His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance

by Watson, Meg

  The throbbing at my head was only getting worse. I leaned against one of the short handrails, grasping it tightly as the world spun around me. I reminded myself for the hundredth time that yes, taking the pill was a mistake, and that I would stand up for myself a little more next time. Either Rachel didn't get it or didn't care. Either way, that wasn't happening again.

  The low rumble of an engine stirred my from my swooning stupor, and I stood as straight as I could to begin the walk anew. I slowed when I realized that the car wasn't passing by—it was following me. My walking wasn't putting any distance between me and the sound, and I could hear the engine tick up here and there. I chanced a look over my shoulder, and saw a black SUV with blacked out windows.

  My heart skipped a beat. I found myself surprised at my reaction—I wanted it to be Rafe. I wanted him to come and take me into the big black SUV, drive me around, touch me, command me... anything. I turned and began walking to the driver's side window, a small smile on my face. It immediately fled when the window rolled down to reveal Bronson.

  He didn't seem too happy with me, but he wasn't exactly angry either. “Hey, Rachel. What's goin' on, huh?”

  Oh, god. He still thinks I'm Rachel.

  I put on my best vaguely friendly tone and expression, but my worry must have shown through. “Hey, there. Bronson, right? What're you doing around here?”

  “Just followin' up on a little lead is all. I need to talk to you.”

  He opened the door, dropping out quickly into a half-crouch like a wrestler. I found myself backing up instinctively as he walked toward me, ready to bolt through one gangways toward an alley or to start banging on doors.

  “The fuck are you running for? Stop, stop.” He seemed earnestly confused by my retreat. “Did I say something fucked up last night? I mean, I was on all kinds of shit, it's not like I remember. I probably didn't mean it, whatever it was. Come on, talk to me for a second.”

  He gave a quick beckon with his hand and I squinted against the gusty winds. What harm could there be in talking to him? We were in broad daylight. Admittedly, it wasn't a great neighborhood, but he'd have to be insane to try something out here. Even as I took a few tentative steps toward him, I chastised myself for acting like a scared puppy. He was just a guy. Maybe he wanted to talk about the real Rachel or something, ask for her number, something like that.

  “Yeah, fine. All right, just... what is it you want, exactly? It's kinda weird to meet you out here, we're not exactly close to the bar or anything. Do you know Rafe? Did he tell you where I stayed or something?”

  He shook his head firmly. His auburn hair was so tightly coiled to his head that it remained utterly perfect.

  “Nah. Like I said, just followin’ up on a little lead. I was kinda scoping out this block. And ah... y'know. When I saw you, I figured I had to ask. Is this where you're gettin’ the stuff?”

  I could feel my brow coming down instinctively, defensively.

  “Um...”

  He crossed his arms tightly, muscles straining against the sleeves of his deep red jacket. Under knitted brows, I could see his coppery eyes were hooded and dark and realized he had the same hangover I did, if not a few times worse. I didn’t envy him.

  “Don't be coy with me, I just want to get some for myself, fuck,” he drawled, rolling his eyes and sneering over one corner of his fence picket teeth. “Is this where you get the stuff or not?”

  I hesitated for a long moment, looking back at the ramshackle buildings behind me. Remembering Rachel’s coaching I stood up straight, trying to affect a confident pose.

  “Yeah,” I finally admitted. “You can get pretty much whatever in a pl—”

  I felt him creeping far too close for comfort. I turned to him, staring up, the fear obvious on my face now. I think he liked that. The last thing I saw of him was his tongue, thick and curling over his open bottom lip as he grabbed me by the hair.

  He spun me around, one of his arms tucking beneath my chin.

  Oh, god, he's going to strangle me.

  I kicked wildly, thrashed, tried to headbutt him, but nothing seemed to loosen his grip on me at all. His arms clamped around me like a vise as I clawed pointlessly as his sleeves. My mouth opened wide and I desperately tried to call for help, but nothing came. There was no one else around, and if the tenants above saw us, they didn't care.

