CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(140)

Another rush of tears suffocated me, but I swallowed them back. He'd told me to stop crying. So I would.

Jethro stood, reaching down to scoop up the awful photos and duffel bag  of belongings. "Come. We have to go." He didn't offer me his hand to  climb to my feet.

The simple act of raising myself from cold concrete to freezing air  taxed my already fractured world. Rolling vertigo pitched my balance,  sending me reeling backward. My arms shot out, searching for something  to grab hold of.

With drunken eyes, I begged Jethro to catch me, but he just stood there. Silent. Exasperated. He let me trip and fall.

I cried out as I collapsed on the ground. My fingernails dug into the  rough flooring, holding on while the parking garage danced around like a  nightmarish carrousel. Pain radiated from my hipbone, but it was  nothing compared to the overwhelming nausea.

Stress.

It wouldn't be Jethro who ended up killing me, but the inability to deal with a gauntlet of emotions.

Closing my eyes, I repeated Vaughn's silly nursery rhyme. Find an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you'll be alright.

"Get up, goddammit. Stop acting the victim." A pinching hand grabbed under my arm, jerking me to my feet.

I doubled over, holding my stomach as another wave of sickness  threatened to evict the only food I'd had today-a luncheon prior to the  rehearsal of the runway show.

"You're useless."

When the debilitating wave left, I glared up. "I'm not useless. I can't  control it." Breathing hard, I begged, "Please, let me talk to my  brother. Let me tell him-"

"Tell him what? That you're being taken against your will?" Jethro  chuckled. "By the look on your face you seem to think I'll forbid you  having any outside communication-cut you off from everything you hold  dear." Letting me go, he scooped my heavy hair from my neck, giving me a  reprieve from the sticky heat of not feeling well. "Contrary to what  you think, I have no desire to dictate what you can and can't do."

Twisting my hair, tugging lightly, he added, "This may surprise you,  seeing as you have such a low opinion of me, but you can go online, keep  your mobile-even continue to work if you wish. I told you before-this  is not a kidnapping. It's a debt. And until you understand the full  complications of the debt, I suggest you keep what's happening to  yourself."

I couldn't understand. I was being stolen, yet was allowed access to avenues that could bring me safety. It didn't make sense.

"You've made a decision to come with me, and it's irreversible. You  can't change your mind, and you can't change the payments required, so  why make others worry on your behalf?" His eyes glinted. "I suggest you  become good at pretending if you wish to maintain the pretence of  freedom. I won't stop you from creating extra worry and strain for  yourself." Bowing over me, he smiled. "It only makes my job easier."

Grabbing the black rope he'd made from my hair, I stepped away from him. "You're insane."

He gave me a sideways look, rummaging in the duffel to grab a handful of  clothes. Closing the distance between us, he shoved the balled items  into my stomach.

Oxygen exploded from my lungs from the force.

Jethro pulsed with anger. "That's twice you've questioned my mental  state, Ms. Weaver. Do. Not. Do. It. Again." Running a hand through his  hair, he growled, "Now get dressed. Time to go home."





I COULDN'T DO it.

It was like looking after a needy, sickly, disobedient child. Bryan  Hawk, my father and orchestrator of this mess, assured me it would be a  simple matter of a few threats and blackmail.         

     



 

She'll come easy if you threaten the ones she loves.

Bullshit.

The so-called inexperienced dressmaker had her own agenda. Beneath the  chaste little girl, lurked a devious woman who was so tangled and  confused she was fucking dangerous.

Dangerous because she was unpredictable. Unpredictable because she didn't know herself.

I was clueless on how to control her. I didn't understand her.

For instance, what the fuck happened at the coffee shop? She'd  gravitated toward me. She'd licked my thumb like she imagined it was my  dick. She'd surprised me. And I didn't do well with surprises.

My structured world-my rules and agendas-were not something that had  room for twists and turns. Unless I was the one creating them. And I  definitely didn't have time for my cock to twitch and show an interest  in the woman I meant to torture and defile.

I would get hard when she was alone on my estate and her screams echoed  in the woods. I would come with her gagged and subdued and hating me  with the intensity of her forefathers.

