Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (81 page)

"No. But she’s mine until I
say you can have her. Hierarchy, little brother. You know how receiving charity
works."

"Fuck off, Jet." Pointing
a finger at Jethro’s face, he said, "Cut changed a few things tonight at
the Gemstone. He’s named me VP—given me your role."

Jethro settled into the seat, his
broad shoulders brushing mine. "If you think he did that behind my back,
you’re mistaken. I asked for time. Cut was more than happy to grant it. After
all, I’m the firstborn son of a Hawk. She’s the firstborn daughter of a Weaver.
There are more important things on my agenda for the foreseeable future."

My brain swam. Everything they said
sounded cryptic and layered in code. Cut? Was that a name? Gemstone? It sounded
like a place, but that didn’t make sense.

"You’ve always thought you’re
better than me. But you’ll see who extracts a debt from flesh better when I get
my turn." Daniel sneered, his gaze bouncing from his brother to me.

I gritted my teeth against dropping
my eyes or trying to turn invisible. As much as I hated Jethro, I would make
sure to remain in his good graces as long as possible.

Daniel reached out and patted my
knee, ignoring Jethro’s icy look. "Enjoy your time with my brother,
because when you’re mine…enjoyment won’t be something you’ll be feeling."

Jethro sat forward, his suit
rustling against the leather upholstery. In his signature terrifying quietness,
he said, "You disturb my work before I’m through, blood or not, you’ll pay
the price."

The two men glowered. I didn’t know
either of them, but the air shimmered with past conflict and animosity—hinting
that this standoff was nothing new.

"You’re not untouchable,"
Daniel hissed. "You better—"

Jethro shook his head, eyes dark as
amber. "Stop. There’s nothing I better do. Father didn’t pick you. He
didn’t
choose
you." His hand came up, casually checking his
fingernails. "Life rewards those who deserve it. And you—don’t."

Jethro was calm, made worse with
the swirling ferocious temper existing just below the surface. The atmosphere
thickened, changing the breathability of the car’s interior until I choked with
the urge to flee.

Daniel trembled with violence.

Clive, the driver, never slowed,
continuing through the night as if brother rivalry and debts extracted from
human misery was common. The gentle rocking of the vehicle did nothing to
relieve the anger between Jethro and Daniel, but every wheel spin helped shed
the fogginess I’d existed in for the past few hours.

The fact I was trapped between two
males who might explode at any second helped drench my system in adrenaline,
kick-starting my heart, dragging me to the surface of being master of my own
body once again. The heavy drug-ocean receded.

I didn’t witness what made Daniel
concede—Jethro never moved—but he growled a curse, then spun in his seat to
glare out the windscreen. I followed his attention, holding my breath at the
soft glow in the distance. If that was our destination, it was giant. A looming
residence breaking the darkness with false warmth and welcome.

My new home.

My new hell.

My end.

"It’s called Hawksridge Hall.
Take a good look, because it’s the last place you’ll ever live," Jethro
murmured. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me closer. His hot breath
disappeared down my dress, making me tremble. "Hawksridge has been in our
family for countless generations. A fortune we built from nothing. Unlike you,
we weren’t born into privilege. We earned our wealth. We deserved the titles
bestowed, and it’s time to show you what we had to do to achieve that."

His fingers wrapped tighter,
burning my scalp. "To dispel any thought of running, there’s over one
thousand hectares of land. You’d never find your way to the boundary. You’re
trapped." His lips grazed over my jaw. "You’re mine." Keeping
his fingers tangled in my hair, he reclined, pulling my neck into an
uncomfortable angle.

The sadness I’d done so well at
battling crested again. There wouldn’t be bars on my cage—or at least I didn’t
think so—but there was a fortified moat in the design of woodland and lakes and
hills. I wasn’t outdoorsy. I didn’t know north from south.

But you do run.

I was fast. I had stamina. If the
opportunity came, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my obsession with running to use.

Until you fall and break your
leg thanks to an episode.

My shoulders rolled. Not only was I
trapped by a maniac family, but I was vertigo’s favourite stumbler.

The car continued deeper and
deeper. Every turn, I lost all sense of direction and knew I would never find
the gatehouse without a miracle.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at
my hands in my lap. I willed sensation to come back. They twitched, returning
to life with a wash of pins and needles.

They fell off my lap involuntary as
we bounced over a cattle grate. Jethro pursed his lips, looking at my offending
limb on the seat beside him. His gaze trailed up my arm to my chest.

I breathed faster at the
calculating look in his eyes. Unwinding his fingers from my hair, he trailed
them down my neck, along my clavicle, across my shoulder, and down my arm. "My
brother was the first to touch you below, but I’m going to be the first to
touch you here." His hand skated across to my breast, clamping around the
sensitive tissue.

The soft cotton of my dress did
nothing to protect me from the coldness of his grip.

"You seemed to want my
attention at the café. Don’t say I never give you anything." His finger
pinched my nipple, rolling it painfully. There was nothing sexual about his
hold—only punishment.

Giving up pretence of being under
the influence of whatever he’d given me, I squeezed my eyes, swallowing back a
whimper.

He twisted my nipple again,
shifting from demeaning to the edge of painful, but what made it worse was I’d
wanted
him to touch me there. I would’ve willingly slept with him only hours before.
Before I knew the animal inside the cultivated man.

"You’re too skinny. I prefer
women with more…assets than you," he whispered, cupping my other small
breast. "However, your tiny stature might prove to be a blessing with some
of the things I have planned." He pinched me again, turning my nipple like
a corkscrew.

I flinched, forehead furrowing
against the pain.

He chuckled. "I knew it was
wearing off." His touch turned from painful to excruciating. I bit my lip,
barely holding back a cry.

