Keeping Her: A Dark Romance (Keep Me Series Book 1)

by Angela Snyder

  I pull open some of the drawers under the shelves and am happy to see underwear, although it looks more like lingerie. I rummage through the thongs and underwear and pull out a lacey pair of black panties. I read the tag and am amazed that it's my size. Curious, I pull out another pair and then another and then another, reading the tags as I go. Sure enough, they're all the same.

  Feeling a sense of panic, I begin to hunt through the dresses hanging above. Tag after tag after tag all show size seven.

  My exact size.

  It's as if everything was all planned for me to come here. I slowly come to the realization that this is so much more than a kidnapping for ransom, and it might not even involve my father at all. I was kidnapped for a different reason entirely.

  The blood in my veins turns to ice as my fears are confirmed.

  Lucien is planning to keep me here…for a while.

  CHAPTER 8

  LUCIEN

  I SIT IN front of the computer in my office still feeling apprehensive from the turn of events that have taken place since my newest purchase arrived three days ago. Number Seven had seemed to not understand where she was or why she was here. Now, granted, she looked like she had a nasty bump to the head, which Jackson had noted might have resulted in a concussion and loss of consciousness. Also, she was drugged, as they all are, before being brought here. But her confusion and the terror I saw in her eyes still have me perplexed, because it all seemed so real.

  And when I'd mentioned her handler, her expression told me nothing but pure and utter bewilderment. Does she truly not know why she's here and what I want from her, or is this simply all an act?

  It wouldn't be the first time a girl tried to change her mind.

  But I can't remember ever wanting one so much that I desperately didn't want her to.

  Sighing, my eyes flit to the wide computer screen in front of me that is currently displaying multi-camera angles of Seven's quarters. Before I even brought the first girl in, I had cameras installed in that specific bedroom. Like watching a science experiment, I study their reactions, their moods, the way they talk and act when I'm there versus when I'm not. Every girl has behaved in the same manner, had the same responses and actions. It's almost like it's the same girl every time, just a different name.

  For the most part, their initial reaction is to get in the shower, at my suggestion, and then get dressed and wait. They sleep and eat and interact with the staff and wait for me to return, to explain what's going to happen and when it's going to happen.

  I do not communicate with the women after the initial introduction for a period of three days. It's not because I want them to go crazy with anticipation or worry. On the contrary, I would love to take what I paid for on the first night and send them on their way. But there is the matter of tests that must be done. Every girl is subject to a thorough screening for drugs, STDs and communicable diseases before I will ever lay a finger on them.

  Jackson draws blood from the women the moment they arrive on my property. And then it takes him three days to take the tests to a private lab and come back to me with the results.

  And so, during my three-day wait, I sit back and bide my time by watching my purchases, studying them and thinking about the moment I'm going to take what's mine.

  All of my prior experiences have been exactly the same, and I've come to expect every single reaction…except for now.

  As I watched Seven that first night, I noticed small idiosyncrasies and differences between her and the others. The time she spent in the shower was mesmerizing and hypnotic, the way she washed her hair and body over and over and over, getting as clean as possible.

  Her predecessors showered, but they never took any special or extra care in doing so. They were in there for twenty minutes tops.

  Number Seven showered for exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes, and I was glued to the monitor for the entire time, hardly blinking and not able to tear myself away from the image of her perfect body.

  And knowing how clean she was when she emerged from the bathroom made me want to rush in there and take her at that very moment. Fuck my rules, fuck the test results.

  I fucking wanted her.

  Consequently, I have spent the past three days agonizing and locking myself in my office so that I wouldn't go to her. I've never wanted any of the other women as much as I want this girl. I like to think that having a picture of her ahead of time caused a buildup of almost excruciating anticipation, but I don't know if that's truly the real reason.

  She's different. I can sense it already.

  When Jackson finally returned with the blood test results this morning, I felt relieved but also anxious. Even when he assured me everything was normal, I still read the tests over and over again, memorizing every word.

  And as I look down now to read over the results for what must be the fifteenth time today, a small grin forms on my face. She passed. With flying colors. And I couldn't be happier. I didn't want to have the misfortune of ending up with someone tainted again, and I shudder at the memory of how I had to send a few girls home soon after they arrived because they didn't pass my tests.

  I notice movement on the smaller window on my screen, and I see Jackson punching in the code to my office, a code that only he and I are privy to. All of my electronic equipment, the phone system, files and documents are kept in this room, and I make sure they are kept safe and secure at all times.

  He swings open the door with a smile on his face. That's the thing about Jax. He's always in a good mood it seems, always finding the silver lining in everything. He's a lot like his father in that aspect.

  My uncle was a great man, and I miss him dearly. That man saved my life, but I could not save him from the cancer that ate away at his body until he was nothing but an empty shell of his former self.

  Even at my uncle's funeral, Jax was cracking jokes and telling stories about his old man, making everyone laugh amidst all the tears from losing such a kind-hearted soul.

