Page 1 of Trapped
DELILAH
I hurried down the church steps.
The wind kicked up my dress, the long train billowing toward the bright sky. A couple strolling down the street stopped, staring at me. Faint organ music played behind me from the church I’d just fled. My now ex-fiancé stood inside, waiting at the altar. In a few minutes, he’d realize something was wrong.
I reached the bottom and raced down the sidewalk past theJust MarriedBMW decorated with streamers and white balloons. As I scanned the street, panic gripped my throat. Santino’s friend was supposed to be here. Where was my escape?
A car pulled onto the tree-lined street, halting in front of me.
The invisible hand on my throat tightened as a man in a jean jacket exited the driver’s side and opened the door. He gestured with his head.
“Get in, Miss Romanov. Santino sent me.”
I’d never seen him before, but I barely glanced at him as I stuffed myself in the backseat. I seized the handle and yanked.It didn’t close—damned dress. I opened the door again, yanking the fabric inside. Then I slammed it shut.
“Name’s V,” said the man as he got behind the wheel.
“Delilah.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Get me the hell out of here.”
The car accelerated, knocking my head back. A black fear swept through me as the church doors opened. Men in suits spilled out, one of them wearing the white lily boutonniere I’d picked from a catalog.
I raised my hand in a mock salute.
Goodbye, Dimitri.
ONE
DELILAH
FOUR WEEKS EARLIER
I sat on a barstool, my gaze glued to a man I’d only heard rumors about. I wasn’t the type to stalk a man. It felt weird, but my situation called for desperate measures. Men hunted women all the time. At least I wasn’t planning to hurt him.
Santino Costa had no idea I’d been watching him for the past hour. From his corner of the VIP section, he lounged in a chair, his drink barely touched. His face was hard to make out in the dim club light, but his magnetic presence lured more than one woman to his table. His bodyguards hung around him, radiating menace.
“Need a refill?” asked the redheaded bartender.
“Yeah, please.”
I pushed my empty glass toward her, looking away from Santino as a girl my age prepared another vodka on the rocks.
“Do you know Santino Costa?”
She smiled. “A little.”
“You dated him?”
“He doesn’t date. Just flings. Which worked for me until it didn’t.” She sighed and garnished the cocktail, sliding it in front of me. “He wasn’t interested in taking things further, so I moved on.”
“So, he’s a player.”
The bartender leaned in, her red curls spilling over her shoulder. “Player is putting it nicely. He doesn’t take no for an answer. Knows what he wants and gets it. If you want a serious relationship, I’d keep my distance.”
“Whatdoeshe want?”
A pitying smile spread across her face. “A girl to call his for a while. He’ll make you feel like the only woman in the world but by sunrise? You’ll be yesterday’s news.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy.”