Drawn To Darkness (Kings Of Mafia)

Opening my eyes, I find myself upside down as I’m lugged over a shoulder again.

The world sways, and I manage to see a short hallway with steps leading up to what I assume is a deck.

I’m still on a boat?

I hear a door open, and a second later, I’m tossed on the floor like a sack of potatoes. A groan escapes me, and when my eyes focus on the man who threw me down, I don’t recognize him. He’s dressed in a suit instead of regular clothes like the others were.

“Remove the dress and shoes,” he mutters before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

Huh?

I’m grabbed by my arms and hauled to my feet, and when I hear the zipper of my dress go down, the lingering effects of the drugs they gave me vanish at the speed of light.

“The hell,” I snap, but it sounds more surprised than angry.

I begin to twist and turn my body while slapping at the hands reaching for me. There’s a hard blow to the side of my head that makes me fall on my hip.

I push through the pain, and when I lift my head, I see four women standing in a row by a wall. One stares at me with a blank look, while the other three have silent tears rolling down their cheeks.

I’m hauled back to my feet, and as my head whips around, I see two men who again try to remove my dress.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I shout.

It takes another precious second for it to sink in that I’m in a fuck-ton of trouble.

A panicked chuckle escapes me, then I swing around and dart for the door.

One of the men grabs me by the hair and slams me face-first into the door I was hoping to escape through, then I’m yanked backward. The sound of tearing fabric hits my ears as the dress is forcefully ripped from my body.

Jesus.

God.

I suck in trembling breaths, my eyes flitting wildly from the girls to the men to the rest of the empty room.

There are two small oval-shaped windows, and through them, I can see dark, choppy waters.

Standing in my black bra and panties, the survival instinct that’s kept me alive since birth kicks in. I grab the shoe off my right foot, and with a cry, I lunge at the closest man, burying the five-inch heel in his eye socket.

When it registers what I’ve just done, I watch with horrified shock as he falls to the floor. I gag at the gross sight covering my mouth with my hand.

I’m untied?

When did they untie me?

My eyes land on the torn dress that Tyrone bought for me.

He worked hard for that money.

He was so proud of me when he saw how beautiful I looked in it.

Again, I look at the man who looks way too dead for my liking.

I killed someone.

With a shoe.

Shit, now I’m short a shoe.

I’m tackled off my feet, and as I fall, my eyes latch onto the man with my heel buried in his eye.

He’s really dead. Like dead dead.

I hit the floor with a painful thud, and it rips me out of the shock I was caught in. My arms fly up, and with angry grunts and cries, I hit every part of the other man I can reach.

I bring my knee up and slam it into his balls, which has him falling to the side with a funny squeak escaping him.

“Jesus,” I mutter as I climb to my feet, and taking off my other shoe, I hold it ready in my hands. “Come on. I’ll fucking kill you, you motherfucking piece of shit. I loved that dress!”

I lunge at him and start hitting him with the heel of my shoe until he manages to grab his gun.

When he aims it at me, I jump off him and shriek, “Oh shit.”

A stupid nervous chuckle escapes me before I suck in a ragged breath.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

He keeps the gun pointed at me as he climbs to his feet, then hisses, “La perra,” right before he slams the weapon against the side of my head, knocking me unconscious.

Dario

We had to split up. Renzo and Franco stayed behind to make sure their women and Vittoria got home safely after the ballet show.

Damiano, Angelo, and I are in a helicopter that Carlo is flying. We’re searching the fucking ocean for any boat that looks suspicious, which is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially at night.

“This is taking too long,” Damiano mutters.

“No fucking shit,” I growl as I check the dark web for any information that can help me find Eden.

“I’m picking up activity in the air,” Carlo suddenly says. “Three helicopters.”

“And?” Damiano barks.

“They’re all flying in the same direction,” Carlo answers.

“Not odd at all,” Angelo mentions.

“Follow them,” I order. “It’s a shot in the dark, but it’s better than flying around until we run out of fuel.”

I keep looking for any leads we can use, and as time crawls by, my worry for Eden grows.

It’s hard not to think of what the fuckers could be doing to her. Being a criminal myself, I know how ugly the world really is.

A thought pops into my mind, and I search for private parties with a hefty price tag. There are hundreds, and I add words related to water, seeing as Eden has been taken by boat.

What I find chills me to my bone.

$50000. Fishing trip. N/V. Use/Dispose.

“Fuck,” I whisper as my heart beat faster.

“What?”

“There’s a private party where women can be used or killed. Whoever scores a ticket can do whatever they want,” I translate the information I found.

“Eden’s not at that party,” Angelo says. “It’s all too convenient.”

“It’s sold as a fishing trip,” I snap. “I’ll bet everything I have those helicopters are flying to the yacht where this party is being held, and if there’s a chance that Eden could be there, I’m going.”

Damiano nods his approval. “It’s the only lead we have.”

“Let’s hope they’re expecting a fourth helicopter,” Carlo mutters.