Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (76 page)

He shook his head, exasperation in
his eyes. "Game? This isn’t a fucking game." Glaring at my dress, he
encroached on my space. Pressing his lips together briefly, he muttered, "I
hope you’re wearing something beneath this."

My lungs stuck together. "What?
Why?"

"Because you’re going to be
indecent if you’re not." With a savage jerk, he tore the endless seams,
stitching, and hard work of my dress. The rip sounded like a scream to my ears.
Horror swarmed as the outer layer fluttered to the ground, followed by organza,
feathers, and beadwork.

My jaw hung open. "No—"

Jethro spun me around, his hands
skating over my lower back. "You’re like a damn pass the parcel."
With strong fingers, he tore the second layer of heavy ebony silk.

The sound of shredding broke my
heart. All that work! My father would be pissed to see his expensive material
littering the dirty pavement. My blood existed in the needlepoint from pricking
my fingers. My tears soaked the train from overworking. He couldn’t do this!

I couldn’t speak—struck mute by
shock.

"Good God, another?"
Jethro spun me back to face him. I swished in the remaining starchy
petticoats—the tool beneath the dress that granted such volume.

I can’t do this anymore.

I plastered my hands down my front,
seizing the remainder of my gown. "No, pleas—"

Jethro ignored me. With one last
brutal tug, he tore the petticoat off, disposing it on top of the already
ruined layers.

Tears glassed my eyes. "Oh, my
God. What did you do?" The cool Milan air swirled around my naked legs,
disappearing up the thigh-length satin skirt I wore to prevent chafing from the
petticoat underwire. My entire ensemble—destroyed. I’d been the only female in
a household of men. I’d spent an entire lifetime covering up my girlish body
with lace and camisoles and tulle. Femininity was something I created rather
than lived. To see it demolished on a filthy sidewalk enraged me to the point
of tyranny.

Gone were my tears. I embraced
furiousness. "How
could
you?!"

Shoving him away, I fell to my
knees, trying to gather the rhinestones and swatches of handmade lace. "You—you
ruined it!" All around scattered couture fashion. Diamantes glittered on
bland concrete. Feathers twitched, dancing away on the breeze.

"I’ll ruin a lot more before
I’m through." Jethro’s barely uttered words existed, then…didn’t, snatched
by a gust of wind.

I glared up at the man I’d stupidly
returned for—all because a stranger hurt my feelings. A man I’d allowed to
manipulate me and make me heinously wet in a coffee shop. "Does it make
you feel better? Destroying other’s things? Don’t you care that you just ruined
something that took hours upon hours to create? What sort of cruel—"

"Stop." He held up a finger,
scolding me like a little child. "Rule number three. I don’t like raised
voices. So shut up and stand."

We glared; silence was a heavy
entity between us.

He was right. I was so, so stupid.
He’d successfully hurt me more than anyone since my mother left. His
callousness gave no room for hope or tears. And I knew it all along. I’d seen
his coldness. I’d felt his hardened will. Yet it didn’t stop me from being an
utter fool.

Grabbing a puddle of cloth, I
yelled, "Leave me alone!"

"Goddammit, you’re testing me."
He ducked suddenly, grabbing my bicep and hauling me to my feet. He shook
me—hard. My corset dug into my hipbones now that it had no bustle or layers to
rest upon.

"You don’t get to ask any more
questions. You don’t get to yell or act ridiculous. This is happening. This is
your future. Nothing you say or do will change that—it will only change the
level of pain you receive." He shoved me backward against his bike. "Your
dress is conveniently no longer an issue. Get on. We’re leaving."

Fury exploded through my heart,
thankfully keeping my terror at bay.

Don’t think about his threat.
Focus on making him yell
. Loudness. I needed
commotion to garner attention and safety. The more nuisance I made, the more
likely someone would come to my rescue.

