Owned By The Mafia

OWNED BY THE MAFIA AARON L SPEER OWNED BY THE MAFIA Copyright © Aaron L Speer First published 2023 Email: [email protected] URL: http://aaronlspeer.com/ All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers. Original Cover by KatDeezigns ISBN This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. CONTENTS Author’s Note Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Epilogue Also by Aaron L Speer To those who encourage their reader partners to get down with their love of smut. I dedicate this book to you. AUTHOR’S NOTE Once your partner begins this book, I would encourage you to stretch and clear your calendar. This book is listed as Mafia, but let’s face it. It’s porn. Mafia porn. Sinful, dirty, Mafia porn where a Don will use a woman as a sex slave. If your wife or girlfriend has picked this up? She knows. You will benefit. Don't ask questions. Put some salve on the marks she leaves on you. You will be used as a toy for a few days and nights. Just go with it. Once you regain some form of consciousness, remember these words that will keep you semi alert for her next onslaught. “Thank you Speerzie.” You can thank me at a signing or by naming any children that follow the reading of this book, Aaron. Or Salvatore PROLOGUE The trucker smacked his hand against his steering wheel. “Where the fuck is the damn road?” Grabbing his radio, he said, “Charlie was that you that I saw heading for the Ruby Red in Jackson?” “Hell yeah, man. I’m spent and cutting it close on my drive hours. Grabbing some food and shut-eye ASAP.” Charlie replied, followed by an obvious yawn. “Before you hit dreamland, do you know where the turn-off for Old Meyers Canyon Road is?” “Why the fuck do you want to know where that is?” “It cuts at least two hours off the trip to New Haven. Do you know or not? “You should punch the dick that told you to take that road, especially at night. I don’t care how much time it saves.” The trucker rubbed his temple and shut his eyes for a second, then slowed his rig, hoping he wouldn’t overshoot the right exit while Charlie played daddy. “Dude, my truck was in the shop all day. The warehouse in California was four hours late loading me up. I got pulled in to verify my paperwork at the weigh station back in Chester. And thirty minutes ago, Gary called to tell me the customer offered a hefty bonus if the load arrives in New Haven by midnight. The bitch told him this would save time but didn’t bother to give directions or mention it wouldn’t show up on GPS. So, pull up your big girl panties and tell me where this fucking road is!” “Fine. Calm down, man. Take the Ramsey exit. Turn left, and it’s about a mile after the gas station.” With a deep breath, the trucker moved into the right lane and prepared to take the next exit. “Thanks, man. Sorry about that. I just want this day to be over.” “I hear ya. What are you hauling that’s so important?” Charlie asked. “Clothes.” “Clothes?” the voice on the other end of the radio deadpanned. “Yep. Gowns. Coats. Shoes. Rich bitch’s heaven. There’s some midnight gala opening in a couple of weeks at the Clamshell or something?” “You mean the Seashell?” “Yeah, that’s it. Real emergency, right?” “Too rich for my blood. The wife’s sister went on and on about their store in Beverly Hills when she got hitched to husband number two. Their clothes cost an arm, a leg, and the family jewels. I’m surprised they let you transport it at night, especially on that road. Have you ever been to New Haven?” “No, but I hear on a night like tonight, you can see the lights from miles out,” the trucker replied, talking like a travel agent trying to sell the location. “You’ll see the lights,” Charlie replied. “It’s pitch-black desert out there. No streetlights. No stores or gas stations. Zero reception. The state forgot it even exists. It’s not safe.” “Listen, this is the only way I’m gonna make this deadline, and I need that bonus.” “Do you still have a gun in the truck?” “Of course.” “There’s a big-ass boulder right before the road with the words Do Not Enter spray painted in red. Make sure that gun is loaded.” * * * Old Meyers Canyon Road was as straight as a ruler, but the trucker felt the night closing in around him. Heavy cloud cover had blotted out the moon and the stars, and he could only see several feet in front of the truck, unable to tell where the desert sands ended and the sky began. And his odometer might have told him he’d traveled 80 miles but the lights of New Haven appeared no closer. He felt a sudden chill sweep through him as if not even the cabin’s heater could protect him from the cold