Trapped Between the Mafia Brothers

Chapter 3 : Sleepless Hostage

Eden POV

After the chaos of s*x in an immaculate kitchen, and the blur of time afterwards, I wake in bed, flanked by both bank robbers as they hum through their tired, unlawful dreams. What do bank robbers dream about?

Sex with their captive?

Their scent lingers on my naked body, tucked carefully under a soft, weighted blanket that relaxes my aching, sore muscles from being bent over a kitchen island and f8cked.

Everything after the fact was a mindless and hazy memory. How I ended up in bed with them is the least of my issues. How do I get away from them? That's the next question.

Dante is closest to me, Ryder's back almost pressing against mine, whereas Dante faces me, his hands pulled in front of his face in a protective boxing stance.

Pure. Gold.

Both words are marked in ink along the plane of his fists, each specifical letter designated for a knuckle, excluding his thumbs that I suppose leave a natural break between the two, oddly specific words.

I try to ignore the sight of the marks, and the way Ryder exhales in his slumber. I peel my way out of the middle, headed for the kitchen to gather my clothes. The door taunts me, telling me to run, but I hardly have my skirt hiked over my hips before heavy steps break out down the hall.

I freeze, somewhere between embarrassment and guilt.

Dante hangs in the doorway, taking almost all of it up with his six-foot-something frame and his strength infused physique.

My eyes glance over his sculpted body while I cover my chest with my arms, ignoring the dampness pooling between my legs at the sight of him. It's not worth hiding; he has seen plenty of me already, but it's natural to me.

Jack always said I was mediocre and plain. We haven't done anything in months, and never have we done anything like what happened in this kitchen a few hours ago.

“Leaving so soon?"

I let his words braid ribbons around my throat. I choke. “No."

“Really? Because you snuck out of bed, grabbed your skirt and were about to go search for your top. If you were as perceptive as I imagined you'd be, you would know that your shirt is in the pantry where I hid it earlier."

“Why would you hide it?" I ask, not daring to move toward the pantry door. He could be lying, testing me, and I'm not interested in challenging his authority.

“Because something told me you're not the type of hostage to go rushing out of here topless in search of help."

I grumble to myself. These two are so assumptive in their evaluation of me. Medical records and addresses and probably countless other bits of information. I bet I could ask them for my credit score and they would have it on hand.

“You're so presumptuous. You and your brother."

“You pull at your skirt every time you stand, every time you move—every time your boss even glances in your general direction. You have nothing to hide, kitten. You're a very good sight to see, but you're shy and cautious. That's why we took you from the heist. Afterwards, well, that was the spur of the moment."

I should be mortified right now, but all I feel is rage. Red-hot, sticky, s****l rage.

“I am not shy."

He smiles, amused. “Then move your arms."

I glare at him.

What he is asking of me feels impossible, almost downright disrespectful, but he's right. I can't claim to be bold and s****l when my arms are hiked over my n*****s that he's already seen.

He gives me a satisfied nod. “It's okay. Go ahead and grab your shirt. I'll put the ties on your wrists and we can go back to our normal program of kidnappers and their helpless victim."

He turns his back to me for a moment, and I can't stand to let this conversation end on that note. I rip my arms from my chest, my fist hitting the brick of the kitchen wall by accident, catching his attention.

Dante moves to face me, a more amusing grin lingering over his lips now than the prideful I-told-you-so smirk he offered before I moved my arms.

“I am not shy," I snarl through my gritted teeth. “You don't know me, dammit."

“Me and my brother know more about you than you even know about yourself, Eden. I know your routine, your medical records, your favorite color—hell, we even know the name of the hooker your boyfriend picked up two days ago."

I step back, wounded by that last remark.

“You're a hapless bank supervisor who needed a decent thrill. We gave that to you. You can go back to being the innocent little mouse you were before. We won't judge you for it."

“You're wrong," I counter. “You can't sit here and sum up my life into shyness and innocence. I am neither of those things. Yeah, I'm a little embarrassed to be naked, and I don't need you, of all people, to tell me how much you know about my boyfriend's cheating endeavors. I'm plenty aware of it all."

“Alright, alright. Cool down. I didn't mean any—"

“No!"

I speak freely for the first time in years, perhaps to the one person I shouldn't be so brazen with.

“I let Jack cheat because it's not worth the fight. When he gets aggressive, I get scared, and I back off. I don't live this life proudly! I live in spite of my decisions! I haven't had a concrete, sentient desire for the last twenty-five years of my life, but I desired that s*x last night. I wanted it; all of it."

