Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (80 page)

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Authors: Pepper Winters S. E. Smith Mandy Rosko Sharon Page Teresa Morgan T. J. Michaels Eve Langlais Cathryn Fox Opal Carew

Tags: #new adult, #pirate, #sheikh, #billionaire, #shapeshifter, #dominant, #alpha, #sensual, #bad boy

BOOK: Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart
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He’d kill my family and there’d be
nothing to run toward.

Everything was pointless.

I hunched, deliberately looking
away from the exit.

Jethro came closer, crowding me
into the booth. "Good choice. Now sit there, don’t move, and I’ll get you
something that’ll make this easier." He turned away, but not before I
heard his murmured, "For me at least."

I waited until he stood at the bar,
smiling at the barmaid, before I opened a new message.

My hands shook, jiggling the phone,
but I wouldn’t stop. He might not let me talk to people I love, but people I
hated didn’t matter. The one person who drove me into this mess might be my
only hope at surviving it.

If he forgave me.

Needle&Thread:
Kite, I don’t
do this lightly, but my life has taken a certain change and…well, I would like
to be able to message you if it gets too much. I’m sorry I overstepped. I’m not
going to say any more than…please. I need to be able to talk to you if I need
to
.

I pressed send, hating myself and
how weak I sounded. He wouldn’t understand the strength and courage it’d taken
to write that or bow into the meeker role. But I needed someone—a friend. And
the sad part of my life was—I had none.

Resting my phone on the table, I
stared unseeingly out of the window. Tears tried to take me hostage again, but
I curled my hands, digging long nails into my palms. The pain gave me a
distraction, letting me stay outwardly calm.

Jethro took his time, talking
softly to the botoxed waitress. I wished he’d forget all about me so I could
sneak out the door and never return.

My phone buzzed.

I’d never hoped for anything more
in my life as I read the new message.

Kite007:
Understand me too when
I say I don’t forgive or forget lightly. But I appreciate your message and
can’t deny you’ve got me intrigued. You’ve almost got me wanting to know what
changed in your life to send you grovelling back to me. I’m not an idiot to
know it must’ve been pretty big after what we said to each other. I’ll let you
message me and reply on one condition.

There was nothing else. Glancing
over at Jethro, he had his back to me waiting for his order. Still time. Still
hope.

I swiftly messaged Kite back.

Needle&Thread:
I accept.
Whatever your condition.

Please just give me someone to
talk to.
No matter how cryptic and shallow he was,
I needed it. So much.

Kite007:
No details. I’ll reply
as long as your messages don’t make me care. You’ve got the wrong man if you
want sympathy.

I wanted to tell him to piss off.
That he wasn’t worth it. But I swallowed my pride just as Jethro placed a
single shot of white liquor in front of me. "Whoever you’re messaging,
stop."

Glaring into his light, unfeeling
eyes, I flicked a curtain of hair over my shoulder.

In my first, but definitely not my
last act of defiance, I typed a single word.

One word that gave me a shallow
friend who didn’t care if I lived or died.

The only person I had left.

Needle&Thread:
Deal.

 

 

I TRIED.

If anyone asked, I could tell the
truth. I did
try
to stay a gentleman.

But who the fuck was I kidding? My
manners had an expiration date, and Nila pushed me too far.

I guided her from the dismal excuse
of a bar, through the terminal, and past security. Her arm stayed looped with
mine, following submissively, obediently—like a good pet. Her feet glided in
flat shoes, her dark eyes glazed but aware.

It’d been too easy. Both breaking
my word and dissolving the tablet into her drink. I said I wouldn’t kidnap or
drug her—that was before she showed some backbone in the coffee shop, and had
the fucking audacity to ask me for something.

Sex? She willingly wanted some sort
of meaningless connection with me? That pissed me off. I’d looked forward to
taking that from her. The will. The desire. Stripping her of the choice before
taking what she didn’t want to give.

You still can.

I just had some work ahead of me.
I’d been too soft. Too gentile. It was time to make my prey fully understand
the nightmare she’d walked into and put a stop to the stupid fantasises she
entertained.

