by Joya Ryan
Capture Me Slowly
Joya Ryan
Books by Joya Ryan
The Shattered Series
Break Me Slowly (Shattered #1)
Possess Me Slowly (Shattered #2)
Capture Me Slowly (Shattered #3)
Dedication
To My Sister.
Thank you for your support and making me laugh.
I love you and am so proud of you.
HYB!
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my family for your patience and allowing me to do what I love. Thank you to the best critique partner in the world — you’re willingness to drop everything to read this means so much to me. Thank you Jill for your advice and helping me calm the frick down when I get too psycho. Thank you so much to the rockin’ (literally) copy-editor Martha for you fabulous work and catching all the uni-brows.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Break Me Slowly
Possess Me Slowly
Chapter One
“We have a thirty-day billing cycle, Miss Wade,” Randall Hamm, my “boss,” said from across the desk. If his creepy gaze drifted to my chest one more time, I was going to sock him in the throat.
It was one thing to own your sexuality and choose what, or who, you wanted to screw. There was empowerment in that, after all. But after a month of “accidental” gropes and the extra-long staring contests my boss had going with my boobs, I was done. Done with him. Done with this city. Just done.
Taking a few freelance programming gigs was how I had been supporting myself since moving to New York and crashing in on my friend, Megan Riley. Only now, New York was no longer safe, Megan Riley was off honeymooning as Mrs. Preston Strauss and my savings account was down to almost zero.
“Yeah, I get that. But I got your company’s server cleaned up, the website running and all malware erased. I fixed all the issues over two months ago. I’m leaving town tomorrow and need that money.”
“I’m sorry, my hands are tied,” he said, opening his folded hands atop his desk, obviously demonstrating the opposite of his words. “But perhaps I can send an e-mail to HR.”
HR? That was laughable. If by “HR” he meant the crabby old woman pushing files in the basement, then sending an e-mail to her would be of little help. This guy and his startup company were just trying to screw me out of my money.
“I could look into this for you,” he said, as his beady eyes roved downward again.
Instead of shrinking back or tugging on my shirt, I pushed the girls out and let him look his fill. One thing I learned growing up on the streets of Chicago was that pervs will be pervs, and if you want to survive, use what you have to your advantage.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’d sure appreciate that, Mr. Hamm,” I said in the sultry voice I’d perfected over the years.
“And just how appreciative would you be, Miss Wade?”
He licked the small amount of spit at the corner of his mouth and shifted his hips in his chair. Never once taking his eyes from my body.
Definitely not that appreciative.
Yes, I needed the money and, yes, logic told me to do what I had to do to get what I needed to survive. It had been ten years since I’d had to beg for food or a place to stay.
Still, old habits die hard.
But not this time and not for this guy. He could take his receding hairline, potbelly and poor excuse for hygiene and fuck off. My patience was gone, my stress level was through the roof and the ability to run from a past that was literally hunting me down was weakening. I had officially met my asshole quota for a lifetime.
“I would be so appreciative, Mr. Hamm, that I would be willing to not tell everyone what a sick bastard you are, or that you have a tiny penis.”
His face fell briefly, then rage overtook him.
“How dare you — ”
“How dare I? You’re the one jerking it in your office twenty-four seven.” Last month I had walked in on him and while that was an image that would haunt my nightmares, he hadn’t noticed my momentary interruption. “For God’s sake, at least lock the door.”
“You can see yourself out, Miss Wade,” he snapped.
I stood and slung my satchel over my shoulder. “I want my check.”
“We thank you for your freelance work,” he said in a snippy tone. “If you want to leave a mailing address, I’ll send your check out as soon as the thirty days has come up.”
The way he enunciated thirty days made me want to punch him all over again.
“Just send the check to my current address and thanks for your help.” Hope he heard my enunciation that time.
I turned to leave. Throwing the door open wide, I paused to say loudly, “By the way, if you want your database to stay up and your applications to stop crashing . . .” With my brightest smile, I glanced at him over my shoulder and added, “Try not downloading so much porn.”
Last thing I saw was his smug turning scarlet in embarrassment. I walked from the building and out into the street.
Yanking my phone from my bag, I walked between two large buildings. The cool evening air held a hint of fall and the only thing I hated was that the change from summer to autumn brought shorter days and darker nights. Pressing the final number of my last resort, the person I had been determined never to call, I held the phone to my ear and kept walking.
“Miller and Associates, this is Benjamin.”
“Hey, Ben. It’s Emma.”
“Hello, Miss Wade.” Though I had met Ben several times over the years, we never really spoke. Since he was my brother Adam’s financial advisor, there was never a need to, but he’d always been pleasant to me. “Forgive me if I missed a call from your brother — ”
“Actually, Ben, I was wondering if we could keep Adam out of this.”
Adam already owned half of Chicago and I didn’t need to worry him with this. He was dealing with a lot of crap, trying to legally adopt his wife’s seven-year-old cousin. Jerry Springer territory, maybe. But they were happy. And aside from Megan and her new husband, Preston, they were the only family I cared about, which was why I had to stay away. Because being near them brought all my drama to their front door. And it was dangerous drama. There was no way I would risk them.