  The world was fading quickly around me, and my head throbbed like it was about to burst. I went limp just as much from resignation as exhaustion.

  This is it.

  Spirals twirled in front of my vision, setting the edges to fire and then black ash. I couldn't believe how cavalier he was about it, as if he'd done it a million times. Expert, quick, efficient.

  I knew I couldn't have been his first; he was too brazen. That thought was simultaneously comforting and terrifying. I’d found someone truly dangerous, and I hadn’t seen it coming at all. But at least I wasn't the only woman he'd singled out. At least I wasn’t unique.

  As soon as that thought drifted through my mind, I was gone.

  CHAPTER 1

  I had been turned into stone. Some loud machine throbbed rhythmically, its hydraulic chugging relentless in my ears like a semi truck’s air brakes. I couldn’t even think, it was so loud. The sound beat at me, pulverizing my blood into pellets, splintering every thought before it had completely formed.

  My eyes wouldn’t open. I felt like I had been dipped in amber and frozen. A thick shell covering my whole body. Nothing worked. I couldn’t even piece together a command to move any part of me that I could remember.

  But that sound, that fucking sound. Goddamn. Why wouldn’t it stop? If I could just have a moment away from it to clear my head, to get my bearings… I desperately wanted silence so I could understand what was going on.

  A red haze seemed to seep behind my closed eyes, buzzing with a threatening swarm of tiny lights. Panic. Was I dead? Did he kill me?

  Stay calm. Stay calm. You can figure this out.

  I tried to feel something. Color. Pressure. Cold. If I concentrated, I was almost sure I felt light settling on my face. There was a light above me. I was lying down. The light was so bright that I didn’t really want to open my eyes, but didn’t think I could anyway. Or could I? If only that throb would stop, I could try to think straight. What was that?

  I know that sound.

  That’s me. That’s my heart beat.

  I’m still alive.

  That awareness came with others: pain, panic, fury. I was alive, but paralyzed? Why couldn’t I open my eyes? Why couldn’t I move? I centered all my thoughts on my eyes, feeling the seam where they were closed, the weight of the light that fell on my lids. With an absurd amount of effort, my lashes gradually began to tear away from where they were stuck to my cheeks.

  At first it was like a sharp, jagged shard. The light was crazy, pounding down in blocks that shifted and bleared in starbursts and random colors. My nerves jangled out a painful objection. I blinked, half-afraid that allowing my lids to close again would mean they would never reopen. It was so bright it was practically sound, a shout. I couldn’t make sense of it.

  You’re doing great. Now breathe.

  But breathing hurt, bad. I wanted to whimper. The air sawed at my throat as it passed and I fought to swallow the pain. But at least I was certain I was alive now. Every second, the white light shifted to a slightly better focus. With each blink, I could make out a little bit more.

  Still I was trapped in stone. Nothing was moving. I mustered all the energy I could to sit or roll, but either I didn’t remember how or something was preventing me. Commanding myself to remain calm, I tried to just feel my body and figure it out.

  What do I feel? Cold? Pain?

  After what seemed like several long minutes, I had called out to every remote part of myself and gotten at least a weak response. I could feel my hands, arms, belly. My feet were blockish and numb but present.

  It seemed like my body was there, but something else wa
s too. I could feel wide, tight bands across my chest and hips. Something utterly unyielding jammed against my shoulder blades. I couldn't turn my head much either way, and my vision was still hazy.

  Oh god.

  I’m tied. I’m tied down.

  Instantly I needed to move. My neck strained forward, but a thick bolt of cloth had been tied around the bottom half of my face. I felt the knot at the back as I dropped my head back to the surface in defeat and heard a metallic clang.

  Moving from my neck downward, I pulled hard at the bonds—each one individually with what little strength I had, hoping that one of them might be loose. When nothing seemed to budge, I tried in vain to pull all my limbs inward, breaking them free of their containment. Nothing.

  I kicked and struggled wildly then, tapping into reserves I didn't know I had. I fought against the bindings with everything small jolt of strength as I began to hear another sound.

  No, sounds. Plural.