Her pain was my reward. The fact she got me hard by being shy but so bloody tempting was completely unpermitted.

I checked my watch. The plane was due to leave in thirty minutes. Do it. You know you want to.

I couldn't stomach her presence any longer. I couldn't answer any more  of her idiotic questions, or pretend I wasn't raging to teach her a  lesson. Her tripping and stumbling fucking got on my nerves. Not to  mention her blind love toward a family that no longer had any right to  her.

She needed discipline, and she needed it now. Your hands are bound until you get her home.

If I had to listen to one more beg or witness another tear, I'd end up killing her before the fun began.

Nila craned her neck, trying to read the boarding passes in my hands.  Flaw, my right hand man and secretary to the Black Diamonds brotherhood,  had already checked us in. Along with dealing with shipping my new  purchase, The Little Black Dress Harley-Davidson, and staging the  runaway scene at Nila's hotel.

In precisely six hours, a housekeeper would find the photos, notes, and  abandoned items, then the gossip columns would spread the story like a  well incubated disease.

Nila Weaver's found love.

Nila dispels rumours she's in love with her twin by running off with some unknown English aristocrat.

My lips quirked at that. Me? An aristocrat?

If only they knew my upbringing. My history. If only Nila's father had  spent the years he'd had with her preparing her for this day-informing  her of our shared heritage, then perhaps she wouldn't look so fucking  ill.

I'd told her the truth. Vaughn and Archibald Weaver were under strict  monitoring. If they obeyed and went along with the ruse of Nila leaving  for love, all would be harmonious.

If they didn't-well, the Weaver line would be snuffed out with the aid  of a silenced pistol. And we didn't want that. After all, if there were  no more Weavers, who would the Hawks rein over? Who would continue to  pay the debt?

I looked at the woman destined to die for the mistakes of her ancestors.

She caught my eye. "Where are you taking me?" Her cheeks were colourless  even though she had to be warm with the amount of layers she'd put on.

"I told you. Home." The word scratched across her face like carving  knives. Home to me would be hell to her. I should've been more  understanding-I could practically hear her heart shatter-but I'd been  born into a family where emotion was a weakness. I prided myself on  being strong, unbreakable. Empathy was the downfall of any human.

The ability to feel their pain. The nuisance of living their trauma.

That inconvenient ability had been beaten out of me as a child. Lesson after lesson until I embraced the cold.

The cold was emotionless. The cold was power.

Nila sniffed, striding a few steps away. Her curves were hidden in her  new wardrobe of dark purple dress that came to her ankles, and a denim  jacket. I hadn't permitted myself to truly look at her. I wasn't  interested in her body. Only what her screams could deliver. She was  skinny. Too skinny. But her black hair was thick and begged to be  fisted.

Watching her dress in the parking garage irritated me. Her unsureness  came across as coyness. Pulling the dress over her skirt was a reversed  striptease. Her shaking fingertips had turned the ice in my blood into a  lust I hadn't felt since I stole my brother's whore and hurt her.

It wouldn't take much to snap her petite frame. But despite her breakable body, her eyes gave a different story.

She ran deep.

I didn't bother caring how deep. But it did tempt in a way I hadn't expected.

A girl like Nila … well, that wasn't something to be broken lightly.

Her complexities, subtleties, depths, and secrets.

Each layer begged to be shattered and destroyed.

Only once she stood before me, stripped bare of sanity and dreams, would she be ready.

Ready to pay her final debt.

Nila rubbed her cheek, displacing another silent tear. That single  fucking tear stopped everything, freezing over the unwanted feeling of  excitement at what my future held. Her sniffle gave me a layer of  obligation rather than anticipation.

I wasn't going to, but she's given me no choice. Fuck it.

Moving closer, my hands opened to throttle her-to give her something to truly cry about, but I restrained myself. Just.

She looked up, eyes glassy.

I forced a smile-a half-smile, letting her believe her tears affected  me, offering false humanity. I let her believe I had a soul and didn't  punish her for hoping. Hoping I was redeemable.

She bought it. Stupid girl. Allowing me to offer my arm as if it were  some sort of consolation and guide her from purgatory into hell.