Page 3 of Bound By Her

By X’s count, only two remained: Alessandro’s faction of the Cosa Nostra—and the girl.

The Federov girl.

As the sun crested the skyline, washing the building in soft shades of pink and crimson, X sat still, his heart heavier with each passing second. He scanned the street, expecting the arrival of the unmarked black sedan that would discreetly retrieve the girl’s body.

If she failed the initiation, if she died tonight, the Federov bloodline would end. No viable heir. No second chances.

And the cruelest part? She didn’t even know what had really been at stake.

He reached for his phone to send word of her presumed failure.

And froze.

The lobby doors swung open.

There she stood, framed by marble and morning light. A young woman in an oversized black coat, her hands buried deep in its pockets, pulling it tight around her small frame. Her expression unreadable. Cold. Composed.

Even from across the street, X saw the family resemblance.

Her hair was bundled tightly atop her head, damp with sweat and water.

She had gone into the pool.

And she had survived.

His fingers flew across the screen.

X: The Federov line lives!

The reply came almost instantly.

Unknown Number: You know what to do.

CHAPTER 1

19 YEARS LATER-CHICAGO

Bryson smashed Seth’s face into the carpet.

Leaning down, Bryson let his tongue glide along the ink etched into Seth’s neck—the marks that made him his. He followed the coiled serpent, tracing its winding path up and around the Winters’ snowflake crest, before carefully licking over each letter of the word branded above it.

‘OWNED’

Seth whimpered beneath him, trembling under the weight of Bryson’s control.

He always looked so fucking pretty when he was bound and pathetic.

“You’re too easy, Killer,” Bryson murmured against his skin.

The nickname was half affection, half reminder. Out of their little triad, Seth had the fewest sanctioned kills with the Nine. Only one. But that didn’t make him soft.

Seth was a surgeon with pain. Swift with a blade, precise with a pistol. He could make a man scream for hours. Bleed him slow, psychological.

Bryson or Kaydon usually handled the clean kill. Seth preferred his victims begging.

“I think he needs a little reminding of who’s in charge here.” Kaydon’s sharp tone was punctuated by the sound of a large wooden paddle being dragged across Seth’s already very red bottom. Bryson sat down next to Seth. Pulling him into his lap, Bryson wrapped his hand around Seth’s neck.

Seth’s pale blue eyes stared up at him, his tousled blond hair wet with sweat. Bryson felt his pulse and gave him a once over.

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