  Someone else in the room? Voices coming closer. They seemed to be fading in and out along with my thready consciousness as I struggled. I was still swooning, trying desperately to focus on their voices—anything to bring me out of this terrible half-conscious, drugged fog.

  A series of dark shapes floated vertically in the blare of my vision. I squinted hard, trying to see them. Three? Six? No, two. Two people. I could hear the vague impressions of their voices, like underwater whispers. Like an old car radio being dialled in past the sea of white noise, cutting through in brief snatches.

  “...tie her…”

  “... unprepared…”

  “...Rachel…”

  At the sound of her name, I arched my back and pulled with all my might. Parts of me knocked loose and banged against the metal. Something fell heavy and sudden against my shoulders and flung me back, pinning me to the hard surface. My skin pinched as the straps were tightened and I could no longer move again.

  My heart raced, threatening to pound out every other noise in the room again. Struggling for clarity, I focused on the sensation of someone very close to my head. I could feel their breath, oily and hot on my skin.

  “...not like I wanted…”

  “...just where you said…”

  Focus!

  Two people. Two men, I was sure. There was one voice near me, and one farther away. I tried desperately to slow my breathing so I could hear better, realizing that I was making sounds, whimpering through the cloth. I had to stop.

  “The fuck you mean, this is the wrong girl?” came the voice near me. The sound oozed over the skin under my ear. “This is Rachel. You told me to get Rachel.”

  “No, it isn’t,” came a response, farther away.

  “The fuck it isn’t. Look at her! Blonde hair, big bag of pills… That’s Rachel!”

  “No, it isn't. Do you realize the problems you've just laid at my door?”

  I’m not Rachel! Listen to me!

  “Christ. Keep her still!”

  Something fell over me again, blocking out the light and briefly blinding me. I realized I had started thrashing again and was now cinched down past immobility. Much more and I wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

  “If you cannot control her, please leave the chapel,” came a growl.

  “I’ve fuckin—Fuck!” came the gruff response. It felt like I was straddled, held down as the straps were tightened too far. “I’ve got her!”

  “For the moment. Perhaps.”

  The shadow passed as the body above me climbed off the metal table. The light returned, as harsh and blinding before. The bindings were so tight that I could barely take a breath and began to pant in shallow gasps, pain lancing my sore throat.

  I know him.

  I knew that voice. Despite the hard edge it had taken on, the anger that boiled just beneath the surface, I knew that it was Rafe's voice. That uncanny smoothness, the haughtiness and superiority that dripped like honey from every word he spoke.

  Another shadow. I held my eyes open and waited, needing to see more. The first thing I managed to focus my eyes on was the last thing I wanted to see. Bronson's wiry copper hair stood out against the white ceiling far above me.

  Panic rose again in a swarm, my chest rising and falling quickly as more and more of the world cleared around me.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  Bronson leaned in, his eyes narrow, his brow twisted in anger. The receding fog around his face brought it into unnerving sharpness and clarity. His eyes bored into mine. His upper lip curled back over his stained, crowded teeth.

  “This ain't my fault,” he hissed, close to my face. I could feel drops of his spit pocking my cheeks. “It's yours. I can't fucking stand liars.”

  He straightened up again, leaving my vision.

  “How was I supposed to know who she was? I wasn’t about to go for her ID, Rafe. She said her name was Rachel… She sold me the goods… What was I supposed to think?”

  I felt Bronson's rough hand at my face, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. The sudden pain of the pressure dragged me toward full consciousness and the room snapped into sharp, searing focus. Bronson stared at me, but spoke to Rafe. A stripe of milky spittle trailed from his tongue to his upper gums.

  “So… What are we going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know,” came the answer, a menacing growl. “She’s… not supposed to be here.”

  Bronson shrugged, his mouth twisting in a sneer. I could see a birdshot scatter of oversized blackheads on his chin.

  “I could take her off your hands,” he said in a low, oily voice. “Take care of her. Oh, that'd be great fun.”

  My mind began to churn. Was it the pills? Was there something wrong with them, or did he just want more? I moaned through the ties over my mouth. If they would just let me explain… If Rafe would just come closer…

  Rafe! Please!

