Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

It happened when I was 16 years old.

I’d been befriended by a girl at school named Jing. She had a much older boyfriend who was already out of high school, which made Jing seem both scandalous and very worldly.

One day, she told me her boyfriend could get us some weed, and would I like to go to his apartment and smoke some?

I’d never tried marijuana before. I’d never even smoked a regular cigarette – but I was beginning to go through the normal teenage phase of wanting to rebel for the sake of rebelling.

My life was a suffocating, never-ending loop between home and school. A chauffeur drove me to my private academy every day, then promptly brought me back home when classes were over.

My oldest brother had long since graduated and gone to university.

My other brother had been given his own car. He got up to all sorts of mischief and never got in trouble once, which galled me to no end.

Both of them seemed to have unlimited freedom.

I had none.

So of course I said yes when Jing asked if I wanted to smoke some weed.

I snuck out of my house on a Friday afternoon. The boyfriend picked me up in his Audi with Jing in the passenger seat.

He was 23; she was 16. Warning bells should have gone off when I discovered their age difference, but I was young and naïve. At the time, I just thought it made Jing cooler.

The boyfriend drove us into Wan Chai, the seediest neighborhood in Hong Kong.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I was thrilled and nervous all at once. Boys at school bragged about how they did coke in Wan Chai over the weekends – rich kids slumming it in the ghetto.

My mother had only mentioned Wan Chai in disapproving tones. My father never talked about it at all.

The boyfriend pulled into the garage of a run-down apartment building, the type of place that looked like it had rats running around in the alley out back.

I got frightened and asked to go home, but Jing berated me and told me to stop being ‘lame.’

I should have listened to my intuition.

When we parked and got out of the car, three grungy-looking men appeared out of nowhere. They wore short-sleeved shirts that exposed the gang tattoos on their arms.

One of them threw a burlap sack over my head and told me he would kill me if I screamed.

Petrified, I cooperated and allowed them to guide me to a car, at which point they shoved me inside the trunk and slammed it closed.

Only once the car was moving did I realize that my ‘friend’ had set me up. I’d never heard Jing or her boyfriend make any noise – almost like they were expecting the three men to show up.

The car drove for 20 minutes before it stopped. I was taken out of the trunk and guided blindly through a maze of hallways.

When they removed the burlap sack, I saw I was in a windowless room with a metal chair, a dirty mattress on the floor, a mound of rope, and an ancient toilet and sink.

My three captors were with someone else – a man in his mid-twenties. He was incredibly handsome, with black hair styled like a K-Pop star.

Unlike the other men, who were grimy and stank of stale cigarette smoke, the handsome stranger was clean and smelled of expensive cologne. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing half a dozen tattoos on his muscular forearms. He wore a loosely knotted tie under his open collar, and the shoulder harness at his side had a pistol in it. Outside of movies and television shows, I had never seen a gun before.

The K-Pop star gave the three grimy men a fat roll of money and told them to get the hell out.

Once they left, he turned to me.

“I’m sorry they scared you,” he said. “No one’s going to hurt you… but we have to keep you here for a while.”

I was so terrified by the situation – and dumbstruck at how handsome he was – that I didn’t even think to ask why I’d been taken.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked. “Hungry?”

“A little,” I whispered.

“Then I need you to sit in that chair.”

I complied.

“Now I have to tie you up,” he said, almost apologetically.

My entire body tensed as he began to tie me with the rope – but it wasn’t long before I felt another sensation:

Desire.

I had never been touched by a man before. I had barely even been hugged by my own parents since I was a child.

Now this handsome stranger was putting his hands on me…

And despite how scared I was…

I liked it.

He was very respectful. He didn’t touch my chest or grope me in any way.

When his hands did touch the bare skin of my arms and legs, he was very gentle.

As he tied the ropes, he continually asked, “Is that too tight?”

When I told him it hurt, he listened and made adjustments.

He looped the rope around my body, tying me to the chair… then used another length of rope to bind my wrists behind my back. Finally, he knelt down in front of me and smiled apologetically as he tied my ankles together.

For some stupid reason, I thought of Prince Charming kneeling before Cinderella as he put the glass slipper on her foot.

I was still wearing my skirt from school, with white stockings that only came halfway up my shins. Every time his hands brushed my legs, a shiver went up and down my spine.

Once he was finished, he stayed kneeling in front of me.

“No harm will come to you – I swear,” he said. “You’ll be safe, and this will all be over soon.

“However, don’t make any noise. We’re in a warehouse owned by my boss, so there’s no one around to hear you – but if you make noise, I’m going to have to put a gag on you, and I would prefer not to do that. So be quiet – okay?”

I swallowed and nodded my head.

He smiled as he stood. “Good girl. I’ll be back soon. Like I said, don’t make any noise and everything will be fine.”