And I couldn’t think about her
brother without wanting to fucking punch something. I shouldn’t have been so
lenient. I didn’t care who she talked to as long as she remained mine to
torment. But him—he could ruin everything. The Weaver men had been a constant
pain in the arse since the Hawks started taking their women.

War had broken out. Lives were lost
on both sides.

But we won. And would continue to
win, because they were pussies and we were strong.

Nila didn’t say a word as I guided
her down the airbridge and onto the plane. To an outsider she looked perfectly
normal. Perhaps a little tired and spaced out, but content and not in any way
distressed.

That was the wonder of this
particular drug.

Externally, she acted the perfect
part. Internally, I had no idea, nor cared how she felt. It wasn’t my problem
if she saw everything that happened. Her mind was unhindered, but all motor
control was stolen. And there was nothing she could do about it. She dealt with
vertigo on a daily basis—this was no different. I’d taken her ability with the
help of a simple chemical. In fact, I was kinder than vertigo, because I gave
her something to hold onto.

Patting her hand that rested on my
forearm, I guided her into business class. Pointing at the window seat, I
waited till she sat heavily, then buckled her in. Her breathing remained low
and regular, but when I sat beside her, took her hand, and guided her face to
mine, I saw the truth.

She knew.

Everything.

Perfect. It’s time to begin.

Brushing black hair from her neck,
I whispered, "I should warn you of something." Running my fingers
down the silky strands, I moved closer so I could breathe the threat. Silence
was terrifying. Whispers petrifying. But barely spoken threats were the worst.

"Be afraid of me, Ms. Weaver.
Be afraid because your life is now mine and I’m the master of everything that
happens to you. But know this…it’s not just me you’ll have to fear."

Her chest continued to rise and
fall, no hiccup or flinch. But her eyes fought against the glass of unwilling
intoxication, struggling to break the surface and no longer drown.

"There are others. Many others
who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid. Ultimately they
have to ask permission from me. But there are exceptions to every rule."

Settling back into the leather
seat, I smiled. "Remember what I told you and you might survive."

My mouth said one thing, my eyes
another.

Remember that and you’ll still
die.

She heard the truth as well as my
lie. Her fingers twitched, mouth parted, but the drugs were stronger than her
terror.

She was inert while inside she was
screaming.

The silence was a symphony to my
ears.

 

 

THE BLACK SUV that I’d been stuffed
into at the airport rolled to a stop beneath a humongous archway. A gatehouse,
so typical of large wealthy estates in England, soared above us. Through the
glass roof of the car, I made out the same crest that emblazed the door panels
of the vehicle I sat in. The up lighting made it glow like a rare monument—an
over emblazed welcome doormat like so many country manors had in this
historically rich country.

A huge filigree design with four
hawks circling a nest of fallen women welcomed, complete with a large diamond
glinting in the centre. It screamed of hunting and violence and winning.

I would’ve shuddered if I had the
ability to move. How many of the fallen women lived through what I was about
to? How many survived?

None of them.

I knew that now. I knew what my
future held.

I’d screamed and raged and howled
beside Jethro on the plane. My throat bled from shouting. My heart burst from
begging. But he hadn’t heard a whimper, because of the magic he’d used to
subdue me.

The journey had torn my heart into
shreds. Every step I took, I battled to break whatever spell he’d placed me
under. Every breath I took, I fought to speak.

If I had the power of speech, I
would’ve screamed that I had a bomb. I would’ve taken detainment and a full
body strip search to flee from Jethro’s undeniable, possessive hold.

My entire undoing and decimation
was done in utter silence. And the bastard just sat there, holding my hand,
nodding at the air-hostess when she said what an elegant couple we were.

He let me dissolve into misery. He
lapped up my unshed tears, and I’d seen a glimpse of the monster I’d given my
life to. Thousands of feet above the earth, I’d witnessed the cold gentleman
mellow into something resembling a happy lover. Someone who’d won and got their
way.

"Welcome home, Ms. Weaver,"
Jethro whispered against my ear.

I tried to cringe from his mouth,
to huddle against the door, but the damn drug kept me locked beside him.

I blinked, inwardly sobbing,
outwardly a perfect porcelain doll.

Everything had been stolen. My
sense of touch, ability to speak, muscles needed to run.

