgundy wallpaper, dark wood furniture, iron sconces on the wall. Hell, there’s even a chandelier.
“Do not disappoint me again, Grey,” Alvise says as I finally notice the boy sitting on the edge of the bed. As soon as he hears his father’s voice, his head snaps up and we’re staring at each other like our lives depend on it.
Clearly, they do.
“I won’t,” he promises, his voice as hard as his father’s as he flicks his attention over to me. “I swear it.”
“Not necessary,” Alvise replies smoothly, moving toward a set of double doors against the far wall. He glances back just once and lets a sickening smile take over his genteel mouth. “Next time you mess up, you both die. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
And then he leaves, and I’m left on my hands and knees on the floor.
“Shit, let me help you up,” Grey says, moving over to me. I slap his hand away when he tries to help me up, too consumed by pride and too shaken up by the idea that I might’ve just escaped the worst fate known to womanhood and managed to survive all in one go.
Grey sits back on his heels and watches as I struggle pathetically toward the bed, using the comforter to pull myself up to my knees and then, blessedly to my feet. I manage to keep them for all of two seconds before I collapse on the mattress, but there it is. I’m on top of the bed. I’m lying down. All on my own. Cat would be proud.
The thought disgusts me.
“Don’t touch me.” The words don’t sound like me, more like a poor imitation of the person I used to be. I’m tough as nails, right? I can handle anything, right?
Thing is, I just fucked myself into a corner. A corner made up of mafia men and pissed-off outlaws, outlaws that I betrayed. Crown’s face flashes in my mind, the deep-set melancholy that was etched there when I stole his bike and took off.
Cat will know everything by now; he’ll want my head.
Finally, the thing I’ve feared the most my whole life will come true: my father will actively be trying to kill me.
“If that’s what you want,” Grey posits, sitting down beside me on the bed. I notice that his hands are bandaged. Well, his fingertips more like. He notices me looking and smiles, but it’s a hideous expression, more like a ghost of what a smile should actually be. Possessed. Wicked sad. Almost defeated.