"You just ruined my showpiece.
That dress was already sold to a high-end boutique in Berlin! You think I want
to go anywhere with you after you ruined over two months’ worth of work? You’re
insane. I’ll tell you how this is going to go—"

"Ms. Weaver, shut the fuck up.
I’m done with this charade." His face remained impassive, but the muscles
beneath his suit bristled. Moving horribly fast, he tugged my long, unfettered
hair, crowding me against his bike. Wincing against the pain in my scalp, I
tripped, splaying over the leather seat.

Looking around quickly, he relaxed
when he noticed we were still alone. "If you knew me, you’d know how I
react to incorrect statements about my mental health. If you were smart, you
would know never to raise your voice and to maintain proper conduct in public."

He bowed his head, brushing his
nose threateningly against my ear. "But seeing as you
don’t
know
me, I’ll withhold the punishment—for now. But a word of warning, Ms. Weaver.
Just because I don’t lower myself to the unattractive use of volume, doesn’t
mean I’m not pissed. I’m very fucking pissed. I gave you an order, and you’ve
disobeyed numerous times already. This is the last time I’ll ask politely."

Pulling away, he grabbed my middle
and with strength that terrified, plucked me from the ground and plonked me on
the back of his bike, side-saddle.

Giving a mock salute, Jethro said, "Thank
you for obliging me. I’m so glad you decided to climb aboard." With a
scowl, he noticed my high heels. Dropping to one knee, he tore them off my
feet, throwing them over his shoulder. They disappeared in the clouds of
decimated fabric behind him.

I truly was Cinderella, only my
prince threw away the glass slipper and stole me away before midnight struck.
My prince was evil. My prince was the villain.

I couldn’t breathe.

Run. Kick him. Do not let him
take you.

All manner of horrible situations
ran wild in my head. I’d been brought up in a safe neighbourhood, instilled
with common-sense and morals. Yet nothing had prepared me to fight for my life
against a lunatic who came across as sane.

"You can’t do this. I don’t
want to go with you." I tried to jump off, but Jethro’s sleek bulk
prevented me from moving. He loomed upright like a terrible sentence—a
judgement of my past and present. "You have no choice. You’re coming with
me. Your wishes have no relevance."

Stabbing him in the chest with my
fingertip, I shouted, "My wishes are completely relevant. You can’t take
me against my will. That’s called kidnapping." My body flushed with hot
anger. "Let. Me. Go. Before I scream."

Vaughn. Shit, I wanted my brother.
The amount of times he protected me growing up from bees, and badgers, and boys
who picked on me at school.

Vaughn!

Jethro shook his head. "It’s
too late. For any of that. And don’t scream. I don’t do well with screamers."
He chuckled mirthlessly. "Unless I’m the reason for said scream and we’re
in private."

I ignored the ‘scream topic’ and
focused on the horrible ultimatum. Too late?
What’s too late?
I wasn’t
on some countdown where my life ended as I knew it. I didn’t agree to any of
this!

I didn’t, but maybe father did.

The thought stopped me like a
knitting needle to the heart. He’d introduced me to Jethro—over any other man.
He’d encouraged me to go with him—against my brother’s wishes.

Jethro might’ve been able to
hoodwink my father, but I saw his true colours, and I wasn’t going to tolerate
it any longer. This fiasco had gone on long enough.

I opened my mouth to scream. I was
done being scared and manipulated by a soft-spoken psychopath. I wanted normal.
I wanted a shower and the sweet oblivion of sleep.

My lungs expanded with a plea. "Help—"

Jethro lashed out, slapping a cool
palm over my lips. The first sign of uncontrollable emotion blazed in his eyes.
He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I’d hoped you’d be more intelligent
than that."

I slapped him.

The sharp ringing of flesh against
flesh froze time. I didn’t move or breathe or blink. Neither did Jethro.

We stared at each other until all I
knew was gold from his eyes. The air dropped from autumn to blustery winter the
longer we glowered, freezing over with his temper. It could’ve been a second or
ten, but it was Jethro who broke the brittleness between us.

