CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (5 page)

Zoey

Eyes fluttering open to an unfamiliar room, my breath catches in my throat. Am I in a bed? It’s dark and my arms automatically wrap tighter around myself, my fingers sliding across an unfamiliar fabric. Glancing around the room to make sure I’m alone, I sit up and find myself wearing a man’s navy blue suit coat. What the hell?

The first thing I remember is the heat of his mouth as it closed onto mine. I bring my fingers to my lips in surprise as I see his icy blue eyes, filled with pain and regret. The rest of it comes back in flashes, disconnected images of blinding lights and the sound of shouting while I shudder and try to keep my head from dropping down. I’m confused about whether or not Cassie, who I haven’t really thought of in years, was really doing my makeup until my mind replays the horrible sensation of Ricky’s body pressed against mine in my apartment. He hit me. Twice.

My fists clench as I recall his plan to sell my body to get off the hook for Daniela’s debt. I must be in the winner’s bed and for a moment I’m ashamed of enjoying the memory of my first kiss with whatever bastard must have bought me. I guess that pill really worked, I don’t remember anything else. He must have been relatively gentle because I’m not sore.

Okay. I guess it’s over with. Why he wanted me to wear his jacket the whole time, I don’t want to know. All I need to do now is get dressed, go home, and hope that my brain really did delete the last few hours. So… clothes. I survey the room for any piles of fabric that might resemble my favorite blue jeans.

Instead, my eyes lock onto a man’s silhouette in the doorway. Shit. Maybe he was waiting for me to wake up before he…

I pull the sheets up to my chest, my heart thumping so hard the fabric bounces against my skin. The bright light flicks on and I have to close my eyes, leaving me blind when I sense his weight lower onto the end of the bed.

“Lower lights to level three,” he says. They dim at his command, but when I open my eyes there’s no one else here. It’s probably one of those high tech houses that listens to you. Creepy. “How do you feel?”

“Like I want to go home.”

“Would you still want to leave if I told you I’ll give you any drug you want?”

“Yeah. What the hell does that mean?”

“You tell me,” he replies, fishing a tiny bag of white powder from his pocket. “There were prescription opioids in your system.”

“Seriously?”

He breathes out a dismissive laugh. “I’m guessing your real pleasure is heroin.”

“I…” How the hell did that happen? Maybe Cassie gave me something else to calm me down. “Wait a second, how do you know what was in my system?” I ask. He glances down at my arm and I see a band aid holding a piece of cotton in the crook of my elbow. “You took my blood?”

“You lost consciousness and I needed to know why.”

“I don’t know what they gave me at that club but—”

“You don’t honestly think I believe the frightened virgin act, do you?”

My cheeks flush. “It’s not an act. I’ve really never… And I’m not a heroin addict.”

“Then how exactly did you end up on that stage, Zoey?”

“It’s a little complicated,” I murmur.

“I’m listening.”

“Look can we just get this over with?”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not why I brought you here.”

“Then let me go.”

“I don’t think so.” Rising to his feet, my captor dangles that little bag of poison in front of my face and actually seems surprised when I don’t reach for it. “Let’s see how much you feel like talking when you’re going through withdrawals. Press the button on your nightstand when you can’t take it anymore.”

“Hold on!” I plead when he goes to close the door. “Don’t just lock me in here. Please. I am extremely claustrophobic. Like, clinically.”

“This bedroom is the size of a small apartment. Enjoy the view.”

I stumble toward the door, gripping the handle just as it locks shut. It’s a good thing that I did because the room starts spinning and I nearly fall over. What the hell am I on? No wonder this dude thinks I’m a tweaker. Crawling back into the bed is the only option. It doesn’t matter if he comes back, I’d rather pass out there then on the floor.

The next thing I see is the orange glow of the setting sun and a beautiful black dress draped over the chair next to the bed. There’s a note on a piece of fancy cardstock sitting on top of it.

Join me for dinner. Downstairs.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

After thoroughly searching the closet and dresser drawers for an alternative, I reluctantly accept the fact that it’s a sheet, a man’s jacket that barely covers my ass, or this fancy dress that the freak downstairs wants me to wear. For a moment, I ponder the success rate of turning the sheet into a toga before I decide that it’s probably not the best idea to antagonize him. Those sad blue eyes I keep flashing on are probably a coping mechanism.

Just put the dress on and figure out a way to get out the door. Or to a phone. To my horror, I find black panties and a pair of matching high heels that I won’t be able to walk in, let alone run. Doesn’t matter, I can do this barefoot.

I’ve never worn anything like this. The fabric is sleek and stretchy, making it surprisingly comfortable. It’s way too long though, the hemline dragging on the floor. That doesn’t matter either and it certainly won’t slow me down. I am getting out of this house, one way or another.

“Congratulations on not being a heroin addict, Zoey,” a voice crackles through an intercom. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Holy shit. There are probably cameras in here too. Panic grips me as I take a step toward the door, so I spin around and run toward the window by the bed and pull back the curtains. It’s a floor to ceiling pane of glass that won’t open because I’m at least a hundred floors up. I stare down at city lights and the fountain at Grant Park. Great. I need to escape a downtown skyscraper. That part might matter a little bit.

My reflection catches my eye as I stare out at Lake Michigan. How did these little white flowers get in my hair? They’re really pretty, but they definitely don’t go with the gown. Should I take them out? It might piss him off, I better not.

With a deep breath, I open the door and find myself level with a giant crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling. I take a few steps forward and down look over the railing to the marble floor below. A pair of icy blue eyes stare back at me, but there is nothing regretful about them. My heart starts thudding and I stagger backwards even though there’s no point. He saw me.

