Page 35 of One Savage Union (Crimson Bonds #1)

LUCIA

L ife moves fast.

One minute, I was in my father’s dining room watching him point a gun at Leonardo Romano.

I was reeling, but in firm control of my faculties.

Then there came the infamous poke.

I really hate needles.

Now, I’m oiled up and wearing a gold sequined bikini, chained inside a cage placed on some sort of stage. My head is killing me, and my throat feels like it's on fire.

The make-up they put on me is so heavy that I can feel it pressing into my skin.

My coveted curls are fried and ironed into a straight sheet of hair hanging down my back.

The only position my chains comfortably allow is kneeling, and the stilettos on my feet are digging into the back of my thighs.

I could stand up if I had the energy, but it would be painful, and from the length, I would only be able to face forward.

I hear murmurs, but I have no idea who’s making the sounds. There’s an audience, but for what?

Then I remember my father saying something about an auction and a high bride price. I shiver, recalling the cold calculation of his voice.

Truly, he can’t mean to sell his child?

The murmurs get louder, and whatever small crowd is gathered is restless.

“Alright, men, settle down. You’ll all get a chance to bid on my lovely daughter.”

My father’s mirth is unsettling. The bastard’s having fun.

With great effort, I turn my neck to peek behind me.

Leo stands there with a deadly grin on his face.

He winks at me and I almost puke. He’s playing babysitter while my father plays the gracious host. I turn back to the sound of my father’s voice as he continues to calm the crow.

It’s clear he’s hosted an event like this before; he’s in his element.

What sounds likea gavel hits thepodium. “Now let’s start the bidding at $500,000.”

“Wait! I want to fuck the whore first. Make sure she’s worth my time.

Let’s at least strip her to see the assets.

” A Spanish accent answers in protest. Then he approaches the stage and gets close enough to be in my line of sight.

He’s at least fifty years old and wearing a hideous suit made out of what I assume is the Mexican Cartel’s flag.

My father whispers something in his ear, and the cartel leader laughs before backing off.

He was promised something that appeased him.

This is hell.

I once thought my husband’s basement was hell.

But right now, I’d give anything to be back in that dark, cool space…

alone. I’d even prefer to be laid across his lap waiting for his firm and gentle hand to land on my ass; as I silently beg him to punish me for being naughty.

Then he’d kiss me for being his good girl.

His wife.

Rocco lied to me, but he kept me safe. He never made me feel cheap or unwanted. Instead, he put me on a pedestal of his creation. I sat so high above the world and its tragedies that my new reality only had pleasure and peace.

Even if he is an overbearing, overprotective, and controlling jerk.

He’s mine.

I feel guilty because I can’t hate him even if sanity demands that I should.

Rocco snatched me, kicking and screaming, from my life.

I didn’t love my life, but it was good enough.

I spent every day playing the piano and reaping a professional harvest from all my labor.

That’s all I thought I had the right to ask for.

Then Rocco came and expanded the borders of my desire by making me fall in love with him on that damn mountain in Italy.

Now I need him.

I would have been taken from my life, one way or the other, but at least with a monster like Leo, I would have known what I was getting from the start and never tossed my heart into the ring.

The two men who should care for me the most have lied to me. Their cruelty is harsher than that filthy man calling me a whore. They called me their princess and queen, only to both use me as a bargaining chip in their violent aspirations.

If I ever get out of here, and I hope I do, I’ll know to keep my heart in my chest, locked behind self-preservation, caution, and restraint.

Because I know Rocco is coming for me. At least I pray he is.

I could never trust him as my husband again, but I damn sure can trust him to get me out of this cage.

Does he even know I’m here? By now, he has to know. Enzo can track me, right? My phone was taken, but there’s got to be some hidden microchip in my skin or something.

Lord knows, Rocco and Mario drugged me enough to get it done. That’s how all the mafia romances on my Kindle end: with the hero miraculously tracking down the heroine against all logical odds.

Except, this is not a story. This is my life, and right now, a bright light is shining on me so harshly I can’t see a foot in front of me. I’m fucked.

The unmistakable boom of a gun shakes me from my despair. Then another. The spotlight shining in my face cuts off, and I welcome the darkness as I hear the scuffles and screams of men.

Loud gunshots echo around the room. I scramble to get to my feet, but it makes no difference. I'm still kneeling and chained inside this cage. I shiver in the pitch-black room. It sounds like the world is ending around me.