“Ben, I’m in a bind here. I know I’ve never taken money from the trust Adam set up for me, but I — ”
I stopped and checked over my shoulder. The sound of boots barely scraping the sidewalk behind me also stopped.
I felt like I was being followed. Like I had been for the past several months. Like I would continue to be until Mase either caught me, or I testified at the hearing.
Mase James was one of the James brothers, two people who I never wanted to run into again.
Convincing myself it was only paranoia, I returned my attention to Ben and picked up the pace. Only a couple more blocks to Times Square and I could lose the phantom asshole.
Shit. I hated this. Hated that after all this time of taking care of myself, this is what it came to. Cowering at the sound of footsteps in an alley and keeping the only family I had at a distance.
“Is there any way to make a quick transfer of funds into my bank account without Adam knowing?”
“Adam is the executive signer, so I’d have to go through him.”
“But my name is on it too, right? He gave me that money to use if I ever needed it.”
“Well, yes. And it is at your
disposal, Miss Wade. There has never been an issue before; if you let me call Adam, I’m sure he’d sign off.”
“I need money now.” I quickened my strides because, paranoia or not, the steps were getting closer. “And Adam can’t know. Is there anything you can do?”
If my brother found out I was tapping into my trust, he’d ask questions. Like why. Not that he’d ever deny me, he was an amazing brother that way. Adopted or otherwise.
Taking advantage of him was something I’d never do. He was the reason I was able to get off of the streets in the first place and go to college. The reason I built a life. A damn good one until now. Almost good enough to block out my first seventeen years.
When I’d left Chicago, I’d given up my full-time job and living in New York off a salary based around craigslist was tough. Not that my sacrifices had mattered. Mase had found me anyway. I spotted him a few weeks ago when I was coming off the subway and the chase began once more. Which was why I had to move. Again. Just for a few weeks, until the hearing.
Castor James was up for parole at the end of the month. The only thing between him and an open door was my testimony — testimony that Castor and his brother would stop at nothing to ensure never be given.
Even if it meant using my family against me.
“Are you all right, Miss Wade?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to get some money for a trip.” Sort of the truth. I didn’t know where I was going, but as long as it was away from my family and friends, that was good enough.
“Okay,” Ben said in a chipper tone. “Maybe you’d like to talk to your brother, then?”
I clenched my teeth and tried to breathe. I couldn’t tell Adam about this. Because I knew exactly what he’d do if he found out, he’d try to help. And that would put everything he’d built — his new life, his new family — at risk. All because of my past mistakes. No.
“Is there any way to get the money? Just between you and me? Simple transfer?”
I heard him sigh. “If you give me a couple days I can — ”
“I don’t have a couple days.” I cupped the phone harder and, once again, heard the boots scraping against wet concrete. They were definitely real — and definitely drawing closer.
I could see the lights of Times Square. Only one more block in the distance. Then I could get out of this dark alley and be near people.
“Let me see what I can do,” Ben said finally.
“Thank you so much.” A momentary rush of relief gave my legs the extra dose of speed they needed. “Let’s meet at the Shriners Club near your office tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”
“I can’t promise anything, Miss Wade, but I’ll see you there.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up the phone and jammed it in my pocket. I didn’t look behind me. I kicked it into high gear and ran.
Keeping my eyes focused on the lights, on the people passing by but just out of reach. I charged forward. Launching myself into the crowd, I came into the center of Times Square.
Once I was engulfed by people, I turned to look back at the alley I’d just fled and saw . . .
A breath jogged from my lungs and my knees went weak with relief. It wasn’t Mase. It was some skinny hipster guy. I needed to get a grip. Every time I heard a weird noise or footsteps in the distance, I thought it was him. I knew he was here, getting closer to finding me, but he hadn’t made contact yet —
“Ow!” I smacked right into a wall of person smelling like cigarettes and Jack Daniels. “Watch where you’re going,” I grumbled and gripped my satchel.
“I’m sorry, I must not have seen you there, Emma.”
My eyes snapped up and I froze, terror-stricken.
“Mase.” My throat instantly closed. He went to grab my arm and I jerked back and took off running.
Weaving through the crowd of tourists and people selling Broadway tickets, I went as fast as I could, desperately searching for a safe place. Somewhere I could duck into, lay low for the night.
The footsteps clapped behind me, closing in. I ran faster, knowing he was coming right for me.
No place familiar was safe. Not now. Home wasn’t an option, not until I knew Mase couldn’t follow me back to the apartment. I had lost him once in the subway crowd a few weeks ago. I didn’t know how much headway he’d made regarding my whereabouts since then, but I couldn’t risk him finding out the last little details of where I lived.
If there was one thing I’d learned living on the streets, it was knowing when to sleep alone and knowing when to partner up.
Time to partner up.
