Blacklisted Read Online Free Page A

I planned all of this, and didn't make sure this building was inescapable?"
    He nipped at my jawline, before kissing me roughly again, this time earning another whimper from me. This noise earned me a growl, and I blushed as I felt him harden against my back. I could feel the core of me growing warm, which only irritated me more. Why are you turned on again? He is literally holding you by the hair, keeping you from escaping, and you're getting a fucking kick out of it.
    I couldn't help it though. My body responded to his touch regardless of what my mind had to say about it. Regardless of how repulsed I felt by his toying with me, his using me; my body could only recognize the fire he ignited. The battle that coursed inside of me was unbearable, though my mind eventually attempted to find level ground. Maybe the more I gave in the less he'd be willing to use me as his disposable piece in the game.
    With this new idea in mind I kissed him hard, my tongue teasingly sliding past his lips touch his. He hissed, his arm around my waist moving to just grab my hip, his fingers gripping me. I eased my body against his slowly; noticing the way the grip on my hair became a little looser. I even went as far as to moan into his mouth, gently biting his bottom lip.
    "Gabriella, do not play with fire," he mumbled against my lips before pulling away. I blinked a little and watched his retreating form as he headed towards the bathroom. A few moments later the shower came on and I couldn't help but smirk, thinking for once I had been the one to get into his head.
    Enjoy that cold shower, buddy. Next time, it won't be so easy for you to get away.
    I smiled to myself, and made my way to the couch deciding that maybe I hadn't lost just yet. If I could just keep this confidence, this edge above him—maybe I could get away.

three
     
    After sitting on the couch for an hour, waiting for him to return, I gave up. Clearly, he wasn't going to come back. I made my way to my "bedroom" and climbed into the incredibly soft bed, surprised that my comfort had been such a focus in his kidnapping scheme. I had stayed up for another hour, crying and pitying myself before the exhaustion kicked in and I passed out.
    But now, it was 6 AM on the dot, the alarm clock next to the bed taunting me with its red blinking lights. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering just long it would take my parents to realize I wasn't in my apartment. Without a phone they didn't speak to me often, but they showed up once a week, brought dinner that Mom had spent hours laboring over, and we shared Sunday as a family. They hadn't been too thrilled with me living away from them, but they reluctantly recognized that I had to grow up.
    However, grown-up or not, they were old-fashioned and Sunday was the day you spent with your family, eating as much as your mother could stuff into you. She would buzz around my apartment, cleaning what was already clean, stuffing snacks into my mouth until I couldn't move from the couch. She would scold me in Italian, as her mother had done to her. All while this was happening, my father would read the paper and curse under his breath about how no one could run an honest business with the knuckleheads interfering all the time. He would speak of old family friends he grew up with—the Difiglias that ran the bakery, the Morellos that ran the butcher shop. "All of them are in somebody's pocket, bambina. There is nowhere safe on this side of town." And then he would frown, and Mom would do the sign of the cross silently.
    But where would I be when Sunday came? Here in my decorated dungeon? Being "dangled" as bait, as Michael had so eloquently put it? I rubbed at my eyes, hoping the tears wouldn't come again. But, as I started to consider the situation more, I started to wonder—If Genovese can always find me, could he find my parents? Could his men find my parents? When Michael kills him, would they extract their revenge on us? At that, the