His cold fingers trailed from my
mouth to my throat. Wrapping tight. Unforgiving. The action showed the
truth—the inhuman truth. This man was fastidiously groomed and softly spoken,
but beneath it all raged a devil in disguise. His touch told endless
information of the man he tried to hide. He was the ultimate in camouflage.

He was iron-fisted and remorseless.

Tilting my neck with bruising
fingers, he murmured, "Obey and I won’t hurt you. Fight me and I’ll make
you scream."

Every muscle in my body jolted. The
decimation of my dress no longer mattered. All I cared about was running as far
and as fast as I could. Tears bubbled in my chest; I bit my lip to stop the
rapidly building sob from escaping.

Jethro never let go of my throat. "I’m
not here to kidnap you. I’m not here to knock you out or drug you. Call me
old-fashioned, but I’d hoped you’d come willingly and prevent both of us an
inconvenience." Stroking my hair with his free hand, he cupped the back of
my skull. "You’re probably wondering why I said you have no choice but to
come with me. Because I’m a fair man and believe in equality—even between
hunter and prey—I’ll tell you."

His breath was the only warm thing
about him, scalding my skin with words I didn’t want to hear. "I’m here to
extract a debt. The reason for that debt will be revealed when I’m good and
ready. The method of payment for that debt is entirely up to you."

My brain swam, trying to
understand. "What—"

His fingers tightened, cutting off
my air supply. Choking, the instinct to fight overrode my frozen terror. I
squirmed, scratching my nails over his wrists.

My nails didn’t affect him—if
anything, it made him calmer. Tutting under his breath, he said, "The
first thing you should know about me is I
never
forget. If you draw
blood trying to get free, I’ll only repay in kind. It’s worth remembering, Ms.
Weaver."

His gaze fell to my clawing
fingers, tightening his own until I fought against what I truly wanted and let
them slide from his wrists.

"Good girl," he murmured.
Pulling back, he unwound his digits one at a time from my throat. Meticulous in
slowness. Terrifying in control.

I only repay in kind
. His voice echoed in my head. I balled my hands in my lap, hoping I
wouldn’t lash out or do anything he might deem repayable. I wanted to hurt him
so much I trembled. I wanted him bleeding on the pavement so I could
run
.

Standing tall, Jethro glared,
waiting to see what I would do.

I was half his size—and without
witnesses, I was helpless. I’d never taken self-defence or thought I’d be in a
situation that required it. The treadmill trimmed my figure, but didn’t give me
muscle to fight.

What could I do but obey? I didn’t
move. I couldn’t. Even my vertigo didn’t dare make me queasy when I was trapped
in his savage golden eyes.

A moment ticked past before he
nodded curtly. "I’m glad you’re acting with more decorum. To ensure that
behaviour, I’ll share one piece of information about the debt with you."
He ran a finger along his bottom lip. "You are the only one who can repay.
You must come of your own free will. You are the sacrifice."

I swallowed, flinching at the bruising
around my larynx. His level voice lulled me into thinking I had a chance at
escape.
Keep him talking. Get him to care.
"Sacrifice?" I
instantly hated the word.

His eyes narrowed. "A
sacrifice is something you do or give up for the greater good. All of this
could stop…you have the power."

It could? The promise of freedom
hung in the night-sky, taunting me.

I shifted on the seat, shivering
from the cold. "If I have the power, why do I feel as if you’re laughing
behind my back?" Steeling myself, I snapped, "Whatever you might
think of me, I can read between the lines of what you’re not saying. What are
the consequences if I don’t go with you?"

I felt ridiculous talking of debts
and consequences. None of this made sense, but a horrible sensation slithered up
my back. A memory that I’d buried…from a long time ago.

"You have no choice, Arch.
I can’t explain it, but you, me, no one can stop this. My only regret is
meeting you."

My father huffed, whirling around
in the drawing room of our eight bedroom manor. "Your only regret? What
about V and Nila? What should I tell them? What should I say when they ask why
their mother abandoned them?"