CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (28 page)

“Zoey—”

“I’m exhausted, Shane. I haven’t managed to sleep since…” She pulls her bottom lip between her chattering teeth. Zoey will only be able to run from her torrent of emotions for so long and I will be there when it all comes crashing through.

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she shudders and draws away from my touch. “I haven’t slept either,” I say. It takes every ounce of willpower I can summon to resist kissing her cheek before I get up and start the elevator. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She nods, covertly wiping a tear from her face. She’s on her feet the moment the elevator doors open. Z moves toward me like she’s coming in for a hug and my breath catches in my throat. But the only comforting contact I receive is the back of her hand skimming across my ribs as she reaches for her favorite blue jeans.

Zoey is sleeping in them when I check on her in her bedroom a few hours later. Her breathing is soft and even, she’s out cold. It’s almost offensive how peaceful she seems. My mind won’t stop racing. I can’t sleep a wink knowing she’s so close yet so far away.

Fuck it. What’s she going to do? I climb into bed beside her, my body tensing as she stirs. But to my relief she turns to face me, her eyes still closed but with the hint of a smile on her lips. I don’t dare ruin the moment and kiss them. Her hands curl into little fists across her chest and she tucks her head under my chin as I thread my arm beneath her neck. This might be a residual pattern from happier days, but I’ll take it.

It clearly was. When I wake up, she’s as far away from me on the bed as possible. I wonder if she crawled out of my arms while she was awake or in her sleep. I supposed it doesn’t matter either way.

Z sleeps late. Too late. After an unbearable hour and a half of waiting, I inevitably go upstairs to check on her. She’s awake, thumbing through art magazines in bed. I say her name and she doesn’t even lift her head. Alright then. I suppose she deserves some space, but I’d prefer a barrage of questions instead. I can’t start that conversation, though. She has to. Eventually.

Moping around the house waiting isn’t my style. I make it about three more hours before I decide to go downstairs for an update on the most recent of my brothers’ scandals that is currently enslaving our personnel. Perhaps I should track down Maddox and see if he’s still relatively intact.

Zoey tries the old code on the elevator a mere ten minutes after I depart. Not a good sign. I know enough about female psychology than to go running up there just to wait around looking desperate. Even if I am. If she needs her space, she’ll get it. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. Still, the fact that she attempted to escape stings more than I’d ever admit aloud.

Yet it’s more of the same silent treatment when I finally do come home. Her bedroom door is locked when I attempt to enter, sending a crystal clear message.

A rather foolish message as well. She must have forgotten who I am. Zoey might have taught me how to apologize, but I will never grovel. I will not be banished to the proverbial dog house until she lets me out. She might not be able to leave, but Z is still running. And she knows what happens once I catch her.

I’ll give my precious Zoey one more night. One.

Zoey

Shane is standing at the end of my bed when I open my eyes. His are cold and calculating as they stare down at me, his arms folded firmly across his chest. I’ve seen him stand like that before from behind and I automatically picture his well-tailored suit coat stretched tight across his broad shoulders. I find it difficult to avoid staring back at him, struggling not to squirm under the intensity of his unblinking gaze.

After a few seconds, I turn my head to check the clock. It’s past noon. I stayed up late last night ignoring him, but not that late. My captor takes advantage of the brief moment that I break eye contact. I’m thrown off balance by his weight dropping harshly onto the bed. A heartbeat later there’s a soft piece of satin stuffed into my mouth as it drops open to gasp in surprise.

How the hell did I not see the straps he was holding? I’ve been through this enough to know better than to resist, but I am curious how he’s planning to restrain my broken arm. Shane ties one strap around my good wrist and tethers it to the bedpost. His brow furrows in concentration as he fumbles with my other arm, his touch surprisingly gentle. He settles on wrapping the soft rope above my elbow and winding it through a decorative arch on the headboard.

I let out a muffled sigh that hopefully conveys my indifference to his actions. Fuck me, beat me, leave me. I don’t care.

Or so I thought. Shane’s fingers lift my chin and my eyes drop to thick strap of leather in his hand. My pulse spikes as he wraps it around my neck and the wrought iron bar behind me on the headboard. I swallow, the movements of my throat constricted as he locks it in place. That horrible tension releases once it’s fastened securely and his hands depart, but it’s still uncomfortably tight. The collar is as wide as my neck is long, perhaps even wider. The smooth edges push against my jaw and clavicle, making it impossible to do anything but stare forward.

Shane’s lips press gently against the tip of my nose before he gets off the bed and removes his jacket, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and taking a deep breath. Must be nice. He paces for a few moments, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes dart back and forth between mine and the floor.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he says softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He reaches over and pulls the satin gag from my mouth.

