CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (7 page)

“I know you’re there, Z,” Shane says without looking up. “This part of the house is off limits.”

“This part of the house doesn’t really look like a house.”

He chuckles, wiping his hair out of his face as he turns around. “Which is why it’s off limits.”

Off limits my ass. There’s an elevator at the back of that platform. Escape Option #3. “I’m bored,” I inform him casually. My heart races as I take a step down, testing his limits.

“I left you with adequate entertainment,” he replies, picking up a pair of pliers and returning to his work.

“Adequate for who, exactly?”

Shane’s hand stops right before making contact with his project and his head turns slightly over his shoulder. He starts to say something but his brow furrows instead as he watches me in silence while I descend this disorienting staircase. It’s made out of clear glass too and you can see all the way down to the floor, probably fifty feet below or more. I can’t stop my mind’s eye from seeing the glass crack and give way as I imagine the terrifying fall.

My captor rises, setting his pliers down and crossing his arms over his chest, but he seems more intrigued than annoyed. I don’t actually enter his forbidden domain, just take a seat on the bottom stair and watch the warmth of my feet create a fog of condensation on the glass around them.

“So, are there only two types of women in your view of the world?” I ask. He cocks his head to the side in confusion. “Desperate housewives or heroin addicts?”

His lips curl into a grin and he rubs the back of his neck, almost like he’s a little embarrassed. “Everyone can kill a few hours on the internet.”

“Yeah, people who want the well-connected man holding them hostage to have all their passwords.”

“I’m not holding you hostage, Zoey,” he laughs.

“Oh, really?”

Zoey

“Hostages,” he begins, running his fingers along the robotic arm, “are being held for ransom. They’re released when the ransom is paid, ideally. I’m not cutting letters out of a magazine and gluing them to a piece of paper listing my demands, now am I?”

My stomach sinks as I scratch the hair at my temple nervously. There wouldn’t be anyone to send it to even if he was. I’m used to being on my own. It’s not like I ever had one so I don’t really think about it. A lonely Christmas or birthday is just depressing. Knowing there isn’t anyone out there to file a missing persons report is so much… emptier.

But there’s no reason Shane has to know that. I resolve to shake off the anxiety even though he’s already seen it and get up.

“Go back to your room,” he insists.

“That’s not my room.”

“It is for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” I tell him, taking a step toward one of his workbenches.

Shane lets out a frustrated breath as I pick up a bent piece of metal. “There are consequences in life, Z,” he says, striding over and taking the object from my hands. “Extreme consequences when you anger a powerful man.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Then so be it,” he replies, his eyes narrowing. “I want you to remember that I gave you a chance to avoid everything that is about to happen to you.”

Did he have to phrase it so ominously? “You’re letting me go?”

He doesn’t answer, instead taking my hand and leading me past all his fascinating technological projects to the elevator. Stepping between me and the key pad so that I can’t see, he punches in a six digit code and the doors open.

I walk in before he does even though I am majorly reconsidering my earlier escape plans. What the hell is Ricky going to do to me out there? I could end up back on the auction block by tomorrow night, or worse. Shane keeps his back to me as the elevator descends, his shoulders squared. As much as I hate to admit it, all I really wanted him to do was pay attention to me. Now what have I gotten myself into?

The elevator descends for a few seconds before the doors open again. We only went down one story, this is the same tiled floor that I saw through the glass and I crane my neck upwards to confirm my suspicions. Then I startle myself with my own scream as Shane scoops me off the ground.

“Put me down!” I demand. My body bucks automatically as he locks his arms under my knees and behind my back.

“I am not some knight in shining armor,” he growls, quickly approaching a door that I hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t conceal the passcode this time and even in my panic I make sure to memorize it. 159720.

With a growl, Shane kicks at the door to make it open faster. The lights come up as soon as we pass the threshold, but they’re dim and far too warm toned than normal, nearly red. For a moment I wonder if perhaps we’re in a service area of the building, but then my eyes lock onto a rack on the wall. Is that a whip?

“The more powerful the man, the angrier you make him,” he grunts as I look over his shoulder to see the door closing automatically. “The more extreme the consequences.”

My eyes frantically scan the rest of the room, the smallest one that I’ve seen in this place so far. There’s no opulent floor to ceiling glass with a view here, not even a normal window. Holy shit. Everywhere I look I see the strangest things. Chains. Straps. Paddles. Clamps.

