CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (6 page)

“Look, I—” Shit. He’s kind of right. “Her bastard boyfriend dragged me in there to get himself off the hook.”

“So you’re a victim in all of this.”

“I am not a victim,” I snap, slamming my fork down against the table loudly. “Don’t fucking call me that. Ever.”

Zoey

Shane’s eyes widen as his lips part. My outburst clearly took him by surprise. “Well, that’s an outlook I can respect.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Though you basically have to when you’re having a conversation with someone sitting twenty feet away.”

“This is a twelve foot long table.” He takes another drink of his wine, locking eyes with me. “You passed out for fifteen more hours.”

“Fifteen hours?” I exclaim. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept that long in my entire life.”

“Well, I’ve never repossessed a virgin before. This has been a first for me as well.”

“Repossessed, huh? Care to elaborate on that?” I say, raising an eyebrow as I pop the last bite of my steak into my mouth. I’m not telling him it’s by far the best one I’ve ever had, even if he does deserve my gratitude.

“No. I don’t care to elaborate on that,” he says. “I told you. If you want me to fill in the blanks for you, answer my goddamned questions.”

This guy gets ticked off just about as easily as I do. “I did.”

“You think I got where I am today by being naïve? The whole story, Z. Now.”

“Fine,” I hiss. Our eyes lock again and my heart starts pounding. God, he’s cute. And I know him from somewhere, I just can’t put my finger on it. “I suppose you could say that I’m involved. A little bit.”

“Are you a prostitute?”

“No!”

“I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Would you prefer it if I called you out directly on being a drug dealer, then?”

“Seeing as I don’t solve my problems with substance abuse, unlike some people,” I say, glancing at his wine glass and the half empty bottle sitting next to it. “Actually yes, I would. Reluctant part time wholesaler would probably be the most accurate.”

Shane looks away in disgust, wrinkling his nose. “If you’re honestly comparing a few glasses of wine to the poison you’ve been pushing, maybe I should have left you there.”

His words came out so hatefully, wounding me. “It’s not like that. It wasn’t poison. It’s—”

“I’ll stop you before you start in on a speech about personal responsibility.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. I sold a quarter pound of marijuana to some guy I know on campus. Okay, I did that a few times, if I’m being honest,” I blurt out. “Shitty ditch weed to college kids, several of whom will probably be hospitalized by the completely legal poison they can get can get down the street at a liquor store this year, so yeah, I do equate it to a few glasses of wine.”

He inhales deeply and pours himself another glass. “Just pot?”

“Yes. I sleep just fine at night,” I say emphatically, trying to ignore a pang a guilt. “Okay, that’s not really true, but I certainly don’t stay awake thinking about the fate of a few college bros overdosing on bong rips.”

“That’s the whole story?”

“Well… no. I let Daniela’s boyfriend pay the rent and he sells harder stuff. Sometimes he keeps his stash or his money in our house because I’m the only person that they know with a clean background that can rent a place in a decent neighborhood. And, even the weed profits… I mean, it all goes to the same place. That stuff does keep me up at night sometimes.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“To save the money.”

“People who need money can get a job.”

“I have two of those, and I go to school.” No need to inform him that I’m basically flunking out though.

“Then why are you broke?”

“I’m not. I said save.”

“Saving it for what?” he asks.

My breath catches in my throat as I struggle to keep my eyes from watering. “You can keep your fucking answers,” I snarl, pushing away from the table and rising to my feet. “I don’t want to remember anything about last night anyway. Thanks for not raping me, I guess. And for the steak. I’m going home now, sweatpants or not.”

“I will not let you leave yet,” he says calmly.

“Well, then you are going to have to physically stop me from walking out of this door because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Goddammit,” he huffs, quickening his pace and blocking the dining room exit.

“I’ll send you the dress back, I swear. I’ll even stand up on the whole train ride home so I don’t get it dirty,” I say.

“Look Z, I didn’t mean to make inaccurate assumptions about your character.”

“Half ass apology accepted. I still want to go home.”

“I can’t allow that.”

“Shane…” I back away from him, my eyes scanning the room for an alternative exit because I am getting out of here one way or another. When I don’t see any options, I spin around and head for what I assume is the kitchen because it’s the door off the dining room.

“You aren’t even wearing shoes,” he reminds me, galloping ahead before I get there.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Honestly, I don’t have much of a choice at this point,” he replies.

“I don’t even want to know what that means.” I spot a silver candlestick on an end table and grab it as I keep a few feet between us.

“Jesus,” he exhales, holding up his palms as his eyes lock onto my makeshift weapon. “Calm the hell down. I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances and I don’t go down without a fight.”

“I can see that.”

“Let me go.”

“There are a lot worse things waiting for you out there.”

“You’re lying. There is nobody waiting for me at my apartment.”

“Oh, there probably is,” he says, but he doesn’t insist that he’s telling the truth. “Do you want those sweatpants now?”

“Not if it means I have to go back up that staircase.”

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. And you don’t even know me, so what kind of question is that? This is just how I am, even when I haven’t been slapped, stripped, drugged, and dragged on stage before being re-kidnapped and held hostage. I’m actually keeping a pretty level head, considering.”

Shane’s jaw drops open as his eyes harden. “Who hit you?”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“Who?” he demands.

My lips start to tremble, so I clench my teeth and tighten my grip on the candlestick. “The scumbag boyfriend backhanded me a couple of times,” I murmur. “Honestly, that was the least traumatic part of the whole night.”

“Zoey,” he says, approaching me slowly. I back up until I hit a wall and swallow the automatic whimper that tries to escape my throat. “Please do not attempt to hit me with that.” My captor doesn’t appear so hostile and menacing anymore, but he is a lot closer. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have.”