"Just in time." Letting
my breast go, he captured my hand, linking his icy fingers through mine. There
was nothing romantic or caring about Jethro holding my hand—it was a pure
reminder that I had no chance in hell of getting free.

Vaughn. Tex.

I wanted so badly to talk to them.
To beg for rescue. But I could no longer be the woman I’d been. I couldn’t be
the workaholic who blamed others for my unhappiness. I’d accepted my father’s
old-fashioned law about not being permitted to date, because in all honesty, I
wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Because meeting someone meant the
possibility of falling in love. Which meant the worst pain imaginable when they
left.

If anything, Jethro had done me a
favour. I never wanted male company again. If I could return to my sewing
machines with no other companionship but my twin, I’d be happy, eternally
grateful, and would live the rest of my life in peace.

Tugging my hand into his lap,
Jethro murmured, "I meant what I said on the plane. Play your part and
you’ll live to see another sunrise."

Something snapped inside as if the
drug suddenly gave up its hold on me, along with everything I’d been trying to
avoid. The tears, the fears, the constant worrying of what was to come.

It all disappeared.

I couldn’t afford to drain my
energy with useless wonderings. Jethro said I could work. I intended to drown
myself in fabric and continue designing my next runway show. I would pretend my
world hadn’t become a monster-filled nightmare, and lock my mind in a place
where it was safe. Mundane was safe. Routine was safe.

I would create a sewing room deep
in my soul and ensure no one—including the numerous activities Jethro had
planned—could ever ruin me.

And talk to Kite.

My heart thumped. He wasn’t kind or
a sympathetic ear to cry to. But I was glad. I didn’t want someone to pat my
back and make me feel worse with commiseration. I needed someone to tell me to
buck up, keep going, and never wallow in darkness.

Kite didn’t know it yet, but I
planned to use him as my barometer of liveliness. If I could muster up the
energy to flirt and chat and pretend everything was okay, I had the strength to
continue. The moment I used him as an outlet to purge whatever Jethro did to
me, I would know I needed to re-centre myself and dig deeper to stay true.

Jethro let my hand go, tossing it
away almost violently.

I breathed a sigh of relief, then
stiffened as his fingers latched around my upper thigh.

Whispering harshly, he said, "Keep
watching the horizon, Ms. Weaver. You’re about to see your new home." His
hand crept up my leg, following the same path his brother had—freezing my
exposed skin with his icicle-like fingers. "Don’t take your eyes off the
windscreen. You behave and I’ll make sure you have somewhere warm to sleep
tonight. You disappoint me and you’ll sleep with the dogs."

I bit my lip, eyes flaring wide.

Sleep in a kennel?
Shit, Nila.
You couldn’t be any more stupid.

All this time I’d braced myself for
sexual payments—bodily taxes and unwanted attention—but in reality I hadn’t
stopped to think about the bare essentials of living. There was so much more
Jethro could do to me than torment my body.

He could deprive me of nutrition.

He could prevent me from sleeping.

He could make me live in squalor
and suffer illness after illness.

Daniel stayed facing the front,
ignoring us. I risked my first question since the airport bar.

"You aren’t just going to use
me. Are you?" My voice sounded strange after not speaking for so long.

Jethro stilled, his fingers
twitching on my inner thigh. "So naïve. You’re worse than a pet. You’re
like a child. A loveless girl who knows nothing of the big, bad world."
Breathing shallow, his hand moved higher and higher. "Pity I’m not turned
on by little girls. Pity you don’t get me hard, my loveless, clueless Weaver.
Then you might’ve been prisoner in my bed."

In front of us, the car’s
headlights illuminated a driveway. The woodland stopped, giving way from
thicket to a huge expanse of manicured lawn and a large oval fountain. Birds of
prey replaced angels and fair maidens, their talons dancing on top of water
spray. 

Jethro’s hand burned, never
stopping his slow assault. My heart jack-knifed, pain shooting in my chest as
panic replaced my blood. I’d wanted sexual contact for so long but not like
this. Not taken. Not even wanted.

The car slowed, skirting around the
fountain. We turned left, following the sweeping driveway.

And that was when I saw it.

The monstrosity that was my
so-called new home.

The rising monolithic, French
turreted, tower fortified, sweeping, soaring mansion. Tarmac turned to gravel
beneath the tyres, pinging against the metal panels below. Jethro’s fingers
crept higher, demanding I pay attention to everything he did.

"Welcome to Hawksridge Hall,
Ms. Weaver. It’s going to be a pleasure entertaining you as my guest." The
sentence wrapped around me like a noose; my eyes snapped closed as his fingers
brushed my core. Firm, unyielding, he cupped me through my knickers, sending
snow to my womb with his vile fingers.

I bit my tongue, hating him. Hating
myself. Hating everything to do with debts and vendettas and family feuds.

"This is what you wanted,
isn’t it?" Jethro whispered, pressing harder, forcing the seam of my
knickers into my sensitive, barely experienced pussy.

Everything clenched, repelling
against his awful ministrations.

I tore my eyes open. "Not like
this." Dropping my voice, I locked eyes with him. "Please, not like
this."

The car rocked to a stop.

Daniel looked over his shoulder,
his gaze dropping to the blatant position of Jethro’s hand between my legs. He
smirked. "Welcome to the family. Don’t know how much you’ve been told
about us, but forget everything." His teeth glinted in the pooling light
from the mansion. "We’re much worse."

Jethro stroked me, drifting down to
where the silk of my underwear gave a little, pressing against my entrance. "He’s
right. Much worse."

I shuddered as his finger bit into
me. The unhurried, controlled way he touched me twisted with my mind. His
violation was different than his brother’s. Still not wanted, but at least more
easily tolerated.