Shane taps a button against the wall with his elbow and I hear the mechanical sound of something lowering from the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” I whimper as my feet hit the floor. He grips my arm harshly as he reaches over to a chest of drawers and pulls out a length of fabric. “Shane?”

When I open my mouth to say his name, he slides the cloth between my lips to the back of my teeth and knots it tightly behind my head. “What part of consequences do you not understand?” he asks.

His lips curl into a wicked smile and the light in his pale blue eyes grows darker. That’s when it hits me. I did meet him before. He was the man in the suit at that worksite, the one that reached out to me before the scaffold collapsed. Was he the one that sent Ricky to get me? Is that how I ended up on that stage in the first place?

I cannot believe this is actually happening. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like my brain is throbbing against my skull as he fastens some kind of a cloth cuff around one of my wrists, then the other.

Glancing upwards, I see a hook on the end of the rope that came down from the ceiling. Shane jerks my arms up above my head harshly like he’s expecting resistance, but I’m barely able to process what’s happening at this point, let alone put up a fight. By the time I regain the ability to control a single part of my body, my tethered hands are looped through the hook and my captor is standing beside the wall.

He slides a switch upwards slightly and the rope pulls up. My arms rise with it until my shoulder blades twist back and my spine arches. Arms crossed, Shane steps back and simply watches me as I breathe so heavily my nostrils flare. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of watching me squirm, at least not this early.

Our eyes stay locked as he keeps that arrogant smirk on his face. I can’t believe I deluded myself and I never should have taken that stupid amnesia pill. Then I would have known he was just another asshole at that auction. Repossessed and rescued my ass. This whole thing has been just a twisted game, a lead up for him before he takes what he paid for.

“You had questions for me over dinner, Z,” he says, turning to look at a rack of whips and paddles. “Questions you did not ask, probably because you didn’t want to know.”

He chooses a riding crop, smacking it against his hand as my stomach turns over. “I spent all fucking day making sure you were alright.” The sinister smile drops away as his face hardens and he rushes over to me. “I walked into a poison pushing brothel to get you out of there and you didn’t even have the courage to ask why. Do you want to know now?”

At first I just stare at him defiantly, then he walks behind me and strikes the back of my thighs with the crop. Ouch! Somehow I manage to keep from making any noise, but I can’t believe how much that hurt And I’m wearing jeans that probably won’t stay on for long. My jaw trembles against the satin gag as he comes back around in front and I decide to answer his earlier question, nodding my head yes.

“Because my brother and I have spent the last year systematically destroying and acquiring every single halfway legitimate business that piece of filth Jordan Marlowe was using to launder his drug money,” Shane snarls into my face.

I shudder as his eyes drop down and he slides his fingers over my collarbone. “And then I found out about you. My man on the inside said one of Marlowe’s thugs dragged in a sweet, innocent little virgin who got in over her head.”

Is that even true? It’s too much of a coincidence. Shane kisses my forehead and I can’t help but let out the whimper I’ve been trying to suppress. “You know who doesn’t make the papers when they wind up dead, Zoey?” he whispers into my ear before he kisses the square of my jaw and rests his hand on my waist.

I shake my head no. “Prostitutes,” he answers. “Gang bangers. Drug addicts. Pimps. All the people that are about to die unnoticed in the bloodbath that occurs when some of Chicago’s prime criminal real estate goes up for grabs.”

His calloused fingertips slide under my shirt and drag across the marred skin of my stomach. “Guess what sympathetic victim might wind up on the front page and expose everything we’ve done, every sordid arrangement we’ve meticulously kept quiet? You.”

My dry tongue pulls back from the fabric keeping me silent even though I wouldn’t have a word to say to him anyway. I draw in a hitched breath as his hand travels upwards, cupping my breast through my bra as his mouth suckles the flesh on my neck. A tremor rolls though me as my temperature rises and I involuntarily let out a noise that would have probably been a moan if not stifled by the gag.

Shane chuckles, the heat of his breath enhanced by the moisture on my skin. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, but it’s a different sensation that pulses through my body now. I understand fear and outright terror very well. This response is entirely different.

“In case you didn’t notice, Z,” he says as he walks back over to the switch on the wall. “You are not going anywhere.” He flicks it upwards and the rope gradually retracts. “And it’s about time you start showing a little respect. We’ll get around to your future expressions of gratitude once I’m done with you.” Shane’s lips are on my throat as his fingers unbutton my jeans, sliding along the thin elastic band of the panties he gave me. It doesn’t make any sense, but I want them to sink lower and I find my hips bucking forward as he lets out a cocky laugh.

