Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart

by Opal Carew, Cathryn Fox, Eve Langlais, T. J. Michaels, Teresa Morgan, Sharon Page, Mandy Rosko, S. E. Smith, Pepper Winters

  Twisting my hair, tugging lightly, he added, "This may surprise you, seeing as you have such a low opinion of me, but you can go online, keep your mobile—even continue to work if you wish. I told you before—this is not a kidnapping. It’s a debt. And until you understand the full complications of the debt, I suggest you keep what’s happening to yourself."

  I couldn’t understand. I was being stolen, yet was allowed access to avenues that could bring me safety. It didn’t make sense.

  "You’ve made a decision to come with me, and it’s irreversible. You can’t change your mind, and you can’t change the payments required, so why make others worry on your behalf?" His eyes glinted. "I suggest you become good at pretending if you wish to maintain the pretence of freedom. I won’t stop you from creating extra worry and strain for yourself." Bowing over me, he smiled. "It only makes my job easier."

  Grabbing the black rope he’d made from my hair, I stepped away from him. "You’re insane."

  He gave me a sideways look, rummaging in the duffel to grab a handful of clothes. Closing the distance between us, he shoved the balled items into my stomach.

  Oxygen exploded from my lungs from the force.

  Jethro pulsed with anger. "That’s twice you’ve questioned my mental state, Ms. Weaver. Do. Not. Do. It. Again." Running a hand through his hair, he growled, "Now get dressed. Time to go home."

  I COULDN’T DO it.

  It was like looking after a needy, sickly, disobedient child. Bryan Hawk, my father and orchestrator of this mess, assured me it would be a simple matter of a few threats and blackmail.

  She’ll come easy if you threaten the ones she loves.

  Bullshit.

  The so-called inexperienced dressmaker had her own agenda. Beneath the chaste little girl, lurked a devious woman who was so tangled and confused she was fucking dangerous.

  Dangerous because she was unpredictable. Unpredictable because she didn’t know herself.

  I was clueless on how to control her. I didn’t understand her.

  For instance, what the fuck happened at the coffee shop? She’d gravitated toward me. She’d licked my thumb like she imagined it was my dick. She’d surprised me. And I didn’t do well with surprises.

  My structured world—my rules and agendas—were not something that had room for twists and turns. Unless I was the one creating them. And I definitely didn’t have time for my cock to twitch and show an interest in the woman I meant to torture and defile.

  I would get hard when she was alone on my estate and her screams echoed in the woods. I would come with her gagged and subdued and hating me with the intensity of her forefathers.

  Her pain was my reward. The fact she got me hard by being shy but so bloody tempting was completely unpermitted.

  I checked my watch. The plane was due to leave in thirty minutes. Do it. You know you want to.

  I couldn’t stomach her presence any longer. I couldn’t answer any more of her idiotic questions, or pretend I wasn’t raging to teach her a lesson. Her tripping and stumbling fucking got on my nerves. Not to mention her blind love toward a family that no longer had any right to her.

  She needed discipline, and she needed it now. Your hands are bound until you get her home.

  If I had to listen to one more beg or witness another tear, I’d end up killing her before the fun began.

  Nila craned her neck, trying to read the boarding passes in my hands. Flaw, my right hand man and secretary to the Black Diamonds brotherhood, had already checked us in. Along with dealing with shipping my new purchase, The Little Black Dress Harley-Davidson, and staging the runaway scene at Nila’s hotel.

  In precisely six hours, a housekeeper would find the photos, notes, and abandoned items, then the gossip columns would spread the story like a well incubated disease.

  Nila Weaver’s found love.

  Nila dispels rumours she’s in love with her twin by running off with some unknown English aristocrat.

  My lips quirked at that. Me? An aristocrat?

  If only they knew my upbringing. My history. If only Nila’s father had spent the years he’d had with her preparing her for this day—informing her of our shared heritage, then perhaps she wouldn’t look so fucking ill.

  I’d told her the truth. Vaughn and Archibald Weaver were under strict monitoring. If they obeyed and went along with the ruse of Nila leaving for love, all would be harmonious.

