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“Why can’t I wear my bra and panties?”
He shook his head, with a cocky smirk on his lips. “You wear what the boss wants.”
My pain was his pleasure. I could see it in his eyes, read it on his handsome face. He wasn’t much older than Angelo. And he was good looking too. Someone as evil as this man should have been as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. It was almost unfair. Even the scar above his right eyebrow made him more ruggedly handsome.
As I unhooked my bra and slid the straps down my shoulders, he watched my every move. His lips parted for the split second he saw my breasts, but I quickly put on the black lace bra. Sucking in a deep breath, I mentally prepared myself for the last part, as I pushed the yoga pants over my hips.
With my pants and underwear around my ankles, he moved his arms from his chest to his sides and stepped forward. He bent down in front of me and lifted each of my feet to help me step out of my clothes. I had to press down on his shoulders, so I didn’t fall over, which put my pussy inches from his face.
He took the thong from between my fingers and repeated the same process to help me slide it up my thighs, touching my skin on purpose. I closed my eyes and bit down on my bottom lip, trying not to cry.
“Why am I here?” I choked out the words.
He stood and shoved his hands into his black slacks, pushing the suit jacket to the sides to reveal more of his navy oxford, and the gun he had holstered at his waist.
“To settle a debt.”
Is he doing this to scare me?
Growing up around the Mafia, I was no stranger to guns. He would have to do better than flash his piece to get under my skin.
Was this for Angelo’s debt or my father’s?
Without another word, the man gripped me by the arm, digging his fingers into my bicep. Pain radiated up the left side of my body. He dragged me down a long, dimly lit hallway painted a deep shade of red that almost looked black.
Once we reached the end of the hall, he opened the door to a large dressing room with rows of vanities, and skimpy costumes hung on racks. My stomach clenched at the thought of parading around in the underwear this man had picked out for me.
He tightened his grip on my arm and led me through the room. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
He remained silent. Awaiting his answer, my chest filled with dread. In a thong that
rode up my ass and a barely-there lace bra that left nothing to the imagination, I felt so exposed and vulnerable.
A girl came out from behind a curtain and stopped in front of us, eyeing me up. “You can’t send her out there looking like that.” She pointed at one of the vanities. “Sit her over there, and I will take care of her for the boss.”
He released his grip on me, allowing the woman to steer me toward a counter with tons of makeup and hair products resting on it. She pushed on my shoulders to force me to sit in the chair in front of her. “Girl, you smell something awful. Where have they been keeping you? A barn.”
“In a dark room,” I spit back. “And a white room. I honestly have no idea. They drugged me.”
“How long does she have?” she asked the man behind us, watching me in the mirror. “Can I throw her in the shower first?”
He glanced down at his watch. “You have fifteen minutes.”
The woman smiled at him. “Not a problem.” Then, she looked at me. “Follow me.”
I never wanted a shower more in my life. The man helped me up and pushed me in front of him, cupping my ass in his big hands. He lightly smacked my ass cheek, the sting sending pain up my side.
I jumped forward and yelped. “Hey!”
Angelo hurt me much worse in the bedroom. This was a love tap compared to sex with Angelo. Still, he had no right to touch me.
“You’re the property of the DiSalvo’s now,” he muttered.
It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. The DiSalvo’s were a small crime family who ran Atlantic City. It all hit me at once. The saltwater and the sounds of waves crashing were from the boardwalk. I’d been to Atlantic City dozens of times with Angelo for overnight stays.
But why was I here?