“You wouldn’t…” I rasp as I watch his fingers unclasp his belt buckle, the smooth metal catching the sunlight and sending a flash across the wall beside me.

“Oh, I most certainly would,” Shane informs me. “Just not under this particular set of circumstances.” The sunlight disappears like someone pulled down a shade, the room darkening dramatically. “Keep this moment in mind the next time you try to give me the silent treatment after a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” My disdainful laugh gets stuck in my throat. “This is ridiculous. Take this thing off me, Shane.”

“No.” He sits cross legged on the end of the bed. “Why won’t you speak to me?”

“I…” Tears well up in my eyes. I don’t know how to answer that because I can’t even bring myself to think about it. Any of it. Not just what he did or what he didn’t say, the whole story. My story. The past is supposed to stay behind you. Especially when it’s a past like that. “Because I don’t want to know, Shane,” I finally admit.

“You—” He had a defensive remark sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself, his expression becoming confused as he processes my response. “What?”

“I don’t want to know. I wish that your brother’s crazy ass girlfriend would have kept all that shit to herself.”

His lips curl upwards into a slight laugh. “I’m not sure that I feel the same. I did. I should. But now… perhaps it’s better this way. That would have been a big secret to carry for the rest of our lives.”

“How convenient for you.” I roll my eyes. “Congratulations.”

“Does this mean that you aren’t angry with me?” he asks.

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at my heart, but it doesn’t change the facts. “No, I’m fucking furious at you and I’ll never look at you the same way again. But if I had a choice, I’d rather go back to the blissful ignorance.”

“Well, you don’t have that option, Z. And I am not convinced you’d actually choose to go back anyway,” Shane says. My jaw trembles and I try to turn my face away, but this device on my neck is annoyingly effective. He notices my frustration, leaning forward and tracing his fingers along my hairline and cheekbone. “Stop shutting me out. Let’s fix this.”

“Fine,” I snap. “I’m no relationship expert, but I’m pretty fucking sure the first step toward making amends when one partner lies to another is coming clean.”

“I did. On the phone.”

“Bullshit. I want the story from your mouth, not that file she gave me. I couldn’t even look at the whole thing.”

“What?” His lips part in surprise as his eyes fill with pity.

“You put up walls too, Shane. You know how it works. Just another thing we have in common.”

“So you didn’t read about—”

“I want this in chronological order,” I interrupt him. “Starting with how you ended up there in the first place.”

Shane draws back and gets off the bed, his spine lengthening as his shoulders square. “That is irrelevant.”

“You said you wanted to fix this. If I have to face my horrific past, do me a favor and face yours first.” My words come out with such hostility I instantly regret them. Shane draws in a hitched breath after sitting on the edge of the bed, his head falling forward. “I didn’t mean to say it like that,” I murmur. I can’t provide a comforting touch with my hands thanks to his crazy ass, so I slide my foot against his hip instead. “There was a man living in that house, Shane, for a long time after you had to leave it. Who was he?”

His face turns slightly toward me, his eyes remaining low, but he skims his fingers around my ankle. “I thought he was my grandfather, but he was just my grandmother’s husband,” he whispers. “He didn’t father her daughter, her only child. They told me my mother died in childbirth, but when I got older I looked into it. Overdose. I was addicted to heroin when I was born.”

“Was she young?”

“Not as young as yours. Nineteen. Plenty of time to drive her parents insane. They, well, most likely just him, must have been fed up and angry enough to kick her out on the streets when they were granted custody of me. Or perhaps she left on her own, I’m not sure. I have no idea who my father is.”

“I don’t either.” I didn’t look, but Kat implied that it would remain a mystery unless Shane knows.

“I was only eight months old when my mother passed,” he says. “My grandmother always spoke fondly of her daughter as her husband scoffed in the background. Sometimes he called her a little whore when he was drunk. But he was good to my grandma, he truly loved her. I think the problem was that she didn’t love him back as much.”

“Why?”

“My biological grandfather died in a car crash, drunk most likely. The man who started raising me was his good friend, probably moved in on the grieving widow right away. Too bad she was already pregnant.”

The inability to touch him right now is incredibly frustrating. It doesn’t matter what this guy does to me. The moment I see the slightest indication of hurt on his face, any anger or resentment completely disappears. I’m done for, like a moth to a flame.

“Then she got cancer. We moved back to the city for a few months before she died.” He pauses, staring off into the distance through his lavish floor to ceiling window. “And the man simply left me there at the hospice unit.”

“That day?”

