Betting Blind, page 1
Betting Blind
Lindsay Reign
Copyright © 2024 Lindsay Reign
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Artscandare
Printed in the United States of America
Author Notes
This is a dark mafia romance work of fiction that may be triggering for some and is intended for mature audiences. I do not encourage or condone the actions performed and experienced by these characters - at least not all of them. *wink wink*
If you wish to forge ahead blindly then proceed with the only warning of “you might be reading some of these chapters one handed” if you catch my drift. *ushers you forward with a butler bow*
If you would like to have an idea of the ride ahead please remain seated at all times and see the list of potential triggers below.
Graphic violence/gore/murder
Mentions of rape, human/sex trafficking, anxiety attacks
Explicit language
Stalking and kidnapping
Mentions of drug/alcohol use, gambling
Masks/hidden identity
Piercings
Double penetration
Breath play
Impact play
Degradation
MM content
MMFM content
To all the women that like their men on the darker side of morally gray, and have a hard time choosing just one.
Oh Darling, who says you have to?
PS - If you know me… haha haha ha… SHHHH… no you don’t.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author Notes
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgement
About the Author
Prologue
Silas
Six months ago
“I don’t backpack.” His eyes are hard and glinting underneath his helmet and his arms are folded across his chest. The rips in his jacket show off the road rash peppering his chest and arm.
“The fuck you don’t! This is my bike, and I am NOT backpacking on my own bike!” I have the urge to jab my finger into his chest to prove my point, but I refrain.
“I’m not backpacking, Silas,” he says again, his voice even.
“I’m not the one who crashed my bike and needs a ride. Am I, Hayden?”
He closes his eyes and flips the visor down, hiding his face from me. “For the last time, I had to ditch the bike. I was being chased!” Hayden takes a step closer, effectively trapping me against my bike.
I square my shoulders and tilt my chin up. “So naturally jumping off a bike doing, what, 90mph was the best option you had? You could have died!” I fight to keep my voice steady as I shout at him. Hayden shifts closer to me, and I know he’s smirking even though I can’t see his face. “Don’t you smirk at me, you asshole! Get out of here!” I place both my palms on his chest and shove hard.
Hayden stumbles back a step, clearly surprised by the force. “Si, you can’t control the bike with me on the back. I add too much weight.”
Fucking logical prick. Of course, he is right.
“Just get on so we can go home. I want to peel what’s left of this jacket off before everything scabs over.” He adjusts the sleeves of his tattered jacket before flicking my own visor down. Then he places both of his hands on my shoulders and turns me so he can swing his leg over my bike.
“I fucking hate you,” I mutter and climb on the bike behind him. Usually, I try to avoid situations like this because being too close to people makes me nervous. I get this anxious jitter and I can’t breathe very well. Okay. So it’s not everyone. Just a few people and Hayden is one of them.
I shift uncomfortably and lean my body back as far as possible, trying to avoid any form of contact, because I know that I won’t be able to stop what happens if I touch him. The engine roars to life and Hayden walks the bike backward slowly. My fingers grip the edges of the seat behind me like a vice.
“I know you don’t normally ride like this, but you do have to hold on or we won’t make it very far.” Hayden’s voice fills my helmet from the built-in Bluetooth.
“I got it,” I mutter and shift my weight again. “We’re not that far from the hotel. Just go.”
“If you say so,” Hayden says sarcastically, and I can hear the smirk on his lips. Fucking Hell, I want to punch him in the jaw. My fingers flex and I grip the seat tighter as he turns toward the main road.
Before I even realize what he’s doing, Hayden hits the gas sharply, followed by the brake, sending me careening forward into his back. My arms wrap around his midsection instinctively. I can feel his body shaking with silent laughter. “I fucking hate you,” I repeat through clenched teeth and lock my arms loosely around his abdomen.
The bike jets forward again, and before I can stop myself, I tighten my arms around him. I can feel the taut muscles tense and ripple underneath my forearms. A small shudder snakes down my spine as a thought flits through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake off the images of Hayden’s muscles clenching under my hands, but it’s no use at this point. I can’t fight the wave of heat washing across my body as he leans to the side and takes a curve sharply.
My fingers open slowly, and I feel the ridges of his abs under my palm. Holy fuck, his muscles are so taut. If he notices my fists clenching and unclenching, he doesn’t comment. Instead he takes another curve sharply, and I feel his muscles coil under my overheated arms. My teeth sink into my lower lip as another wave of heat comes crashing down on me like a crescendo.
I need to get off this bike.
Right fucking now.
I can feel the inferno churning in my lower abdomen, but I’m powerless to stop it. My teeth sink deeper until I can taste the coppery tang of blood, but even the pain doesn’t draw me out of the hypnotic trance that his rippling muscles have me in. Just as I’m about to ignite in a blaze that is Hayden fucking Sullivan, he shifts his weight to accommodate the bike. This movement brings his back all the way against my chest and effectively pushes the rest of my control off the cliff’s edge that it has been teetering on for the past several minutes.
