The Puppetmaster

by Linnea May

  Today is our six-month anniversary. Six months since I entered the house as his puppet. Six months since I became his. Six months since we grew to become the couple we are now.

  After all the troubles we endured, dealing with the consequences of Raad’s actions, we spent the coldest weeks of the year bathing in the warm sun of Egypt, hiding from the difficulties at home. Raad told me that he tries to do this every year because it makes him feel closer to his mother, a woman he barely had a chance to get to know.

  When I told Melina that he would take me there, she joked about him proposing to me in front the pyramids, something I knew deep down wasn’t going to happen. But still, my heart was almost jumping out of my chest when we visited the famous Giza complex that I knew from the picture hanging in the room I used to sleep in when I was still nothing but his puppet.

  Of course, he didn’t propose—and if it weren’t for Melina and her silly assumptions, I never even would have thought of it back then. It would have been crazy. It was too early.

  It’s too early still.

  Raad is already waiting for me at our table, looking staggeringly handsome in a black suit and tie ensemble that I’ve never seen on him before. His hair is gelled perfectly in place and he looks so spick-and-span altogether that I feel underdressed in an instant, even though I’m wearing one of my newest Valentino cocktails dresses with an off-shoulder cut and soft, crimson-red fabric.

  I raise an eyebrow at him when he gets up to welcome me.

  “You looked different when you left for work this morning,” I comment, before meeting his lips for a kiss.

  “Can’t a man clean up for his girl without suspicion?” he retorts, pulling the chair back for me to sit down.

  As soon as he takes his seat opposite of me, a waiter appears out of nowhere, bringing us two flutes of champagne. We exchange a smile and clink glasses—quietly, which is unusual. Raad looks magnificent, but he seems tense somehow.

  “Tough day?” I want to know. “You seem stressed.”

  His eyebrows arch as if I caught him doing something bad, and he hurries to shake his head.

  “A little, but I’m fine,” he says. “How about you?”

  “Actually,” I begin, reaching inside my clutch purse to produce the letter I brought with me, “I have good news.”

  He regards me with an expectant look, his eyes flitting back and forth between me and the letter as he takes it from me.

  “You got in?” he exclaims, understanding the gesture without having to open the letter. His face lights up when he looks at me. “You did, didn’t you? You got into college!”

  “I did,” I respond, nodding as my back straightens with pride. “I guess we have two things to celebrate tonight.”

  He looks at me for a moment before he begins shaking his head, a wide grin spreading across his handsome face.

  “Three, actually,” he corrects me, and before I can ask what he means by that, he gets up from his seat and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket before he gets down on one knee next to me.

  My breath hikes and I turn into a salt pillar, unable to fathom what I’m seeing.

  “Alena Prey,” he begins, his black eyes latching onto mine while he holds up a tiny jewelry box before me. “You may have steamrolled my plans once again, topping this evening with great news of your own, but I hope you won’t mind strolling over campus as a married woman.”

  He pauses, opening the box to reveal an astonishing diamond ring in a delicate princess setting.

  “Because it would make me the happiest man on the planet if you would do me the honor of becoming mine forever.”

  I can’t produce a verbal response, but he understands. He understands when I slip down from my chair and go right into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck as we connect in a deep kiss.

  He understands.

  He knows there’s no one else I’d ever want to dance for. No one else whose strings I’d rather hang from.

  I’m his and he is mine.

  My Puppetmaster.

  Thank you for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed the story of Alena and Raad!

  Are you curious about Raad's brother Nate and his fiancée Malia? Just turn the page or click here for a free sneak peek to their story in 'Onyx'!

  Already read Onyx? How about Melina's story? Alena's bartending friend has a very unique story of her own in Blue Velvet – click here for a free sneak peek!

  Also by Linnea May

  FREEBIES

  A hot & steamy Billionaire Romance about a mysterious thriller and suspense writer and his muse.

  His Secret Muse

  Prequel to The Velvet Rooms Series

  The Velvet Rooms

  Dark Billionaire Romances

  Stories of dark seduction, twisted desires and fateful encounters.

  Petal: A Dark Romance Duet

  Onyx: A Dark Romance Duet

  The VIOLENT Series

  Silent Daughter

  The Velvet Rooms Series

  New Adult Billionaires

  New Adult Billionaire Romances with a college twist.

  MASTER CLASS

  For my Master

  Billionaires & Bohemians

  Bad Boy Billionaires and their artistic counterparts.

  TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

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  Captured Onyx

  by Linnea May

  BLURB

  Obey. Submit.

  Don’t fail me–or you’ll die.

  I wake up to these words, kidnapped, bound and at the mercy of a man who is as gorgeous as he is cruel.

  How did I get here? Why is this happening to me?