A man in his early twenties
appeared from a large pillar of the archway. Manifesting from the dark like a
ghoul on Halloween. Jethro stiffened.

The new arrival opened the front
door, sliding into the seat and nodding at the elderly man driving us. "Clive."

The driver nodded in return,
gripping the gear stick with an arthritic hand, and engaging the car once
again. He hadn’t said a word since picking us up at Heathrow.
Perhaps he
doesn’t have a tongue? Jethro and his family probably ripped it out to protect
their sadistic secrets.

We inched forward, trading the soft
lighting of a hawk engraved logo for the deep darkness of forest. I stared out
the window into pitch black. From Italy to England, from night to night. The
engine purred, following a quaint road slicing through dense woodland.

I wanted to run. And scream. I
wanted so much to scream.

Jethro scowled as the newcomer
twisted in his seat, awkwardly facing us. I struggled to make out his features
thanks to the dark, but the high beams of the SUV cast shadows enough to see.

"Jet." He gave a mock
salute.

Jethro scowled. "Daniel."

"This her?" The man
trailed his eyes from my lips to my breasts to my demurely placed hands in my
lap. "She looks like a Weaver."

Jethro sighed, sounding bored and
annoyed. "Obviously."

Daniel reached over, grabbing my
knee. His touch sent shivers of repulsion over me, even through the cotton of
my dress.

I felt that.

I held my breath. Sense of touch
was the first sign of the drug wearing off. I knew when Jethro touched me,
because of the pressure of his fingers. They acted like a punishment, a leash,
and a reminder that my life was his. But up till now I hadn’t been able to feel
temperature or texture. Neither hot nor cold. Gentle or soft.

But now I could.

It’s fading.

I hoped joy didn’t show on my face.
If I could move, I could escape.
Oh, Nila. Don’t be so stupid.

My joy fizzled out as fast as it’d
arrived. There would be no escaping. It was yet another thing I knew just by
what Jethro
wasn’t
saying. I’d learned something in the short flight
here. His silence told me more than any part of him. His silence shouted too
loudly to be ignored.

I was dead already. My last breath
hinged only on how quickly he tired of his new toy.

Keeping my emotions buried, I
stared blankly at the man who dared touch me. His lips pulled into a cruel
smile; his fingers tightened until every inch of me wanted to jerk away.

Jethro sat still, letting him touch
me.

Daniel’s nose was slightly crooked
from a bad break, face fuller, body softer than Jethro’s, but there was no
denying the family resemblance. Jethro was cold stone with sharp contours,
gravelly voice, and imposing personality while the younger brother had more
animation.

If it wasn’t for the greed glowing
in his eyes, I would’ve preferred him. But despite Jethro’s granite exterior
and sharpness, I knew in my heart I was better off being his plaything than
this new Hawk.

There was something missing inside
him.

A soul.

With a sneer, the man ran his palm
up my inner thigh, bunching the material of my dress. "I must say you’re
very well behaved." He dug his nails into my delicate flesh, only a hand
distance from my crotch. "You don’t flinch." His hand suddenly left
my thigh, connecting with a loud, stinging slap on my cheek. The force of his
strike sent my useless body falling into Jethro. "You don’t cry."

My face smarted and throbbed,
making my heart race. I squeezed my eyes, wishing the sense of touch hadn’t
returned. I didn’t want pain. I didn’t want any of this.

Jethro grunted, pushing me upright
with a rough shove to my shoulder. "She’s not normally like this. Couldn’t
shut her up, or stop her endless questions. So I drugged her."

The man’s eyebrow rose. "With
what?" Eyes slithering over my chest, he planted his hand back on my leg.
Pushing my dress out of the way, he inched higher and higher and
higher
on
naked skin.

I wanted to curl into a ball and
cry until I drowned from tears. I wanted oblivion from this nightmare. But the
drugs kept me sitting prim and willing, a perfect toy to play with.

There are others. Many others
who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid.
The sentence had been on repeat in my head ever since Jethro
whispered it on the plane. Was that why he permitted his brother to manhandle
me? Would I be given to him to do as he pleased?

Please, God. Please don’t let
that happen.

I had enough strength to stay true
to myself and survive one man. But multiple? They’d tear me into smithereens
and ruin me even for death.

