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Story: Forbidden Vows (Sinbound Vows #2)

Seraphina

This is so not me. I’ve never been a woman who longs for a man who isn’t into me. I’m perceptive enough to read the writing on the wall. I prefer men begging for my attention.

Not the other way around.

Yet, here we are.

Wearing oversized dark cat-eye sunglasses, a black scarf over my hair tightly knotted beneath my chin, and a teacher dress borrowed from my friend Cleo, a patchwork quilted abomination I’d never usually wear, but again…

Here we are.

My friend Cleo was in trouble, and to keep her safe, I traveled with her on an impromptu trip to a sexy Italian estate. Dame was my bodyguard, assigned to be by my side every moment, with my safety as his primary responsibility.

Dame and I spent every moment together on an overnight shopping trip in Rome. I had no idea I would leave my heart behind when I returned to NYC.

I also didn’t know that half the women in this city are on his roster when he comes to New York for work.

Turns out, he’s in town. He’s a member of the elusive Bachman Brotherhood, which has a compound in Manhattan called the Village. No stranger has ever breached their walls, and I’m not trying to do the impossible.

I seek merely a glimpse, one observation, and an opportunity to see him in person—perhaps a brief conversation.

A single dance, perhaps.

A slight, fortuitous encounter allows me to discern whether this fixation I have permitted to flourish in my mind like mushrooms since my return from Italy is genuine.

Thanks to a slip from my Cleo, I learned my target will be at the family dance club, Gotcha, tonight. Unfortunately, my name won’t appear on the guest list alongside the influential mafiosos, celebrities, and millionaires who can buy their way in.

Consequently, this hardworking city girl has had to employ clever tactics.

Right now, I’m navigating a sidewalk filled with Manhattan’s evening party crowd in this wonderfully terrible outfit. ‘I wear my sunglasses at night,’ echoes in my mind as I review my plan to sneak in somehow, find a discreet spot to remove the scarf, glasses, and shapeless dress, and reveal my curly hair styled in a rhinestone-studded updo. I'll show off my temporarily toned-from-wandering-Rome legs in a dazzling silver micro mini dress.

What’s the worst that could happen? I hang out in the corner, scoping eye-candy Dame while enjoying a few drinks. Perhaps I might dance with a stranger? Maybe Dame will notice me and go wild with jealousy? Realize what he’s missing?

I’d say it’s worth the risk. If they catch me, what’s the most they can do? Kick me out?

Plan A is to keep my disguise on, get in line, chat with some partygoers, and see if I can persuade them to let me join before we reach the front of the line.

I spot a brunette wearing a shimmery gold jumpsuit and clear pumps. Her friendly, open face leads me to slip in behind her. She’s fiddling with a hot pink iridescent band circling her slender wrist. It glitters like a hologram as she twists it between her fingers, saying, “I’m so glad they’ve upped security even tighter since the drama started with the Morettis.”

“Don’t do that,” says the friend who is waiting with her. Her red hair is smoothed into a sleek shoulder-length bob. “What if you mess it up?”

“Please,” Princess Leia jumpsuit laughs. “It’s Bachman Tech. Nothing could hurt it. Either you have a band or you’re a phony”

“And if you’re a fake, you’re gonna get your ass kicked.” The redhead laughs. “If Rockland had his way, every man in here would be expelled, and we would all be dancing in a girl-only club.”

“We can look…” the brunette says.

The redhead finishes her sentence. “But never, ever touch.”

Charlie leans in, whispering behind a manicured hand. “Why would we want to, anyway? We married Bachman men.”

I slip from the line as they giggle, the redhead thanking the brunette for a gift of a pair of Dior sunglasses, their conversation growing fainter as I move. My heart sinks—no more guest list to be added. There’s no way I’m getting in the front door on my own. I spot an oncoming group of well-dressed men heading in the direction I want to go, to the cross street, and envelop myself in the cologne-saturated bunch.