  If they didn’t—well, the Weaver line would be snuffed out with the aid of a silenced pistol. And we didn’t want that. After all, if there were no more Weavers, who would the Hawks rein over? Who would continue to pay the debt?

  I looked at the woman destined to die for the mistakes of her ancestors.

  She caught my eye. "Where are you taking me?" Her cheeks were colourless even though she had to be warm with the amount of layers she’d put on.

  "I told you. Home." The word scratched across her face like carving knives. Home to me would be hell to her. I should’ve been more understanding—I could practically hear her heart shatter—but I’d been born into a family where emotion was a weakness. I prided myself on being strong, unbreakable. Empathy was the downfall of any human.

  The ability to feel their pain. The nuisance of living their trauma.

  That inconvenient ability had been beaten out of me as a child. Lesson after lesson until I embraced the cold.

  The cold was emotionless. The cold was power.

  Nila sniffed, striding a few steps away. Her curves were hidden in her new wardrobe of dark purple dress that came to her ankles, and a denim jacket. I hadn’t permitted myself to truly look at her. I wasn’t interested in her body. Only what her screams could deliver. She was skinny. Too skinny. But her black hair was thick and begged to be fisted.

  Watching her dress in the parking garage irritated me. Her unsureness came across as coyness. Pulling the dress over her skirt was a reversed striptease. Her shaking fingertips had turned the ice in my blood into a lust I hadn’t felt since I stole my brother’s whore and hurt her.

  It wouldn’t take much to snap her petite frame. But despite her breakable body, her eyes gave a different story.

  She ran deep.

  I didn’t bother caring how deep. But it did tempt in a way I hadn’t expected.

  A girl like Nila…well, that wasn’t something to be broken lightly.

  Her complexities, subtleties, depths, and secrets.

  Each layer begged to be shattered and destroyed.

  Only once she stood before me, stripped bare of sanity and dreams, would she be ready.

  Ready to pay her final debt.

  Nila rubbed her cheek, displacing another silent tear. That single fucking tear stopped everything, freezing over the unwanted feeling of excitement at what my future held. Her sniffle gave me a layer of obligation rather than anticipation.

  I wasn’t going to, but she’s given me no choice. Fuck it.

  Moving closer, my hands opened to throttle her—to give her something to truly cry about, but I restrained myself. Just.

  She looked up, eyes glassy.

  I forced a smile—a half-smile, letting her believe her tears affected me, offering false humanity. I let her believe I had a soul and didn’t punish her for hoping. Hoping I was redeemable.

  She bought it. Stupid girl. Allowing me to offer my arm as if it were some sort of consolation and guide her from purgatory into hell.

  THE AIRPORT BAR reeked of sad goodbyes and tears. Just like my soul.

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t like the sort of person Jethro made me. Someone who only saw the negative and was ruled by fear. I’m an award winning designer. I’m wealthy in my own right.

  The unknown future crushed my heart, but it was the thought of losing myself while it happened that scared me the most.

  "I need a drink. I’ll get you one, too," Jethro muttered.

  I spun to face him. Big mistake. I stumbled to the left, cursing the suddenly tilting room. My vertigo wasn’t normally this ba
d. An episode a day was my norm, not every time I tried to move.

  A cold hand grasped my elbow. "That condition you have—it’s really getting on my nerves."

  The floor steadied beneath my feet; I tore my arm from his hold. "Leave me alone then. Get on the plane and let me fall over in peace."

  He shook his head, gold eyes darkening with impatience. "I have a much better idea."

  I looked away, taking in the low square-line sofas, sad plastic plants, and dirty carpeting. This can’t be happening. Everything seemed surreal. I was at the airport with a man who’d threatened the lives of my brother and father. I was about to climb on a plane with him. I was about to disappear.

  And probably never be found.

  It wasn’t rational. It was completely nonsensical.

  Suddenly a drink sounded perfect. Alcohol and vertigo didn’t mix, but damned if I wanted to exist full of grief and horror.