“You sure did," he cuts in, his brows knit in shock. “So was it a misstep of passion, or are you really the type of woman to allow two bank robbers to have their way with you in their penthouse kitchen?"

“Both," I admit.

I've piqued his interest in the dissection of my mind. Something tells me this muscled, tattooed criminal is more sensible than he demonstrates despite his outward facade.

“I was never given the opportunity to be f*cked in the kitchen by bank robbers, so how can you tell me I'm not that type of woman?"

“You're an interesting person, Eden Smith."

“I'm glad you recognize that."

He chuckles, waving toward the kitchen cabinet nearby. “Your shirt is up there. Grab it and go back to bed. I'm going to speak to my brother about your release later this week."

I'm happy I didn't go for the pantry; I knew it was a false claim. He was testing me, and I passed.

I grab my shirt and button it up to a comfortable level and make my way back into the bed I had woken up in. Ryder is slipping into a T-shirt nearby, and I can't help but let my eyes graze over his muscled abdomen as his shirt drops into place. He's watching the news channel on a television hung on the opposite wall.

He gives me a look, eyeing my outfit in disdain. Dante beckons his brother into the hall, and I curl up on the empty bed, a little rattled after that conversation but not remorseful of my words.

Everything seems calm again–until I catch a familiar face on the screen. The volume is low, but I sit up to lean into the interview that looks to have happened yesterday after the robbery occurred.

“She's my world," Jack says, faking tears during his channel-thirteen interview outside of our apartment building. “I just want her to know I'll be here when she is returned. Baby, if you're watching this, I love you."

I choke, stuck somewhere between resentment and brutal sorrow.

He yelled at me the other night, shoved my head into the living room wall of our apartment, and told me his s****l needs mattered more to him than my level of comfort in the bedroom.

He led some streetwalker into our sheets so he could bury his c*ck into her ass and then let her slip on my robe in a final demonstration of disrespect.

He's parading in front of cameras for sympathy he no longer receives from me.

I cry feebly as it happens.

Crossing the bedroom, I turn off the television. Nothing more he could say would be further from the truth than what he just vomited into that news reporter's microphone. I've reached my limit on men for the night.

“It's okay," Ryder says, walking into the room. I don't know how long he has been there for my sobbing meltdown, but I guess it doesn't matter. “You don't have to be upset. We will get you back to him soon enough."

I stammer an inhale, confused. “Wh—what?"

He motions to the screen, now black after my impulse.

“I just talked to my brother. He said we can have you home by Friday. This job was in the interest of theft, not hostage-taking." He strolls forward, forcing me to crane my neck up to look at the tall, handsome man I had given oral to last night. “You're not going to be harmed in our care."

I assumed that didn't include sultry spankings, but I swallowed that notion really quick.

I veer off the topic of going home, uninterested in seeing Jack's face anytime soon.

“How long were you both watching me?"

He seems taken aback by the question but doesn't mention it. “A few weeks prior to the heist."

“So you know everything? Everything about me, about Jack, about our—relationship?" I don't know why, maybe shame, but it takes me a second to say the word.

He shrugs. “We know the basics. We had to know more about your habits, your reaction to trouble, and your level of heroism when in a pinch."

I scoff. His nerve is just like his brother's. Shy and innocent.

“Of course," he adds, leaning into his words a little more than before, “neither of us anticipated your reaction yesterday."

I feel lighter with that claim. Maybe I do have a little bit of moxie in my blood after all. Wherever that nerve came from, I enjoyed it, I fed into it. I'd do it again, too, despite what Ryder and Dante believe.

“That does lead to my next question," Ryder says. “How can we be sure you won't tell anyone about our faces; our names? We were going to release you the day of the heist, but you pulled that little stunt in the car so you've triggered a domino-effect of unexpected events. The police would love to spin this story."

“You think they'd assume you forced me into s*x, right? That's what you're saying?"

He nods, perturbed by the thought. I can understand his hesitancy and his concern.

“I wasn't raped," I say. “I wouldn't want that to be my headline. Never. And Dante kept his promise in the vault. No one was hurt. I won't talk about this; any of it."

“Any distinguishing identifiers on the perps, or locational hints as to who took you and where they took you to?" he says, playing into my claim, straightening up like a stiff neck detective.

I shake my head in hard denial. “No, officer. My eyes were covered the whole time."

No matter how brief this conversation was, I remain steady in my decision to keep this all to myself. Bank robbers or not, they gave me the best s*x of my life last night.

The least I can offer in return is my false ignorance.