  I left my calm small-town home to celebrate with my best friend, and now I’m the captive of a criminal—a man who wants to trade me as part of a deal with the Mafia.

  He says he’ll train me.

  He tells me to trust him, to obey his command and to bend at his will.

  He is prepping me for a war that I’m not ready to fight.

  He is my only chance to survive.

  My captor—and my only solace.

  Chapter 1

  Malia

  I’m in agony.

  This headache is the worst I’ve ever had. The pain is throbbing through my skull and feels as if a small but vicious hammer is slowly splitting my head into parts.

  I hide in the blackness, seeking comfort as I wait for the piercing pulsations to stop.

  The torment of it weighs me down, forcing me to keep my eyes shut after I wake up from a slumber that was induced by force, leaving me confused.

  What happened?

  And where am I?

  Just a moment ago, I was still in my hotel room. I was happy—and drunk. I never drink, but it was a special night—my best friend's wedding, and a crazy one at that. They had decided to elope, calling me on short notice to come with them as their only witness.

  We were having so much fun. We partied. A lot. Too much. My head was spinning when they guided me up to my room. Even though I repeatedly insisted that I was able to walk on my own, they supported me as I tripped and stumbled through the casino.

  They helped me to my room, and put me to bed. And then they left.

  Even with my eyes closed I can tell that I’m no longer i
n that hotel room. The smell is different, the mattress I’m lying on feels different—and the sounds coming from outside the room are different.

  An abrupt noise like a heavy door slamming shut reverberates in the distance, seemingly coming from far away, like it is being muffled by walls or doors. I'm inside a closed room and lying on a saggy mattress with sheets that smell like citrus, but not in a good way. The smell is pungent and doesn’t go well with the atmosphere of the room.

  And there's one thing that really unnerves me.

  My hands are tied. And so are my ankles.

  I'm lying on my back and my hands are tied together at the front, resting on my belly. I try to calm my breathing as the panic settles in.

  My ankles are not tied together, though, but tied to something instead. Is it the bed frame? Am I even on a bed? The only way I can know for sure is if I open my eyes.

  But I'm too scared.

  I'm too scared of what I might see. Too scared to make all of this real. Once I open my eyes, I can no longer pretend that this is just a bad dream, or that it’s my imagination after drunkenly passing out in my hotel room back in Atlantic City.

  That’s where I’m supposed to be. That’s where I was before everything went black.

  My best friend, Liliane and her new husband Jayson had left the room. I can still see the concerned expression on her face as she cast me one last look.

  "I'm fine," I slurred, adding a weak but honest smile. I was tired, oh so tired. All I wanted to do was to fall asleep and stop the room from spinning.

  So that's what I did. I passed out just moments after the door closed behind them, and I tumbled into a dreamless sleep.

  But something happened after that.

  There was a noise coming from outside. A knocking that started out gentle at first, but it kept growing louder and more aggressive the longer I didn't react to it. The door was shaking on its hinges, causing a ruckus that was impossible to ignore, even in my pathetic state.

  I forced myself to open my heavy eyelids and get up off the bed.

  I dragged myself toward the door, stumbling and silently cursing my best friend. I thought it must be Liliane who was pounding on the door with such vicious force, returning to check on me, driven by misplaced worry instead of enjoying her first night as a newlywed.

  I was so sure it was her.

  But it wasn't.

  Oh, my God, I think I’m panicking.

  My heart is racing, thumping against my rib cage with such ferocity that it's almost painful. I shift my tied hands to my chest, pressing them against my left boob as if to keep my heart from escaping.

  I'm scared.

  I'm fucking terrified.

  Eyes closed or not, I know that something terrible must have happened to me. I know that I'm in danger.

  My eyes fly open in a sudden rush, as if waking myself up from a terrible nightmare.

  But this isn’t what happens. I don't wake up because I’m already awake. And I am no longer where I should be, in a luxury hotel suite that my best friend's generous husband reserved for me. There's no canopy bed lulling me into a sense of security, no thick, expensive curtains framing floor-length windows, or French doors leading out to a balcony with a view out to sea that was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen.

  There is none of that.

  Because I'm no longer there. The room I find myself in now is so different that I can't fool myself for even a second into thinking that I might still be at the hotel in Atlantic City.

  First of all, this space is a lot smaller. I am lying on a bed, a queen size bed with dark sheets. My ankles are tied to the bed frame, my legs slightly spread, stretching the fabric of my dress. And even fueled with this ice cold fear for my life, I cannot help but wonder why anyone would tie up a person in this manner. I’ve seen it before in movies, the helpless kidnapping victim with their hands and ankles tied and fastened behind their back, or a person sitting on a chair with their hands tied behind their back and feet strapped to the chair's legs.

