Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (83 page)

No!

I winced as the driveway bit into
my palms; my knees throbbed as sharp pebbles cut into my skin. I looked up, my
face swollen and achy from unpermitted tears welling as deep as a bottomless
lake.

This was the truth. This
humiliation and admittance of power, not the farce he’d painted. 

Jethro towered above, his legs
planted wide, face etched in livid anger. "I’m a firm advocator of
rewarding good behaviour but after tonight you’ve proven there is nothing to
reward. You’re wild, unwilling, and a spoiled brat who
will
learn her
place."

Leaning down, he grabbed my long
hair, jerking it hard. "Did you honestly think, after an outburst like
that, that you’d deserve the comfort of a bed? Why do it, Ms. Weaver, when you
knew what was on the line?"

I couldn’t speak. My throat was
pulled back, the pressure stopping all sounds and swallows.

"I have a good mind to fuck
you right here. To smash whatever sense of entitlement or hope you’re holding
onto." He shook me.

My eyes watered at the pain.

"You’re not hearing me. This
is your life now. I am your only friend. Stop. Pissing. Me. Off."

You’re not my friend. I have
one, and his name isn’t Jethro.

Kite.

I didn’t think I’d want to message
him so soon, but I needed someone from the outside world. I needed reminding
that the universe hadn’t entered an alternate dimension and there was still
hope.

When I remained silent, Jethro
snarled, "You’re sleeping with the dogs. They have better obedience than you,
perhaps you can learn from them on what we expect."

I sniffed, fighting so hard against
the tears.

I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t
sleep in a bed. I was past worrying about sanitary conditions or nutritious
food. All I wanted was freedom. All I needed was some time alone to gather my
scattered self-worth and remember who I was.

"Move," Jethro breathed,
his beloved silence smoothing his outburst from before. "Don’t make me
show you how a good dog moves."

He wants you to crawl.

It had begun.

This was the beginning. And I’d
brought it upon myself.

He wants to destroy you.

Using my hair as the leash, Jethro
paced beside me as I went from stationary to crawling. I crawled like an
animal. I crawled like a pet. I crawled through manicured gardens, past ponds,
and statues, all the way from manor to kennel.

I STRETCHED, LOOKING up at my
ceiling. The plasterwork around the huge chandelier never failed to let me know
who I was.

A Hawk.

The intricate rosettes and
architraving was a testament to my namesake. Birds of prey swooped, hunted, and
devoured small animals from above.

My hard cock lay heavily against my
stomach. My hands clenched beneath my head. I was so fucking close to breaking
the rules and taking Nila last night. She’d pushed me too far. I’d wanted to
see how smart her mouth could be with my dick jammed down her throat.

I should’ve taken her.

Removing my hand from beneath my
pillow, I grasped my morning wood and stroked. My eyes snapped closed as I
imagined a different outcome to last night.

Nila’s pink plump lips opening. Me
sliding inside her mouth. My balls tightening as her timid tongue welcomed my
cock. She’d lick me just like she’d done my thumb. Eager, inexperienced—a
novice with so much to give.

I’d rock forward, holding her head,
giving her no choice but to take more of my length.

I’d thrust harder, driving her from
accepting to choking.

Fuck.

My hand worked tight and fast. The
large bed creaked as I arched my back, giving into the fantasy of blowing down
Nila Weaver’s throat.

Fuck, yes. Take it. Yes.

My quads tightened, and I groaned
as the first spasm of release shot from my balls, creating a sticky mess on my
stomach.

Choke on it. Love it.

Fantasy Nila kept sucking me,
drawing another wave of pleasure. I liked her a lot more with my cock in her
mouth. She was silent. Incapacitated.

I shivered as the last spurt of my
orgasm joined the mess. I opened my eyes.

"Goddammit." I hadn’t
meant to do that. I should’ve summoned a club whore to come and suck me off.
Masturbating wasn’t necessary when there were countless willing women ready to
service me at the snap of my fingers.

Fuck it. It was a long night.
I deserved a little…unwinding.