  Jethro motioned toward a booth by the window where large spotlights turned the black sea of tarmac into false daylight, casting a warm glow on sleeping jumbo jets ready to depart.

  Not giving me a chance to say anything else, or to even relay my preference, he stalked away, beelining for the bar.

  Quick. Now.

  The moment he had his back to me, I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket. He said I could keep it. He said I could talk to anyone I chose. He hadn’t said when—now or when we got to his ‘home’, but I desperately needed Vaughn.

  My eyes burned as I unlocked the screen. Hunching over the glowing device, I did as my captor ordered and made my way to the booth.

  Typing in the number I knew by heart and practically the only number I ever called, I sucked in a breath.

  A wall planted itself in my way.

  A cold, unforgiving wall.

  My head snapped up. Jethro crossed his arms, anger radiating from every inch. "What are you doing?"

  I swallowed hard; my palms grew slippery with nervousness. "You said I could keep my phone. You said—"

  "I know what I said. I may not stop you, but you still need permission. I am, after all, in control of your life from now on." Peering into my eyes, he added, "Don’t make a rash decision you can’t undo, Ms. Weaver." His English accent clipped my name in an unfamiliar way. He spoke it as if it were dirt. A filthy word contaminating his mouth.

  My finger hovered over the call button for my twin. The one man who I could say anything to and he would understand. Summoning what useless power I had, I said, "Please, may I make a phone call? I won’t be stupid. I know what’s on the line."

  Jethro tutted under his breath. "That’s the problem. You don’t know. You think you do. You think all of this is a joke. You’re not grasping the depth of what this means, nor will you until you’ve been educated."

  Taking a step, closing the distance between us, he breathed, "But you do know one thing. You know what I will tolerate. Lying to me is another offence that comes with swift punishment. Stay honest, polite, and obedient and your heart will remain beating."

  I wanted to scream at him. His quiet voice was worse than being yelled at. It was so…decent…so eloquent. It made all of this seem normal. And it so wasn’t. So not normal.

  "I understand. Do I have your permission?" My jaw ached I gritted so hard, refraining from what I really wanted to say. If I wasn’t so afraid of this psycho I would hit him. I would leap onto his back and pummel him until he bled. Just to see if he did bleed, because a part of me expected him to be nothing but stone.

  He frowned. "Fine. But I’ll remain in earshot for this first conversation."

  I shook my head. "No. I need privacy."

  He smiled—a thin ribbon of emotion. "You need to realize privacy is a luxury you’ll no longer have. Everything you do from now on will be monitored by me. Nothing will be hidden. Everything must be approved."

  Everything? A horrible image of me begging to go to the bathroom only to be refused filled my mind. Not only had he taken me for something I didn’t understand, he’d stolen my basic rights as a human.

  I truly am a pet.

  Jethro’s hand whipped out, stealing my phone.

  No! Being separated from it made all of this far too real. The starkness of my situation hammered at my soul.

  Staring at the screen, he scrolled rudely through my contacts. My very limited contacts. His eye twitched, handing the device back. "You seem to live in a world dominated by males. The only names in your preferred lists are men, aside from a mysterious entry Kite007." He stiffened. "Care to tell me if that person is female? I somehow doubt it, seeing as it’s clearly a reference to the ridiculous James Bond Franchise."

  Snatching the phone, I said, "I don’t care to tell you anything. Leave me alone. I’m calling my brother. I gave you my word I wouldn’t jeopardise whatever you’re planning until I know the full story."

  Jethro placed his hands into his pockets. His cream shirt and diamond pin were the epitome of class. In an ordinary circumstance, I would’ve been honoured and thrilled to have a date with a man with deliciously thick greying hair and a handsome face. I’d always preferred men over boys.

  But he had to ruin it.

  He ruined everything.

  Jethro didn't move. Just stood there. Silently.

  There was no winning. He wouldn’t raise his voice or strike me to get his way—not in public anyway—but his posture intimidated me until I gave in.

  Staring at the awaiting number, I deliberated against calling V. What did I hope to achieve? It would kill me to hear his voice. But what if it’s a lie and the moment he’s got you where no one can see, he takes the only thing you have left?

