Captivated with Them (Dirty Twisted Love, #3)

by Farrar, Marissa

  Right now, other than doing what the Capello brothers wanted and getting Nettie sent down, and then hoping they just let us all go, I couldn’t see any way out of this.

  Was there any possibility of me finding Dillon before then? He might not even have been brought here with me and was perhaps locked up somewhere else. It wasn’t as if I had free run of the house, either. I’d proven myself to be untrustworthy when I’d absconded with the guys, and I had no doubt that the Capello brothers and their men would be watching my every move.

  Perhaps a month ago, I would have given in and accepted my fate, but being with Kodee and the others had shown me a different kind of life. They’d given me hope—something I’d never had before—and even after everything had gone so wrong for us, I hadn’t given up on that hope.

  With a heavy sigh, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor, and then rid myself of my jeans. Knowing this wasn’t the kind of dress I could wear a bra with, I reluctantly unclipped that as well. I lifted the dress I’d been told to wear off the hanger and slipped it on, wriggling the material down over my body.

  The silver straps were barely there, the front cut so low it skimmed the tops of my nipples. Though the skirt was long and brushed my feet, the slit up the back stopped barely below my ass. I knew exactly why this dress had been chosen—it was perfectly cut to allow a groping hand to slip up the back, giving access to anyone who wanted to get a feel of the inside of my thighs, or backside, or pussy. The thought sent a shudder of revulsion through me.

  For once, I was thankful not to have been blessed in the chest area. My small breasts already almost spilled from the flimsy material of the dress, and I imagined if I was much curvier, it wouldn’t cover me up at all. The shoes I’d been given were also strappy, the heels several inches high and needle thin. I’d grown up being forced to wear ridiculous shoes—for some reason, it was something men seemed to like, though I couldn’t imagine why any woman would willingly wear them—so I could walk in them easily enough. It occurred to me that the heel of the pumps would make a pretty dangerous weapon. If it was aimed in the right way, with enough strength, it could easily take out an eye.

  But a shoe was never going to be much of a weapon against a loaded gun.

  Chapter Three

  Dillon

  MY HEAD POUNDED LIKE I was suffering the worst hangover of my life.

  What the fuck had happened?

  I tried to think back, but my thoughts were muddled. I remembered Rue and the forest, and men with guns. But, no, whatever had happened to me had happened after that.

  It took a monumental effort to get my eyes to respond to my brain’s command to open. Even when I did manage to get them open, I had a moment when I wondered if I’d imagined doing so. I was surrounded in darkness. The floor was cold and solid beneath me.

  I tried to sit up, but my hands seemed to be bound behind my back. Every movement sent fresh stabs of pain through my skull. The skin on one side of my face felt tight and crusty, and I realized blood must have run from my scalp as I’d lain unconscious and had since dried.

  How long had I been unconscious, and where the hell was I?

  I blinked again, straining my eyes against the dark. As I stared, I realized it wasn’t fully dark. A faint light came from just above the floor on one side, perhaps a small slit beneath a closed door.

  I tried to edge forward but was yanked back. Fuck. My hands weren’t only bound behind my back, they were also tied to something. From the cylinder shape and the texture of metal, I figure I was bound to a pipe.

  “Hey!” I’d wanted my voice to be strong, and powerful, and unafraid, but instead it was a broken croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hey! What the fuck is this? You need to come and untie me, right now!”

  Or what? What kind of power did I have to make them do that?

  I guessed I was lucky I was even alive.

  It was all coming back to me now—being brought back to the city, being in the restaurant the Capellos used as a cover business to hide their shady dealings, then one of their men hitting me. After that, there was nothing.

  What had happened to the others?

  They were all still alive when I’d been knocked unconscious; I was sure of it. Those fucks had hit me for a reason. They wanted to make a point, or they wanted to use me as leverage.

  If it was leverage, it meant they wanted something from the others and were using me to make it happen. For Rue, the reason was obvious. They still wanted her to testify against Joe Nettie. But what about Kodee and Ryan? The Capellos could have just killed us all, but they hadn’t, which meant they planned on using us.

  I had no intention of just sitting around and waiting for the Capellos to figure out what they were going to do with me. I was pretty sure whatever they planned wasn’t going to result in them sending the four of us off to the horizon to live happily ever after.

  I strained my ears, trying to pick up on any clues as to where I was. Was the low hum in the background that of traffic? Or engines of some other kind?

  Whatever it was, it didn’t give me any clue as to my location.

  My head was pounding, and my stomach rolled. The result of the bang to the temple, I guessed. I most likely had a concussion. I yanked my hands back and forth, trying to loosen the binds holding me to the pipework. It wasn’t as though I’d been attached with handcuffs. It was only tape, and tape could be torn.

