CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(158)

"Intrigued? Want to know the rest?" His fingers twisted harder, but I didn't care. All I cared about was finding out more.

Ignoring his touch, I breathed for the first time and nodded. As much as  I didn't want to get close to the other men with sin and greed glowing  in their eyes, curiosity burned. I was desperate to read more torn pages  and solve the mystery of my lineage.

Why did father never say anything? Why did he raise me to think we were good people?

That question would probably never be answered.

Mr. Hawk placed his hands on my hips, hoisting me from his lap. I stood with my eyes cast downward. Silent and waiting.

He smiled in encouragement. "Behaving well so far. Let's see if you can  keep it up." Waving toward the overladen sideboard full of hors  d'oeuvres, fish dishes, meat dishes, roast vegetables, and desserts, he  said, "You're our waitress for this little get together. Please be so  kind as to serve our meal. You'll receive a token of thanks from each of  the Black Diamond brothers and earn the right to finish your reading."

My legs moved before my brain registered. The primal part of me taking  over to jump to the task. I might be a naïve woman who didn't know how  to jerk a man off, but I was a businesswoman at heart. I'd been around  strict shop buyers, ditzy models, and sulking catalogue owners. I'd  learned how to adapt and sell my work.

This was no different.

I had to adapt and sell myself.

Make him care. Make him feel.

My eyes flew to Jethro. Was it possible? Could I break his ice and find a  man deep inside-a man who I could seduce, beguile, and ultimately use  to stay alive?

Am I that strong?

Mr. Hawk tapped my behind as I skirted the back of his chair. Jethro didn't move back, granting a small space for me to pass.

I hunched into myself, preparing for whatever cruelty he had planned.

His body twitched. The perfect lines of muscle and masculinity once  again making me despise his natural beauty. An unwilling rush shot  through my system at the memory of him touching me, fingering me.

He'd wanted me in that moment and it had nothing to do with debts or  pain. It'd been pleasurable, confusing, and awkward but … maybe there was  something I could work with.

The idea to seduce Jethro flowered quickly. The bloom wasn't fresh like  the bud of a rose but black. The unfurling petals dripped with filth,  sprouting from a place I never wanted to acknowledge. He belonged to a  family who ruined mine. He had no compassion. No heart.

How could I make him care when stone was utterly heartless?

I'll try, though. Why not? I had nothing left to lose.

I could be their ward, to be tormented on a daily basis, for years. I  would be his toy for however long he wanted. Time could change anything  if the elements conspired with me. A mountain ultimately had to give way  to the sea if hammered by its salty waves.

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.