CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(133)

My nostrils flared. I broke it? There was nothing to break! This whole  thing had been a mistake. Unknowingly he'd taken advantage of some loser  gasping for friendship. I was done being that girl. I was done living  life in black and white.

I wanted colour. I wanted passion. And there was only one man who could  give me what I wanted tonight. I would use him and throw him away-just  like Kite did to me.

Kite007: If you didn't know-that was me cutting you loose. You're acting  like a brat. Go and get laid. That's what I'm about to do. You want to  know things about me? How about this? The woman I meant to text when I  mistakenly messaged you is coming over for her long overdue reward.  Don't message me again. The jerking off to your timid replies has bored  me. Whoops, I just lost your number … .

My teeth gritted. My heart thundered. Pain was swamped by livid rage.  How dare he break up with me? How dare he hurt me! How dare I let myself  be hurt by a fucking arsehole who I'd never met?

I didn't care. I don't care.

But I did care.

I'm so stupid!

Stopping in the entrance way, my hands shook, jiggling my glowing  screen. People mingled around, skirting the huge puddle of black  material from my dress. I stood surrounded, yet I was all alone.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them back. It was my own stupid fault. I'm so stupid. Stupid …

I sent my final message.

Needle&Thread: When you end up alone and unloved, I hope you  remember this moment. You aren't breaking up with me. I'm breaking up  with you. Thank God I'm not a nun so I can curse the very ground you  walk upon. You don't want to meet me? Fine. You just got your wish. I'm  done. (hope you wank so much your dick falls off)

Whirling around, I faced the doorway-the same doorway leading to a man  who was scary and cold and silent but he was real. He had fingers to  touch me with and a mouth to kiss. Who cared who he was? I could be  stupid and use him for my own release.

Tonight I wouldn't be draining a treadmill of life. Tonight I would be  riding a man who terrified me in some recess of my soul. Tonight I would  be selfish and wicked and cruel.

Tonight … I would be Jethro's.





I SAT ON my newest purchase, resting like a mechanical shadow by the  curb. It didn't glint or gleam. It didn't entice or welcome. It waited  in black silence ready to charge into the night.

Give her options. Don't make her suspect. Threaten only when necessary. Above all, take her without causing attention.

The rules my father told me the morning I left to fly to Milan, repeated  in my head. I was obeying. Even though it was fucking hard. I struggled  to balance my true nature with that of a polite gentleman, coaxing a  skittish woman out for dinner.

As if I would be interested in a girl like her. Meek. Skinny. Beyond fucking sheltered it was insane.

Grabbing the throttle of my bike, I waged with ignoring my father's  rules and stalking into the venue and stealing Nila Weaver in front of  everyone. She could scream, shout-it wouldn't make a difference. But  that wasn't allowed.

The other option was I could just fuck off and kidnap her from her hotel room.

She has to come willingly.

My father's voice again. Kidnapping was the last resort.         

     



 

I growled under my breath.

I'd let her go, not because of some decency, or concern of what would  happen to her family's happiness, or even the upcoming pain in her  future. No, I let her go, because I was my father's son and followed a  plan. But there was a deeper reason, too.

I was a hunter. Skilled with both bow and arrow and gun. I stalked the  weaker and slit their throats when they succumbed to my careful aim.

But sometimes I liked to … miss. I liked to give them a small window of  safety, all while closing the noose when they didn't expect it.

I liked to play with my food.

The chase was the best part. Hunting was intoxicating. And knowing I had  the power to snuff out Nila Weaver's life the moment I caught her gave  me a certain … thrill.

That was the only reason I restrained myself and followed the rules.

I had no secrets of why I would stain my hands with her blood. I had no  misplaced vendettas or agendas. Everything that would come to pass was  for one simple and undisputable fact.

There was a debt to be paid. And I was the method of extraction. Plain and simple.

I'm a Hawk. She's a Weaver.

That was all I needed to know.

In the library a week ago, while sipping on a ten thousand pound bottle  of cognac, my father proceeded to tell me a little of our history. He  told me gruesome things. Dastardly things. Tears shed. Blood spilled. He  told me what happened to Nila's mother.

