CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(156)

Turning to face the table, he wrapped a cold arm around my waist. "And  now it's time to face the reality of everything you tried to ignore."

Mr. Hawk, with his ridiculous tweed and leather outfit, stubbed out a smouldering cigar. "Did you tell her?"

Jethro stiffened. "I forgot."

His father reclined into the high-backed chair and folded his hands on  his stomach. "You were meant to tell her when you put it on. It's called  the Weaver Wailer and it belonged to … "

A loud screeching sound exploded in my ears. My stomach rolled. Vertigo spread its nullifying tentacles through my brain.

It's the necklace. The one she wore when she came back the final time.

Jethro looked down, trying to capture my eyes, but I wouldn't do it. I  couldn't do it. I kept my vision blank, looking resolutely over his  shoulder. "I think you've already guessed who it belonged to." Lowering  his voice, he whispered, "The last person to wear this collar was your  mother. She wore it for two years and twenty-three days before it  was … forcibly removed. It carries not only the diamonds of my bloodline,  but also blood from yours. We, of course, clean it thoroughly after  every owner, but if you look closely, I'm sure you'll see the tarnish of  their lives given in return for their crimes."

"Nila, when you're a big girl, you can wear my clothes, shoes, and  jewellery, but you have to grow a little taller before that day." My  mother laughed, looking down at me on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe.  I'd not only raided her jewellery box and draped myself in gemstones,  but wore a feather boa with a baggy one piece swimming suit and giant  high heels. I thought I looked incredible. For a seven-year-old.

Holding up the pearls around my neck, I said, "Promise? I can have these when I'm your size?"

She ducked, pulling me into a hug. "You can have everything of mine. Why?"

I smiled. I knew the answer to this. "Because you love me."

She nodded. "Because I love you."

The memory came and went, stealing the firm ground beneath my feet and  sending me headfirst into nausea. Spirals, loop de loops, and  spin-cycles all churned my brain until I didn't know up from down.

It wasn't vertigo this time, but grief.

Crushing, crashing grief. A grief I hadn't suffered, because all my  happy memories of her had been blocked by the wall of hatred. She was  supposed to be the bad guy for leaving my father. I'd been safe from  hurting. Safe from reliving everything with the knowledge of how  precious she was. How tragic her life became and for two years after  she'd left. Two years we didn't try and save her.

The Hawks had stripped her from me and torn away any armour I had  against missing her. She wasn't the bad guy. They were. They would all  die for this. They would rot for eternity. I would find a way.

Please, let me find a way.

I wore a necklace every firstborn woman in my family wore before they  were murdered-I was owed serious revenge. Disgusting, painful revenge.

A sob escaped my mouth. I couldn't fight the spinning anymore and  doubled over. With a sickening splash, I threw up all over Jethro's  shiny black shoes.

"Fuck." He jumped back, not that there was much mess. It'd been almost  twenty-four hours since I'd eaten-I had nothing to waste or purge. But  the dry heaves wouldn't stop racking my frame.

"For fuck's sake, Jet. Get her under control. We don't have all day." Mr. Hawk's voice shouted across the room.

Cold hands grabbed my shoulders, jerking me from bowed to straight. I moaned as my head sloshed with pain.

"Stop embarrassing me," Jethro snarled.

Embarrassing him? Bastard. Arsehole. Son of Satan. I glowered with  tear-swimming eyes into Jethro's cold uncompassionate gaze. Something  flicked over his gold irises-a dark shadow. That was the only warning I  received before his hand came up and struck me around the side of the  head.

I thought I was brave. I thought I was strong. But I'd never been struck  before. Daniel's slap in the car last night didn't count. This abuse  had come from a black place-a place inside Jethro where unsurmountable  anger boiled. And it was endless. He may be a glacier on the outside,  but in there … in his heart … he steamed with pressuring rage.

Crashing to my knees, I curled my smarting head into my arms. I came  from a family who loved each other so much, a disappointed look or stern  word was enough to break your heart. Physical abuse wasn't something I  knew. It wasn't something I could prepare for.