He does have a point. If he enjoyed terrorizing me, it would probably be more obvious that he was getting off on my reaction. Instead those icy blue eyes are filled with a pity that normally would make me lash out, but it’s actually comforting right now.

“Stop,” I rasp when he reaches toward me, but I don’t resist when he gently takes the candlestick out of my hand.

“Calm down,” Shane whispers. I flinch when he brushes a wayward strand of hair out of my face. “You are completely safe here.”

That’s not entirely true, I can see it on his face. His hand lingers, stroking my hairline, gently grazing along my cheek and jaw. My eyelids flutter as he moves in closer, his thumb sliding across my lips and I wonder if he’s about to kiss me.

Why do I like this? I pretty much have a panic attack when someone touches me, yet I find myself leaning forward. God only knows where I would have ended up if he hadn’t found me. The corner of his mouth lifts into a relieved smile and a chill creeps across my skin as he breaks away.

“I wanted to get rid of them,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“The money I was saving. I wanted to go to a plastic surgeon for my scars.”

“Oh.” His eyes drop down to my ribs for an instant.

“If it’s tomorrow already, I’m supposed to be at work. I don’t want to lose my job.”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

“My boss is a complete asshole.”

“I bet he’s not as well connected of an asshole as I am,” Shane laughs. “Your job will be there, I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t take handouts.”

“Then think of it as restitution.”

“Fair enough,” I say. I can’t believe I’m staying here with this dude, not that I have a choice. “But seriously, can I get out of this dress?”

“I… uh, of course,” he stammers. “I just thought it would make you more comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I laugh. “Do you sleep in that tux, too?”

“I didn’t want you to feel under… dressed.”

“You mean poor?”

Shane takes a few steps up the stairs and stops, turning his head over his shoulder but not looking at me. “Undervalued. That’s the word I wanted to say.”

I’m left speechless as he walks away. Undervalued. Is that some kind of a trick? He thought I was a prostitute drug addict. That’s when I realize that I pretty much smell like one. There’s probably a shower in the bedroom he locked me in earlier. As soon as he’s out of sight, I make a bee line toward it to wash off the strip club grime.

When I get out of the shower, there’s a neatly folded pair of jeans and t-shirt along with a pair of panties and a bra. Exactly my size. That is just weird. I guess discussing boundaries with your kidnapper is a waste of time, but I still start rehearsing what I’m going to say.

Then I see a pile of magazines sitting on the dresser. It’s a bunch of girly stuff like fashion and makeup tips, even a cooking magazine. Does he think I’m just going to lounge around like this is a waiting room? And what a bunch of fricking stereotypes! There’s a tablet there too, but I’m not about to get on the internet so he can monitor my activity.

Fully dressed like the average, completely normal person that I am, I exit the room I’m apparently being held captive in. I’ll get out of here one way or another and I’m determined to take a look at the whole place while he still thinks I’m scared of him. Which I’m not. Well, maybe a little bit.

My feet immediately slip on the marble floor as I creep down the hallway. What a stupid luxury, you probably have to wear shoes the whole time in your own house. I peel my socks off and toss them back into my room before I start down the stairs.

To my left is a couch, the only piece of furniture in a large open area in front of a pair of doors. That’s probably the main elevator. Past that is the ridiculously opulent dining room I’ve already seen and the kitchen. I didn’t actually get in there, but there might be an exit for staff to go in and out so Shane doesn’t have to see the commoners that serve him. The swinging kitchen door is heavy as I push it open. It’s probably made of petrified extinct mahogany or something else that’s outrageously expensive.

Wow. This kitchen is basically the size of a house and it’s completely spotless. There are a ton of cabinets, but they’re mostly empty. So is the fridge, unless you count a door full of condiments and two take out containers. That part is actually kind of sad.

There is a door at the back of the room, but it’s locked and there’s a keypad on the wall beside it. Great. So much for picking a lock. There appears to be a little grease mark on the number five. Maybe I can dust something on it to see what other keys have been pressed like spies do in the movies. Unfortunately, this is probably the only kitchen on the face of the earth that doesn’t stock any flour or cornstarch. I found some baby powder upstairs in the bathroom though, I can try that when I sneak back in later.

Okay. Let’s get a look at the rest of the place. The decidedly magnificent staircase I descended is up against a wall that ends in an arched doorway. I peek my head around it and blink in disbelief as it opens up to a balcony with a decorative steel and wire railing. Holy shit, this place is huge. It wouldn’t surprise me if the far wall was more than a hundred feet away, and it’s not even a wall. It’s a two story floor to ceiling window with a spectacular view of the city. The sky is faintly blue off in the distance, so it must face west. I don’t know how I could use that little factoid to get out of here, but hey, every little bit helps at this point.

The marble flooring changes to a far more practical hardwood. My bare feet are freezing and welcome the relief. Creeping toward the edge of the balcony, I hear a metallic scraping and a frustrated grunt. Shane’s down there. I freeze at the sound of wheels rolling along the floor followed by footsteps, but curiosity gets the better of me and I can’t resist looking.

Damn. My eyes have a hard time focusing as they stare below. It’s not a two story window wall, it’s three full stories of open space. Has this guy ever heard of rooms? The stairs to my right lead to a massive platform with a glass floor that juts out into the center of nothingness. It’s obviously Shane’s workspace, there are a bunch of tables filled with computer screens, wires, tools, circuit boards, and other technical looking stuff.

There’s a white drop cloth in the center of the platform with a half assembled robotic arm that appears to be the focus of his attention. Shane’s kneeling next to it. He ditched the tux and now wears a plain white t-shirt that stretches tightly across his shoulder blades as he works.