Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet Book 1) Read online

  Even when I shouldn’t.

  Meeting Dillan I always thought he was different. My friends back home are still in the same place they were when I left—selling on the streets, no jobs, or doing things they shouldn’t. I fell into their crowds. And I loved it, despite everything. Doing shit you shouldn’t be doing is a thrill, and don’t we all love a thrill. Except, I knew eventually I’d have to grow up, and when I did, I left all that behind me.

  But as I look at Dillan I wonder, what does he give me?

  Actually …

  … not much.

  My eyes scan the area as I search again, and all I see is an orgy club.

  I walk over to the bar, sit down, and wave down the bartender behind the counter.

  “Do you have scissors?”

  He raises an eyebrow, and I hold up my wrist. “You aren’t allowed to remove that in here,” he responds, then taps his hand on the bar. “What do you want to drink?”

  “I want a pair of damn scissors,” I tell him again.

  He shakes his head and walks off, effectively dismissing me.

  “You get dragged here or something?” a dark voice asks. Whirling around on my stool, there’s a man leaning over the bar with a phone in his hand. I bite the inside of my cheek as I stare at him. He’s not looking at me, so I can’t tell you what color his eyes are, but from my guess, I would say they’re as dark as his voice. I’ve heard dark voices before. His, though, is mixed with a smoothness like silk. It slides straight from his tongue to where I am with no hesitation.

  As I continue to scan him, I note the expensive suit that’s tailored to perfection for his body, his jacket over the back of the chair, and he’s wearing a button-up shirt. He’s actually the only person in here wearing anything at all, and I have to wonder why.

  As his strong arms tense while he waits for my answer, I remember he is nothing like Dillan. Dillan is clean-cut with a soft voice. So why, as my eyes reach this man’s black shirt rolled up to his elbows, do I feel an instant attraction to him when he’s nothing like my husband?

  “Pretty much,” I reply, finally remembering to answer his question.

  His lip turns upward into a slight smirk, and my heart pitter-patters in response. Slowly, he turns, placing his phone down, and it’s then I realize he’s sporting a red wristband.

  I want one of those, I immediately think to myself.

  He notices where my eyes are and raises a brow. His eyes are dark, like looking into a black abyss.

  He lifts his wrist. “You want one?” I bite my lip and look away, trying to find my husband, but don’t see him anywhere. At least this explains why he always smells of other women. It’s clearly not his first time here.

  “I’d rather leave,” I tell him, forcing a smile as I look back in his direction. His eyes turn darker if that’s even possible while his mouth sets into a grim line, and he looks away, taking his attention away from me as he goes back to his phone.

  Did I make him angry?

  Who cares, Sailor? You aren’t here to please anyone.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand from the stool and look up the stairs.

  I need to leave.

  This is it—I can’t do this anymore.

  I’ve made up my mind.

  “Sailor.” I turn to my name uttered by my husband’s voice. When I fix my gaze on him, he has a split lip. I make a move to touch him, to see if he’s okay, but drop my hand back down to my side.

  Nope.

  He does not deserve my concern.

  He scrubs his hand over his face. “Sailor, I really fucked up.”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  Dillan shakes his head, and his eyes focus on something over my shoulder. When I turn to see what’s caught his attention, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome is off his phone and hovering directly behind me.

  “She will do, won’t she?” Dillan asks him.

  At his words, I scrunch up my nose, trying to register them. He didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?

  “Yes.”

  I swing my head around back to the man, who is now watching me. His eyes fully take in every detail of me, from every curve of my body to every feature on my face, assessing me as if I am his. Or something soon to be owned by him.

  Which is worse, I’m not sure yet.

  “What have you done, Dillan?” I ask on a shaky voice as two other men come and stand on either side of me.

  “I had to. I just …” He shakes his head. “I don’t need you anymore.”