  I guessed I was in a cellar, since there didn’t appear to be any windows. Was I beneath the pizza place? If I was, this couldn’t be the main part of the cellar. I’d done enough bar and restaurant work in my life to know the cellars of those kinds of establishments were filled with crates of soft drinks and barrels of beer. The scent of them was distinctive, too, and I wasn’t getting that same sense from this place. I also knew the size of the restaurant, and even though the darkness made it near impossible to see, I was sure the space I was enclosed inside of was far smaller.

  I needed to get my hands free from this pipe, and at least then I’d be able to explore my surroundings properly.

  Gritting my teeth, I focused on trying to free my hands. I twisted and yanked and pulled, each movement feeling like it was taking yet another layer of skin off, leaving my wrists raw. My shoulders ached from the exertion, and as I gave one final tug, a low guttural growl of frustration peeled from between my lips.

  It was no good. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter Four

  Rue

  “COME ON, IT’S TIME.”

  One of the Capellos’ men stood in the doorway of the room I’d been given. From previous encounters, I knew his name was Otis. He was tall and slender, with hard, almost black eyes and a smile that never quite reached them.

  I wanted to cry but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of my tears. Plus, I knew it would anger Frankie Capello if I didn’t act the way he wanted for his guests. Some men liked to see a girl cry—and if the girl whimpered and begged while the men took what they wanted, even better—but I refused to give them that pleasure.

  The dress clung perfectly to my frame. I’d piled my hair up on top of my head, exposing my neck, and two silver droplets hung from my ears. At my throat nestled the necklace I’d been given for my birthday.

  I was fully aware they had Dillon stashed away somewhere, and if I didn’t do what they wanted, they would hurt him.

  It’s okay. You’ve done this plenty of times before. Just play the part.

  We left the room, and Otis led me through the house toward the huge orangery at the back, which Frankie Capello liked to use for entertaining guests. The orangery was filled with tropical foliage, giving the place an exotic feel. Running down the middle of the room was a large dining table where he ate with his visitors. More often than not, his brother also attended these functions.

  Though this property was big and expensive, it wasn’t Frankie Capello’s main home. So as not to expose his wife and children to these kinds of functions or
the women who provided the entertainment, his family lived in an equally grand property on the other side of the city.

  Two other girls waited in the hallway outside of the orangery. Both were dressed similarly to me, but I could see by their body language that they were new. I recognized the person I’d been only a month ago by their hunched shoulders and the way their hair hung over their faces. My heart broke for them. Who were these girls? Were they like me—sold from a young age and without an identity of their own? Or were they runaways who had been promised a different life, only to find themselves locked away, subdued with threats of violence and rape if they didn’t behave?

  The girls were brought here for training, to be turned into the perfect plaything, only to be sold on to hugely wealthy men, whether that be here in the United States or, more likely, abroad. Once they were overseas, there was little chance of them ever finding their way home again. They’d discover themselves with no passport or other identity, often in countries where they didn’t even speak the language. They would be kept prisoner with threats of violence and the removal of hope, and when they eventually died, whether that was at the hand of someone else or their own, no one would even miss them.

  The girls noticed me approaching, both their gazes flicking in my direction.

  I tried to offer them a reassuring smile, but really, what could I reassure them about? I knew what was going to happen. How could I tell them it would be okay, when it most likely wouldn’t?

  Just pretend you’re someone else, I wanted to tell them. Box up your heart and mind and put them somewhere safe.

  “Hi,” I said as I approached. “I’m Rue.”

  Otis shoved me in my lower back. “No talking!”

  I came to stand beside the closest of the girls, a curvy blonde. Her blue eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she shot me a grateful smile.

  She glanced past me toward Otis, who’d gotten distracted with someone on his cellphone, and then whispered to me. “I’m Skye.”

  I returned her smile. The other girl was a brunette, like me, though her hair was several shades lighter. I hoped she would join in our attempt at a conversation, but she kept her head down, her fingers knotted together in front of her body. Skye lifted her eyebrows at me and shrugged. I knew what she was saying—that the other girl might be a lost cause. I didn’t think so. I didn’t think any of us were.

  Loud male voices came from inside the orangery, followed by a roar of laughter. The sound twisted my insides with anger. We meant nothing to them. We were of no more significance than the food they ate—consumables, here purely for their pleasure. They didn’t care about our tears or nightmares, or how, once this was done, we’d throw up in the bathrooms and scrub our bodies clean until our skin was raw.

  To them, we were barely human.

  Otis gave me another shove from behind. “They’re ready for you.”

  I sucked in a breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the room.

  The business part of the meeting was already done. Cut-glass tumblers sat on the table before them, amber liquid in the bases. Brandy, I assumed, or possibly whiskey. From the ruddy faces of the men sitting around the table, I doubted it was their first. Alcohol wasn’t a good thing. I’d found it made men freer with their fists than normal. But if the Capellos intended to sell these girls on for a good price, they wouldn’t want them to be injured in any way. Men didn’t like to pay for damaged goods.

  Bright, white dots of starlight and the rounder, warmer glow of the moon shined through the glass of the orangery walls and roof. My heart expanded in my chest at the sight. Freedom. The whole world lay under those same stars. The last time I’d seen them had been when I was with the guys, and even though the immensity of our journey had been overwhelming, we’d still been free and full of hope.