“That very hour. She took her last breath and he walked out of the room. I didn’t want to go. It came time to take my grandmother’s body away, so they led me to the waiting room. He didn’t come back. The nurses told me that he probably was in the throes of grief and needed some time. I knew better. So did my grandmother, she was so worried about what would happen to me. I wasn’t his, I never was. He loved her, not me. And even though he promised her on her death bed that he’d take care of me…” Shane clears his throat and his pale blue eyes finally meet mine. “I suppose he wasn’t a spiritual man. Because he broke that promise minutes later.”

“How long did it take them to realize he wasn’t coming back?”

“I was at the police station by morning and sleeping under the roof I met you in that night,” he replies, pulling his hand away from my foot and bending one knee to face me. “Are you happy now, Zoey?”

“No. Of course I’m not happy. But thank you for telling me.”

“So do you want the rest of it, now?”

“Not really.”

“Too bad,” he says coldly. “It was a nice place. Good people. She was psychologist, he was a retired cop. Lots of kids, but they were well taken care of. I was there for about six months when you and your mom arrived.”

My hands start shaking, my breaths becoming short and quick. “How old was I?”

Shane seems relieved when I ask the question, like he didn’t want to force it on me. “About a year and half,” he answers, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I really liked you. You really liked me, and you didn’t let many people... Z, you said you wanted this in chronological order.”

“Just get it over with then,” I whisper, a tear rolling down my cheek. Shane wipes it away before undoing the binds on my good wrist. “Please take this collar off me.” I choke out a painful sob as he nods and reaches behind my head.

The relief is short lived. I can breathe and move freely, but that does nothing to soothe my churning stomach, my tightening chest, my pounding heart. Or the pathetic tears that won’t stop flowing. Shane wraps his arm around my shoulders and I instantly crawl into his lap. It’s my favorite place on the planet, the only time I feel safe. And I don’t think that will ever change.

“I’m not even that angry at you,” I confess. “I should be. I’m fucked up, too, I guess. If anything, it’s kind of sweet that you cared so much for so long. But I don’t like the reason. You know how I am about pity.”

“Pity has nothing to do with why I love you so much,” he replies, kissing the crown of my head as I hide my face in his shoulder.

“Yes it does. I preferred the lie. The story where you fell in lust with my body and then fell in love with the rest of me because we’re… us. The same.”

“That is not a story. That is what happened. I met you when you were a baby, Z. This isn’t some childhood crush. When I got my hands on you though… You know how I am. But I have never, ever wanted anyone like I wanted you. It was purely carnal at first. I even felt wrong about it.”

I cringe along with him. “I know. It’s almost a little incestuous.”

“Not really. We didn’t grow up together. Just two messed up kids passing through the same place. But you were not abandoned. Your mom wanted to keep you. Desperately. The state took you away.”

I never liked to ponder the circumstances that led to my adoption, but when I did, it was never quite that depressing. Somebody wanted me. I’ve never had that, it doesn’t feel real. “Then those parents abandoned me. I never bonded with them because I was too fucked up and didn’t like hugs. Or any kind of physical contact whatsoever.”

“No, you didn’t. No one else could lay a finger on you except your mother.” Shane’s voice trembles and he wipes his nose with his sleeve. “And me. You would grab onto my thumb when you were going down for a nap sometimes. You’d hold my hand when we walked barefoot in the back yard. That was as close as I could get, but it was closer than everyone else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You made me feel special, Z. You still do.”

I lift my face to his and nod, unable to tell him that he does the same for me. But he hears me anyway, exhaling in relief as he presses his lips to mine. It’s a little kiss, apprehensive and vulnerable. No tongue, no rising heat that will soon lead to something more. But probably the most intimate one we’ve ever shared.

“Did I have nightmares back then?” I ask when we break apart.

“I don’t remember anything unusual.”

“Maybe they started after they took me away from my mom,” my voice cracks when I say the last word. I always thought I pretty much never had one. “I woke up screaming every night, but I never remembered why. I practically grew up in a juvenile psych ward. I didn’t go to kindergarten at all. I was in and out of school after that. They could never figure out what was wrong with me.”

“It’s rather obvious, don’t you think? It’s literally carved into your skin.”

“Well, I guess they never fixed me. My parents split up, neither of them could handle me. If anything, that’s when I started to get better. There’s something about being on your own that helps you push the pain away and focus on the essentials.”

“Do you want to know, or not?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“It was your grandmother and her boyfriend. I don’t know what they were on. A mix of crack, probably, and God knows what else. She saw bugs under your skin and they tried to dig them out with a seam ripper.”

It’s strangely quiet and numb inside me. Bugs. If only she had seen them crawling in her own flesh. “What’s a seam ripper?” It’s an odd question, but the only one I can come up with.

“A little razor shaped like a hook to remove stiches. Her mother was a quilter apparently. And dead.”