It’s going to be an even longer
day.

I might’ve blown my load with an
imaginary vision of Nila on her knees, but it would soon become real. Today,
Nila would be initiated. She’d be welcomed. And not just by me.

I wonder how frustrating she’ll
be when three men use her at the same time.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I
prowled across the thick red carpet toward my private bathroom.

I smiled, perversely happy with the
day’s upcoming activities. The next few weeks weren’t about debt repaying or
vengeance, they were about hospitality and welcoming a new Weaver into the Hawk
household. She had much to learn, her place to recognise, and all thoughts of
who she was torn from her soul and burned.

I’d use her. My father would use
her. My two younger brothers would use her. Shit, it was open season for the
first few weeks until she snapped and went from fighting to docile.
Then
the repayments would begin.

After spending some time alone with
her, I knew the handful she was. Despite her disobedience, I rather liked her
fire. Pity that fire would snuff out almost instantly. She’d probably crack on
the first activity.

I paused, searching inside to see
if I cared. To see if I had enough ice inside to do everything expected of me.
She was pretty, I had to admit. She had a certain intrigue. But she was just a
woman.

A woman who confuses you.

Scowling, I shoved the thought away.
She confused me which wasn’t a good thing. It was almost as bad as surprising
me.

One moment she seemed so sure and
strong. The next she was brittle and breakable. And her bloody vertigo was
getting on my goddamn nerves.

No. I was more than happy to let my
fellow brothers share the work in ruining her. It would be over faster, and I
could go back to my life before I knew of the stupid scroll stained with the
blood of the first Weaver woman.

The sun spilled like a golden
carpet, leading the way from bed to shower. My room was vacant of personal
touches but reeked in history of past owners. Rococo style dressers, Victorian
designed chairs. The wallpaper was embossed maroon leather with gold accents.

The entire space was brooding and
temperamental. I would’ve preferred clean lines. White—which was the silence of
the colour palette—with stone furniture and metal chairs. I liked to be
surrounded by an unfeeling atmosphere but I’d never be permitted to change this
area.

It was sacred.

All because it’d been the bedroom
of all Hawk men who’d inherited a Weaver woman. Their last breath was taken in
this room. It held the ghosts of Nila’s ancestors and would one day absorb
hers, too.

The birthday present of new spurs
and a heinously wicked whip glinted on the eighteenth century sideboard. At the
time, I’d thought it was a piss poor present for turning twenty-nine, but in
retrospect I’d have a lot of fun using them on Nila rather than my horse.

The best present was due next year.
The true inheritance I’d been waiting for. One much better than a woman or her
tears or even the permission to draw her blood. When I turned thirty, I would
own it all.

Everything. All mine.

The fantastic ruling of Primogeniture
meant as firstborn son, I inherited the lot. My brothers wouldn’t get penny. My
sister not a single diamond. They would survive by my charity. Just like my
father.

The brotherhood. The mines. The
yachts. The cars. Hawksridge. And every property overseas.

Mine.

Bryan Hawk, Cut to those in the
Black Diamond brotherhood, would be second to me. The way of our ancestors
ensured young authority remained in control of an estate that’d spilled enough
blood to fill a moat around our gates.

My father would retire, and I would
be king.

I’d upgrade from living in the
bachelor wing with its pool room, theatre, office, weaponry, solarium, six
bedrooms, and six bathrooms to having the pick of a fifty room, two ballroom,
and a dungeon-equipped house to play in.

And by play, I meant make women
scream.

That was the only time they were
allowed to break my rule of quietness. The only time I enjoyed their begging.

Collecting new clothing from my
walk-in wardrobe, I glimpsed myself in the mirror. My lips curled in disgust at
the sticky mess on my stomach. I had a good mind to get Nila and make her lick
me clean.

That was her fault.

My mind drifted back to her—against
my will. She’d not only taken up valuable space in my head, but my day’s
structure as well. There would be no hunting today or inspecting the latest
diamond shipment.

There’d be no business or travel.

All my energy and focus belonged to
the woman who was a waste of my time.

