Captured By A Sinner (The Sinners Series)

Rosalie

 

Viktor; 25. Rosalie; 17.

I’m exhausted after all the studying. Thank God it’s done, and the only thing left is graduation day.

Dressed in my tight shorts and tank top, I always wear when I plan on taking a nap, I flop down onto my bed and put in my earbuds. I listen to my favorite playlist on repeat while lying on my stomach and looking at the list I made.

A smile plays around my lips. Bali. Portugal. Greece. Italy. Or maybe I should visit Finland, Norway, and Iceland. Then there’s also Japan, Scotland, and Ireland.

Damn, it’s hard to choose.

I’m taking a year off before deciding what to do with the rest of my life, and I plan on traveling to some of my dream destinations. The thought is both exhilarating and scary. I’m finally free from school to do anything I want, but I have no idea what that ‘anything’ entails.

My family is wealthy, so there’s no need for me to work. I could lead the life of a socialite, or I could do some charity work, or I could study further. Ugh. Scratch the last one. I don’t want to think about anything school related for a long while.

With the music blasting in my ears, my thoughts drift off to sandy beaches, all-night parties, and sleeping late.

The Mediterranean sea. Castles. Waterfalls.

It’s going to be ama–

An earbud is plucked from my ear, instantly making me frown. “What the hell?” I glance over my shoulder, and it’s as if my ability to comprehend anything up and vanishes into thin air.

I stare at the man.

The sound of gunfire registers.

Oh, God. There’s a strange man in my bedroom.

In a split second, I take in everything about him.

His dark brown hair. His black as night eyes. The strong jaw that looks like it’s been carved from stone.

He’s tall. Like freaking tall. His body is muscled. Not in a bulky way, but firm with the promise of a six-pack beneath the black long-sleeve that clings to his chest like a second skin.

He’s absurdly hot, giving off a bad boy vibe that would make most of the girls at school drop their panties in a heartbeat.

But there’s nothing hot or dreamy about this situation.

Alarm shudders through me, and right before my senses flood back with panic chasing their heels, it sinks in – his eyes are filled with brutality. His stance is ready for action. He’s holding a gun in his right hand.

Holy. Freaking. Shit.

Too slow, fear trickles into my veins, then, with a hell of a rush, panic hits me so hard, I fall off the bed.

My breaths instantly explode from my lips as I scramble to my feet. My heart pounds violently against my ribcage as if to spur me on to move faster.

I dart in the direction of the door but don’t make it as a strong arm wraps around my middle, and I’m swept into the air. My back slams against his solid chest, and feeling the strength in his body, which easily holds mine imprisoned, rips a terrified scream from me.

Hot air hits my ear, sending shivers racing over every inch of my exposed skin. “Do as I say and you’ll get out of this alive.”

W-w-what?

My lips part as my lungs greedily suck in a harsh breath while my eyes widen.

Survival mode courses through my veins, the random popping of gunfire sounding distant, the heat from his body too much to bear. It feels like he might set me on fire.

I yank against his hold, but it only has his arm tightening around my middle until it’s painful. Like a person possessed by a demon, I struggle to free myself. My body squirms and wrenches. My nails rip at his sleeve and hand.

My breaths are nothing more than burning gasps, my heart fluttering viciously in my chest.

In a single and way too easy move, he slams me down onto the thick plush carpet. The air whooshes from my lungs, followed by a panicked squeak. With a powerful hold, his fingers wrap around my throat, and the icy metal of his gun is pressed to my forehead. His muscled legs straddle me, his upper body locked and ready to attack above me.

Like gusts of destructive winds, horror slams into me.

My hands grip his wrists, a desperate cry torn from my very soul.

“Calm the fuck down,” he snaps harshly, the timbre of his voice deep and menacing, promising nothing but pain and death.

My breaths burst violently from my lips, my wide eyes locking on his unnerving dark and ruthless ones. “L-let me g-go,” I plead, my voice drenched in terror. “P-please.”

He takes a deep breath before repeating, “Calm down. Just do as I say and you’ll get out of this alive.”

Out of what?