The friction goes straight to my cock, which is already semi-erect from the vibrations of the bike and the thoughts of his muscles under my hands. I bite back a moan and push my hips forward, seeking more. My cock throbs to life and I can’t stop myself. With my eyes still closed, I push forward again and grip his tattered shirt in my fists. I imagine what his muscles would look like under my bare hands. What my cock would look like deep in his –
The roar of the engine dies suddenly, and Hayden jumps off the bike so suddenly that it almost topples to the ground. He all but rips the helmet from his head and looks down at me. His chest is heaving with each deep breath he draws in.
I lean back in the seat, completely at a loss for words. I can’t believe I let myself get so lost that I would grind myself against Hayden midride. I look around, trying to regain my bearings. I hadn’t even realized that we were in the parking deck of the hotel. With the helmet still firmly on my head, I look back up at Hayden. I can’t take it off. I can’t let him see my face after that.
“Hayden, I –”
“Let’s just –”
We both start to speak at the same time. Hayden sucks in a breath and rubs the back of his neck with both hands. He opens his mouth again but turns away. Giving me a full view of his back, which does nothing because his black riding pants hug his thighs so tightly it leaves little to the imagination.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly and stand, pulling to adjust my crotch. My dick is still throbbing, and I am trying extremely hard not to stare at his ass. Fucking shit, I need to pull myself together.
“This didn’t happen,” he says. His voice is cool and deadly. “We don’t talk about it. We don’t bring it up. No one else is to know about this. Got it?”
“Right,” I agree and pull my helmet off. I run my fingers through my hair and inhale slowly. “It won’t happen again.”
Hayden’s shoulders stiffen for a moment before he starts heading for the elevator. “It won’t happen again,” he repeats slowly over his shoulder. I watch him stalk away and catch the small movement of his hand coming down to adjust his own pants.
The coals in my stomach ignite again, and my mouth goes dry. I lean back and drop my head to my shoulders with a low groan. “Fuck me,” I whisper, butI can’t tell if it’s a frustrated slander or a request.
Fuck my life.
Chapter 1
The zip ties cut into the soft skin of my wrists as I twist my hands back and forth behind my back. I roll onto my side to prop myself up into a sitting position and huff out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. My muscles ache and I have to blink away tears as I struggle to focus on what is around me. The room is dimly lit, but I can just make out the double metal doors and the chain that is holding the doorknobs together.
“Shit,” I hiss through clenched teeth and twist my left arm harshly against the plastic binding. There is a sliver of sunlight filtering through the boarded windows letting me know that I am not underground. My stomach flips in relief. It’s the little things at this point. The air is stagnant, and the smell of sulfur burns my nose with each deep inhale.
I’m not in a box. I’m not buried alive. I can breathe. I chant this internal mantra over and over to try and calm the panic rising in my chest and crippling my lungs. Guns, bullets, blood, gore- no problem. Put me in an enclosed space for any period of time and my body thinks it’s dying. “Fucking pussy,” I grumble to myself and tuck my legs underneath me, preparing to get to my feet.
A million thoughts are circulating through my brain as I process my current situation. I’m alive, albeit bruised and battered, but I have no idea where I am or how long I have been unconscious. My left eye is tight and nearly swollen shut and the coppery tang of blood coats my tongue each time I lick my parched lips. My whole face feels like I went eight rounds with the current heavyweight champion. The concrete flooring beneath me is cold against the bare skin on my thighs. Despite the ringing in my ears, I can hear metal pipes hissing and clanking in the distance, but there are no other sounds.
“Okay, Em, deep breath. You know how to do this. It’s going to hurt like hell,” I mumble, trying to give myself a pep talk as I flex the sore muscles of my arms. I push myself to my feet and promptly stumble back against the crumbling brick wall.
I have a concussion. Fucking fantastic. I’m going to kill each and every one of them.
My head is swimming, and the floor seems to be shifting under my boots like I’m standing on a swinging bridge. I take a deep breath, inhaling the putrid air, press my palms together, and bring them down hard against my back.
The zip ties don’t move an inch, but it feels like my skin is about to split apart.
I try again, this time jumping a little as I bring my wrists down against my back. The binding snaps in two and shoots across the floor with a faint click. I pull my hands around and rub my left wrist with my right hand, working my fingers along the stinging flesh. I am going to murder someone for this. Painfully. Intimately.
My face is bleeding, my head is pounding, and my entire body feels like it has been shoved into a suitcase and shipped across the globe in economy. I deserve first class at least. Someone is going to die today, and I am going to make sure that it is a slow, drawn-out process. And I am going to enjoy every bloody second of it.