He also told me why every firstborn Weaver girl had a stain upon her  life. I understood it. I accepted it. I was given the task to uphold my  family's honour. And I fully intended to extract payment as meticulously  and as painfully as possible.

It wasn't often I was given the opportunity to make my bastard of a father proud. I didn't intend to let him down.

Even though I wouldn't enjoy it.

Liar. You will enjoy it.

A tight smile twisted my lips. Fine. I would enjoy it. Nila Weaver would  be my greatest trophy. I might not be able to display her head on my  wall once I was through, but I would treasure the memories. Something  told me I would no longer find pleasure in hunting hapless deer after  I'd hunted a woman.

Oh, yes. I would enjoy ruining Nila, because I liked breaking things.  But not in a gruesome barbaric way. I liked to break them smoothly,  gently, ruthlessly. I liked to think I transformed creatures from their  present to their potential.

Pity once Nila was transformed she wouldn't be allowed to enjoy her  evolution. She would be dead. That was the final toll. That was her  future.

To kill something so naïvely pretty …

It made me angry in a way to think of such delicate perfection snuffed  out. But there was no point thinking of the end when the chase had just  begun.

"Nice bike."

My head snapped up, eyes locking onto my prey. The same prey who'd run yet returned.

She'd returned? I was right before. She truly is stupid.

Nila drifted forward, threading and unthreading her fingers. I didn't  move or utter a sound. She responded to my silence-like everything. I'd  learned that cursing and yelling could be frightening-but silence … it was  the empty void where enemies' fears polluted. Stay quiet long enough  and horror would be struck with one whisper instead of a multitude of  profanities.

She waved at my bike, her eyes wider than before … darker than before.

Deciding to grant her a reply, I said, "It's my version of  accessorising." The Harley-Davidson was a new purchase. Sleek and sharp,  nicknamed The Little Black Dress.

Stroking the throttle, I tilted my head. Her dusky skin had colour. Her  pronounced cheekbones were flushed, trailing residual temper down her  neck. Something had happened. Something had upset her.

Did she find her father, only for him to disown her and send her back to me?

I frowned. Could Archibald Weaver truly send his only daughter not once,  but twice, to her death? He knew what awaited her. He knew what would  happen if he didn't give her up. But was family honour that strong? Or  was there more to this debt than I'd been told?

Either way, it was time to go. Time to begin her nightmare.

"You returned."

She nodded. "I returned. I want something from you. And I'm not going to be shy about asking."

A flicker of surprise caught me unaware. She came across shy and timid,  but there lurked steel in her voice. Little did she know what I wanted  from her in return.

"Fair enough. I have something to discuss with you."

Don't make her suspect.

"What?"

Your future. Your death.

"Nothing important, but we need to go."

Time to begin. The time is nigh to pay your debts.

Nila came closer, shedding the tameness, and embracing courage. I  would've been intrigued if I didn't already know everything about her.

Such a silly girl. A silly toy.

Whatever she wanted from me, I'd oblige. After all, she'd been given to me to do as I pleased.

And everyone knows you don't give a pet to a killer.





"GET ON."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jethro didn't move. He didn't look condescending or annoyed or anything  other than cold and collected. Nothing seemed to interest him. I thought  I could use him for sex? He didn't look like he knew what a smile was,  let alone passion.

His legs bunched beneath the dark charcoal of his trousers, steadying  the heavy motorcycle between them. "I said, get on. We're leaving."

I laughed. What a ludicrous suggestion. Waving down my front, I hoped he  wasn't blind, because no one could ignore the kilograms worth of black  diamantes or acres of material I wore. "I struggled to get here in a  limousine. There's no way I can perch on the back of a stupid  motorcycle."

Jethro's lips quirked. "Come closer. I'll fix that."

My heart jumped; I clutched my phone tighter. No response from Kite.  Which is a good thing. I just had to keep telling myself that. I never  wanted to hear from him again. "Fix it how?"

"Come here and I'll show you." His eyes drifted down the front of my dress.