  I wish I could share the same blue-bird-on-my-shoulder-shitting-fucking-rainbows attitude. But, of course, I have more of a doom-and-gloom sort of temperament.

  "You're still looking at the test results?" Jackson asks, but there is no real curiosity in his tone. He knows my rituals and has, reluctantly, become accustomed to them.

  I give him a simple nod and look up at him. He reminds me so much of his late father, my uncle, since they both share the same dark hair and warm, steel-gray eyes.

  I don't remember my biological father, and I've only seen one picture of him decades ago when I was a small boy. We shared the same dark hair also, but I don't remember if we resembled each other in any other way. However, who knows if my mother was even telling the truth about the man in the photo.

  She liked to lie…about everything.

  "How is she doing?" Jackson asks, and his sudden interest in one of my girls is unusual. Usually he just goes about his business, helping me here and there with bringing them to me and sending them away. Other than that, he minds his own business.

  I think that's why we get along so well.

  "I haven't been in her room since the first night. You know my rules," I tell him.

  He sighs and plops down into a leather chair not far from me. "I do. And I also know that you're keeping tabs on her from your little camera feed you have on your comp." His fingers pick at the stitching on the arms of the chair, and it drives me up the wall. When he notices my obvious discomfort, he instantly stops. "Sorry," he says with a smirk.

  My eyes narrow as I glare at my cousin. "Why the sudden interest, Jax?"

  He shakes his head and leans forward in his chair. "It's not what you think. I just wanted to make sure that bump on her head didn't give her a concussion or anything." He rests his elbows on his knees. "Was she acting strange when she woke up?"

  I hesitate. Strange? Perhaps. But it's not like I even know the girl.

  Jackson can sense my apprehension, however. "What's wrong?"

&n
bsp; "She seemed…confused."

  He considers that for a moment. "That could be a sign of a concussion. What was she confused about exactly?"

  "Everything," I confess.

  Jackson stands suddenly. "Maybe I should go in there and talk to her. Maybe I could ---."

  "No," I snap, suddenly feeling very protective and…jealous over this girl I barely know. "I will talk to her tonight. At dinner. I will find out how she's feeling and if she's aware of her situation."

  He sighs, knowing that he won't be able to change my mind. "Fine. I'll probably be hanging out in the kitchen. If anything happens during dinner, come get me. I can check her vitals and everything in the matter of a few minutes, make sure she's okay."

  "I will."

  "And see if you can find anything out about the bruises on her body. There were some fresh and some old. Someone's been hurting her…for a while," he says, his eyes turning dark.

  I'm taken aback by his sudden protectiveness over her. A part of me wants to scream out to him that she's mine. But I stop myself from telling him that. Instead, I agree by giving him a simple nod.

  I watch as Jackson leaves, and then my gaze locks on my computer screen once more. The girl's still lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and inadvertently right at the undetectable camera concealed in the ceiling fan. Tears stream down her pretty face, and I watch her full lips open on a sob.

  She's been crying almost the entire time she's been here. And while normally I wouldn't give a shit or even think twice about it, for some reason, with this girl, I feel…strangely guilty about keeping her here.

  I think back to what Jackson told me about the bruises covering her back. And even though I shouldn't care about what happened to her before she got here, I can't stop from wondering…and worrying. Who was hurting her?

  Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I tell myself it doesn't matter. And it certainly doesn't matter how Number Seven's reacting or how different she is. After I get what I paid for, she'll disappear just like those before her, and I'll never see her again.

  Perhaps she's second-guessing her decision for coming here, and that is what is making her so upset. But one thing is for certain --- she's here because she said yes to my request from her handler, Giovanni Morello. If she's regretting her choice now, she needs to realize that it's too late. The deal is done, and she has to keep up with her end of the bargain that I paid so generously for.

  Tonight, I will be explaining the rules of our little game to her, and then it's her choice when she wants to abide by them and ultimately leave.

  CHAPTER 9

  ADELINE

  IT'S BEEN THREE days since I first arrived…or I think so at least. I've been trying to keep track of the days and nights as best as I can. Meals are delivered periodically throughout the day by young women that so far only speak Spanish. I tried to ask for help several times, but they disregard me completely. And the one time I tried to escape, I was manhandled by a guard posted outside my door and thrown back into the room like a bag of trash.

  Let's just say I learned my lesson…for now.

  The way the staff isn't surprised to suddenly see a crying girl locked in a room and asking for help only confirms my earlier suspicion that I'm not the first girl that's been held here against her will.

  The thought makes me sick.

  It's in the afternoon, and I'm lying on the bed doing my favorite hobby that I've picked up since being kidnapped --- staring at the ceiling and crying. I feel like I haven't stopped since I've arrived, but I can't help it. I miss my home and Gio. Perhaps most of all, I miss my books. I was accustomed to being holed up in my room at home a lot, but at least I had a book to keep me company, a far-off world to escape to when I needed to the most.

  Sniffling, I sit up suddenly when I hear the familiar beeping and click of the door. An older woman with short, curly salt-and-pepper hair walks into the room, her brown eyes finding me right away. She's wearing a black and white maid's uniform with no shoes. I've noted all of the maids and servants before her also have not worn any footwear, which I find to be strange.

