Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (82 page)

He was the devil I knew. Not the
devil I didn’t. In a morbid way, that made Jethro my ally rather than
tormentor.

"I’ll look forward till we
meet again, Weaver." With another smirk, Daniel shoved open his door and
disappeared.

Jethro’s fingers rocked into me,
but I refused to give him any reaction—neither upset nor regret. Sitting with
my hands balled, I asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Jethro chuckled. "The ultimate
question. And now that we’re home, you’re about to be told." Removing his
hand, he opened the car door and climbed out.

All the blood in my body rushed
between my legs—almost as if every molecule needed a cleansing—searching for
relief from the hot, cold, tempting,
vile
way he’d touched me.

He looked so elegant in his dark
grey suit, so refined with the glint of diamond on his lapel. Why did someone
so horrid look so beautiful? It wasn’t fair. Nature’s cruel irony. In jungles,
birds died from being attracted to the gleam of cavernous flowers. In
rainforests, snakes and omnivores succumbed to toxin-riddled-jewelled frogs.

Beauty was the ultimate arsenal.
Beauty was meant to deceive. It was meant to trick and beguile so their prey
never saw death coming.

It worked.

And to a woman who made her life
creating beauty for others and never being granted the ease of naturally
acquiring it, Jethro was a double threat, both to my ego and lifespan.

Turning back to offer me his palm,
Jethro waited for me to accept his token of help.

I ignored him.

I wasn’t naturally a defiant
person, but there was something about him that made me become a brat. Pushing
off the seat, I propelled myself awkwardly and stiffly to the open door. The
moment I was in grabbing distance, Jethro snatched my wrist and jerked me from
the vehicle.

Of course, standing for me was
already a careful affair, mixed with an unknown substance that’d hijacked my
motor controls, I didn’t land on my feet.

With a cry, I tripped out of the
SUV, sprawling face first on the gravel below. The car suddenly cranked into
gear and drove off. Leaving me alone and bruised before a manor worth millions.

"What on earth?" The
gruff exclamation came from above—different from Jethro’s deep timbre, but
powerful and full of supple authority.

"Goddammit, this is getting
ridiculous," Jethro muttered. "Are you going to be like this all the
time?"

His strong hands lassoed around my
waist, yanking me to my feet. The moment I was vertical I blinked, trying my
hardest to find an anchor and remain standing. The world steadied and I shook
Jethro’s lingering hold off my hipbone. "Yes, I’m ridiculous. Yes, I’ve
suffered all my life. Yes, I know it’s a
huge
inconvenience for someone
who wants to kill me that I’m already a little bit damaged, but did you stop to
think—just once—that the reason I’m struggling more than normal is because of
the stress you’re loading my system with?

"Have you never dealt with an
upset stomach or a tension headache?" Waving my hand in his face, I
snapped, "It’s the same thing. My body doesn’t handle upsetting
circumstances well. Get over it or let me the hell go!"

It felt wonderful to let go of the
anger bubbling inside. It purged me a little, giving me room to breathe.

Jethro remained steadfast, his eyes
wide, mouth thin and unamused.

"Well, she has fight. All the
fun ones did."

The man who’d spoken stood on the
second-to-last step of a humongous portico. The house loomed overhead, blotting
out the moon and stars as if it were a living entity. Burnished copper gilded
the many roofs and turrets, criss-crossing flowerbeds lived beneath soaring
lead-light windows, and lattice planted grass grew on the side of the turrets.
It wasn’t just a building—it was alive. Maintained, proud, a piece of
impressive architecture that had weathered centuries, but been so well cared
for.

I craned my neck left and right.
The building continued on and on, at least ten stories high, with intricate
alcoves, sweeping doorways, and a hawk embellishing every keystone.

It’s a work of art
. I was a creator. My passion didn’t just lie in textiles, but in
everything where a level of skill blared from every inch.

And Hawksridge Hall was majestic.