Breathing hard, running a crosswalk against the light and almost getting taken out by a honking cab, I continued to scan the street and found my answer.
The Strauss Hotel.
Megan’s new husband, Preston Strauss, owned the posh hotel. They were still on their honeymoon, but I knew a man who was staying there: Rhys Striker.
At least, I hoped he was still there. It had been a couple weeks since I had seen him at Megan and Preston’s wedding. And even a few more weeks since I had first met him at a gala thrown by his company. The event itself wouldn’t have been that memorable except for Rhys. Tall, muscled and draped in a tux, he walked in with these searing gray eyes that did weird things to my breathing whenever he zeroed them in on me.
Then there was the kiss.
This one, amazing, panty-melting-kiss.
Which shouldn’t be going through my mind at the moment, but it was. Maybe if I had taken Rhys up on his offer, things would be different today. Maybe not. But he had been a gentleman, asked to see me again, and I’d done the only thing a girl in my situation could do. I stood him up. Which I had immediately regretted.
Coming to the front doors of the hotel, I looked around quickly. No sign of Mase. Thank God for New York crowds. Between a busy street full of pedestrians and my short height, I was pretty sure I’d lost him.
Smoothing my hair and shirt, I got myself together and walked into the elegant lobby. I made my way to the elevator and went straight up to Rhys’s floor. Rhys had told me at the wedding that he was staying in the executive suite. Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time I had shown up at this very door, but it was the first time I knocked.
No answer.
“Shit.”
Mentally going through the rest of my options, and coming up with zero, I looked around quickly. No maid service, no people nearby . . .
I ran my fingers along the underside of the lock until I felt the tiny port hole that gave me hope. I had broken locks like this a dozen times as a teen.
Kneeling down and fishing through my bag, I grabbed a hairpin and pushed it into the port. Breaking and entering was something I hadn’t had to do in years, so my hands felt clumsy and awkward. Good and bad came with magnetic locks, and success always came down to the right tools.
“What the hell are you doing?” A gruff voice rang out and I shot to my feet, the pin falling from the lock.
My blood pressure instantly sped up. Which was stupid. We had had a moment. Not even sex. It was a damn kiss and even though I offered more, he turned me down, insisting on taking me out to dinner first. To which I didn’t show up. And that was weeks ago. But there, standing in jeans, a black tee and leather jacket, the man looked like the badass I was searching for.
“Hi, Rhys.”
“What are you doing here?”
Trying to keep casual, though my body was humming with leftover adrenaline from outrunning Mase and now with a new surge from seeing Rhys and all his yummy form, I shrugged. “Was hungry, thinking about grabbing dinner.”
“Dinner?” He pulled the cuff of his jacket back enough to glance at his watch. “You’re well over a month late for our date.”
“I like to be fashionably late.” I glanced around him, making sure no one else was coming, like Mase for instance. But we were still alone. Completely alone. A realization that made my heart rate pick back up.
He stood there, obviousl
y not amused. “Or maybe you decided that breaking into my hotel room was more fun than going out?”
“Oh, ah, I was just checking things out.” I kicked the hairpin on the floor away, which he saw me do, but whatever. I lied, I never said I was good at it. “I was just popping by to check if Megan and Preston were back yet. You know, to see if they wanted to catch up.”
Again, not good at lying, but there was little else I could do. I hadn’t thought about the next step after getting into his hotel room. I had been too focused on getting to Rhys and getting away from Mase that I didn’t think through the details of actually talking to him or explaining myself.
“And you think Megan and Preston are hiding in my room?” He bent and picked up the hairpin. “Can you honestly even open a magnetic lock with this?”
I shrugged and mumbled, “With the right electrical current maybe . . .”
I had been desperate to get in. To get near him. Part of me was running from Mase, but a bigger part was running toward Rhys. Now that Rhys was there, I felt like a moron. And if I were being honest, a lot safer.
He raised an eyebrow, those smoky gray eyes eating me up and calling my bluff before his words did.
“Megan and Preston are gone for another couple weeks. You know that as well as I do.”
“I forgot.” Again with the quick lie.
He crossed his arms over his chest. His massive chest. His hard-as-freaking-stone-former-Marine-I-could-kill-you-with-my-pinkies chest. Everything about his presence was calm and commanding. Used to giving orders and having them followed. And he looked sexy as hell with all that alpha ego dripping off of him.
I ran a hand over my mouth. Damn it. Every time I got near Rhys I developed a throat problem and couldn’t swallow right. Which resulted in drooling. Which wasn’t helping my case at the moment.
“Really?” he said with a half smile, half frown. No clue how he pulled that off, but he looked equal parts intrigued and angry. “That’s what you’re sticking with? Not going to fess up that I caught you trying to break into my hotel room?”
He held up the hairpin and I pressed my lips together. What was I supposed to say? Damn me for not being prepared. Running scared like a fool with no plan and acting on impulse got you hurt, or killed. I knew better. But when I was running, the only thing I could think of was finding the one place I wanted to be. And that was with Rhys.