Another daydream of forcing her to
her knees stopped me on the outskirts of the bathroom. Would she cry or scream
as I fucked her from behind? Perhaps she’d surprise me again and moan in
ecstasy. I planned on taking her that way—the animalistic way. After all, she
did spend the night with the dogs. It would only be fitting.

Dumping my clothes on the vanity, I
strode into the four-headed quartz shower. I had no need to strip. I slept
naked.

Always did.

It was part of the rules.

Living at Hawksridge, the grandest
and most exclusive motorcycle club compound in all of England, came with strict
unbreakable rules. Our brotherhood was different. We were smart, cunning,
focused.

Any man found sleeping with clothes
on was in for a night of pain. We might have left the dark ages behind but my
family upheld strictness.

We made our fortune in the most
transferable precious item there was. And we’d learned a lot from past mistakes
on how to treat those who tried to steal them.

No clothes at night and random
cavity searches by day.

All to protect our legacy. The way
we made our money. The way we rose from penniless thieves at the beck and call
of the Weavers to gathering a wealth that morphed to obscene a few centuries
ago.

Stepping into the shower, I turned
on the hot spray. Smiling at the mirrored wall, I cupped my cock, washing the
residue of my indiscretion.

The next time I come, I’ll be
inside the woman I inherited.

With my cock in my hand, I nodded
at my reflection.

I’m a Hawk but blood doesn’t
flow in my veins. I’m born of a substance unbeatable by any other—diamonds. I’m
a smuggler. I’m a dealer. And I’m about to become…a killer.

NEEDLE&THREAD:
I’m warm and
in bed. Surprisingly I slept better than I thought I would. Did you have a good
night? Did you lie in your bed and picture me pleasuring you? What did I do to
you? Tell me, Kite. I want you to transport me from reality and give me a
fantasy stronger than my present humdrum life.

Kite007:
Forward this morning,
aren’t we? You’re that desperate to talk about my cock? Not that I’d ever say
no—but I’m rather impressed by your forwardness. Tell me more…beg.

Needle&Thread:
Beg? How does
one beg for something they need rather than want? Would you prefer me on my
knees? Or perhaps on my back ready for whatever you wanted to give me?

Kite007:
Fuck. What’s got into
you? Beg. Imagine I’m standing over you with my hard cock in my hand. I’m
throttling it—my fist working so fucking hard at the thought of you
spread-eagled and fingering yourself. Give me a visual. Now. Then I might
reward you.

Needle&Thread:
I’m exactly
as you said. Begging, whimpering, touching myself until my whimpers turn to
pants and my begs turn to moans. I’m wet for you. I’m hot for you. Please,
Kite. Give me my fantasy. Give me something warm to hold onto.

Kite007:
What the fuck is this
about? How can I come when you sound fucking weird?

Needle&Thread:
Weird? I’m
not. I’m giving you what you want in return for what I need.

Kite007:
Is that supposed to
make sense, ‘cause I don’t understand bullshit code. Fuck, you’re seriously
making me do it.

Needle&Thread:
Do what?

Kite007:
Ask you! Okay, fine.
What’s got your panties so bunched that you’re coming onto me so strong. What
happened to my timid naughty nun? Why the fuck do you sound so different?

I stared at my phone, heart rate
skyrocketing. I’d tried to play it coy and courageous. I thought I’d pulled off
the pantomime that I was still myself, still living my content but uninspiring
life.

Obviously not.

I re-read my past replies, unable
to see the difference. Had I changed that much already?

There was nothing soft about Kite.
There was no reason for me to seek him out when I had enough bastard in my life
thanks to Jethro. It made no sense to let him use me—but it did in a strange
way. It made sense because I
willingly
gave him control over
me—something I needed in my rapidly spinning out of control life. While Jethro
was determined to undermine, throw away, and rule every inch of whatever little
power I had left, Kite gave it back in some strange, wonderful way.

He’s the monster I know. He’s
not sweetness and light—but he’s mine because I
choose
him to be
. The defiance was yet another stupid score against the beast
called Jethro Hawk.