  “What?” My brain is having difficulty registering everything around me. As my so-called husband continues to talk, white noise flutters around inside my brain, and I have trouble taking in his words.

  “I sold you, Sailor. I’m sorry.”

  What does that even mean? You can’t just sell someone, especially someone you love. How is this even possible? My hands ball to fists at my sides as I stare at Dillan, and he simply turns and walks away without another word of explanation. I go to follow him, to scream at him, tell him I’m not his to sell or bargain with, but two strong and overpowering men step in my way to block my path as Dillan disappears from my view.

  “Move!” I yell at them.

  They don’t, of course.

  My hands go to one of the giant’s chests and I try to push with everything I have, but he ignores me completely, looking past me without flinching a muscle.

  “I’m not his.”

  “No, you are mine.”

  There’s that dark voice again.

  Hands go around my waist and he turns me so I am facing him, his hard, broad shoulders come into my vision and it takes everything in me not to cry or drop to the ground.

  “I am definitely not yours.” I spit at him.

  He wipes my spit from his face then looks me dead in the eye, his hands are fast to reach for me and he throws me over his shoulder.

  “Put me down,” I scream out, my hands banging on his back.

  “No can do.” He slaps my ass to quieten me, but I just scream louder. “I like it when they scream. Tell me, will you like it when I make you scream?”

  Before I can say anything back, he looks at his men and says, “Buttala fuori.” Then hands are over my face, and everything goes black as I breathe in something that’s not air.

  It’s still on my wrist. That’s the first thing I notice when I wake.

  The second is that I’m not alone.

  My hands instantly go to my dress to make sure it’s on, and when I feel everything intact, I sigh in relief. But the relief is short-lived when I hear slight huffing noises.

  Do I even want to turn around to see what that sound is?

  I wait a few beats to see if he speaks, but he doesn’t, and I don’t want to turn to face him either. It’s just a bad dream, right? This doesn’t happen in real life. Who sells their wife? And why would anyone want to buy me?

  What the fuck?

  I’m not his to sell. I’m mine, and only mine. My hands shaking and my mouth dry, I lick my lips as I gather up my courage.

  The huffing coming from behind me continues.

  Is he fucking someone next to me on this bed?

  Sliding to the edge, I hold on to my dress so it doesn’t slide up and sit up straight. My eyes lock on my shoes, which I love, that somehow now look dirty lying on the floor beside the bed. Or maybe it’s me who feels dirty. A shiver runs through me at the thought.

  Can I run?

  I should run.

  What would they do to me if I ran?

  Standing on shaky legs, I turn ever so slowly. My heartbeat is high, my palms are dewy, and my eyes are heavy. Managing to look past the blindingly white sheets of his bed, I see him, and in his hands are weights. He pumps them with force, and every muscle in his body goes taut each time he moves them.

  Thank God he isn’t fucking someone. That’s not something I want to see after being fucking sold.

  “Excuse me.” My voice is surprisingly even. Fucked if I
know how, though.

  As he stops lifting the weights, with a motion I never knew existed, he drops them to the floor and picks up a towel wiping his face before he turns toward me. His chest is bare, and I can see every bit of skin that was hidden under that black shirt last night. He’s the type you see in the movies. Those bad boys you know you should stay away from. Those ex-boyfriends who are simply bad for you, but you keep going back to because their appeal drags you in like some sort of magical spell that’s been cast on you.

  But I don’t want to be some sort of rag doll who’s pulled every which way.

  Been there, done that.

  The man is Italian. I know it by looking at him and those strong features. Plus, I’m pretty sure he spoke it to someone as he threw me over his shoulder.

  Asshole.

  I try to look away, it would be the smart thing to do.

  But this man has a body like no others. My husband has a nice body, but you can tell this man takes great pride in his and I appreciate that right now. Just looking at him alone is good for the vibrator bank. The way the veins in his arms pop as he moves, or the way he bites his lip as he pulls the weights up, yep great material for later.