“Come down here, Z,” he calls out. “I won’t bite.” Z? Why is he calling me that? “I take it you don’t remember meeting me.”

“No, I don’t,” I reply softly, stepping forward.

“My name is Shane.” That sounds familiar. “Come down.”

“I want my real clothes back.”

“You…” he trails off, eyebrows raising as his head cocks to the side. “We had to leave them at the club. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new pair of jeans to replace your favorites.”

“How did you know they were my favorites?”

“You told me.”

“How much did you pay for me?” I ask.

“I didn’t buy you. I… took you as collateral. And no, I didn’t fuck you. If you are in fact a virgin, you can verify that,” he says.

“Are you calling me a liar again?” I shoot back defensively.

“I am telling you to get down here.”

“Get me different clothes.”

“That is the only clothing available to you at this time, Z,” he answers coldly, his eyes narrowing. Mine narrow right back as I put my hand on my hip and glare at him. His lips roll together as he tries to contain his amusement, which I find infuriating. “I’m sure you noticed that I’m wearing a tux. It’s not as if you’re out of place.”

Oh I noticed alright. He looks incredible. If I wasn’t in this messed up situation, I might risk making eye contact with him to take a second glance. But we are in this situation and I’m not falling for his shit.

“I don’t care what you’re wearing. Get me something else,” I say.

“If you think you’ll be dining at my table in my sweatpants, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Then I’ll eat when I get home.”

“You are not going home yet.”

“Yes, I am. In your sweatpants.”

“Z,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Do you really think Marlowe’s men aren’t watching your place right now?”

“Who the heck is Marlowe? And why would anyone be…” Right. Drug lord. Virginity auction. Collateral.

“I’ll answer your questions once you answer mine,” he tempts me. “And you should probably put something in your stomach considering the medication you’ve taken.”

“I didn’t take it willingly,” I explain.

“We’re past that now. I know that you’re hungry, just come down the stairs.”

I start to tell him that I’m fine, but then the aroma of whatever dinner I’m being summoned to hits my nose and I realize that I’m so hungry it’s making me lightheaded. My temper really gets out of hand when I haven’t eaten in a while. Shane hasn’t actually done anything to me. And he does look great in that tux.

“Fine,” I grumble, trying not to get visibly pissed off when my compliance twists his lips into an arrogant grin.

Shane is standing at the bottom of the stairs by the time I get to the top, eyeing me as I take the first step down. “Why aren’t you wearing the shoes?”

“Because I’m a barefooted dirty hippie,” I retort.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like high heels.”

My captor runs his hand through his hair. “You’re going to be a real pain in my ass, aren’t you?”

“If you don’t let me go, you’re damn right I’ll be a pain in your ass.”

“Good,” he chuckles. “I look forward to it.”

I resolve to keep my big mouth shut before I walk any further into this Catch 22 situation. Shane holds out his hand when I reach the last step. I roll my eyes and move to walk around him, but he grabs my wrist harshly, stopping me. It’s my bad wrist and a painful jolt shoots up my arm, but I’m not giving this prick the satisfaction of seeing me wince, so I remain stone faced.

“Lesser men would demand a lot more than dinner, you know,” he reminds me, offering me his arm as my bare feet land on the cool marble floor.

Reluctantly, I thread my good hand through his elbow. “Greater men wouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I suppose I have to be a gentleman and let that little jab slide or I’ll risk proving your point. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

I don’t answer for a moment, but something about the way his solid body feels against mine is so familiar. “Just flashes.”

“Well, let’s just say you’re lucky I showed up when I did.”

“I know,” I confess, shuddering. His head jerks to the side and for a moment he actually appears concerned. I really ought to cut him a break, considering. “Thank you for the jacket,” I say, remembering the relief I felt when he draped it over my shoulders.

His spine stiffens. “You’re welcome.”

Shane leads me to a long table, pulling out the chair at the foot and offering it to me. I take my seat and watch him walk at least ten feet away before sitting at the head. There’s a silver dome on top of a plate in front of me. Maybe he’s not a freak with a fetish for evening gowns. This could just be how rich guys eat. I guess I would have been out of place in borrowed sweatpants.

Shane takes the cover off of his meal and nods at me to do the same. “Unfortunately, I can’t offer you any wine,” he says, taking a sip of his own.

“Technically, I’m not allowed to drink it,” I reply, trying to figure out what fork to use so I don’t come off as a heathen. I think you’re supposed to work from the outside in.

“You don’t honestly expect me to believe that means you’ve never had any alcohol, do you?”

“I’ve had a drink or two.” This fork on the end would barely overwhelm a Barbie Doll and I’m staring at a filet mignon. Screw proper etiquette. He’s too far away to tell anyway and I’m starving.

“Just one or two, huh?” he scoffs. “I suppose there isn’t an age limit on illegal substances.”

Why did he have to insult me right after I took a gigantic bite? “I thought you said we were past this. What exactly are you implying?” I ask as soon as I swallow.

“I found you selling yourself in a drug den. I don’t have to imply anything.”

“I was not selling myself,” I clarify, doing my best to keep my eyes from bugging out of their sockets.

“What did you think would happen when you got twenty thousand dollars in debt to one of the most ruthless drug lords in a city that’s often described as the murder capital of the country?”

“There’s no need to slander Chicago, you… Because when you factor in population, we aren’t as bad as…” I don’t remember the cities listed in that article I read, but it was a refreshing perspective. “And I was not…” Don’t get pissed. This guy saved your ass. Literally. “It wasn’t my debt, it was my roommate’s. She got knocked up and took off.

“Drug lords don’t send messages with innocent bystanders. You had to be involved.”