Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (90 page)

I’ll be that wave.

Jethro cleared his throat,
deliberately stepping forward. His large frame pressed against mine, causing my
body to twist and brush my naked breasts against him.

"Oops," he breathed.

I didn’t look into his eyes. I
couldn’t stand to look at him. All of this was his doing and I refused to let
him unsettle me anymore. "Don’t touch me," I whisper-hissed.

His hand lashed out, slinking up my
pinafore and tweaking the same nipple his father had. "Silence."
Bowing his head to mine, he said, "And you loved me touching you. Stop
being a little liar, Ms. Weaver."

Gritting my teeth, I darted away,
tearing his fingers from my breast. I breathed hard when I reached the
sideboard. So much food.

My stomach scrunched into a hunger
ache.

So what I was naked? So what over twenty
men waited to do who knew what to me? It didn’t matter. Because my life hinged
on throwing away normal and embracing the crazy I now lived with.

I would meet them in hell and play
their horrid games.
I’ll come out the victor.

Grabbing a tiered
platter of pâté, crusty
bread, and pickled
vegetables, my mouth watered.

I’m so hungry.

My stomach growled, sending spasms
of pain. I’d never gone this long without food, and the lack of sugars and
vitamins faded the edges of my vision. My fingers whispered over a piece of
roasted potato. Just one little taste…

"Hurry up," Mr. Hawk
ordered.

Shaking my head from the
overwhelming need to shove a handful of delicious looking food into my mouth, I
turned to face the table. I’d never waitressed before, but I guessed the man in
charge would get first choice.

That means passing him again.

Holding tight to the platter, I
held my head high, and made my way past Jethro. His mouth twitched as he once
again blocked my path. I kept my lips tight together, not looking at the
challenge in his eyes.

"Not interested in me anymore,
Ms. Weaver?" he purred.

Mr. Hawk looked over his chair and
pointed at me, then placed his finger over his lips in the universal ‘hush’
sign. A non-so-subtle reminder that I wasn’t permitted to speak.

When I didn’t respond. Jethro
smiled. "I’m impressed."

He might terrify me, but he needed
to know I wouldn’t give up. I had plans for him, and I wouldn’t be so easily
cowed. Plus, he had my vomit on his shoes, he shouldn’t be so smug.

I let myself glance into his golden
eyes.
You don’t scare me
.

His capricious demeanour shifted
slightly, a silent message glowing in his gaze.
Give me time.

He let me pass without another
word.

Breathing shallowly, I came to a
standstill beside Mr. Hawk. He nodded, choosing a selection from the platter. "Good
girl. You may now serve the rest of the table. Left to right, if you please."

Straightening, I forced myself to
truly look at the men before me—the gauntlet of masculinity I had to travel
through to reach my destination.

My heart raced; a cold sweat broke
out down my spine.

Stay cold. Stay free. And you’ll
get through this.

I placed one foot, then another. My
heartbeat ratcheted as I came to a stop beside a large man reeking of damp
leaves. He had orange hair and a tattoo snaking up his neck.

My vision wobbled; I tottered to
the left as a small wave of vertigo reminded me I’d been stable up to this
point thanks to a miracle. Orange Tattoo shot out an arm, preventing me from
slamming into the table.

He grinned. "Steady, I won’t
bite." He brought me close, smiling so deep a dimple formed. "I’ll
lick though."

Before I could move, his tongue
landed on my thigh, licking long and slow like a giant animal.

What?!

I squirmed, almost dropping the
tray. His grip was absolute, holding me firm until he’d tasted his full. The
rush of vertigo turned to nausea. The sickly scent of my previous sickness
didn’t help my stomach from rolling like a shipwreck.

Letting me go, I stumbled and tried
to rub away the silvery glisten of wetness from his awful mouth. It only
transferred to my naked elbow.

Orange Tattoo beamed, licked his
lips, and took a selection of breads and pickles. "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."

I spun to face Mr. Hawk.

This couldn’t be true. He expected
me to let this happen. From
everyone
?

Mr. Hawk chewed thoughtfully,
raising an eyebrow, daring me to speak.

My lips parted—to demand to know
what happened. Was that the token of gratitude he spoke of? A
lick?

My chest puffed, sending a wash of
embarrassment through me. Not only was I naked but I had to permit them
licking
me!

Mr. Hawk pursed his lips, waiting
for me to explode.

He’ll punish you. Don’t ask. Do.
Not. Snap.

It took more courage and energy
than I had. But I managed to suck in a breath and release the stress swirling in
my system. I had too many other things to focus on to care about an unorthodox
dinner soirée.

No speaking.

I had to pretend I had no tongue.
Otherwise, waitressing would be the least of my problems.

Glancing back at the men, they
grinned, knowing I had no choice but to continue.

Jethro’s voice ghosted behind me
like a dark cloud. "You’re the main course, Ms. Weaver. Each brother gets
a taste—anywhere he chooses. You’d be wise to allow it."

My heart thundered.
Anywhere?

But if it was just a lick—was that
so bad? Perhaps this dinner party might not be as awful as I’d feared. A lick I
could tolerate. A touch I could handle. Full penetration would drive my mind
from its sanctuary straight to an asylum.

It was as if Jethro knew that.
Pushing me, little by little, past my comfort zone.

I moved to the next
leather-jacketed man. This one was skinny but had an edge of violence. His
shaved head shone as he helped himself to the food before placing his finger in
the top of my pinafore and pulling me down to his level.