My body is wound so tight my muscles are screaming in protest. My voice sounds as vulnerable as I feel. “What’s happening?”

Slowly he tilts his head to the left, his eyes burning on my face. The way he’s staring at me makes my terror increase tenfold.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His grip around my throat loosens until it feels like a caress, then he says, “I’m going to let you up. Don’t try to run.”

Like hell, I won’t.

Shakily I nod so he’ll get off of me.

Without much effort, the man, who looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, climbs to his feet. The gun is no longer aimed at me when he takes hold of my arm and tugs me to my feet.

My tongue darts out to wet my parched lips, my eyes flicking between the bay window where I’ve spent many nights reading my favorite books and the door.

Just then, another man appears in the doorway. He looks a little older than my captor but just as dangerous and heavily armed.

Shit. It’s hard fighting off one… but two?

With the first wave of shock starting to fade, it registers we’re under attack.

I haven’t lived under a rock. I know what my family does for a living. My grandfather was an associate of the Cosa Nostra. Or at least he was until my Dad died in a car accident, and we moved to Chicago and later to Canada. Six years ago, my entire life changed when I lost my father, and I was forced to say goodbye to Alissa, the only friend I had. Between moving from Chicago to Canada, I never managed to make any real friends, and I’ve lost contact with Alissa.

I’ve always known of the mafia, but I’ve never been directly involved in any of their dealings, so this is downright terrifying.

I don’t know what to do.

Do I listen and hope I get out of this attack alive, or do I fight back and try to escape?

Where are my grandfather and Uncle Ricco?

Surely they’re fighting back? Maybe one of them will come to save me. Or one of the many guards working for our family.

The thought makes hope trickle back into my heart.

“Aww shit,” the man at the door mutters as if I’m the biggest inconvenience of his life. “What the hell are we going to do with her?”

“I’ll handle her,” the man gripping my arm says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without any explanation of what the hell is going on, I’m hauled out of my bedroom and dragged down the hallway and stairs. I stumble halfway, the only thing keeping me from falling the merciless hold on my arm.

The second we stop moving, I start to struggle to free my arm. My captor lets go, but before I can dart away, his arm locks around my neck, and my back is yanked flush against his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch her! She has nothing to do with this,” I hear my grandfather shout. It rips my attention away from my captor, only to see my grandfather on his knees in the middle of the living room.

Another man kicks Grandpa in his stomach while roaring, “But you fucking tried to kill my wife and sister?”

Oh, Jesus.

The icy metal of the gun presses against my temple, making every muscle in my body freeze.

We’re all going to die.

Shit.

I don’t want to die.

“What’s your name, little one?” my captor asks, his tone laced with threats that cause more terror to crash over me.

I’m torn between wanting to cower at his feet, begging him to spare me and fighting back with every ounce of strength I have.

These men are ruthless. You have to fight.

I grit my teeth, and not wanting to show just how scared I am, I bite out, “Rosalie.”

I was named after my mother, who died giving birth to me.

My captor rubs his cheek against the wild strands of hair hanging around my face and shoulders, then takes a deep breath.

Dear God.

Shit.

My muscles tighten, even more, my fingers digging into the fabric covering the forearm wrapped around my neck.

“Hmm. Little Rose. You smell mouthwatering.”

NoNoNoNoNo.

There are worse things than death, and for the first time, the fear of being raped flares through me like wildfire, destroying the meager hope and sense of safety I had left.

If you don’t fight, you will not survive today. They’ll do horrible things to you before killing you.

My muscles lock up, and my jaw is clenched tight as I growl, “Fuck you.” I try to slam the back of my head against his nose in the hopes of getting free, but he easily avoids me, letting out an amused chuckle.

My nails dig deeper into his forearm, and I become highly aware that I’m wearing a pair of tight shorts and a tank top that exposes my midriff. No bra. No shoes. I might as well be standing in my underwear in front of all these men.

I only wear this outfit when I’m in the privacy of my own bedroom. I’d always cover myself with my oversized sweater whenever I needed to go to the kitchen for a snack.

Every inch of me trembles from the merciless waves of terror washing over me.

“I need plastic bags,” the scary man standing by Grandpa says.