Kidnapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Mafia Don

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il 16th, when the sky was gloomy and the sun seemed to be fading away for hours. The weather is ideal for your informal weekend

an hardly hear myself thinking. I roll idly around the back of the SUV while the frenzied joy of "Jingle Bell Rock" echoes through my bones. The rear window is cov

d me. It was a lie, just like everything else he had promised. I rage, resist

le rolls to a stop after swinging in somewhere. The engine fails. There is a resounding silence after Bobby Helms' final screams. I prepare

yself. They refuse to tell my father that I retaliated when the men recount what transpired and this tale eventually finds its way back to him. I begged for him like a baby, t

is heard, followed by - I've ripped the blindfold off my face. "Happy birthday!" shout voices. I look at my friends' familiar features, feeling lightheaded and numb. My adrenaline rushes, and I crash into a guardrail

while we totter back and forth. Tessa, it's just a brief near-death experience. Get your act together. The group erupts in joyful hugs, mistaking my tears for cries of thanks. Jos

e. When I stepped outside my art studio and the blindfold was placed over my eyes, I hadn't even realized it was my birthday. In that instant, all of my old

ce myself to laugh too. For a nice deed, I can't bring myself to yell at them. Josh and Cole give each other a high five. The majority of

o go find out. My mind continues to spin. Do you believe that your birthday is over? It's only the beg

hes and shoes, and we had our hair and nails done. We concluded the day with a quick photo shoot for our social media, and I chose to dress in vintage Hollywood glam. The fact that I ha

ust contact your hand, wrist, or shoulder. It seems as though skin-to-skin contact allows the sincerity of her statements to sink in. When our eyes meet, I c

ot when I'm watching. That man, whose name I will not mention here, stole a year of your life, and I will be damned if you allow him to do it again. The thought of the past and my not-so-recent ex, James, make

e hot enough to fuck any dude in thi

my style, but I'm flattered by

egas over the weekend. Whatever. I don't care. Just take a chance on somebody. Whenever I th

ing about her pussy. At least the music is louder than he

you get to drink at," Cole says, "And it

ing to National Geographic. I can already hear Attenborough narrating my futile attempts to find a mate during the peak of

out her pussy, no matte

ng pulled onto the hot dance floor at Lindy and Kay's urging. Men enjoy touching me with their hands. Pretending that we have been crushed together by the crowd, they enjoy grinding against me. That section of the club used to fascinate me

going to need them if she's going to c

something, young and hot-blooded, with his shirt ripped open at the collar. He grinds against me through t

sity, where I could hide away fro

ace in the crowd, like the dozens of silhouettes that swayed all around us. I was surrounded for the first time by people who chose to be with me because they liked me ra

m are long gone. I slipped his leash at eighteen, fled from

ad tells me this

force him out of my mind once more, allowing the dance, the drink, and the alcohol to push the past away. For the first time, even i

ut of his pocket and leads me to a small, dim hallway marked "Staff Only." "You're employed here?" I ask, still half-shoutin

dark eyes and dark hair. In a flash of panic, I recall that Kay never mentioned the name of the nightclub we were in. I was warned as a child not to make mistakes li

eet there. I detect danger like an animal. "In here. They won't care. My need to avoid being killed at the rear of a seedy club clashes with my want to be

the wall. In the back of my mind, panic flares. Do I agree to it in order to prevent this from getting worse and to keep things private be

iately. He's all over me. My fists wedge against his chest as he attempts to convince me with moist kisses at my neck. He clings to me and

s to have been a private VIP area at one point. My visage is reflected back to me from all sides by mirrored walls. I know what he wants to do with the couch that

complains, as if we're st

open, rattlin

hild caught with his hands in the c

er side of the room for safety as I flee the unexpected violence. A streak of blood slides down the glass from the crater of broken fragments. At its base, the youngster is on the floor, collapsed.