Jethro grabbed my hair, pulling me upright. I held onto his wrists to  prevent the tearing pain. My blurry gaze focused on his grey shirt and  perfectly creased jeans.

He glared. "You'll clean that up, but for now you have other things to attend to."

Not letting go of my hair, he carted me toward his father. Every step I  took, I tried to hide my exposed breasts and ignore the breeze between  my naked legs. The pinafore Jethro had put on me barely covered my  stomach let alone valuable places. Places I would give my entire design  line to have covered. The stupid maid cap tilted to the side, clinging  to my tangled hair.

I couldn't count how many men existed around the table, but their eyes  never met mine. Most were glued to my chest or mesmerized lower down as I  side-shuffled to hide as much of my decency as possible.         

     



 

But it wasn't just their eyes sending spider legs scurrying over my  flesh. It was the huge immaculate paintings of men wearing white wigs,  elegant coat and tails, and hunting regalia glaring down from the dark  red walls.

Their eyes weren't lifeless but full of distain-somehow they knew a  Weaver was in their midst and the crackling fireplace was useless to  stop my chill.

My sentence was to be carried out with ancestors and family heirlooms as witnesses.

The moment we came to a stop beside Mr. Hawk, sitting in his ornate  dining chair, Jethro jerked my neck back. His flawless face filled my  vision. "You are no longer free. Look. See your future and understand  there's no sweet talking, begging, or bargaining your way out of this.  You wear the collar. You're ours completely." Jethro's voice was artic,  glittering with power.

The collar cut into my skin. I wanted to spit in his face.

Shoving me toward Mr. Hawk, the old man snaked an arm around my naked waist, tugging me onto his lap.

"Obey and make me proud, Ms. Weaver," Jethro said, crossing his arms. He  shifted to stand behind his father's chair, removing himself from the  role of authority, becoming merely a spectator.

He's never called me Nila.

The stupid thought came and went on a heartbeat. Jethro was yet to use my first name.

I shuddered, feeling overwhelmingly sick again.

Jethro was awful but being disowned and handed over to a room full of  men was worse. I would've given anything to avoid was what about to  happen. I would willingly trade all my nights in a bed and return to the  kennels. The hounds were loving, kind … warm.

I sat frozen on Mr. Hawk's lap.

His hand rested on my upper thigh, not violating but terrifying. "Now  that we all understand each other, I want you to look at something for  me, Nila. Then the festivities will begin. Every man you serve, you'll  receive another snippet of your history. Only once you've completed your  task will you know the entire story and will be free to spend the  afternoon either in the steam baths below the house as a reward or in  solitary confinement in the dungeons as punishment, depending on how  well you please us."

I couldn't understand how my body still functioned. Shock turned my  limbs to statues, fear made me mute-I died inside until there was no  part of me left. But still my heart kept pumping; my blood kept  flowing-staying alive only for their sick pleasure.

The weight of my mother's collar bit into my neck and a question came  from no-where. My mother was a Weaver. Her mother before her was a  Weaver. But wouldn't they have changed their names according to the  surname of their husbands?

I blinked, trying to remember my father's last name.

I can't.

"You look confused. I'll permit you to ask a question before we proceed," Mr. Hawk said, settling me higher on his knee.

I fought my cringe, struggling to formulate the words. "My mother's  maiden name was Weaver, but she would've changed it when she got  married." I glanced at Jethro behind his father's chair. He tilted his  chin, looking down his nose.

Mr. Hawk shook his head. "That son of mine hasn't explained anything has  he." Twisting in the seat, he glanced at Jethro. "What exactly have you  been doing? You know information is what grants us control. We're the  ones in the right. How can she hope to accept her situation if you keep  her in the dark?"

Jethro clenched his jaw but remained silent.

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Hawk faced me again and smiled. "I'll give you a  brief history lesson, then you must begin your duties." Reaching up, he  tugged the maid's cap on my head.

Every inch of me crawled, but I didn't move away. I was hungry for  knowledge. Starving to know just how they continued to control my family  with no fear of police interference or retribution.