Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

10. Delilah

TEN

DELILAH

Santino’s driver brought me to an abandoned warehouse on the South Boston waterfront. Inside was a cacophony of primal roars and the sickening smack of gloves against skin. Blood, sweat, and the metallic tang of fear mingled in the air, a pungent cocktail that filled the arena. Men crowded the ring, cheering the bloodbath.

Santino’s fighting ring was a powder keg of testosterone, but people kept a respectful distance. Everybody knew I belonged to Santino, and if they didn’t, the guard standing by my chair reminded them.

I glanced at a tall man in a suit, one of Santino’s soldiers. Vitale was a quiet guy who expressed as much emotion as bark on a tree.

“How are you doing, Vitale?”

“Good.”

“Any plans this weekend?”

He shrugged. “You?”

“I guess that depends on your boss.”

Vitale’s attention returned to the crowd. “Santino will be here in a minute.”

I sipped my drink, trying to settle my frazzled nerves.

As the frenzy in the crowd grew, my mind drifted to the clink of hangers moving across racks in my boutique.

A grizzled man in his forties bumped into my table. His cup jolted, sending beer sloshing over the rim and onto his shirt, darkening the fabric. He hardly noticed, his boozy gaze diving into my cleavage. He barked something, his words lost in the noise.

I leaned forward. “What?”

“I said, you look like you could use another!” He belched, adding, “Let me buy you a drink.”

I could use a refill. Santino kept me on an annoying two-drink maximum for reasons he’d never spelled out, but I liked to indulge.

I smiled at the man. “That’d be nice, thank you.”

He grinned back. “Comin’ right up.”

Vitale’s bulk slid in front of me, blocking the man’s view.

The drunk man scowled. “What do you want?”

Vitale’s posture hardened. “No one talks to Santino’s girl.”

No one?

Well, that explained Vitale’s curt response to my every question for the last month.

Drunk Guy seemed to take it personally. He bristled. “Why don’t you let her decide for herself ?”

When the man jabbed a finger in Vitale’s chest, he grabbed the finger and twisted with a sickening snap. The man screamed, clutching his broken finger.

The roar in the fighting ring pulsed. On stage, a man wearing blue gym shorts raised his gloved fist in the air, his face splattered with blood. The crowd went nuts. They banged on the ropes separating them from the ring. A scuffle broke out in the stands before men in suits handled it, pulling them apart.

A familiar citrus scent with a touch of sea salt swirled in my nose, and Santino stood beside me. His presence didn’t just shift the air. It clenched like a lover’s grasp around my throat. His hand slid over my shoulder, gripping it gently. The warmth from his touch settled my frayed nerves.

“He broke it!” bleated Drunk Guy, mistaking Santino for a concerned manager. “He’s a fuckin’ maniac. He should be locked up. All I did was ask to buy her a drink.”

That echoed like a horrible punchline to a poor joke.

Santino glanced at me, glowering, and threads of heat coiled around me. Then he stepped forward, squaring up to Drunk Guy. Santino towered over him. It must’ve been a territorial thing because the men in my family acted the same, lots of dick-swinging and posturing. I would’ve rolled my eyes, but too many of Santino’s cronies watched me. Undermining him in public wasn’t a good look.

Drunk Guy’s brow furrowed. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re hitting on my girl,” he growled.

Those words should’ve suffocated me, but they wrapped around me gently like luxurious silk. Everybody knew me as Santino’s whore. His fuck buddy, his gun moll, whatever. We were together , but not in the ride-or-die sense. I was the girl he screwed. That’s it. But Santino said it like it meant something.

I had to stop this. It was all my fault.

I hooked onto Santino’s arm. “Baby, it’s not a big deal.”

Santino’s eyes locked on mine. They widened slightly, dipped down my halter top dress to the peep toe shoes, up my legs and waist, lingering on my boobs. When his starving gaze crashed into mine, my knees wobbled.

“Santino, he’s harmless.”