  My voice quivers when the next words leave my mouth. “I think it’s time I leave,” I say to him.

  He gives me nothing, simply leans down and lifts his bottle of water, holds it to those delectable lips, and swallows. I watch as he takes each gulp, his throat moving with precision, the sweat trickling over his neck to his chest then further down his stomach. When he’s done, he places the bottle back down and walks to my side. My heart starts pumping hard, my eyes on the verge of watering, with the thought that he may just kill me. I never feared my own death before, but with him, I do. You simply can’t help but be concerned with your own mortality when a man like this stares at you like you are nothing but shit on his shoe.

  His mouth curves up as he steps closer and says, “Good legs, strong arms, a handful of tits. I think I may very well just keep you.” And with those words now spoken my jaw drops.

  My mouth opens in complete and utter shock. No one has ever vocalized something like that about me before. So damn crudely. I step back away from him, but he smirks and steps closer.

  Managing to gather myself and not smack him where I know it will hurt, I say, “I need to leave. I have work to do.”

  “If you leave, you forfeit your life and your husband’s.” His words stop me in my tracks.

  What the fuck does he mean?

  He can’t be serious, can he?

  He turns, his back now in view and it’s nothing but muscle, and when I realize what I’m doing, I take a deep breath and look away.

  What the fuck is going on?

  And how many more times am I going to ask myself that?

  He throws over his shoulder, “I’m showering. Stay where you are. We aren’t finished.”

  Like hell we aren’t.

  He walks off and leaves me standing in his bedroom. Well, I think it’s his bedroom.

  Looking back at my shoes, which I know are going to cost me a fortune to replace, I leave them where they are and head straight for the door. I’m not sure what hurts more, leaving those shoes or what’s happening to me right now. Getting to the door, I turn the handle, and a rush of breath leaves me when it opens. My hands are shaking, and my body feels cold, but I don’t stop. Why the hell would I?

  Then his words run through my head. “If you leave, you forfeit your life and your husband’s.” My bare feet pause on the cold tiles beneath me, and a shiver like I have never felt before runs up my spine. Turning my eyes to the side, I see a glass case. Inside that glass case are guns. There’s a lot of guns and not your average ones either.

  Holy shit.

  Who are these people?

  The mafia?

  What has Dillan gotten me into?

  Looking back over my shoulder to his door, I contemplate going back, but that would be stupid.

  But …

  … what if what he said is true?

  What if he will do as he says and kill Dillan and me? I mean, I shouldn’t care what happens to Dillan, because clearly, he is an asshole and doesn’t give two shits about me. But I do care about him, I guess some part of me still loves him, so I don’t want to see him dead in a ditch.

  My eyes glance at that gun case again. If he has that many and isn’t afraid to kidnap women, what else is this asshole capable of? I’m not sure I want to find out.

  Licking my dry lips, I rub them together to get some moisture into them as my bare feet turn on the cold tiles, and I make my way back to the bedroom door. Pushing it open, everything is as I left it. My shoes are on the floor by the side of the bed, the white sheets are messy from where I left them, and his weights are lying in the corner.

  “Didn’t get far?” That voice—it rocks me to my core.

  I turn to see him standing naked at the entry to his bathroom with just a towel, and might I add, it’s not wrapped around his waist. No, it’s wiping his face and hiding incredibly high cheek bones and a jaw that looks like it was carved from granite.

  Try as I might to keep my eyes from wandering farther down his body, because I’m a married woman, I lose the battle. But then again, I am a woman, and with my betraying eyes I follow the dips and planes of his chest and abs until I get to …

  Shit.

  No wonder he has the confidence to walk around naked. If I looked like him, was hung like him, I would probably do it as well.

  Gathering up my wits, I remove my eyes from his cock and say, “I want to go home.”

  “No can do, lollipop.”

  My brows scrunch at his words. Lollipop? Who the fuck calls someone that?

