Page 5 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)

“That seems like a rather easy choice,” I bite back.

His grip constricts, and my scalp stings with pain. “So, is that what you want? To crawl back to that hell just to kill yourself for nothing? No one will mourn you. No one will cry for you. No hearts will be broken. You will prove nothing with your death.”

He speaks the truth I have always known, but to hear those words come from him , they feel heavier.

“At least I’ll be free.”

“Yeah? You think there’s freedom in death? That there’s some kind of paradise waiting for you on the other side?”

I don’t respond because I have no idea what I believe in the afterlife. No idea of what happens once you die. Yes, there has to be some kind of higher power, but Heaven and Hell? Reincarnation? They sound too storybook.

“Your life here does not have to be imprisonment.”

“Bullshit,” I bite. “I was kidnapped, tied up, dragged to another state, and I’m forced to marry a stranger. That’s not freedom. It’s a sentence.”

He cants his head to one side. “It depends on your perspective.”

I glare at him. “How the fuck else am I supposed to see it?”

“You might not be free to choose everything, but you’ll finally be free from your family.”

“You don’t know shit about me and what I want.”

He seems like he’s mulling over his next words as he stares down at me in a way that makes me feel stripped bare under a microscope. I usually thrive under a stare. Shock, fear, desire. But this feels different. This feels like exposure, and I hate it. It has my stomach in knots.

“I know you think your eccentricity shields you,” he says softly but deadly. “But I see through it. I see you , little girl.”

I give him a cunning smile. “Is that what you’re into? Little girls?”

His nostrils flare, but he remains indifferent. “If I didn’t have plans for that smart mouth of yours,” he murmurs, “I’d rip your tongue out just to shut you up. Permanently.”

Fuck, I love the way he talks.

He finally releases my hair and walks behind me with unnerving calm. When he cuts the zip-ties from my wrists, I almost moan in pleasure. My arms drop forward, and I bring them around to inspect the damage. I’m furious all over again. They’re ghostly pallid, bruised, and swollen.

They will all pay for this.

He cuts the ties from my ankles next, then comes to stand in front of me again. His eyes drop down to the damage, but his face betrays nothing. No guilt or sympathy.

“Try anything, and you’ll spend the next several days with your wrists and ankles bound.” He reaches into his pocket and produces two small white pills, offering them in an open palm as if serving them on a platter. “Take these,” he instructs blandly.

“What are they?”

“They’ll help you sleep.”

My eyes snap back to his. “You mean knock me into a comatose state,” I accuse.

His little half smirk is confirmation. “Your father advised sedation before transport. I declined.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” I sass.

“I thought so,” he muses, his levity maddening. “But I do see his reasoning now. You’ve made it very clear you cannot yet be trusted, and I’d like a good night of sleep.” I don’t move. “I will force them down your throat if it comes to it,” he warns.

“I don’t need to be sedated,” I try saying as evenly as possible. “I’ll…” I swallow hard. “Behave.”

His lips curve into a grin that would chill anyone to the bones, but that fervent heat is back. I detest the way he’s affecting me. “You’ll now have to earn my trust back.”

“Back?”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You burned it to ash.”

My breath comes out of my nose in smoke. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

“And here you are.” He pauses. “So, what’s it going to be? Take these of your own freewill, or choke them down with my assistance?”

I jut my chin out. “I would love to see you try.”

His chin lowers with a dangerous gaze, an equal amount of delight in his amber eyes in the violence about to unfold. I should take the damn pills. But my fucking pride has always been louder than reason. Constantly in fight or flight mode.

So, I run.

He’s on me within seconds, arms cinching around my waist like steel bands.

I strain all my overexerted muscles to try and twist my way out, but the more I writhe, the more his arms lock down.

He’s over six feet tall with an athletic build but fuck he’s strong as shit. Easily lifting my feet off the ground.

His breath is hot when he chuckles in my ear. “I figured you’d need coercion.”

I scream through my teeth in frustration. “Fuck you!”

Next thing I know, I’m slammed to the ground, flat on my back, his body over mine in one fluid motion. I flail about, and he repositions so that he’s kneeling on my arms. Just a few more inches and I can bite his dick off.

And I would…if I could move. The position he has me in is impossible to escape.

His smug grin is fucking infuriating as he gleams down at me in victory. “Open,” he demands coolly.

I lock my jaw, and his pompous grin fades. That’s right motherfucker . You will not be able to control me.

He pinches my nose shut, predictably so. Thinking I’ll eventually open my mouth to breathe. But I hunker down, ready to hold my breath for as long as I’m physically able to. I thrash my head in vain, trying to shake him off. I just need one breath to start this thing all over again.

But his grip tightens to the point of pain, until my eyes water and my head goes still in reaction. Giving him the chance to gain total and complete control. I’m feeling lightheaded, and my lungs are now panicking, screaming for air.

When my mouth pops open on reflex, he’s ready. With his hand clamping my jaw, he shoves the pills in deep, snapping my mouth shut with bone-jarring force.

“Swallow.” His voice is level as if there’s no exertion at all.

I throw daggers at him, fuming, mouth tightly sealed. He pinches my nose again. This time, harder. My lungs stutter. My vision clouds. My limbs burn.

The pill goes down a throat that refuses to let me die. I try to fight it, to will my body into rejection, but instinct is stronger. Reflex kicks in, and my throat contracts. My body betrays me, moving on autopilot, doing what it was designed to do. Swallowing against my will.

He isn’t sure if I’ve swallowed them yet, so he continues cutting off my air supply, and I keep resisting. But my fight is withering, my body starting to fail.

Spots dance in my vision. My limbs feel like wet sand. My chest is too tight to rise. I’ve been choked out before, so I know what comes next. The heaviness. The slow sinking detachment. Like my body’s being dragged down while my mind scrambles to hold on.

Then—release.

He lets go of both my nose and mouth and I suck in air like breaking through the surface after nearly drowning. My chest lurches, the air burning as it’s forced down. I blink through the tears, vision warped and wet, barely able to make out his face. His insufferably handsome face.

He’s eerily calm as I cough hard, desperately wanting water but refusing to ask for it. “I’m going to kill you,” I rasp, sending me into another coughing fit. Which is really hard to do when someone’s big ass is practically sitting on your chest.

That earns me a dark chuckle. He opens his mouth to speak, and I hear his voice, but my mind is already muddled, and I’m feeling sluggish and dazed, so whatever is said doesn’t quite reach me. His voice is already far away.

Then nothing.