The man snorted. “You think I’m some kinda joke? You’re just a little slut who likes the attention. If you weren’t such a tease , you wouldn’t need a bodyguard.”

Santino lobbed a punch into the man’s gut, who doubled over and groaned. Then he motioned for his guards. They grabbed Drunk Guy, who panicked.

“I’m sorry?—”

Santino ignored him. “Take him out back.”

Men in suits hauled him away while Drunk Guy screamed. Nobody paid him any mind, but the crowd of onlookers shrank, probably scared they’d be next.

What did take him out back mean? Had he killed someone before for being a drunk idiot? I studied the grim line of his jaw, the nostrils that flared when he looked at me.

Two months ago, I walked into Afterlife, seeking the notorious loan shark. I’d done my homework on Santino Costa. Born and raised in Boston. One of six kids. Typical Italian-American family. An old man who owned a deli told me he used to work there as a teenager. He was a good worker but very quiet.

I’d sweet-talked the locals into spilling more details, which wasn’t easy because nobody wanted to piss off the Costas. They were the type of people you didn’t cross, and Santino gave off touch-me-and-die vibes. He was too intimidating for most women, and darkness clung to him like his fitted Tom Ford suits. The kind of darkness that swallowed everybody around him.

Santino took my hand.

We moved from the chaos into a lonely corridor with many rooms. His grip tightened as he tugged me into a dimly lit office, the heavy door groaning shut behind us. Grimy shelves and posters lined the walls, with a wooden desk in the middle of the room.

Santino turned to face me, eyes smoldering.

I put a hand on my hip. “Are you going to beat up every guy who thinks I’m attractive?”

His nostrils flared. “He called you a slut.”

“Why can’t you be the bigger man and let it go?” I clasped my fingers around his. “I’m yours. You know that.”

He still looked pissed. “Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Are you being honest with me?”

I forced out a laugh. “You’re just fishing for an excuse to kill him.”

“I don’t need one.”

His low growl pitted my stomach with sparks. He was crazy. He made the man I’d fled seem reasonable. He was obsessed with me. Dangerously so.

I’d brought this on myself and willingly attached myself to him. This remorseless killer who looked me dead in the eye and discussed murdering a man for being rude to me. Was he doing that on purpose? Trying to warn me?

I swallowed the nerves in my throat. “You’re not killing anybody. You’re no good to me in jail.”

“I’m not worried about jail.”

Do I tell him about Ivan?

The man assaulted me in broad daylight, but somehow, involving Santino scared me even more. What choice did I have? If he found out I kept this from him, his feelings for me could flip off just as quickly as they’d turned on, and then he’d no longer look at me the way he did now. Like he’d slaughter a room full of men for me.

His fingers glided under my chin. “What’s wrong?”

I bit my lip. “Nothing.”

“You seem off.”

“Speak for yourself. It’s only eight, and you already have a murder under your belt.”

He grunted. “I’ve had a long day.”

I rubbed his chest. “Want me to make it better?”

His black eyes collided with mine, and he nodded. His hands were clenched at his sides, and I took one and brought it to my lips, kissing each scarred knuckle. Gradually, his body relaxed, and he opened his palm, allowing me to hold him.

Too many girls assumed men always wanted sex. Sometimes, they needed to be touched and worshipped. I slid a hand through his styled hair. He hated when I messed it up, but I loved how his thick locks slipped through my fingers.

His eyes fluttered shut under my gentle strokes. When they opened again, they were hazy, like a kitten drunk on milk. The aggression dissolved, leaving behind a man whose wild hair and softened features made him almost…tender. I rose on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

His tongue flicked my mouth. I opened wider for him, my hand traveling down his abdomen. My fingers trailed the impressive shape tenting his slacks. Already hard. A growl ripped from his throat. Santino’s arm roped my waist and dragged me closer, the movement so violent that my right foot stumbled out of a heel. He bent me backward over the desk, scattering papers onto the floor.

