Page 20 of Sinful Lord

“Who got to you before me?” I growl.

Grabbing my bag, I burst through the door and out into the hallway. Then, I start running.

If Melina is really in that van, she’s in trouble. There’s no way her family would treat her so harshly. And as bad as it would be for me if she was recaptured by the Kilpatricks, there are worst threats out there trying to hunt her down.

Through my search for the lost princess, I’ve already come across some of them and heard rumors about many more—some more terrifying than others.

A sneer contorts my face as I race down the steps and careen out into the snowy night. My car sits parked in the darkness ahead. I make a beeline for it.

Violent thoughts bash through my mind as I open the driver’s door and start the engine.

No one else is allowed to have Melina Kilpatrick.

That girl belongs to me.

And I’ll fucking prove it.

4

Melina

The hand planted on my thigh is tight, unfriendly, and icy cold. Every time the van hits a pothole, five sharp fingernails dig into my flesh. I wince in pain. I shiver in fear. But I try not to move. I dare not make a sound.

They’re talking about me.

About my fate.

If I’ve learned anything from being the daughter of a mafia kingpin, it’s that in a situation like this, every little detail matters.

I need to listen. It could be a matter of life or death.

“And here I was thinking Elsa had lost her touch,” someone says in a thick German accent.

“The old hag still knows how to bag ‘em,” another responds.

A glob of fear trickles down my throat as the van takes a sharp turn. The hand on my lap tightens. An unwelcomed shoulder leans into mine. Even through the black bag wrapped around my head, I can feel the putrid breath of the man sitting next to me.

“Stop…” I can’t help but whimper.

But no one hears me, and if they do, I’m ignored.

“We’ll see,” a third voice speaks up. “Looks aren’t everything for a camwhore. No one wants to watch a dead fish flop about for eighteen hours a day. We aren’t going to make any money off of her if she does that.”

“Hey, maybe we can use her to tap into that dead fish fetish market,” the man next to me laughs. I cringe when he presses his mouth right into my temple, pushing the fabric into my ear. “Can you flop like a fish for me, honey?”

“Elsa said she can dance, right? That oughta be good for something.”

“Elsa said she’d been trying to teach this slut how to dance, not that she already could.”

“I’ll teach her how to dance just the way I like…”

“Hey, honey, you alive in there? Tell me, do you know how to dance?”

I try to ignore the cruel taunts, but each one hits me like a sharp knife.

I’m in serious trouble. Serious fucking trouble.

“The man asked you a question, sweetie.”