Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (49 page)

Sawyer doesn’t mention his
suspicion that Mrs. Winters’ son was murdered. He says, "Jax loved it too
much. He was addicted to the thrill. He was good at it. You couldn’t have
stopped him, Mrs. Winters. And he was really proud of what he could do for you."

"I’m grateful for what he did.
But I didn’t want it to cost him his life."

Sawyer asks to see photos of Jax
when he was younger. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt the woman too much. But
actually, she brightens up as she shares stories of Jax’s childhood with us. He
really did sound like a good, loving son. A great guy.

As we’re leaving, I ask if there’s
anything else we can do.

Mrs. Winters shakes her head. "No.
I’ve got two sisters and a grown up daughter. Jax’s half-sister. They’re all
taking good care of me." She looks at Sawyer. Wags her finger at him. "You
know, there is one thing you can do for me. You can quit taking risks with your
life, Sawyer. You were a good friend to Jax. I know you protected him. Jaxon
tried to hide things from me, but I could see through his stories. He was a
proud boy and I know his mouth got him into trouble. He wouldn’t admit it, but
I know you kept him out of a lot of that trouble. I like you, Sawyer. So listen
to me and give up bike racing."

"I’d like to, Mrs. Winters."

He leans in, gives her a kiss on
her cheek. She hugs him. "I think the funeral will be next week," she
says softly. "Come to the funeral, Sawyer."

"Of course I’ll be there,"
he says.

We drive back to Yardley campus.
Sawyer drives me to my dorm. He doesn’t ask me to see him that night. Nerves
make me blurt, "Don’t you want me to come over tonight?"

"I’d like it, but I have to
race again tonight."

I feared as much. "Sawyer, you
can’t! Not this soon."

"If I don’t do it, I’ll likely
end up dead."

"But you can’t keep racing
until you do get killed. There has to be a way out. If these people you are
afraid of killed Jaxon, couldn’t you give evidence to the police? Get them
arrested?"

"I can’t risk that, Claire.
It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s my mom."

"What about your mom?"

"They could use her to force
me to do what they want."

Now I see. "You’re afraid they
would threaten to do something to her."

"Yeah, that’s exactly right."

My voice rises in sheer panic and
pain. "There has to be a way out."

"I’m
trying to find it, Claire. I swear to God I am."

* * *

Three days later, I walk into my
calculus class, where I should see Sawyer. I’m praying I see him.

My nails are bitten down to the
skin. The first day that Sawyer didn’t call—the day after I went with him to
see Mrs. Winters—I wasn’t worried. But for three days, Sawyer hasn’t phoned or
texted me, returned my calls, or come to class.

I’m really scared. Is he okay? Did
something terrible happen to him at the hands of these mobster-types who bet on
the races? Or has he decided he just doesn’t want to talk to me? Did I push him
too much?

Or worse, could he have been
arrested for being at the race where Jaxon died? He says he didn’t race that
night which was why he wasn’t held when the cops arrived. But he was there,
with his bike. Can he get charged for that? 

I take a seat near the back and
scan the room. No Sawyer. I can understand he might avoid me if he is afraid I
am going to keep nagging him about quitting. But why would he ditch his
classes?

Could this mean something bad has
happened? Oh God. Should I go to the cops right now? Should I at least go to
Sawyer’s house and see if he’s there?

The professor drones on in the
background—he’s working out a proof on the board—while I sit trapped in
indecision. I’ll go to Sawyer’s house. If he’s there, I’ll talk to him. If he’s
not, I will have to go to the police—

Murmurs ripple through the class.
My heart pounds so hard I feel the beat in the roof of my mouth. I look up,
toward the doors at the back of the lecture hall.

Striding into the class, fifteen
minutes late, is Sawyer. He wears his leather jacket, white T-shirt, faded and
torn jeans. He doesn’t glance at me, and my heart literally feels like a stake
has gone through it. Or maybe he genuinely just doesn’t see me.

On the other hand, he doesn’t
appear to be looking for me. He takes a seat in the same row as me, but
separated from me by about eight seats. I assume he just grabbed the first seat
he saw. Maybe he didn’t want to stand there, conspicuously searching the room
for me.

But before he sits, he gives a
quick glance toward me. He knew I was there. He was avoiding me—

He turns enough for me to see his
face. Oh God!

He has a black eye, his left
cheekbone is covered in ugly green and purple bruises, and there are bandages
stuck to his the left side of his jaw and his temple. His lips are swollen and
puffy. He looks like he’s been through hell.

He had an accident? Is that it? He
had an accident on his bike like Jaxon, but his wasn’t as bad and somehow he
survived?

He looks away from me, toward the
front of the room and the calculus prof.

My heart stutters.

In high school, I would have
convinced myself not to go near him—to let him come to me. I would have been
way too shy to make a move. To reach out to him.

I would have been too afraid of
rejection.

But I’m in college now. I’m an
adult, and an adult would find out what the hell is going on with a guy she
cares about.

As we leave the class, I run after
Sawyer. My notebook is blank—for an hour the prof talked about proofs for the
integration of trigonometric equations, but I didn’t take in a thing.

The math department is on the third
floor of the campus’s twenty-storey tower. People congregate around the
elevators. The crowd forces Sawyer to slow down and I catch up to him. We’ve
reached the fringe of students waiting for elevators.

My hand touches his sleeve. He
comes to an abrupt stop. Raking his hand through his hair, Sawyer turns on me.

"Claire, you have to leave me
alone," he begins. Then he grabs my arm and leads me away from the crowd
to a spot we can be almost alone. People surge by us and no one pays attention.
"I need you to stay away from me," he says in a low, harsh voice. "That’s
why I haven’t returned your calls."