  Now I had nothing.

  A hand grabbed me by the wrist, and the man closest yanked me toward him.

  The other girls had either followed, or been shoved, in behind me, and the men Frankie Capello had invited for dinner were claiming their dessert as well.

  “Hello, darlin’,” the man who’d grabbed me crooned. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

  Yes, thing. That was what they thought of us.

  The man pulled me onto his knee, so I was facing away from him. He yanked down the front of my dress, exposing my breasts. His big, meaty palms covered them, squeezing as if he was kneading dough rather than touching another person. I did my best not to grimace at the feel of his sweat against my skin.

  The other two girls had been pulled onto the laps of Frankie Capello’s other guests. They both looked how I felt as the men they’d been handed over to bellowed laughter and groped them.

  I glared at Frankie Capello across the table, hating him for putting us through this.

  These men were all the same. All trying to out-do each other. To be richer and more powerful than their counterparts. The way they interacted was nothing like Kodee, Ryan, and Dillon. It was never a competition with the guys. They cared about each other and watched each other’s backs.

  I let my eyes slip shut and tried to picture them around the table instead of these bastards. Kodee, with his broad shoulders, soulful brown eyes, and full lips. Blond, blue-eyed Ryan, his jaw always slightly tightened from pain, but too strong to give voice to it. And Dillon, with his easy, cheeky smile, and thick mass of dark hair. I remembered his sexy way of biting his lower lip when he was thinking about what he wanted to do to me.

  In my head, each of the guys had taken the places of the three men sitting around the table. The problem was, the man sitting at the top of the table was still Frankie, and I didn’t have anyone I could mentally replace him with. Maybe I should put myself there. The nobody girl. The girl without a birthday or a real identity. Perhaps she should be the one sitting at the head of the table, looking down over her men.

  Though it had only been my imagination, I’d yearned for them on a very real level, and I physically ached with their loss. Would we ever get that again? Would the four of us ever get to sit around a dining table again, no sex, just being in each other’s company? I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anything so badly.

  Fingers pinching my nipples hard enough to hurt yanked me from my reverie.

  “Come on, darlin’,” the man slurred. “Make me feel good.”

  Liquor-laced breath washed over me, a hint of cigar smoke beneath it. I knew if he tried to kiss me, his lips would be wet and rubbery, and I did my best not to pull a face to show my disgust.

  He moved his hands from my breasts to grab my waist and jam me onto his lap. He rocked his hips, grinding his crotch against me, though I certainly couldn’t feel anything hard or big enough to write home about.

  This one had clearly had too much to drink. Even my ass rubbing all over his cock wasn’t making him hard.

  He voiced his frustration. “Get on your knees. Use your mouth on me. Your skinny little body isn’t doing anything for me.”

  “I don’t think it’s my body that’s the problem,” I retorted.

  The words had leaped from my mouth before I’d even thought them through. Fuck. I’d never have considered saying something like that to one of these men before I’d spent time with the guys. They’d taught me not to be afraid of letting people know my true feelings. I could even feel the aghast stares of the other girls, knowing I’d just asked for trouble.

  “Fucking bitch.”

  He shoved me off him but grabbed me again before I got the chance to stumble away. The fingers of one hand wrapped around my throat, and he pulled back his other arm, threatening me with a balled fist. I reared back as best I could, expecting to feel the explosion of a broken nose. Somewhere in the room, one of the other girls screamed.

  Frankie Capello darted from the other end of the table and caught the man’s arm.

  “This one has to appear in court in less than a week, and she has a meeting with the District Attorney’s Office to attend. How the fuck d
o you think it’s going to look if she turns up with a broken nose or missing teeth?”

  I sucked in a breath as best I could with the man’s fingers wrapped around my throat. My dress still hung around my waist, my tits bared to the whole room, but I didn’t even care.

  A meeting with the D.A.? That was the first I’d heard of it. I assumed the meeting wouldn’t happen here, which meant I would be taken out of this house. If only there was a way for me to get a message to Kodee and Ryan and let them know where I would be. I wasn’t expecting them to attempt a rescue or anything like that, but just catching a glimpse of them in the distance would be enough to give me a moment to cling to.

  Could I get a message out of here?

  “I’m not interested in your stupid whores, anyway,” the man said, releasing me. “This meeting is done, as far as I’m concerned.”

  He jerked his chin at the other two men. Both seemed reluctant to join their boss, exchanging glances. I got the sense they were doing their best not to roll their eyes, as though they were used to this kind of scene, their boss spoiling their fun.

  But the relief on the faces of the other girls was palpable. I wanted to tell them not to get too comfortable—this certainly wouldn’t be the last time their company would be requested—but I was also thankful we’d all be left alone to sleep tonight.

  “Get out, all of you.” Frankie was clearly pissed that his friend’s erectile issues had ruined his night. “Go back to your rooms.”