Darkest Sin – A Dark Mafia Romance Read Online Sheridan Anne

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)

Thrown in a cage and stripped of my dignity, I was auctioned to the highest bidder, but I never imagined that I’d end my night in the home of Killian DeLorenzo—head of the Romanian Mafia and the most powerful man in the country.

To know him is to fear him, and I just became his newest possession.

Pleasing him comes easily, but what I didn’t expect was the effect he would have on my heart.

This world is no place for a girl like me, and navigating it might just kill me quicker than he ever could. I know I should run, but his vile, wicked ways are a temptation no woman could possibly resist. So I must rise to the occasion—prove once and for all that I have what it takes . . .

Or die trying.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



The harsh, bright lights shine down against my clammy skin as I suck in a shaky breath, wishing I could wake from this nightmare. Men wearing expensive business suits fill the dark room, their chilling stares sailing over my lingerie-clad body like a piece of meat. They’re nothing but sick hunters searching for their next victim.

Tears of humiliation linger on my cheeks as fear and rage pound through my veins like a lethal cocktail, threatening to take me out. And for the first time in my life, I wish it would. The sweet agony of death is my only salvation now.

I don’t belong here.

One minute I was walking home from the bar where I work, and the next . . .

I cut off the memory before it gets too far. Replaying that moment only sends me into a whirlpool of vicious thoughts. It’s a tragic cycle I can’t break free from.

My hands shake violently as I grip the bars of my cage, trying not to make eye contact with the men lingering around me. Their putrid stares scan over my body, assessing everything from the size of my tits and the shape of my curves to the color of my skin and every little imperfection. It’s unsettling and undignified. It’s like they’re looking over the prize for some fucked-up business deal . . . but I guess that’s exactly what I’ve been reduced to.

A prized piece at an auction, the highest bidder takes all.

I’m struggling with what to do and how to act. I don’t know what they’re looking for, and one wrong move could be disastrous. Do I follow the disgusting commands spat at me by the man who snatched me off the street, or should I put up a fight and die with dignity? But more importantly, when a man inevitably drags me home, what should I do when he throws me down, pries my legs open, and tries to take what isn’t his?

Bile rises in my throat, and I force myself to swallow it down.

The idea that this has become my life in just a matter of days is unbelievable. This isn’t real. It’s just some fucked-up nightmare I can’t escape.

A thick, black harness decorates my body, starting at my throat like a choker. It travels over my shoulder and to my tits, making geometric shapes across my skin. Bands strap around my ribs then down to my waist, connecting to my thighs like suspenders. I wear a matching thong with my long golden hair pulled back into a tight pony to complete the look. If it weren’t for the messed-up situation I was in, I might even consider buying something like this for myself. But wearing it in front of all these strangers makes me feel like a used whore.

The first night as their captive, they threw me into a cold, dark cell, and eventually, the distant cries of other prisoners lulled me into an uneasy sleep. I startled awake hours later to a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over my head, and as I screamed for help, a group of men stripped me from my work uniform. Their hands were all over me, scrubbing me clean and cataloging my every scar, tattoo, and piercing.

The fear of the unknown gripped me. What was happening to me? What did they want with me? Where the fuck was I going to end up? I’ve never been one to be home-sick when away, but I’ve never wanted the safety of my home more.

I told myself that was as bad as it was going to get. That I’d be locked up in a dirty cell for some asshole’s sick pleasure, that listening to the other girls weeping was what my life would be from there on out.

I shouldn’t have been so naive.

Standing here in this cage as a pawn in their sick game, I realize this is only the beginning. There are at least four or five other girls I can see, each of them locked in identical cages around the room and dressed just like me—hooker heels and dark makeup—under the watchful eye of the asshole in charge.