But then far too much pressure comes down on my hands and I let out a yelp. Whatever strange response I was experiencing before disappears as my heels rise off the ground until I’m standing on my tip toes. My arms shift position, my wrists twisting tighter together. Only one of them can actually bend that way and I screech out in pain as a snapping sound travels through my bones.

Shane’s head jerks up in surprise, nearly knocking into my chin as his hands depart my waist quickly. I continue to struggle as the pain gets more intense. Straightening my toes as much as possible, I try to take some of the pressure off my bad hand by leaning to the side, but it won’t work.

I choke out a sob, tears streaming down my cheeks until they hit the satin. “Zoey,” Shane says authoritatively. “Try to relax. It will make this easier.”

“You’re hurting me!” I scream as articulately as I can manage, but he can’t understand me.

Shane’s jaw clenches and he lets out a frustrated grunt. Maybe he’s not into fucking girls while they cry and struggle. He backs away with a huff, apparently waiting for me to calm down. There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen though because of the agonizing jolts shooting down my already messed up arm.

Our eyes lock together as I cry out again. His roll back in aggravation but mine look upwards at my tethered hands. I stare directly at his pale blue eyes again and then back toward the ceiling as some of his frustration turns into confusion. Since it’s my only way of communication with the bastard, I do that over and over again until he starts to understand.

“What?” he snaps as he rips the gag down to my chin.

“My wrist!” I cry out. “Please, it doesn’t bend this way.”

“What?” The pitch of his voice gets higher, I can tell that he’s actually concerned.

“I broke it when I was 11 and you’re about to do it again. Please.”

“Kill switch,” he shouts, and the rope goes lax.

He catches me in his arms, gently lowering me as I fall toward the floor. A few moments later, my hands are uncuffed and I’m rubbing my throbbing arm as I look at his dumbfounded expression.

“I’m a ceramics artist, you son of a bitch,” I sob, staring at the tendons in my soon to be swelling wrist. “And now my hand won’t…” I can’t even bring myself to say it.

The remorse on his face is infuriating as he reaches out to me. I scramble away until my back hits something solid, but I’m not at the end of the room yet. I turn around and realize it’s a bed, probably the one he was going to screw me on.

“Zoey, I…”

“Fuck you,” I spit back at him. “And fuck your consequences, too.”

He doesn’t even flinch at my outburst, instead lowering his eyes to the ground. Then he takes a deep breath and stands up, turning away from me and walking out of this twisted dungeon without a word.

I stay on the floor for a few minutes, awaiting his return as the sharp pain in my wrist turns into to an ache. It doesn’t take long before I reluctantly accept the fact that he’s not coming back anytime soon and decide to crawl into the bed, curling up into a little ball. The mattress is really firm, but the sheets are so soft.

The door opens again over an hour later, but he isn’t there. It must be controlled automatically. Could this get any weirder? I peek my head around and check both directions before creeping outside. I can’t get the elevator doors to open and there doesn’t appear to be any other exits on this floor.

Reluctantly, I walk up the glass staircase until I get to his workspace. I’m half expecting him to be there, but he’s not. All of his curious little toys and robotics don’t interest me in the slightest anymore. The only thing I can think of is getting back to ‘my’ room before he gets a hold of me again, not that it will keep me safe if he wants me.

The first thing I see when I get there is a bottle of ibuprofen, along with a wrist brace. There’s also a bigger pile of magazines waiting on the dresser, pretty much every single artistic publication I’ve ever heard of, along with a few books specifically about pottery. I’ve checked a lot of these out from the library and have been thinking about buying some of them for a while, I just didn’t want to drop the money.

The door slams shut behind me. There used to be a normal doorknob, but now I see a newly installed keypad on the wall next to me. Damn it!

Shane also left a gigantic arrangement of beautiful, fragrant flowers. An apology bouquet? What the hell is wrong with this guy?

I guess I should really be wondering what the hell is wrong with me. When I was tied up back there before my wrist starting hurting… I just don’t understand it. Daniela always said that everybody needs sex and eventually I’d get so desperately horny that I’d be one drink away from fucking the first guy that came on to me. Maybe she was right.