Page 17 of Filthy Little Lies

“You should get some antibiotic ointment on that cut,” Cassie says, staring at the slice a tree branch took out of my cheek.

I glance down at the iPad propped up against the mirror of my bathroom while I’m trying to clean it to find her frowning at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what? You obviously want to say it, so say it.”

She laughs. “If you want me to tell you I told you so, I will, but I don’t think it would make either of us feel any better.”

I grab the tube of ointment from the medicine cabinet and show it to her so she can see I’ve taken her advice about the antibiotic.

“Why do you need to feel better? It wasn’t you who was kidnapped and—” I cut myself off, remembering I didn’t tell her about what happened when Gabriel came to the room I was being held in. How exactly do you tell your friend you were spanked and then almost brought to the most intense orgasm of your life as punishment for trying to scam one of the most powerful mafia families in Chicago?

Once I had his name, everything clicked into place.

The Valenti family runs almost all of the underground gambling rings in the city, along with a handful of clubs to keep them legitimate in the eyes of the IRS. I’ve heard the name uttered with fear laced through it.

If I’d known that pawn shop belonged to the Valentis, I wouldn’t have even gone inside. But I didn’t have time for the research. And now, I’m out the money I owe Vincent Ricci, and I’ve made an enemy of the Valenti family.

“Kidnapped and what?” Cassie asks when I go silent. “Did he do that to your cheek?”

“No,” I answer immediately. I have no reason to believe it, but I know in my gut he wouldn’t hurt me like that. Which is stupid, because the man had no hesitation ripping off his belt to spank me.

And not just a little warning tap, but an actual punishing, bruising spanking.

I have a small mark on my left cheek to prove it.

My face gets red just thinking about it.

Ugh! Something is wrong with me, and more than I usually think.

“How did you cut yourself then? Start from the beginning.”

“I already told you what happened at the beginning. This happened when I climbed down the tree to get out of the house.” I touch the edge of the cut and hiss.

I should have cleaned it right away when I got home. But the five-mile hike back to my apartment after my escape left me exhausted. By the time I got home, the sun was almost up, and I collapsed onto the couch for a five-minute nap.

Cassie’s call five hours later woke me up.

“I feel like you left a few things out. Like, did you talk to him when you were at his house? Did you even see him after he threw you in that trunk?”

A banging on the front door of my apartment distracts me from her question. I pull back from the mirror, going to the bathroom door to listen for more noise.

The neighbors slam doors when they’re fighting, and they fight a lot. But the noise comes again, and it’s definitely coming from my front door.

“What is that?” Cassie asks from the iPad.

“I don’t know. Someone’s at the door.” I pick up the device and bring it with me.

“Ask who it is first,” she chimes in as I approach the door where another set of bangs happen.

I bring the screen up to my face so she can see my eye roll clearly. Then put it down on the small table next to the door where I keep my keys and purse.

“Who is it?” I’d check the peephole, except there isn’t one.

“Savanah. Open the door,” a deep, rumbling voice demands. My blood runs cold.