His tongue lashed out, tracing my
cheekbone all the way to my ear.

Shuddering, I swallowed back my
repulsion.

You can handle it.

The moment he’d finished, he said, "Thank
you, Ms. Weaver."

What did they want for
me—permission that it was okay? That I was
grateful
?

Standing upright, I struggled to
move. Struggled to keep going when I knew how many more licks I’d have to earn
before it was over.

"Proceed, Ms. Weaver. Don’t
disappoint me." Jethro’s gravelly voice invaded my ears. Damn him. Damn
all of this.

Swallowing hard, I moved to the
next.

He was handsome. Quite like Jethro
in a stockier, less devilish kind of way. He had dark hair with flecks of grey
and a bird of prey tattooed on his forearm.

Never taking his eyes from mine, he
took a few items, then hooked a strong arm around my waist and pushed up my
maid’s uniform. His lips pressed a kiss on my hipbone, the wet tease of a
tongue hidden by the warm pressure of his mouth.

Every inch of me revolted but I
didn’t flinch.

Smirking, he let me go. "Thank
you, Ms. Weaver."

It was the smirk that gave him
away.

He’s another Hawk.

The man nodded, sensing my
connection to his pedigree. "I’m the second brother," he said softly.
"I doubt you know my name seeing as Jethro gets to have all the fun—but
I’ll tell you—so you know who to scream for when my older brother goes too far."
He crooked his finger, hinting for me to move closer.

Despite myself, I bent. There was
something about this brother. Something different.

His light-brown eyes—a Hawk family
trait it seemed—crinkled at the corners as he said, "I’m Kestrel."
Pointing at the tattoo on his arm, he added, "Like the bird."

"Leave her alone, Kes. Other
brothers want a turn." Jethro’s demand snapped from behind.

Kestrel chuckled. "Easy there,
Jet. Only playing with my food." He sat back, motioning me to continue.

How many sons did Mr. Hawk have?
How many must I submit to when Jethro had had enough of me? I didn’t have the
mental protection to sleep with an entire family of evilness.

My eyes didn’t linger on him and I
wasn’t permitted to speak, but I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to
know why I had a sense of kinship—no matter how slight.

Tense, I darted around his chair,
moving to my next customer.

The next man had piercings in his
eyebrow and lower lip. Blue-black hair, so similar to Vaughn’s, tore my heart
out as he bent his head over my arm and dragged a pointed tongue toward my
elbow.

V.

Tears threatened. V was everything
to me. I couldn’t stand to think of him while this happened. I should’ve
messaged him back. I was cruel to leave him in distress.

Closing my eyes, I put one foot in
front of the other, moving toward the next man.

And then the next.

And the next.

Each one thanked me once they’d
tasted, acting like gentlemen rather the lair of monsters they truly were.

With every lick, I froze, standing
tense and hating while they dragged their saliva all over my skin.

Thankfully, the lack of hunger
tripped time, merging the men and tongues into a merry-go-round of nightmares.
I lost track of who licked where, hiding myself away and focusing on the weight
of my platter growing lighter and lighter.

But not one person tasted my
breasts or pussy.

It sent me into a state of
uncomfortable awareness. They were men. Taunting a woman who they’d been given
permission to taste. Why hadn’t they gone for the prized locations?

The unknowing and waiting sent my
skin crawling more than their eager tongues.

The next man I served was older
with a greying moustache and wispy hair. He licked my neck, nuzzling my hair
before taking his fill of food.

I went to move, in a trance, to the
next diner.

But the older man captured my hip
and presented me with the next part of the parchment.

My trance evaporated, leaving me
hungry for information. This was why I permitted this. I let myself be governed
by history. The double meaning of the thought didn’t escape me.
You were
taken because of history. You’re staying because of history.

The diamonds of my collar bit into
my neck in agreeance.

Placing
the platter on the table, I removed myself from the twenty-first century and
proceeded to be swept to 1472.

For
actions committed by Percy Weaver and his entourage of well-to-do associates,
he stands judged and wanting. His life is determined by the grace of Bennett Hawk
who states the following comeuppance:

Monetary
compensation

Public
apology

And most of all, bodily
retribution

What a bastard. He couldn’t let
some petty grievance go?

He did save the entire family
from hanging.
Somehow he’d kept Percy Weaver and my
ancestors from swinging on a rope, and in a way I had to be grateful. Grateful
to a man who’d saved my bloodline but stolen my future at the same time.

If this document had never been
agreed upon, I would never have been born. No one past Percy and Mary would’ve
existed. It was hard to hate someone who’d granted life, but easy to hate them
for stealing countless of those lives generations later.

"Keep going, Ms. Weaver,"
Jethro purred.

My head snapped up.

He stood there, wrapped in his
horrible silence, watching me like a hunter.

I wanted to glower. I wanted to do
something idiotic and stick my tongue out at him. But there was no point making
him hate me more than he already did. The moment I could charge my phone, I
would Google every enticing come-hithers a woman could make.

I’ll seduce him.

I’d enjoyed seeing his impeccable
control snap by the stables. I loved that I was the one to do it.

I’ll make him care.

I would turn this travesty into a
prophecy by weaving my Weaver magic over a Hawk.

With strength building in my heart,
I grabbed my tray.

Moving forward on unsteady knees, I
looked greedily at the next piece of paper. It sat coyly in the centre of the
table, beckoning.

The next man to taste me was a
young boy, barely out of his teens. His touch was gentle, tongue barely
licking. He was my favourite from the table.