  I haven't seen this particular maid before, but she exudes a presence about her that tells me she's in charge. Staring at her in silence, I wait to see what she wants before I start asking her for help. I have no idea who I can trust here, but so far no one has offered their assistance. This woman will probably be no different.

  "Hello," she says in accented English.

  My eyes widen in surprise. "Y-you speak English?" I ask her, astonished.

  The woman narrows her eyes at me and holds her hand up as I scramble off the bed towards her. "Before you even ask, stupid little girl, I am not going to do anything you request. I'm not a slave to be at your beck and call. I am only here to get you ready for dinner tonight with Master Lucien."

  Master Lucien. I still haven't discovered his last name. But he probably doesn't want me to know it so I can't identify him after I escape. And I'm determined that I will escape.

  I think back to what she said. She wants me to get ready for dinner tonight with the man that kidnapped me? I don't think so. But before I can protest, the woman is yanking on my hand and pulling me towards the bathroom. She's incredibly strong even though she's a few inches shorter than me. But what she lacks in height, she certainly makes up for in width and muscle.

  "You girls are all the same," she mutters, but it's loud enough for me to hear her. "You're always so resistant to do what you're told, but then you eventually give in." She turns to me and glares at me. "Why don't you just give in and save me the trouble?"

  Give in to what? I ask myself. To being kidnapped and held against my will?

  I'm about to snap at her; but then I see the weariness in her gaze, and I suddenly feel sorry for the woman. She reminds me of the nanny I had when I was a little girl. She always looked so worse for wear, but always kept a smile on her face even though I could see her true feelings in her eyes. I truly believe a person's eyes are the windows to their souls. And I believe that even more so since I gazed into the soul of the devil who's keeping me here.

  Furrowing my brows, I snatch my hand away from her when she starts pulling me again. I step past her towards the bathroom. "I'll take a shower," I tell her over my shoulder. "Will you…will you pick out something for me to wear?" I ask. I almost add because I don't know what Lucien would like me to wear, but I don't because I don't give a shit what he likes or doesn't. But it may be easier for me if she just picks out the attire. I don't know if this Lucien has a temper or not, and I certainly don't want to find out by doing something wrong.

  When the woman doesn't answer, I look back at her. She's standing there with her mouth gawped, opening and closing like a fish out of water. When she notices me staring, she snaps her mouth shut. "Why isn't it always this easy?" she asks herself as she disappears into the closet.

  As I step into the hot shower, the woman's words return to me; and I'm completely unsettled by them. She confirmed that there have been girls before me, but how many? And more importantly, what happened to them?

  CHAPTER 10

  LUCIEN

  NUMBER SEVEN TOOK a long shower once again. This time it was only forty-three minutes, but that's only because the head of my staff, Maria, pounded on the door and insisted that the girl get dressed for dinner.

  I chuckle to myself as I think back to the interaction between the two of them. Maria can be intimidating, to say the least. She has been like a mother figure to me for many years, even though I couldn't possibly love her like one.

  I could never love anyone, for that matter. Ever.

  Maria has been with me the longest, so she's in charge of the entire household from what meals are prepared and who cooks them down to who cleans the toilets. She definitely runs the show, and it makes my mind rest a little easier knowing she would never let the staff slack. If it's not done with perfection, she's unsatisfied, knowing that I would most definitely be unsatisfied.

  I have be
en diagnosed with a lot of things, the most prominent being obsessive compulsive disorder. I also have a preoccupation with germs, since it kind of goes hand in hand, making for an interesting combination. Needless to say, I require everything pure, untouched and in order. And I need complete and utter control of everything and everyone around me. If I don't have those things…well, it can get very ugly.

  I'm pulled from my thoughts at the sound of approaching footsteps. Maria enters the large dining hall first, followed by a clearly reluctant Number Seven. Maria tells me in Spanish that she's going to fetch the first course, and I give her a nod to dismiss her.

  Seven looks nervous, twisting her fingers around her left ring finger. She must be doing this absentmindedly; because when she looks down, a frown appears on her face, and she immediately stops. When she lifts her chin and her gaze meets mine, she takes my breath away.

  Maria picked out an emerald green dress, which suits the girl's hourglass figure perfectly and brings out the green of her eyes. Her long, thick, dark locks cascade down her shoulders and back, and I can't seem to tear my gaze away from her beautiful, flawless face. Her olive skin looks soft like silk, and my fingertips twitch against my thighs as the thought of finding out exactly what it feels like under my touch.

  I don't ever remember being this attracted to a woman before, and I find myself anxious to even be near her. Another first.

  Standing, I pull out the chair adjacent to mine at the head of the table and wait for her to come to me. This is a test. And she will be tested often while she's here.

  Some of the previous girls thought they would come here and be the boss of me or the boss of my staff, but that is not how this works. I want them compliant and respectful…and impeccable. I demand their perfection.