Jethro placed his hand—slightly larger
and far more scary—on my other leg, pressing me hard against the leather. His
touch hurt—burning my exposed skin like dry-ice. "I gave her Diamond Dust."

Daniel’s vile touch stopped just as
the tips of his fingers brushed the crotch of my knickers. I sat frozen, every
part of me humming with horror.

"Diamond Dust? Shit, Jet, that
stuff hasn’t finished testing. You know Cut didn’t authorise it to be sold
yet—let alone be used in public. What if she had a seizure? How would you have
explained she’s nothing and deserved to die? You couldn’t. You’d end up in
fucking prison."

My heart hammered. Not only had he
stolen my mobility, he’d run the risk of killing me. The fear crested again,
burning through the drugs bit by bit. Even with the knowledge that I’d have to
live through countless horrors before my time was up, I was glad I hadn’t had a
seizure. Death was so final. As long as I breathed, I
might
find some
way to survive.

You say that now
. My pain threshold hadn’t been tested. I had no guide on how strong
I’d remain or how precious my life would be when I no longer wished to live it.

Jethro shrugged. "If she died
then the final debt would’ve been paid sooner rather than later." Glancing
at me, he added, "I admit it’s taking longer than I thought to leave her
system. But it did a nice job shutting her up."

His fingers turned to pincers. "See
how enjoyable silence is, Ms. Weaver?"

I stayed immobile beneath his
touch, but my heart flew with terror, burning off the residual frozenness,
leaving me at the mercy of reactions. Every second the drug weakened only meant
I had to work extra hard to maintain the deception I was still its prisoner.

Daniel’s fingers inched further.
His eyes locked on mine as he touched my clit through my knickers. His touch
was horribly warm, invasive, and gross. 

I wanted to kick him in the damn
nose.

But I just sat there.

And died a little.

I sat there, because I had no damn
choice.

Don’t
. I swallowed, drinking the tears fighting so hard to be shed.
Don’t
spiral.
I couldn’t let myself be sucked into useless sadness. I’d never
claw my way out. I’d never be ready to fight.

And I mean to.

My life might be earmarked for
extinction, but I meant to be the last Weaver the Hawks ever took.

At least I don’t have children
. Once they killed me, there’d be no more Weaver women.

Oh, my God. Until Vaughn has
children.

The fist around my heart squeezed
until lightheadedness made the car swim.

Daniel yanked me from my horror,
rubbing my clit viciously. He grinned, dragging his repulsive touch downward,
violating every part of me. "She looks younger than twenty-four. Sure you
didn’t get the younger sister instead?"

What!?

I jolted, sucking in a breath. I
forgot to pretend the drugs still held me prisoner. A sister? Impossible.

She left us. Could my mother
have had another life—a whole other existence that I didn’t know about?

The thought pulverized my heart.
Not only did she have a family—tearing us apart when the debt came for her—but
she’d thoughtlessly given life to another girl?

Jethro’s head snapped toward me,
his light-brown eyes flashing in the darkness. I stayed as statuesque as
possible. My gasp was the first sound I’d made since the bar. Since I entered
into an agreement with Kite not to make him care, and the last conversation I
had with my brother for who knew how long.

Jethro leaned into my neck,
whispering, "I see you fighting it. I see you winning. You can’t hide
anything from me." Pulling away, his eyes narrowed. "You’d do well to
remember that. Don’t give me a reason to hurt you so soon."

Looking to his brother, he
muttered, "She’s the right one." His fingers clenched and unclenched
on my thigh. In a lightning move, he snatched Daniel’s wrist and jerked his
probing fingers from my core. "She’s the right one and
mine.
Enough."

I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief.
Only one other man had touched me there. Only one boy had seen me naked and
taken my virginity. I never thought I’d be in a situation where I’d be forced,
and for a fraction of a second I was grateful toward Jethro for stopping it.

"I can touch her if I want.
Shit, I can fuck her too."

"I didn’t say you couldn’t. I
just said…enough." He bit the word into pieces. Sharp, deadly,
unforgiving.

Daniel tore his arm from Jethro’s
grip. "Fine. But don’t climb up your arse thinking she’s just yours. She’s
not. She belongs to all of us."

There are others. Many others
who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid.

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