I wanted to hate it. I despised the
family who owned it. But I’d always been a lover of history. I’d always
pictured myself as a lady of a manor, with horses and gardens and refined
dinner parties. I loved exploring stately homes, not for the furniture or
statues, but for the drapery, hand-stitched wallpaper, and massive hanging
tapestries.

The talent from an age where women
sewed by candlelight never failed to impress and depress me. Their talent far
outweighed my own.

Jethro took a step toward the older
gentleman. "You said it would be easy. I can assure you, it wasn’t."
Throwing a cold look over his shoulder, Jethro motioned me forward. "Come
here and pay your respects."

I didn’t move.

The older man chuckled. He wore all
black, and just like the man who brought my belongings in the parking garage in
Milan, he wore a black leather jacket with a silhouette of a diamond on the
pocket.

His hair was fully white, yet his
face wasn’t too weathered. He had a goatee, which was more dirty grey than
snow, and eyes were as light and unnerving as Jethro’s.

Instantly my back stiffened; my
heart bucked in refusal. This man didn’t deserve respect. I wanted nothing to
do with him.

Just as I knew the younger man in
the car was Jethro’s brother, I knew without a doubt this was his father. This
man was responsible for upholding the evil pastime of torturing innocence for
something that should stay in the past. He was ultimately responsible for my
demise.

Jethro stalked back, stole my arm,
and marched me forward. Under his breath, he said, "Don’t annoy me. I’m
warning you."

Jerking me to a halt in front of
his father, he spoke louder. "Ms. Weaver, let me introduce you to Bryan
Hawk. Head of our family, President to his fellow riders, and sixteenth man in
a long line of succession to wear the family name."

He glared at me, making sure I
listened. "He’s also known as Cut amongst his brotherhood. But to you, he
will always be addressed as Mr. Hawk."

Mr. Hawk grinned, holding out his
hand. "Welcome to my humble abode."

I shied away, not wanting to touch
him, be close to him, or even have to tolerate talking to him.

Jethro growled under his breath,
grabbing my elbow and holding me firm. "You’re one infraction away from
sleeping with the hounds, Ms. Weaver. Try me. Disobey once more."

His father laughed. "Ah, I
remember those days. The fun, the discipline." Climbing down the final
step, he closed the space between us. His aftershave reeked of sadism and old
money—if that had a smell. A horrid mix of spice and musk that gave me an
instant headache, whilst his eyes stole everything about me from my reflection
to my dismal future.

He cupped my cheek.

I flinched, expecting the brutality
and roughness I’d come to expect from a Hawk, but he ran his thumb gently over
my cheekbone. "Hello, Nila. It’s a pleasure to once again entertain a
Weaver in our modest home."

Hearing my name repulsed me. Jethro
hadn’t used it yet—sticking to the impersonal address of my last-name. I hated
that Mr. Hawk thought he had the authority to speak it.

Wanting to spit in his face, I
focused on the house behind him—swallowing the urge. My gaze soared to the
stained glass windows, the imposing spires, and impressive stonework. There was
nothing modest about this dwelling, and he knew it.

I kept my lips clamped. I had a
whole novel of horrible things I wanted to say, but Jethro’s seething bulk
beside me kept my tongue in check.

Jethro let me go, pushing me into
his father. "She’s been nothing but trouble. I can’t deny I’m looking
forward to tomorrow."

My heart leapt into my throat at
the dark promise in his voice.
What’s going to happen tomorrow?

Mr. Hawk dropped his palm from my
cheek, wrapping his arm around my waist. With his free hand, he brushed wayward
strands from my eye. "You look just like your mother. It’s a pity I’m not
the one extracting in this particular instance, but rest assured, I will enjoy
you once or twice."

My stomach latched onto my heart,
making me sick.
Don’t ask.
The question blared in my head.
What did
you do to my mother?