I breathed heavily as his hands gripped my waist. Their warmth sparked over my skin, and my heartbeat throttled. Santino stepped in between my legs. He was the devil I chose. The safer bet against the man hunting for me.

My short, pink halter dress shifted up my thighs. He pushed it even further, flipping it over my stomach. Cool air touched my pussy. I’d stopped wearing panties weeks ago. One by one, he took my ankles, his fingers rings of fire as he placed my feet on the desk, spreading me wide for him.

“I can’t believe I let you walk around dressed like this.”

A shiver ran up my leg. “I only do it because I know who’s watching.”

His expression hardened, and his hand paused. “Trying to drive every man in my establishment crazy? Or just me?”

“ Both .”

“Tease,” he murmured.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Maybe I’ll kidnap you and keep you in my house. I could tie you to my bed, legs spread, every inch of you mine to savor whenever I want.”

My face burned.

His filthy mouth always made me blush. Sometimes he teased me about that, calling me his sweet principessa. Other times, he didn’t talk so much. He held me down and fucked me like an enraged beast.

“You’re quiet,” he said, stroking my clit. “Do you like that idea?”

Sparks erupted low on my belly. “It sounds like a good time.”

He purred. “You’re too trusting.”

“I like dangerous men.”

Santino’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to get yourself into real trouble one of these days.”

“Isn’t that what you’re for? To protect me?”

His hands disappeared from my pussy as he leaned over, his heavy weight compressing me into the desk. “Delilah, you don’t want to be in debt to me forever.”

“I don’t?”

“No. I’m the trouble you can’t escape.”

“I’m not looking for an out.” I unbuttoned his shirt, my fingers grazing his downy chest hair.

He pulled back. “Careful. I’ll assume that’s an invitation to take it all.”

Anal was a boundary we hadn’t crossed yet, and I knew he wanted it. He’d made that clear from the start. I’d never done it before, and offering him that final piece of myself felt like a gamble. I trusted him with my body, but what if he discarded me once he had taken everything?

A predatory grin tiptoed across his face.

I swallowed a lump as he stepped back, turning to face his desk. He grabbed something long and sharp from a drawer—a knife.

My blood froze. “You want to hurt me?”

“No. I want to hold it to your throat while I fuck you.”

Good God .

A delicious shiver ran down my body. But then, unwanted memories surged forward—Dimitri’s fingers tightening around my neck. My stomach twisted, fear clawing its way to the surface, and I struggled not to let it show.

I lifted my chin, smiling. “You paid for me already. There’s no need for posturing.”

He raised the knife, its edge catching the light. “This is about trust.”

My pulse pounded. “Holding a knife to my throat will make me trust you?”

Santino took a step closer. “It’ll make you realize just how deeply I own you.”

I shrugged, my heart racing. “Do it then.”

The hunger in his eyes grew more intense. “Are you sure?”

“Show me how much you own me.”

“You can say no. You don’t have to?—”

I reached up, pulling him to me and cutting him off with a kiss. A bold move, but that was the rhythm we danced to. His shock melted into fervor, and his hands moved to my waist, gripping me as though I might free myself. A hand slid down, grabbing the back of my thigh while the other held the knife.

The flat of the blade tapped my leg, a cold promise. My thighs parted for him. He broke the kiss, a wicked grin curling his lips as he trailed his tongue over my lip, a tease that left me aching. He gave it a playful lick and tugged at the neckline of my dress, his eyes gleaming. The knife slipped under the strap, the edge grazing my collarbone. A dark thrill shot through me.

Slowly, he sliced through the strap. It snapped, and my dress fell, exposing my breasts. Cool air stung my nipples before his warmth chased it away. He kissed my curves, licking and nipping. The blade followed his scorching mouth.

He descended, each kiss inflaming my skin. When he reached the juncture of my thighs, he looked up.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m a little nervous,” I whispered. “But I still want you.”

“Good. I’m going to make you feel everything.”

His mouth covered my pussy. His tongue lashed my slit, and warmth bloomed inside me while electrical shocks jolted me. A hard edge pressed into my thigh as I arched against him, my hands tangling in his hair as I struggled to stay grounded.