  Bronson’s beady eyes scanned mine, flickering over and over from left to right as he leaned closer and closer. Then he glanced away toward Rafe’s voice.

  “You'll do no such thing, Bronson. This is your mess, but you won't be cleaning it up. Not like that.”

  Bronson scoffed, releasing my face with a little push as he stood straight again.

  “So, what? You like this girl, now? She’s useless.”

  Please talk to me!

  Rafe’s face finally entered the swath of light that I could see. Relief felt like a cool surge in my belly. I wanted to cry. He knew me. He would do something, I was sure. I tried desperately to communicate to him, but his inky black eyes only stared down, hard and cold as onyx.

  “No. I don't like her,” he growled, nostrils flaring. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Tch. Then what's the problem? I take her off your hands, we get our girl, and this whole thing gets wrapped up properly.”

  Rafe held my gaze. My eyes burned as I fought the urge to look away. He seemed to be leaning on the table, deep in thought as his stare bored holes in my soul. I didn’t even blink. I needed him to connect with me, to feel I was there. How could he let Bronson keep me like that?

  Rafe, please!

  His small smile spread slowly.

  “You know what? Maybe I do like her—in any case, more than I like you. At least she follows orders properly, isn't that right?” He leaned closer to me. I could smell his spicy cologne in my sinuses, salving the raw tissues.

  He looked back to Bronson, jabbing a finger at him. “We're putting her in Gretchen's room, and that's it. We'll figure out what to do with her later.”

  Bronson immediately shook his head. “No fucking way. We can't put her there.”

  Rafe gave a shrug, but his eyes were a silent challenge. “What choice have you left me?” He pointed back the way they came. “Get the syringe.”

  No!

  He shook his head subtly. His voice was oddly resigned, and his tone filled me with a new terror. My mind began spinning wildly. Who was Gretchen, and what was in her room? Why was I being kept at all? Why wouldn't they just l
et me go?

  I bit down hard at the gag, giving a small whimper, trying to draw Rafe's eyes back to me. Maybe if he saw my fear, my desperation, he'd feel sorry for me and just let me go.

  My breath quickened by the moment as I heard Bronson's footfalls coming closer and closer. I pushed a pitiful excuse for a scream for mercy through the gag, tears flowing freely from my burning eyes. Yanking hard at the wrist bonds, I tried in vain to sit up, to twist toward Rafe, anything to put off whatever was in that syringe.

  Rafe’s stare was cool and remote as I begged him silently to let me speak, let me go. My eyes jerked over to Bronson as he came to stand beside me. He gripped my fingers tight, the crushing pressure causing me to cry out again against the gag. I felt the needle sink into my hand, the burning ache of the sedative spreading quickly.

  My eyes darted back to Rafe just long enough to see him turn his gaze from me. He didn't look sorry. He looked disappointed. Exasperated.

  The world closed in rapidly, an inky black wave of unconsciousness washing over me as the drug took hold. I sank and sank, until there was nothing again.

  CHAPTER 2

  As I slowly came to, I felt a hand sliding up and down my thigh, skin on skin. The touch was warm, comforting, even soothing.

  Rafe? Help me, please.

  Everything was all red or black. Or no color. Or, probably just the color of me on the inside, in the gooey grave of my flesh. I tried to get out. It felt like I was climbing steps toward the surface, climbing and climbing, getting nowhere.

  Rafe? Something has gone so wrong...

  The touch was real. I knew it. I clung to the sensation: fingers on my thighs, pressure on my belly and hips. It reminded me of his touch at the bar. The way his fingers encircled the top of my thigh through my skirt, right there in public, just after we had met. So presumptuous, but yet so strangely welcome. It was as though he knew he owned me right away. I needed that certainty now. I needed to have something definite to hold onto.

  I stayed exactly as I was, letting him do whatever he would to me. The touch was a rope pulling me back toward consciousness. It was safety. It reminded me of how recently everything had been fine. Before all this darkness.