Straightening my back, I tried to
figure out a way to possibly get Kite to soften—just a little—then everything
would be a lot easier to bear.

Kite007:
Tell me, then make me
come. You’ve got two jobs to do. Do them.

Taking a deep breath, I opened a
fresh message.

Needle&Thread:
Tell me if
this is out of bounds, but in answer to your question—why do I sound
different—I suppose it’s because I
feel
different. Everything is
different. I thought I’d always fight against different. I like normal. I like
routine. I thought different would ruin me. But…then…I changed.

Kite007:
Changed? You really
going to make me drag this out? My cock is hard and balls want to come. Spill
it, so we can get to the second part of your to-do list.

Needle&Thread:
I’m the one
who’s different now. It’s as if everything I’ve been dealing with suddenly
doesn’t matter. It’s just gone….

Kite007:
Gone?

Needle&Thread:
Yes. It’s
liberating, scary as hell, and confusing. But something’s changing inside—it feels
as if I’m…growing up.

I sighed. He’d send something
horrible back—my response had been too personal. I knew that. But I’d sent it
anyway.

Kite007:
Out of bounds. Get back
to the subject. Let’s try this, here’s something you obviously want: I’m happy
you’re growing up—makes me feel a lot fucking easier knowing I’m not jerking
off to a kinky fourteen year old. And now for want I want: Too bad for you, I’m
not gone or planning to before you finish doing what you started. I’m done with
the cryptic crap. Pay attention, because I’m sliding my cock into your mouth.
You try to talk but you choke on my length, your voice is humming against my
balls. Stop trying to communicate and settle in to your task. Suck me.

I sighed. Two emotions swirled
inside—exasperation and gratefulness. He’d replied to my overshare. He hadn’t
shot me down or been the pillock he usually was. Progress.

The tentative softness inside was
enough to get me through the next few hours.

Shouldn’t you want more?

My heart hardened.

Kite had replied to my veiled hints
for encouragement but I’d hoped…

It doesn’t matter what I hoped.

It seemed everything I wanted in
this world wasn’t available—including more than one kind word from Kite. We’d
been so close to a normal conversation. Learning, sharing, building a
connection despite the complications of sexting.

He’d let me in for a microsecond
then shut me out once again, using sex as a tool to keep me in my place and
remind me I didn’t factor in his life—either as a friend or even associate. I
was the unseen whore. The unpaid prostitute who lived in his phone.

I couldn’t let him hurt me. I
couldn’t let him weaken me.

He’d done what I needed—reminding
me I was strong enough. There was nothing else to do but finish the
conversation, so I could leave the soul-sucking fantasy and return to the
tragedy of my new world.

Kite007:
You’re not sucking.
Fine, I’ll give you some encouragement. If you blow me, I’ll return the favour.
I’ll flip you onto your back, spread your legs, and bury my face between your legs.
I’d bite you, fucking you with my tongue until you forgot everything and came.

My stomach attempted a small swoop.
It wasn’t romantic, but it did give me a tiny bit more warmth I needed.

Before I could reply, another
message vibrated.

Kite007:
Tell me where you are
right now. Are you naked? Finger yourself for me. Take a photo if you’re brave.

I laughed. The sound shredded the
space that Jethro had so kindly given me for the night. Laughing was the only
thing I could do. Take a photo? Of
what
? The bruises on my palms from
crawling to the kennels last night? How about the cuts on my knees?

Maybe he wants a picture of my elegant
bedroom and wonderful bedfellows.

Looking up for the first time since
I woke, I let the uselessness of my situation get the better of me. The bravery
I’d been clutching to like a raft in a rolling ocean, splintered and drowned.
Painful despair saturated my heart, weighing me down like the anchors I so
often clung to.

By all standards, the kennel was
sheer luxury. The roof was watertight. The floor clean and sanitary. It was
even draft free.

But it wasn’t just mine. I had to
share.

Squirrel, my favourite of the
eleven canines I’d spent the night with, nudged my arm. I’d named him after the
tree-climbing rodent thanks to his slightly bushy tail. With a doggy smile, he
wheedled his way under my arm, leaning heavily against my torso.

