Stockholm Syndromance: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy Book 4)
Page 1
Stockholm Syndromance: A Bad Boy Romance
Still a Bad Boy #4
Ada Scott
Ada Scott
Contents
About the Author
Copyright
License Notes
Disclaimer
Acknowledgments
Stockholm Syndromance
1. Eliana
2. Eric
3. Eliana
4. Eric
5. Eliana
6. Eric
7. Eliana
8. Eliana
9. Eric
10. Eliana
11. Eric
12. Eliana
13. Eric
14. Eric
15. Eliana
16. Eliana
17. Eric
18. Eliana
19. Eric
20. Eliana
21. Eric
22. Eliana
23. Eric
24. Eliana
25. Eliana
26. Eliana
27. Eric
28. Eric
29. Eric
30. Eliana
The F King
1. Sarina
2. Ryan
3. Sarina
4. Ryan
5. Sarina
6. Ryan
7. Sarina
8. Sarina
9. Ryan
10. Ryan
11. Sarina
12. Sarina
13. Ryan
14. Sarina
15. Sarina
16. Ryan
17. Sarina
18. Ryan
19. Ryan
20. Sarina
21. Sarina
22. Ryan
23. Sarina
24. Ryan
25. Ryan
26. Sarina
27. Ryan
28. Sarina
29. Ryan
30. Sarina
31. Ryan
32. Sarina
Bonus Story
1. Sarina
2. Sarina
3. Ryan
Get the Rest of the Series!
This book is for my dad, who passed away when I was almost finished writing it.
It’s so cruel that I lost my shoulder to cry on when you went away, because I could really use it right now.
Remember when you were on my side even when the rest of the world was against me? I do.
Remember when you were my friendly giant? I do.
You fought so hard for your farm. I’m so proud of you! I spread your ashes there.
I’ll try to make you proud because, as far as dads go, you were definitely more Winchester than Mondalo.
I love you so *so* much…
Goodbye, my most biased supporter.
About the Author
A former office drone, a former nurse, I now spend every waking moment doing what I love, creating and publishing these steamy stories about bad boys from the mafia, motorcycle clubs, and mma that make me, and hopefully you, weak at the knees! Anywhere a bad boy can be found, I'll be there taking notes and making it even sexier :)
Connect with Ada Online
adascottauthor
adascott.com/free-bad-boy-romance-download/
ada@adascott.com
Copyright
Stockholm Syndromance: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy #3)
Ada Scott
Published by Ada Scott
Copyright 2016 Ada Scott
Connect with Ada Scott Online:
Newsletter (+FREE Downloads)
Facebook Fan Page
Blog
Amazon's Ada Scott Page
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer
All characters and events are entirely fictional and any resemblances to persons living or dead and circumstances are purely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Cover Design: Kevin McGrath
http://www.kevindoesart.com/
Stockholm Syndromance
Still a Bad Boy #4
Please note: This ebook is a special limited edition of ‘Stockholm Syndromance’ that includes both the third in the series ‘The F King’ (Still a Bad Boy #3) as well as a bonus short story previously exclusively available to Ada Scott newsletter subscribers (Still a Bad Boy #3.5).
Eliana
Ever since announcing his intentions to run for President, my father had been away from the house even more than usual. It had been weeks since I’d been required to stand quietly behind him so the nation could see what a great family man the former contract killer was.
Where was my mother? In public, the answer was, “That’s a very private tragedy I’d rather not drag through the public arena, next question please.” In private, the only answer I ever received was “Shut the fuck up.”
My life was not my own; it belonged to him, Vito Mondalo. The voting public knew him as Victor. It made him more “accessible,” according to his advisors.
He had plans for me, plans that were set in stone, plans that laughed at all the time I wasted learning about biology and medicine. I had this idea that maybe one day I could be a nurse, or even a doctor.
On the increasingly rare occasions I saw him, he made a point of reminding me that my ideas were actually delusions. When Costanzo Capon’s youngest son, Roberto, turned eighteen, I’d belong to him.
This was my father’s way of paying for the Capon Crime Family’s alliance and support in his presidential bid, because the long history of mutually-beneficial arrangements between him and the Capons wasn’t enough, apparently.
I met Roberto recently, and I could barely contain my horror at being shown off like a sneak preview of his eighteenth birthday present. He looked at me the way he might look at a mountain of donuts, if he was the kind of guy who also wanted to fuck donuts.
Never mind that the thought of Roberto, of being his wife, made my skin crawl. Never mind that he was so overweight that he might have a heart attack on our wedding night. That was the deal, that was what my father said, that’s what was going to happen.
