Captive Of The Ruthless Underground Boss

The rough fibers of the thick rope bit into June's wrists. She twisted her hands behind her back, scraping her skin against the bindings until warm blood slicked her palms. The cold concrete floor of the abandoned Brooklyn warehouse pressed against her cheek, smelling of motor oil and decay.

Rocco's massive hand clamped down on the back of her head. He twisted his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back. A sharp cry tore from June's throat as her scalp burned.

Directly in her line of sight, a pair of custom leather oxfords stepped into a puddle of dirty water. Drops of muddy liquid splashed against June's pale cheek.

She forced her eyes up, her chest heaving as she struggled to pull air into her seized lungs. The tall man stood cloaked in the shadows of the warehouse. His presence sucked the oxygen from the room. Her breathing stopped completely.

Gage lifted his hand. The cigar between his fingers glowed amber in the dim light. He gave a slight flick of his wrist. It was a silent command to Rocco.

Rocco reached for the tripod. He adjusted the high-definition camera, pointing the lens directly at June's face. A small red indicator light blinked to life.

June stared at that blinking red dot. Her stomach dropped. Bile rose in the back of her throat as the reality of what was about to happen crashed into her. She shook her head frantically, her voice a broken whisper begging them to stop.

Gage exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. It drifted down toward her. His voice was a low, hollow rumble that bounced off the metal walls. He told her this was the price for her mother's sins.

June opened her mouth. She tried to tell him that her mother did not care about her, that they had not spoken in months. The words crumbled on her tongue, her jaw trembling so violently she could not form a complete sentence.

Gage did not even blink. He gave another dismissive wave of his hand.

Rocco grabbed the collar of June's coat. He pulled his fist back and ripped the fabric downward.

The sound of tearing cloth echoed in the empty space. The freezing night air hit June's exposed collarbone. A raw, desperate scream ripped from her lungs.

Before she could take another breath, Rocco's fist slammed into her stomach. The impact drove all the air from her body. Her scream died instantly. She curled into a tight ball on the wet concrete, her vision spotting with black dots.

Gage watched the scene unfold on the tablet in his hand, the high-definition feed capturing every flicker of terror on her face. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His fingers tightened around his cigar for a fraction of a second, but his face quickly settled back into a mask of pure ice.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialed a video call to Jessica Cole, turning his screen so the camera faced