My heart spirals. For a moment,
it’s in freefall. Not. In. High. School. "Why?" I ask. "If it is
because you’re finished with me, fine. But I think I deserve honesty."

"Finished with you? Are you
crazy? I thought we were just starting. But you have got to keep away from me.
These guys…hell, they know about you. They know you’re my girlfriend."

His girlfriend. I hadn’t known that
until now. The word makes my heart flutter and feel big and warm. I realize he
said he thought our relationship was just
starting
.

"Okay, I still don’t
understand why I have to stay away from you." I reach out and touch his
bruise. I keep my fingertips grazing over it with feather-light pressure. "Did
you have an accident on your bike?" It could have been worse, much worse.
But then I realize—it couldn’t have been that. He wore a helmet with a visor.
How could he have ended up with bruises on his face and a black eye?

"No, it wasn’t a bike
accident. Claire, you have to listen to me. I’m doing this for your protection."

Then my brain finally understands. "
They
did this to you? The guys that you race for, the ones who make money betting on
you?"

"Yeah. There is a guy who
represents my ‘sponsors’. Helman. He hired guys to beat me up. I refused to
race anymore. This is what I got."

"Go to the police," I
say.

"I can’t do that. There are
innocent people they could hurt in payback. My mother, for example. Or you."

"Me?" Suddenly I feel ice
cold. My stomach drops to my toes. "They threatened to hurt your mother.
And me."

"I’m sorry, Claire."
Agony flashes across his face. "This is why I never get involved with
anyone. Why I was famous for one night stands." He looks rueful. "But
you need to dump me and stay away from me."

"How is that going to help?
Even if we break up, they aren’t going to believe you really don’t care if I
get hurt. They can still use me as leverage." Which means I’m in danger
now. And forever.

"Nothing will ever happen to
you. No one will hurt you. I promise I will never let them hurt you."

Grim determination is written in
his striking violet eyes. I touch his forearm again. "How are you going to
protect me? By continuing to race? This is extortion, Sawyer. It’s illegal. If
they were arrested, you would be free. You can’t do this for the rest of your
life. How will you ever get away?"

"Right now I just want to keep
the people I care about safe."

"No, Sawyer." I gaze into
his eyes, trying to make him see that what he’s proposing is crazy. He has to
escape these lunatics, not keep working for them. "You have to get out.
Surely you can get protection for your mother. Surely the police would do that,
in return for your evidence."

"These guys are sadistic
bastards. They could threaten to hurt your family too, Claire. Your mother or
brother. The cops would argue they don’t have the resources to protect your
family as well as mine, even if they were willing to watch over my mother."

"You can’t be trapped racing
for them forever." I realize we’re discussing this in a crowded hallway.
People are slowing down to listen in. I guess we look so upset people think we
must be interesting. "Let’s go somewhere that we can talk in private."

He hesitates.

"Sawyer, there’s no point in
sending me away when it isn’t going to make any difference." I speak with
determination. Then I remember the mocking Facebook posts, the whispers, the
smirking and the laughter behind my back in high school. "Unless you just
want me to go."

"I said that isn’t what I
want." He shoves his hair back again. "All right. Let’s go somewhere
and get lunch."

We end up at a burger place off
campus that specializes in extravagant burgers. There’s one that has so many
patties and condiments, it’s almost a foot high. I have coffee and a simple
burger. Our food sits untouched while Sawyer and I argue. I want him to go to
the police. He refuses.

"They can use threats to force
you to do anything. What if they want you to take bigger risks in a race? You
need to get out of this." I think for a while. "What if you set them
up?" I keep my voice really quiet. "What if you were to inform the
cops where the next race will be? Then they would be arrested."

He shakes his head. "Helman is
the only guy I’ve spoken to. He makes the bets and negotiates my deals with me
but he never comes to the races himself. I know he’s not the only guy in
charge, but I’ve never met the others. They stay nameless, invisible. Even if
Helman got arrested, and he rolled on these nameless men, an arrest for
involvement in an illegal street race wouldn’t keep them in jail."

"But maybe charges of
extortion, assault, and
murder
would."

"Maybe. But I can’t risk going
to the cops."

"What if you start losing? Say
you’ve lost your touch or something."

"With these guys, I don’t
think you get out alive. Even if you’re worthless to them."

"You think they would kill
you?"

He nods. "Basically I’m
trapped.

I feel sick. I’m afraid I’m going
to throw up—or pass out. I go to the women’s washroom and run cold water on my
wrists. When I come out of the washroom door, I’m standing in a corridor area
behind the restaurant’s dining room. Sawyer is waiting for me.

"I need you, Claire," he
says.  He cups my face and kisses me. Tenderly and the soft beauty of his kiss
is breathtaking.

Then he slants his mouth, parts his
lips, uses his tongue to play with my mine.

He presses me up against the wood
paneled wall by the washroom door. His intense kisses are making me wet and
lusty. His hand caresses my breast through my hoodie, setting me on fire.

There is no one in the women’s
washroom.

I pull him in there by his T-shirt,
kissing him passionately. The door swings shut behind us.

Sawyer lifts me, depositing my
bottom on the edge of the counter. He doesn’t take his mouth away from mine
even as he moves me. I know what he needs. He must be angry, frustrated, but
also scared. He’s using sex to blank out his brain. To give him a little
relief.

Maybe that’s not the right reason
to make love, but I want to help him.

I put my hands on the waistband of
his jeans, under his open leather jacket. Slowly, I undo the button and unzip
his fly. His cock is rock hard, stretching the fabric of his briefs. It’s hot
to my touch, and I can feel the blood pulsing in it to make it swell.