I’d never had pets growing up. As a
family, we were too busy working or travelling to exotic places to source more
material and merchandise. Until last night, I’d had an adolescent fear of dogs.

That had evolved to terror when
Jethro threw me inside.

I shuddered, hugging Squirrel
closer to me, stealing his gentle warmth. Last night Jethro had tried to
destroy me. Not through fists or rape or even harsh words. No, he tried to
destroy me by removing any entitlement I had as a human. Marking me as no
better than the dogs he kept.

He would’ve succeeded if my terror
hadn’t mellowed into bewilderment then gratefulness. He’d done me a favour—I
preferred the company of his hounds. They not only tolerated my intrusion but
welcomed me into the pack.

Squirrel licked my pebble-indented
palm, letting me know he understood my aches. I still suffered from crawling
from the manor, past immaculate flower beds, over precision mowed grass, and
cutting through shadows cast by imposing hedges.

Everything throbbed when I finally
crawled the last metre and sat waiting beside a large roller door. My dress was
torn, my knees bleeding—not that he’d cared.

The estate was bigger than I could
contemplate, but even in the darkness, I’d made out the buildings around us.
The stables were across the cobblestone yard. A granary let its soft grainy
fragrance permeate the air. The gentle huffing of horses broke the silence
along with wuffles and snuffles from dogs.

Jethro left me sitting on my knees
while he disappeared into what I assumed was a tack room. He returned with a
large scratchy blanket and a bucket, before unlocking the roller door and
beckoning me inside.

Throwing the items into the dark
interior, he bowed. "Your boudoir, my lady." Leaning down, he swatted
my behind. "Go to bed like a good little pet. You have a big day ahead of
you."

When I didn’t move, his foot landed
on my arse, shoving me forward, giving me no choice but to crawl quickly into
darkness.

The moment I’d traded starlight for
no light, I panicked.

Jethro threw the bolt home, locking
me inside a room that thrived with moving bodies, claws on cobblestones, and
soft growls of ownership.

The first brush of a wet nose on my
cheek ripped a small scream from my lips. I curled tight into a ball, hugging
my knees, squeezing my eyes against being eaten alive.

I waited for sharp teeth. I waited
to be bitten.

But they hadn’t eaten me.

Far from it. I’d been licked and
nuzzled and welcomed into a pack of unknown numbers.

I was a stranger in their domain,
but when I finally overrode my fear and looked into their eyes, they were
bright with curiosity rather than territorial anger.

The rest of the night was spent
making a semi-comfortable bed out of a loosely packed hay bale, and wrapping
myself tight in the scratchy blanket. I’d aimed to sleep alone with my new
friends scattered in their usual spaces, but they had other ideas.

Once I was settled, they’d crowded
around me, squeezing close, curling around each other until I was the epicentre
in a nest of canines.

The moment they’d quietened, I took
out my phone.

Five missed calls, three messages
from my twin, and one from my father.

Biting my lip to retain what
composure I could, I read my father’s first.

ArchTextile:
Nila, I know you’ll
have questions. I know you’ll hate me. But please, my wonderful girl, know I
didn’t want any of this. I was stupid not to heed your mother’s warning. I
thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I hope we can talk—when you’re
ready. I understand if you can never forgive me. I don’t know how much of this
they’ll see, but I’ll never stop searching, never stop hoping. Please don’t
think I gave you up lightly. They have…ways. They have you but they’ll keep you
in good health. We have time. Love you, sweetheart.

I didn’t want to focus on what time
meant. The slow plod of time intertwined with the fast tick, tick, ticking of
my final heartbeats.

My fingers hovered on the reply
button. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I opened my brother’s
messages.

VtheMan:
Threads, pick up your
goddamn phone
.

VtheMan:
Threads. I’m warning
you. You’re not happy. I sense it. I’m worried shitless and Tex is being a
secretive arsehole. Call me immediately, sister. Or I’ll make your life a
living hell.