Plan B. Dipping away from the men, I wait on the corner, my back resting against the brick wall. The only benefit of this ugly outfit is that it has pockets, and I slip my phone from one now. She denied me the favor earlier today when I asked, but it’s worth another shot.

I give my childhood best friend one more pleading phone call. “Tabby, it’s me.”

“I know.” She laughs. “You have your own ringtone on my phone. Remember?”

“Are you sure you can’t ask your dad to get me into Gotcha’s tonight?” I glance at the line of beautiful people reaching around the corner towards me .

“I told you, you’re not even supposed to know he’s a member! I swore to him I wouldn’t tell any friends.” She groans. “I told you not to give me cheap wine. It makes all my secrets come out.”

So true.

“Your dad being a Bachman wasn’t the only secret we learned that night, was it, Tabitha?”

She groans. “I can’t believe you’re still mad about that. It was fifth grade!”

“But you knew Chad Reed had been my crush since third grade. How could you kiss him behind the bleachers?”

“Take a hint from Elsa, friend. Let it go.”

“Okay, okay. No more Chad Reed talk. No more cheap wine. I promise. But you know I’m brokenhearted over Dame not returning my phone calls. The time we spent together in Rome was so magical?—”

“Of course it was! You were in Rome. Bert and Ernie would look good on a vacation like that.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” She sighs. “I’m worried about you,” she says. “I’ve never seen you this hung up on a guy before. Except Chad Reed. Which is why I also never told you about that kiss!”

“I forgive you,” I say, “But that kiss confession would smooth over quicker if you could get me into the club tonight. ”

“Are you there now? Hang on, I’m putting you on speakerphone. I’m looking up your location. I’m sending you an Uber.”

“That’s not necessary!”

“You stopped sharing your location! A single girl. In the city. Wandering around by yourself, breaking into?—”

“Gotta go! Love you so much. Kisses, and I’ll call you after. Don’t worry!” I hang up before she can stop me. I turn the phone off, slipping it into the dress pocket.

Plan C. I’m sneaking in the back door.

I glide around the corner, following along the wall, and slip behind the building. A giant red monster truck is parked against the back wall, and I crouch behind it to conceal myself. From this vantage point, I can see the large metal door. Dumpsters flank the alley. Even beautiful Bachmans make garbage. Eventually, it will need to be disposed of.When someone comes out, I’ll slip in.

The door opens sooner than I thought, a slender man younger than myself with bushy sideburns heads out the back, a black garbage bag in his hand. With the toe of his shoe, he pushes a lose brick in front of the door to keep it from closing.

Whistling, he takes his time, meandering over to the dumpster with the bag. He hauls it over the top, and it drops in the bin with a satisfying thump.

I can’t believe my luck. He’s slipped his phone from his pocket, using trash duty as an excuse for a quick game on his phone screen. He swipes, congratulating himself on a win .

This is my chance!

Running silently, I dip past the door into what looks like a storage room. The back of the room is dusty and dark—the perfect place to hide out. I sneak to the darkest corner, press my back to the wall and take a moment to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. The sound of the heavy backdoor closing echoes. I freeze, listening as footsteps and whistles grow near, stopping just feet from my hiding spot. I plaster myself to the wall, holding my breath.

He moves on.

When I can breathe again, I quickly take off the hideous costume, tucking it on a shelf for safekeeping. I’ll wait until it's safe to find my way to the club at the front of the building. I can picture it now, the lights shimmering over my dress as I scan the room for Dame.

I take the silence as my time to move. Tiptoeing as I go, I find my way to a better-lit hallway. The faint sound of club music beats, calling me to the floor. I head in the direction of the music, finding a door that has to lead to the club.

A wall of muscle appears, blocking me from the door. I stare up into the dark eyes of a broad-shouldered, bearded man who looks like he either wants to kill me or gobble me up in one bite.