Echoing footsteps pull me out of my murderous plotting. I look around, taking stock of potential weapons, and remember my secret pocket. A small smirk plays across my lips as I unzip my knee-high combat boot and dip my fingertips into a hidden pouch on the back of the tongue that hides a small switchblade. The custom pouch sits right along the top of my foot. It’s not at all comfortable, but no one ever searches there.
My fingers close around the hilt of a knife, my favorite travel accessory, the hot metal is a heavy comfort in my hand. All my other weapons are gone, and I feel completely naked and exposed without them. The footsteps are getting louder, bringing my captors closer and closer to their demise. My eyes skirt around the room again for any leverage. There are thin pipes stretching along the lower half of the wall and some wider pipes snaking up and winding around metal rafters exposed overhead. Ignoring my protesting body, I make quick work of scaling the pipes and wrapping my thighs tightly around one of the exposed metal rafters, my upper body dangling freely in the shadows.
I feel more like a spider waiting for my prey to walk right into my web than a captive at this point. Clearly they have no idea who or what they are dealing with by leaving me alone and only restrained by zip ties. My heart is racing and I feel giddy; like I’m about to talk to my first crush for the very first time. Butterflies assault my stomach, and my fingers grow clammy against the metal hilt of my switchblade. My fatigued body begins to protest the sudden physical excursion.
I live for this. The thrill of the chase. The adrenaline of the fight. The feeling of the blade crunching against bone. The sight of a soul leaving the body. The warm stickiness of blood on my hands.
Yes. I need to speak with my therapist. I have an appointment on Monday morning. Yes. I know there are better ways to cope, but they just aren’t as fun. My monsters prefer to take action instead of talking about their feelings on a sofa.
The two metal doors let out a god-awful screech as they are thrown open and slam against the wall, sending dust motes flying through the dim slivers of light. Two large figures stalk into the room. From my vantage point, I can tell that their faces are covered with black balaclavas and the black wife beaters they are wearing showcase the rippling muscles of their arms and upper bodies.
“What the –” The man on the right slides his fingers through his hair. His biceps flex, and I notice the tattoos spanning both arms. “Where the fuck did she go?” His southern accent is thick like he came from the bowels of the deep south.
“She was right here, man, I swear. I dropped her off myself.” The man on the left is slightly smaller than the other. He pulls the doors closed and looks under a dilapidated desk near the doors that I hadn’t noticed before.
Tattoos comes further into the room and turns in a slow circle, peering into the shadows like he can see into the darkness if he squints hard enough. His hands come up behind his head and he groans. “Did you actually chain her to the pipe?”
“She took a gnarly blow to the head and was unconscious, Hector! I didn’t expect her to wake up for days!” he retorts and stalks back to the light in the center of the room. Just a few more feet to the left and they will both be directly underneath where I am currently dangling.
“You have no idea what she is capable of,” Hector hisses, as he removes a black pistol from the back of his waistband and twists a silencer into place. My vision is starting to go dark around the edges as the blood continues to rush to my head and their voices take on a muffled tone. My body is quickly approaching its limits, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this position without losing consciousness.
“She’s so tiny,” the other scoffs and folds his arms across his broad chest. “I’d like to see her do anything with those dainty little hands of hers. They’ve probably never even been around a gun before. She’s probably not even capable of pulling a trigger.” He starts pacing but stops a few inches in front of Hector. Anger flares to life in my chest and adrenaline kicks up my heart rate. I’ll show him what my dainty little hands can fit around. I’ll start with his throat. Murder. That’s what I’m capable of.
They’re both standing in the spotlight provided by the single uncovered light bulb swinging from the ceiling to my right. Perfect placement. My dizziness forgotten, I place the blade handle between my teeth and readjust my position. I grab the sharp edges of the metal rafter with both hands and swing my legs down. In one fluid motion, I have my thighs wrapped around Hector’s neck. I can feel his hot breath on my stomach through the tears in my shirt. The momentum of my body takes him straight to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor a few feet away. I push myself off him and whirl around to face my doubting opponent.
“So predictable,” I taunt with the knife still between my teeth as I watch him fumble for his own gun. My foot kicks up and knocks it out of his palm before he can take the safety off. “So do the two of you only have a few brain cells to share or are you new at this whole kidnapping gig?” I push my hair out of my face and realize that it is matted with blood and dirt.
“You bitch,” Hector growls and grabs me from behind. The sudden jerk causes me to lose my grip on the knife. I didn’t hear him get up. Sneaky bastard. His large arm tightens around my waist and his other hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back to rest on his chest. “You’re going to be a good girl and tell us where the next shipment is coming from.” His friend takes a slow, menacing step forward and rolls his shoulders. “Or Ty here is going to start cutting things. Got it?” Ty flourishes a large hunting knife, the metal blade glinting in the low light.