  “You can’t own me. I am not for sale. You can’t buy people,” I argue with him.

  He lets out a soft chuckle and turns his back on me. “But I do own you. Now, shut the fuck up and get naked.”

  Chapter Four

  Sailor

  “Naked?” My voice squeaks unusually high.

  “Did I stutter?” he snaps back.

  I make no move to do as he requested. Instead, I stand there stock-still, waiting for what will come of my disobedience.

  Because getting naked sure as shit is not happening.

  I will not get naked and lie on his bed.

  I am not a whore for his pleasure.

  While hugging my arms around my body, I look around the room, and wonder how I can get myself out of this.

  When I didn’t even put myself in this scenario in the first place.

  Fucking Dillan did.

  Does he plan for me to fuck him?

  Because I won’t.

  But then again, will he rape me?

  I look back up to see dark eyes watching my every move. He leans against the wall his hands in front of him.

  “I can see why he didn’t want you.” His words are wrapped in a brash tone that slithers all over me, making me feel even more meaningless than I could think possible in this moment. He steps closer to me, and I look up to see he has slid on jeans, which now sit low on his toned hips. I didn’t even know hips could be toned.

  “Are you always this stupid?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  He huffs at my words. “Exactly what a stupid person would say. Stay here and don’t fucking move. I have a guard at the door who isn’t afraid to knock you out again if you disobey.” He steps farther into my space, snaps his teeth, and smirks as he hovers over me. “Under-fucking-stood?”

  My head nods on its own accord, because, right now, he is one of the scariest people I have been around on this planet. And I’ve dealt with my fair share of monsters in my life. His looks deceive you—they reel you in. And even though his words are cruel, it’s his eyes that let me know he isn’t joking. That he would do some of the worst things imaginable to me if I pushed him even a sliver of an inch.

  And I don’t even know why.

  “Shower. You fucking stink.” H
e turns, grabs a shirt, and throws it on over his head and without stopping he walks out the door, then slams it as he leaves. The whole room shakes under the weight of the door, and I wonder for a second if the door hinges will hold.

  My hands fall to my sides as I start to consider how I got trapped with a man like this and how I’ll get out of here. Maybe if I talk to him, be nice, he’ll let me go.

  I don’t even know why I’m here.

  What has Dillan done?

  Walking back to my shoes, I search around for my bag. When I find it, I sigh in relief and open it, searching for my phone. When my hand comes out empty, the tears I’ve been holding back finally fall.

  He’s taken my phone—the one that holds all my work. Everything I do is on that phone.

  I may not be in the business world like Dillan is, but the few clients I do have, I love. And I’m starting to make a decent wage being an online assistant to them.

  How am I meant to work if I don’t have my phone?

  My head lowers to my hands as my body lets go and drops to the floor. I try to wipe away the tears, but they aren’t stopping. Why aren’t they stopping?

  “Miss.” I hold my breath as I look up. Standing in front of me is a boy—no, maybe he is a man, but he’s definitely on the younger side. He holds his hands clasped together in front of him and offers me a shy smile. “I brought you some food.” He nods to the bed, and I see a tray sitting there with all kinds of food neatly displayed. “We weren’t sure what you liked,” he finishes and turns to leave.

  “Stop,” I say, quickly getting back to my feet as I swipe at my tear-stained face. “Where am I?”

  “I’m not permitted to answer any questions. I’m sorry.” He walks out with an oddly sympathetic expression and shuts the door carefully behind him with a click.

  The smell of the food hits me, and my stomach begins to grumble. I didn’t eat before we went out, and now, I wish I had. I step to the window and pull the curtains back. Outside there’s a large in-ground pool and a white gazebo, all surrounded by a lush green yard. I knew I was in the house of someone who has money—I mean, the marble flooring alone tells me that—but now as I look outside as the sun is starting to rise, I see it all so clearly. Squinting, I realize we are also near the beach because I can see the water from here.