Then he left the room. I heard the click of the lock behind him.

I was too scared to make a sound. I remained silent the entire time.

When he returned, he had a Coke can and a Styrofoam cup of instant ramen filled to the brim with piping hot water.

He untied me and let me eat.

He watched me closely until I finished, then took the empty containers away.

“Need to use the bathroom?” he asked.

I blushed.

He smiled. “I’ll be outside. Knock on the door once you’re finished.”

I peed, flushed, washed my hands, and knocked on the door.

When he came back in, he picked up the rope.

“Unfortunately, I have to tie you up again.”

Oddly enough, I didn’t mind.

So began the most erotic experience of my young life.

My handsome captor would tie me up several times a day. The rope he used was strong and soft – not slick plastic, but cotton.

And the way his fingers moved over my body… gently touching my hands as he bound them… firmly tying the knots around my ankles and wrists…

I began to relish the feel of the ropes sliding across my skin, and my heart quickened every time he began to tie me up.

He was always calm, gentle, and respectful –

And he was protective.

On the third day of my imprisonment, another man came into the room.

He looked more like the three men who had kidnapped me: scruffy, slightly greasy, and unkempt.

My handsome captor accompanied him into the room. The greasy man laughed when he saw me. “So this is the brat.”

My captor didn’t say anything. He just stood there impassively.

The greasy man leered suggestively at my captor. “I’ll bet you’ve been having some fun, eh?”

“I haven’t touched her,” he said angrily.

“Why not? You’re wasting a golden opportunity.”

The greasy man put a finger under my chin and tipped my head up to look at him. His hand stank of cigarette smoke.

When I pulled away from him, repulsed, he clamped his hand on my face and forced me to look at him.

“I’ll bet she’s tight,” the man said with a lecherous grin. “Real fuckin’ tight.”

“Get your hands off her,” my captor snapped.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of a gun chambering a round –

ch-CHACK!

It was something I’d only heard in movies.

Both the greasy man and I looked over at my captor in surprise –

And saw that he’d drawn his pistol.

His gun was pointed at the floor…

But it was out.

“I said… get your hands OFF her,” my captor repeated.

My heart thudded in my chest.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” the greasy man sneered.

My handsome captor raised the gun slightly. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

“Fuck – fine, you stupid asshole!” the greasy man shouted as he pulled his hand away from my face. “There, happy? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You verified she’s here. Now get out,” my captor said in a steely voice.

The greasy man shook his head. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?”

My captor took a step towards him –

“Alright, alright, I’m going, I’m going!” the greasy man barked. He muttered to himself as he walked out the door. “Fuckin’ moron, threatening me…”

Once he was gone, my captor shut the door, locked it, and turned back to me.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized. “He won’t come back here again. I promise.”

He was as good as his word.

Forty-eight more hours passed in a haze, with the handsome stranger tying and untying me.

We exchanged very few words. I was too afraid to ask why he was keeping me hostage, and he offered no explanations.

But he brought me food to eat…

Gave me privacy when I needed to use the restroom…

Woke me up in the morning…

Turned off the lights when it was time to go to bed…

Provided me with a washcloth and soap to clean myself with…

And even gave me a clean sheet to put over the filthy mattress.

But more than that, he tied me up at least three times a day…

The soft ropes tightening around my wrists and ankles…

His hands gently brushing against my skin.

My body reacted to his touch like a lover caressing me.

I began to long for when he would tie me up…

And I would fantasize about it long after he left me there, bound and helpless.

I was scared, yes…

But I was also enthralled.

Perhaps there was a bit of Stockholm Syndrome at play… but mostly it was the erotic charge of being touched for the first time by a handsome, protective, considerate man.

Then, on the sixth day, everything changed.

It was the afternoon. I was tied up, alone in the room, when distant gunshots rang out.

I immediately lifted my head, eyes wide.

There was yelling outside the door –

Then more gunshots, much closer.

The door banged open.

I shrieked as two men in black suits rushed into the room, guns pointed at me –

Followed by my father, who was also in a black suit.

His relief when he saw me was indescribable.

I had never seen that much emotion on his face, ever, unless you counted anger.

He knelt down and hugged me tight – another first – then backed up so he could look into my eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

He tried untying the knots but quickly became irritated. He barked at one of the gunmen, who handed him a knife, and sawed through the ropes until I was free.

“Come on,” he said as he put an arm around me and led me out of the room.

There were two dead men in the hallway, their limbs splayed out, blood splattered against the walls.

My father tried to shield my eyes from the carnage in the hallway –

But I turned to look behind us.

My handsome captor lay on the ground, his white shirt soaked crimson, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

I began to scream.

I didn’t stop until ten minutes later, when they jabbed a needle in my arm and the world went dark.