I swallowed down a ball of nerves. My heart was a bird, its wings beating against my ribs. All my senses honed in on the knife as he scraped it from side to side, so light it tickled. His mouth made it feel so good, but all I saw was the blade.

I gasped, my body trembling. “Please, I need?—”

“What do you need?”

“ You .”

He made a pleased sound and returned to licking. Wet heat sank inside me, frantic, thrusting. Every hot swirl felt like a lightning strike. The knife charged every sensation, making the pleasure more intense.

It pressed harder, biting into my skin just enough to remind me of its presence. My eyes kept snapping to the mouthwatering view of Santino between my legs, his face buried in me. He suckled on my clit, and I whimpered.

He lifted his head, his attention rapt on my face. Pure greed lit up his face.

“ Santino .”

He chuckled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he plunged deeper, his mouth working me into a frenzy. I cried out, my body tightening as desire coiled within me like a tight spring.

My thighs tensed, and I shattered, the knife’s cold kiss the only thing anchoring me to reality. I trembled with the force of my release and collapsed back, panting, swirls of color dancing in my unfocused vision.

Santino undid his belt, the metallic clink cutting through my heavy breaths. He dropped his slacks to free his hard and throbbing cock.

“Legs up,” he ordered.

My calves slid over his thighs, opening for him as he stroked his cock. He pulled apart my folds, exposing me to his hungry gaze.

Slowly, he entered me. I inhaled sharply as he filled me, inch by inch, until he seated himself with a deep groan. The knife returned to my neck.

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded as he moved inside me.

“You.”

He thrust harder. “Who pays to fuck this pussy?”

“ You .”

His eyes locked onto mine. “I own you. Say it.”

“You—you own me.”

“Damn right I do,” he grunted.

He pounded me harder. The knife stayed at my throat, reminding me of his control over me. How one wrong move could make him fall out of lust with me.

“Say it again, principessa,” he said, his voice thick with need.

My body arched into his. “You own me.”

“Good fucking girl. You’re mine. Always.”

The flat of the knife pressed down on me, amplifying the pleasure coursing through my veins. Each thrust pushed me closer to the edge.

Santino’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. I could feel the coiled energy ready to snap. The intensity of his stare held me captive as he deepened his thrusts. He tensed, his hips jerked, and a hot wave jetted my insides.

As the last tremors subsided and he tossed the knife aside, he melted in my arms and stroked my face, whispering an apology as he kissed my forehead. I nodded, but we both knew he wasn’t sorry.

We untangled ourselves, Santino handing me a fistful of tissues from a box on his desk. I was a mess. The broken dress strap kept falling down my shoulder, and I tied it off, Santino’s gentle gaze unnerving me.

Santino grabbed something from the desk. A metallic ring that jangled as he nudged it toward me. My fingers curled around the cold metal of the keys, the weight of them pulling me down like an anchor.

“What’s this?” I blurted.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Keys to my place.”

Keys. To his place.

This wasn’t part of the plan. We had boundaries. This was business, not…whatever this was becoming. Was this another move to control me? Like the fact he was “not trying” to get me pregnant?

Panic clawed at my heart. “Why?”

“So you can come over whenever you want,” he murmured, stroking my back. “I’d like that.”

I cleared my throat. “What for?”

“We could hang out.”

“We do that all the time.”

“At restaurants, bars, and this place.” He gestured around the room. “My house would be more private.”

“We have my apartment.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to wake up in my bed. With you beside me.”

My chest tightened. “What’s so special about that?”

“Being with you in my space. Where it’s just us. No interruptions.”

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” I said, my voice tight. “I’m not looking for anything more than what we have. This…this is a big change.”

“What are you so afraid of?”

I gritted my teeth. “Nothing, but this sounds like dating.”

He cocked his head. “So what if it is?”

“We don’t date. I sleep with you for protection and money.”

“I’m aware of that.”