I did what I could to lose my virginity, to give away the gift that had been promised to Roberto, but the only men in my life were employed by my father. Not the mild-mannered public servant the general public knew, but the brutal hitman who had worked his way up the Mafia hierarchy until, in this city, he was second only to Don Folliero himself, and the man entrusted to go for the top job in the country on behalf of the mob.
There must be something wrong with me, though. Something beyond the obvious fear of my father that all the Mafia soldiers working security here clearly felt. In the movies, there was no fear, no army, big enough to get between a man and the woman he loved and lusted after, so the problem must be me. Invisible at best and repulsive at worst. Unlovable. Not worth the trouble.
I tightened the belt around my bathrobe and pulled it apart a little at the chest before exiting the bathroom and heading down the hallway towards my room, hoping that tonight would be the night somebody would look at me, see me… maybe want me. Anything but one more night of exactly the same emptiness, one more night closer to an awful arranged marriage and the final nail in the coffin of my dreams, professional or otherwise.<
br />
Coming the other way, doing a standard security-sweep of the house, was one such employee of my father’s. I’d seen him around before. Billy was his name, I thought. He was built a little light for my liking, but he had that classic gangster kind of edge to him and looked good in a suit.
I stepped into his path. “Hey… Billy, right?”
He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes trained determinedly about six inches over my head. “Yes, ma’am… uh… good evening.”
“How’s it going?”
“Going fine, ma’am. All clear.”
“My name’s Eliana, you don’t have to call me “ma’am.””
“Uh…” Billy gulped.
“Hey, my eyes are down here.” I waved my hand maybe a little lower than where my eyes actually were.
Billy glanced down, and then back up again before I continued.
“You got a break coming up?” I asked. “Wanna watch a movie with me? There’s a TV in my room.”
Billy gulped again and I glanced up at his forehead to see beads of sweat clearly starting to stand out. I knew then that there was no hope with this one.
“Ugh. Never mind.”
Billy looked like the governor had called with his pardon just before the switch was thrown on his electric chair. He was just another hired goon, terrified of my dad and terrified of offending me in case I told my dad. He’d never do the kind of things to me that I wanted, needed, to have done.
Even if he changed his mind, now it was too late. Could I take a man as scared as him seriously? Could he ever live up to my fantasies? No. Tonight it was just going to be me, my laptop, my favorite website, and the fingers of my right hand.
Locking my bedroom door behind me, I hung up my bathrobe on the hook and climbed into bed, pulling my laptop from my bedside table. The internet was my only sexual outlet, and sometimes it scared even me when I sat back and really thought about the kinds of things I’d discovered that turned me on.
I wondered if it was a natural result of this captive upbringing. I had everything here I needed to exist, but nothing I needed to live. I’d been home-schooled all my twenty years, and ever since that incident with the piano teacher when I was eighteen, my tutors had been exclusively old women.
Every time I’d had a lesson with him, I felt kind of funny. I found myself thinking about him when he wasn’t around, wondering what he looked like under his clothes.
When I discovered the sensations I could cause between my legs by rhythmically squeezing my thighs together in just the right way, the lessons became even more interesting. My final piano lesson was cut short when one of my father’s men walked in to find the tutor’s hands on my breasts and my face flushed in near-orgasm from my thigh-squeezing.
I never had a piano lesson since then. If the rumors were true, then my tutor never conducted a piano lesson, or anything else, ever again either. It went some way towards explaining why no man around here would ever lay a finger on me.
Shortly after that, my father announced my engagement to Roberto, but if he thought my sexuality was suddenly under control, he was sadly mistaken. Exactly the opposite, actually.
Hormones were practically exploding through my veins and a lot of the time I felt like I was crawling up the walls with equal measures of horniness and loneliness. I started watching soppy romance movies.
It wasn’t long after that I became incredibly frustrated at the way the scenes always faded to black right when things were getting interesting. I wanted to see what was going on behind that closed door.
So I started keeping an eye out for movies that would show me that. They were easy enough to find, but it was a gradual spiral. Next I wanted to know what was behind that blanket, that carefully positioned leg. What was the stupid camera angle not showing me? What was making the woman sigh and moan like that?
Well, there were videos that showed that too. I was fascinated, hooked. Then, on one website, I spotted a video category called “Rough Sex” and decided to see what that was all about.
If the regular stuff was like scratching an itch, the stuff I saw there was like setting off TNT in my mind. Even before I could touch myself, I was moaning, sighing and screaming along with the women in the clips.