“Oh!” The suddenness of his appearance has my heart in my throat and me wondering if I’ve peed on myself. Think fast, Seraphina. “Thank goodness! I was trying to find the bathroom and got lost.”

“You think we have high-tech gear to allow entry to the front door, but we leave the back door wide open for people to meander through?”

My heart thuds in my ears, and a cool sweat creeps along my hairline. My words are barely audible. “It’s a trap.”

“Exactly.” A slow, deadly smile comes to his lips. “One to catch the people most desperate to cross our borders.”

Stay confident. Play it off. I give a light laugh. “That’s a little OTT, don’t you think?”

His dark brow narrows. “OTT?”

“Over the top,” I explain.

“Don’t talk in texts when you speak to me,” he says. “Use your words.”

“Claiming that I desperately want to cross your borders is an exaggerated assessment. I’m not seeking Canadian citizenship; all I want to do is dance.”

“Yet you waltzed straight into my trap. Consider me for extermination services. I eliminate pests.”

Extermination? His words make an icy chill trip down my spine.

Feigning a confidence I don’t feel, I lock eyes with the massive gentleman.

“Please don’t refer to yours truly as vermin. Ugh.” I pat my curls. “Anyway, I’m supposed to meet Dame here tonight, but he must have forgotten to give me one of those pink bracelet things?—

“Pink is only for Beauties. Women married into the family. ”

Deep swallow. “Okay, whatever color the peasants get, that’s what I need. Dame forgot to give me one.”

“Why didn’t you call him?”

“My phone died.”

“There are other phones.”

“Not ones with his number on them,” I quickly counter. “No one has numbers memorized these days. Surely not even an old-timer as yourself knows phone numbers.”

Massive arms are slowly folded over his enormous chest, biceps bulging above his meaty forearms.

I don’t think he likes being called an old-timer.

“I know every number I need.” He stares at me like I’m making this whole thing up. And he wants me to pay a dear price for it.

I swallow back my fear. “Look, I know this wasn’t the best way to go about it, but I know he’s waiting for me—even I know better than to keep a Bachman man waiting!” My little joke does nothing to soften him. “I saw the door open and just thought this was easier.”

His dark brow knits together. “Who did you say you’re meeting?”

“Dame. Dame Bachman.”

“You don’t look like one of Dame’s girls.” Those dark eyes scan me from the tips of my sparkly, purple-painted toes to the core of my being.

He’s got me shaken. I can’t show weakness .

I placed a trembling hand on my hip, adopting a warrior stance to counter his intimidating pose. “And what does that mean? Are you calling me fugly?”

“Did I say you were ugly?”

“You said I don’t look like Dame’s girls.”

“You don’t.” His eyes wander again, rising from my breasts, then locking onto mine. “You’re…a natural beauty.”

His words evoke Aretha Franklin: ‘You make me feel like a natural woman,’ sending warm tingling sensations over me.

The late singer’s memory gives me the courage to shoot back: “Dame’s had a change of taste. He’s going au naturel. We just got back from Rome together, actually.”

“Then let’s go see him, Miss Actually.” He casts a patronizing glance. “I’m sure he’s eagerly awaiting your visit.”

The thought of this man parading me to the dance floor and presenting me to an unpleasantly surprised Dame makes my stomach flutter uncomfortably.

“Bachmans do not take lightly to sneaky little girls snooping around where they don’t belong.”

“Who are you calling little?”

“You.” He moves closer, towering over me. I straighten my spine, but unfortunately, I remain a good ten inches shorter than him. Swallowing my fear, I stare up, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

When I imagined worst-case scenarios on the walk here, a six-two bouncer handing out consequences was nowhere on the list.

Neither was what he says next.

“I would let you off with a warning. But you’re lying to me. And I hate liars.” He hisses the word ‘liars’ with venom, eyes flashing, teeth clenched. He grabs my waist and pulls me to him. “Now you're all mine to punish.”

A shiver trips down my spine. What does he have in mind?

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