  But like this? The closest I can think of is the way a deranged sadist would tie his prey to the bed before sexually assaulting or torturing them. Spread out like a star with all four limbs stretched out and tied to the four corners of the bed frame.

  I’m thankful that this is not the position I find myself in. I am less exposed, because I can still move my arms, to some degree, and I can sit up. I can move, but for some reason, I don’t.

  The room is dark, barely lit by a single light bulb right above me. It's only bright enough to illuminate the area right around the bed, and the rest of the room remains obscured in shadows. As far as I can tell, there’s not much to see to begin with. Four walls, no windows, and a door to my left. There’s no other furniture, no wall hangings or decor, nothing. It’s just a large cell with a wooden floor, four bare walls, and a simple bed in the middle.

  It has nothing in common with the room I was supposed to wake up in this morning.

  Before I was kidnapped. Taken. Whatever you want to call it.

  What happened to me? Who was knocking at my door last night?

  I opened the door expecting to see Liliane, but it wasn’t her face there. That’s pretty much all I remember.

  No. I remember that there was a man standing there. A tall man.

  Not even a second passed before he charged at me.

  And then my world went dark.

  Until now.

  I’m beginning to think that someone’s trying to fuck with my head.

  The noises outside the room don't stop. Again and again, I hear doors being slammed, footsteps shifting back and forth, the shadows breaking the light that finds its way inside the room underneath the door.

  This seems to go on forever, and my heart jolts every time I sense a motion or hear a sound from outside the room. Fear washes through me in waves, receding and rising in turns, depending on how imminent the danger from the outside world seems. My heart calms as the activity quiets down outside the room, returning to its frenetic pace as soon as there's even the slightest sign of another human close to me. I'm all alone, lonely in the dark, but whoever is out there, cannot possibly be my friend, can they?

  That's why I don't call out. That's why I remain silent, even when I hear another set of footsteps approaching, accompanied by voices for the very first time. Deep voices, male voices.

  My heart races, so fast that it makes me feel dizzy and sick with terror. Once again, I see shadows lurking in front of the door, but this time, they don't just pass on their way somewhere else.

  This time they come to a halt.

  And so does my breath.

  Chapter 2

  Malia

  The lock turns, and the corresponding loud clicking sound makes me jolt up straight on the mattress in an instant. It's awkward to sit and steady myself like this with my legs stretched out to the front and parted and no way to support myself with my arms. But it's way better than to remain on my back, helpless like a fish out of water and at the mercy of whoever is going to come through that door.

  It opens slowly, letting in light before anything else. My eyes have gotten used to the darkness, so I squint at the intruder, not able to make out anything more than his large outline at first.

  I'm not surprised to see that it is a man. Broad shoulders, hugged by a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The light framing him from behind is so bright that I can't see his face at first, making it impossible for me to make out anything else about his appearance other than the fact that he's quite tall and has a muscular build.

  He pauses for a moment, standing silently in the open door. The twofold combination of his height and the lighting work to his advantage, dwarfing me. With every second that passes, my excitement about a welcome diversion is replaced with growing fear.

  Who is he? What is he going to do to me?

  Where am I? And why am I here?

  I don't dare voice any of my questions, mostly because I'm afraid of the answers.
r />   Finally, the tall man moves, flipping a switch next to the door as he steps inside the room. The light bulb above my head becomes brighter, illuminating the room so that the light from the outside no longer contrasts the darkness inside. But before I can get a better look into whatever lies behind the door from which he entered, he closes it.

  Everything inside me screams to get away from him as he approaches the bed, calmly but steadily, burying his hands in his pants' pockets, his head tilted to the side. I look up, drinking in his handsome features, which somehow counterintuitively manage to soothe me despite my predicament. He's gorgeous in a way that's baffling to say the least. Hazel brown hair and a neatly shaved undercut that reveals a tattoo on the left side of his head. I've never met a person with a tattoo on their skull, and for the longest time I can't tear my gaze away from following the black lines that stop at his temple. His rectangular jaw line is speckled with a three-day stubble, masking furrows caused by the smirk that accents his face as he regards me.

  He doesn’t seem to be much older than me, I'd say. But his expression exudes dark wisdom, the kind that's left by experiences very different from mine.

  My pulse speeds up in tune with every step he takes, the beat of it so loud that I can feel it pulsating in my ears when he finally comes to a halt. He's towering over me, that sinister smirk still on his face and a flicker in his gray eyes that scares the hell out of me.

  "Hello, Lailah."

  His voice is a profound growl, in sync with his appearance. But it's not only the sound of it that makes my blood freeze, it's the name he uses to address me.

  I scrunch my eyebrows, slowly shaking my head as I return his unyielding gaze.

  "Th-th-there has been a mistake," I stutter, cursing myself for sounding like a scared little kid. "I'm not Lailah."