  I couldn’t risk it. Not if I could speak to V one last time.

  Locking eyes with my gorgeously-groomed nemesis, I pressed the ‘call’ button and held the phone to my ear.

  Being granted no privacy was horrid. My back stayed straight and all feelings of weakness were buried beneath false strength.

  Do not cry. Do. Not. Cry.

  The call connected on the first ring.

  Vaughn never kept me waiting, almost as if he sensed it was me calling—twin empathy connecting us once again.

  Shit, what if he hears? What if he sensed my unhappiness? How would I stop him from coming for me—wherever I was going.

  Vaughn’s husky voice came down the line. "Nila. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you. Tex is acting really strange, and I’m done not being able to get a straight answer."

  I sighed, turning my back on Jethro, staring at the airplanes below. So many things ran through my head. I wanted to ask how Dad was acting strange. What all of this meant. But I kept it all bottled up. For him. For them.

  "I’m fine, V. I’m…"

  I need you. Come get me. Save me please.

  "You don’t sound fine. Where are you?"

  In hell with a monster.

  Looking around the bar, I shrugged. "I’m exactly where I need to be."

  To keep you safe.

  "Stop with the bullshit, Threads. What’s really going on?"

  Sighing hard, I pressed a palm against my feverish forehead. I sucked at lying. Especially to V. "Something’s come up. I’m going away for a little while. A holiday where I can unwind. I should be able to contact you—if the Wi-Fi and phone lines are good." I couldn’t stop rambling. "Tonight really put a strain on me, you know? It came together so well, but it wasn’t easy—you saw how bad it got toward the end. I just need—"

  "What you need is a fucking spanking. You don’t just leave without talking this through!" Vaughn paused, a disbelieving huff coming down the line. "You can’t be serious. We had plans. You said you’d come with me when I went to Bangkok next week for more merchandise. We’ve booked the flights and everything."

  I didn’t want to be reminded of everything I was walking away from.

  "I’m sorry, but I can’t go. You have to trust me and not push. Just accept what I’m telling you and that I need some alone time, okay? You’ll
be able to contact me by phone and email."

  "This is bullshit."

  "V, please. Be supportive, like you always are."

  Don’t make this ten times harder to say goodbye.

  "Skype? I need to see you, Threads. Something doesn’t feel right. You’re keeping things from me."

  A firm fingertip prodded my shoulder. Jethro whispered, "No Skype."

  I didn’t know how he heard V and didn’t want to ask why Skype wasn’t permitted. Why doesn’t he want my family to see me? Because who knows what you’ll look like when he’s finished.

  The fear I’d been able to keep leashed suddenly swamped me. I moved forward, collapsing into an uncomfortable booth.

  "Threads. Threads?" Vaughn’s voice echoed down the line. "Goddammit, Nila. What the fuck is going on?"

  Sighing, I rested my elbows on the table. The weight of aloneness and depression settled heavily. "I don’t know," I whispered.

  The phone disappeared from my fingertips. "Hello, Mr. Weaver. We met earlier. Jethro Hawk." Jethro glowered, making me wish the seat would devour me.

  A loud stream of curses came through the phone. Jethro pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, see that’s where you’re wrong. If you have an issue with me enjoying your sister for a time, speak to your father. For now, Nila is mine, and I won’t have anyone saying differently."

  He held the mobile away from his ear for a second while Vaughn exploded. A furious shadow darkened his face.

  Jethro gripped the phone, growling like a rabid wolf. "That’s none of your concern. I’m taking her. I’ve already taken her. And there’s nothing you can do. Goodbye, Mr. Weaver. Don’t make me regret my kind generosity toward your sister so soon."

  He hung up, tossing me the useless phone. "If you want a piece of advice on how to survive the coming months, don’t talk to your brother again unless you want to pay a serious price. He’s detrimental to your willingness to obey, and a fuckwit."

  Tears welled. I didn’t want to cry. Damned if I’d shed anymore useless liquid over this bastard.