I fisted the metal ring. “So why are you giving me your keys like we’re in a relationship or something?”

“Sometimes a man wants to fuck at home. Don’t overthink it.”

No, no, no .

I collected my cash, and we went our separate ways. That was the deal. Our sex was always distant. Impersonal. We fucked in stairwells, in his office, in his car. He came over, too, but I had control over how long he stayed.

I avoided challenging him. I gave him what he wanted. It’s what made me so addictive. I was a wet dream come to life. Every time I sank to my knees, unzipped his pants, and eased his giant cock into my mouth, I knew that. I’d done everything he’d asked for without putting up a fight, but I couldn’t give him this.

Keys meant something. Trust. Commitment. I couldn’t handle that. Not after everything I’d been through. Not after what I’d learned about men and their promises. Every relationship I had with men ended with me being used or betrayed. Taking those keys felt like walking into a trap. Once I opened that door, there’d be no going back.

I plastered on a fake smile. “If you want me to come over, all you have to do is call.”

“I want you to have keys.”

I placed them on the desk, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’d appreciate it if we kept to our current arrangement. Whatever this is, I’m not into it. I hope that’s alright.”

Judging by the way his eyes blazed, it was not.

I tutted, rolling his tie around my hand. I tugged, and he came forward. My lips touched his, and tension melted from his muscles. As my tongue glided into his mouth, I reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. He grabbed my wrist and pulled away.

“Trying to bankrupt me?”

I shrugged. “A woman has needs.”

He sighed, letting me go. “How much?”

I slipped out the entire wad of cash, tucking it into my purse. The brazenness of it didn’t seem to faze Santino. It never did.

He lifted a brow. “That’s five thousand dollars. What do you need that kind of money for?”

“Another Birkin bag?”

I needed every dollar to fund Retro Rose Boutique. I’d use it for the first month’s rent and to purchase inventory I had my eye on. I stepped toward the door, but his hand shot out, wrapping my arm, and hauled me backward. As I collided with his body, his arm pinned me to his chest while his other hand snaked through my hair and made a fist, bending my head back.

“You’ll take the keys and thank me for it.”

That dark voice boded no argument.

“But—”

“I make the rules.” The hand on my waist drifted too low. “You need a reminder on how to be a good girl. Should I bend you over my knee and spank your pussy?”

My knees turned into jelly. “No, I don’t need you to do that.”

“You sure?” he snarled. “I’d be more than happy to.”

“I know the rules. I’m still not thanking you for what I didn’t ask for.”

He released his grip on me. “I don’t hand my keys out to just anybody.”

I straightened. “Give them to someone who cares, then.”

“Maybe I fucking will.”

I almost flinched. “It’s simple. If you’d like me to come over, shoot me a text. Our arrangement is for sex. That’s all it is—and all it’ll ever be. I’m earning my money. Nothing more. Don’t pity me. Don’t go easy on me.”

He skewered me with a glare. “Believe me, I’m not.”

“Good,” I shot back.

Santino growled something in Italian. He threw himself in the chair behind the desk and opened his phone. He looked up from it to scowl at me. Such a big ego.

He had no problem coming inside me, but if I got pregnant? I’d be on my own. Santino’s joke about marrying me rubbed me raw. The keys weren’t an offer to upgrade our relationship. They were to keep me close. He wanted me to fluff his pillow at night and suck his cock in the morning.

Men were liars. They promised things and didn’t deliver. They cheated. Pretended to care, only to dump you the next day. They ghosted.

Santino spoiled me rotten, but he rarely texted unless it was to arrange a meeting. He wasn’t evil like my ex, but he’d use me for as long as I allowed him. Just like everybody else had.

Love didn’t exist. Love was for suckers like my stepmom, who’d pined after my cheating father—another man who’d let me down my whole life. He was the reason I accepted Dimitri’s proposal and fled Providence to Boston to seek sanctuary, however twisted, in the arms of Santino.

I marched out the door.

Santino said nothing, letting me go with a purse filled with his cash.