It was nothing like the stuff the romance movies had fed me. The slapping, the ropes, the choking, the raw animal lust and the way the man (or men) utterly dominated in the bedroom or wherever they decided to take their pleasure was like pure distilled euphoria.
The sight of a man kicking some girl’s door down, throwing her on the floor, and holding a knife against her throat, fucking her harder than you would have dreamed possible while she screamed in pleasure and pain, hopelessly struggling against his overwhelming power… phew.
The thought alone was enough to drive me wild, and as I clicked the button on my laptop, the website couldn’t load fast enough. In fact, the website wasn’t loading at all. Something was wrong with the internet. I switched over to mobile data and saw the familiar home page appear on my screen.
If my dad knew the kinds of things I looked at… the first law he’d pass when he won the election would be something that attempted to ban the internet. My betrothed wouldn’t have the cardio to be able to pull off the kind of things that turned me on.
No. Tonight wasn’t going to do anything more than bring me one more day closer to the end of my life and the start of my marriage, but for just a little while I could lose myself. For just a little while I could pretend that I was someplace far, far away where my dad would never find me.
For all I knew, he might even be somewhere here in the mansion tonight. This was my gold-plated prison, after all, and since when does a prisoner know the schedule of the warden anyway?
Eric
So far, so good. Every Folliero soldier who had laid eyes on me, and some who hadn’t, were dead. Clean kills, the result of weeks of planning and observation.
Four o’clock in the morning, two hours before the day-shift arrived and near the end of a long boring night. This was when they were at their sloppiest.
Guards started missing their verbal check-ins because they were taking unauthorized naps, a practice that should have been met with serious punishment, but was laughed off instead. Like so many wiseguys before them, they were too complacent, too fucking sure of themselves.
It was this ego that let me cut through their ranks like wet rice paper. They thought they were invincible until the very moment they felt my knife tickling their lungs.
Even so, a single-handed stealth mission on this mansion, with this objective, would have been ill-advised if it wasn’t for Jace Barlow’s computer genius, Dan. The things he could do bordered on the supernatural as far as I was concerned.
With his skills, and Jace’s backing, we obtained the plans for the Mondalo family grounds and buildings, took out their hard-wired internet and hijacked their wireless backup. Their security system, always primed and ready to call in an army at the first sign of trouble, was effectively connected to nothing.
They were trapped all alone with me, and even when the alarm eventually did go off, no help would be coming.
From the other side of the tree, I heard the dead man talking. At the same time, I heard his words in my earpiece, tuned into their frequency.
“Seventeen, all-clear.”
Unremarkable last words. He never saw me coming but, after I wiped my knife on his suit jacket and took his keys, he watched me leaving while his life quickly gurgled out of his throat.
The third key I tried from his keyring let me into the kitchen. I subdued the one guy there who was up early to bake bread for my target, the sheltered little princess of the mob underboss Vito Mondalo, and left him unconscious and gagged in the storeroom.
If Vito was home, they would have taken security more seriously. The place would have a standing army, but he’d taken to spending most of his time living in a bunker, literally an underground fortress in the middle of the desert. Due to his aspirations, his p
ublic appearances were guarded by public and private security, a difficult target in the political climate of today.
This was why Jace decided to get to him through his daughter, and that was why he needed me. Sure, he could have come in loud with a hundred guns blazing, but this called for precision. Things would be fucked if Eliana died in a shootout.
I garroted another Folliero henchman and shoved his corpse into a storage area under the stairs before silently ascending them. Eliana’s room was on the second floor, so I was likely to cross paths with a few more before getting to her. You could call it clearing the path for a quick getaway.
The Folliero Crime Family was now mainly under the control of Vito after Don Folliero named him as his successor due to the Don’s age and failing health. I ducked into a room and hid behind a desk as a group of three entered the hallway from a door about halfway down on the right, waiting until I heard them pass before slipping back into the hallway.
It wasn’t easy figuring out the real story behind Vito “Victor” Mondalo, but we were bound to find the truth since it became Jace’s obsession. Between Dan’s hacking, my execution of very specific individuals, Jace’s more traditional interrogation methods, and this fucking evil shit that Jace’s chemist from Highston made, we pieced it together.
Vito was a hitman for the mob, like me, except he didn’t really give a fuck about who he was paid to kill. He did it all, that’s the way the Mafia liked it, and, for some reason, he was in Port Magnus shortly after Jace’s parents were killed. He was the one who told Jace that my former employers, the Picollis, were behind the hit when Jace was only six years old.