I’d been so young and full of
righteous anger at her leaving my father. I thought she was the villain—the
heartbreaker.

But she was the one who paid an
unpayable price. And never returned.

Mr. Hawk’s eyes glinted. "I
see Jethro hasn’t told you anything yet." Trailing his hand from my hair
to my lips, he stroked me gently. "That’s going to be a fun conversation,
but for now I’ll let you in on a little family secret." Crushing me
against him, he whispered, "I’m the one who stole her. I’m the one who
took debt after debt from her unwilling skin. And do you know what she begged
for in her final minutes of life?"

My head swam. My world roared. Life
as I knew it ended.

I hated him.

I loathed him.

I’ll kill you.

I’d never felt such heat, such
insanely burning desire to cause harm. My teeth ached from clenching; my nails
drew blood from my palms.

"She begged for your life. To
end it with her and to let you live in peace." His hand left my waist,
grabbing my arse with a vicious grip. "Know what I told her?" His
breath smelled of liquor and cigars, making me swallow his words. "I told
her you were born a Weaver, you’ll die a Weaver. And that’s the simplistic way
of our world."

Shoving me away, I ping-ponged from
father to son, coming to an abrupt halt in Jethro’s arms. The relief at being
away from the man who’d murdered my mother made my limbs weak and jittery, but
I couldn’t stop the hatred from gnawing a gaping hole in my soul. I needed it
out. I needed it spoken so he would know the debt might not have ended with my
mother but it would end with me.

It will.

"I pity you. I knew nothing
about you, your sons, your warped perception of life until tonight. I may not
know why you’re doing this but I do know one thing. I know that it’s the last
time you’ll ever do it."

"Shut up!" Jethro shook
me. But I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t scared of any of them anymore. They
were bullies. Sadistic bastards who’d met their match.

Struggling in his arms, I freed my
hand, pointing a livid finger at Mr. Hawk. I lost my rage, tilting head first
into lunacy. My temper gave me power over everything. My cursed balance. My
sheltered beginnings. In that one moment of brazenness, I found a nucleus of
strength I didn’t know I had.

My voice pitched as I yelled, "I’ll
kill you! I’ll watch you die just like you watched my mother—I’ll kill you! You
don’t deserve to live. I’ll kill you and—" I launched myself at him, only
to stumble and go slamming back against a powerful form.

Jethro grabbed my shaking arm,
pinning it to my side. His strong hold crashed me against his body, moulding my
wiggling behind against his rigid front.

His body was hard and firm—exactly
like the stone I thought he was. The bulge in his trousers pressed against my
lower spine.

"You’ve pushed me too far. You
just had to fucking push. No one threatens my family, least of all a girl who
can barely stand without support. And a Weaver." He spat on my feet. "Fucking
filth."

"Remove her from my sight."
Mr. Hawk sniffed. "Teach her her place, Jethro. I won’t put up with such
stupid behaviour." His eyes landed on me. "As for you. I’d hoped
you’d show more promise. Think what you want of us, Ms. Weaver, but this isn’t
a simple matter that will end quickly. You’re ours for however long we wish to
keep you and you’ll learn proper manners if we have to beat it into you."

Nodding at Jethro, he climbed the steps
to the two story sized front door and disappeared.

The moment he vanished, my spine
rolled and I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and cry.

What was I thinking?

My rage and hatred snuffed out like
a candle in a storm. I’d never been so out of control. My emotions had held me
hostage and I’d snapped—for the first time since my mother left—I’d succumbed
to the intense freedom of bitterness.

Jethro dragged me backward, his
dress shoes crunching against gravel. He didn’t wait for me to back-peddle,
just clutched me hard, dragging me like an already dead corpse. "You’ve
surprised me twice tonight, and I haven’t liked either of them. You’ve pissed
me off. So much so that—"

Slamming to a halt, he shoved my
shoulder blades. "Get on your knees."

I wheeled forward, crashing from
standing to landing on all fours.