I opened a message to Kite007.
Needle&Thread: Sorry I didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a lifetime of servitude and sewing.
I sighed, staring at the words. They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.
Which shows how lonely you are.
I scowled, deleting what I’d typed. I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was just…tired. Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot? Somewhere where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work. It sounded great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.
Take Vaughn.
I smiled. People already whispered that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.
My heart panged for the only relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:
I want to meet you.
Please, can we skip the innuendoes and just talk?
I’m at the Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive in the heart of Milan. I want to go for a drink with you.
I want to get to know you.
I couldn’t type any of that as it was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details. No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn men.
The sharp smell of champagne and lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.
Needle&Thread: All I can think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.
A cynical smile twitched my lips. Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill and running until my legs turned to jelly.
My phone came alive in my hands, jolting my attention to the glowing screen.
Kite007: Me and my wandering hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re alone. I can help with your tension.
I looked up. Couples mingled; groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.
When she’d returned from her disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.
I remembered that day. I remembered thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.
Ever since that day, I’d been afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so pure could turn into something so filthy.
Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life that turned me into the woman I was.
Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn angry.
Sliding my fingers across the keypad, I sent an impulsive message.
Needle&Thread: What if I don’t want to be alone? What if I wanted help physically rather than a meaningless text? Would you help then?
I probably shouldn’t have sent it. I already knew his response. But what was so wrong with me that no man wanted to face the wrath of my father and take me for a drink? I didn’t have boobs or hips or experience…but I was willing to learn.
Jethro stood up to him.
I frowned, clutching my phone. That man didn’t count. He was as terrifying as my father, and his motives weren’t genuine. He didn’t want to listen to my tales of woe over dinner. He wasn’t there to woo me. He wanted something more. And it was the more I was petrified of.
Kite007: Okay…whose balls did you steal to write that? You know that doesn’t work with me. I’m not some boy you can snap your fingers at and I’ll come running.
Pain lacerated my chest but I already expected it. Before I could reply, another message vibrated.
Kite007: You just had to fucking do that didn’t you? What do you want from me? A commitment? A relationship? You knew what this was. I thought you were having fun getting off—same as me. Why ruin what we have?
My heart, the same useless organ that’d never been in love, cracked with agony. His anger bled from my phone, poisoning my hand beneath. Fantastic. The only outside interaction I’d had, and it was over. But why his sudden viciousness?
Needle&Thread: All I asked was a simple question, but you jumped down my throat. What’s your deal? Don’t tell me. I can guess. You’re only happy when you’re in charge. But guess what? I can simply delete your number and never reply to you again. You were the one who found me, remember?
I breathed hard, huddling over my phone. I wasn’t done. It was refreshing to finally allow myself to be angry. I wanted to pour it all out before I could swallow it back down again.
Needle&Thread: I think you need to come again, Kite. Your temper is completely uncalled for and misdirected. All I implied was a meeting. One phone call. A kiss maybe if we hit it off in person. Why is that so hard for you? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re commitment phobic and a cheater.
"Congratulations on your collection, Nila. I’m sure—"
I looked up into the eyes of a stranger. The woman had plump lips and wore black eyeshadow.
She paused mid-sentence. "Are you okay?"
I hated her concern. I hated that I came across as some stupid wallflower who could make exquisite clothing but never grace someone’s arm. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I needed fresh air. I needed silence.
Him.
The silent masculinity of Jethro Hawk suddenly called to me like a cooling balm after a burning fire. He might scare me, but he had a body to touch and a mind to explore. Motives or not—he wanted me for the evening. And I was feeling reckless.
"Yes, I’m fine. Excuse me." Bunching my skirts, I dodged groups of people, heading for the exit. My phone buzzed as I reached the door.
Kite007: Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me anything the moment you changed from tempting to annoying. I’m not a cheater or commitment phobic. And it’s not hard for me to deny a meeting with you, because I already have women to fuck. I already have enough physical connections and stupid girls making demands of me. You just broke something that wasn’t broken. Congratu-fucking-lations.
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 c
are.
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 ca
n 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.
I’d been around powerful, attractive men all my life. Both my father and brother were well known for being eligible bachelors, but they lacked something that Jethro held in abundance.
Mystery.
Everything about him spoke of trickery and wile. He’d barely spoken, yet I felt his requests. For some stupid reason, it felt as if he’d trained me with his silence to be alert, ready, eager to please.
I hated his effortless power.
Backing away, I shook my head. "I won’t."
A small smile graced his lips, golden eyes flashing. "That wasn’t very polite. I gave you a request, kindly delivered, respectfully even." His fingers tightened around the handle bars. "Should I ask again, or will you rethink your reply?"
A trickle of fear blustered down my neck. I knew that glint in his eye. Vaughn would get it when we were younger. It meant destruction. It meant getting their own way. It meant a world of pain if I didn’t obey. And for some reason, I didn’t think a wedgie and being tickled until I couldn’t breathe counted as pain in Jethro’s dimension.
Clutching the bodice that’d taken me weeks to hand-sew, I took another step backward. Keeping my chin high, I said, "I’m not being impolite; I’m stating the obvious. If you wish to leave, we need a different method of transportation." Speaking so formally sounded odd after screaming via text message to Kite. "And besides, I don’t want to leave yet. I promised myself I’d ask you something, and I’m not going anywhere until I do."
God, Nila. What are you doing?
Nerves attacked my stomach, but I kept my stance. I wouldn’t back down. Not this time.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 67