Looking to his brother, he muttered, "She’s the right one." His fingers clenched and unclenched on my thigh. In a lightning move, he snatched Daniel’s wrist and jerked his probing fingers from my core. "She’s the right one and mine. Enough."
I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief. Only one other man had touched me there. Only one boy had seen me naked and taken my virginity. I never thought I’d be in a situation where I’d be forced, and for a fraction of a second I was grateful toward Jethro for stopping it.
"I can touch her if I want. Shit, I can fuck her too."
"I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just said…enough." He bit the word into pieces. Sharp, deadly, unforgiving.
Daniel tore his arm from Jethro’s grip. "Fine. But don’t climb up your arse thinking she’s just yours. She’s not. She belongs to all of us."
There are others. Many others who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid.
"No. But she’s mine until I say you can have her. Hierarchy, little brother. You know how receiving charity works."
"Fuck off, Jet." Pointing a finger at Jethro’s face, he said, "Cut changed a few things tonight at the Gemstone. He’s named me VP—given me your role."
Jethro settled into the seat, his broad shoulders brushing mine. "If you think he did that behind my back, you’re mistaken. I asked for time. Cut was more than happy to grant it. After all, I’m the firstborn son of a Hawk. She’s the firstborn daughter of a Weaver. There are more important things on my agenda for the foreseeable future."
My brain swam. Everything they said sounded cryptic and layered in code. Cut? Was that a name? Gemstone? It sounded like a place, but that didn’t make sense.
"You’ve always thought you’re better than me. But you’ll see who extracts a debt from flesh better when I get my turn." Daniel sneered, his gaze bouncing from his brother to me.
I gritted my teeth against dropping my eyes or trying to turn invisible. As much as I hated Jethro, I would make sure to remain in his good graces as long as possible.
Daniel reached out and patted my knee, ignoring Jethro’s icy look. "Enjoy your time with my brother, because when you’re mine…enjoyment won’t be something you’ll be feeling."
Jethro sat forward, his suit rustling against the leather upholstery. In his signature terrifying quietness, he said, "You disturb my work before I’m through, blood or not, you’ll pay the price."
The two men glowered. I didn’t know either of them, but the air shimmered with past conflict and animosity—hinting that this standoff was nothing new.
"You’re not untouchable," Daniel hissed. "You better—"
Jethro shook his head, eyes dark as amber. "Stop. There’s nothing I better do. Father didn’t pick you. He didn’t choose you." His hand came up, casually checking his fingernails. "Life rewards those who deserve it. And you—don’t."
Jethro was calm, made worse with the swirling ferocious temper existing just below the surface. The atmosphere thickened, changing the breathability of the car’s interior until I choked with the urge to flee.
Daniel trembled with violence.
Clive, the driver, never slowed, continuing through the night as if brother rivalry and debts extracted from human misery was common. The gentle rocking of the vehicle did nothing to relieve the anger between Jethro and Daniel, but every wheel spin helped shed the fogginess I’d existed in for the past few hours.
The fact I was trapped between two males who might explode at any second helped drench my system in adrenaline, kick-starting my heart, dragging me to the surface of being master of my own body once again. The heavy drug-ocean receded.
I didn’t witness what made Daniel concede—Jethro never moved—but he growled a curse, then spun in his seat to glare out the windscreen. I followed his attention, holding my breath at the soft glow in the distance. If that was our destination, it was giant. A looming residence breaking the darkness with false warmth and welcome.
My new home.
My new hell.
My end.
"It’s called Hawksridge Hall. Take a good look, because it’s the last place you’ll ever live," Jethro murmured. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me closer. His hot breath disappeared down my dress, making me tremble. "Hawksridge has been in our family for countless generations. A fortune we built from nothing. Unlike you, we weren’t born into privilege. We earned our wealth. We deserved the titles bestowed, and it’s time to show you what we had to do to achieve that."
His fingers wrapped tighter, burning my scalp. "To dispel any thought of running, there’s over one thousand hectares of land. You’d never find your way to the boundary. You’re trapped." His lips grazed over my jaw. "You’re mine." Keeping his fingers tangled in my hair, he reclined, pulling my neck into an uncomfortable angle.
The sadness I’d done so well at battling crested again. There wouldn’t be bars on my cage—or at least I didn’t think so—but there was a fortified moat in the design of woodland and lakes and hills. I wasn’t outdoorsy. I didn’t know north from south.
But you do run.
I was fast. I had stamina. If the opportunity came, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my obsession with running to use.
Until you fall and break your leg thanks to an episode.
My shoulders rolled. Not only was I trapped by a maniac family, but I was vertigo’s favourite stumbler.
The car continued deeper and deeper. Every turn, I lost all sense of direction and knew I would never find the gatehouse without a miracle.
Taking a deep breath, I looked at my hands in my lap. I willed sensation to come back. They twitched, returning to life with a wash of pins and needles.
They fell off my lap involuntary as we bounced over a cattle grate. Jethro pursed his lips, looking at my offending limb on the seat beside him. His gaze trailed up my arm to my chest.
I breathed faster at the calculating look in his eyes. Unwinding his fingers from my hair, he trailed them down my neck, along my clavicle, across my shoulder, and down my arm. "My brother was the first to touch you below, but I’m going to be the first to touch you here." His hand skated across to my breast, clamping around the sensitive tissue.
The soft cotton of my dress did nothing to protect me from the coldness of his grip.
"You seemed to want my attention at the café. Don’t say I never give you anything." His finger pinched my nipple, rolling it painfully. There was nothing sexual about his hold—only punishment.
Giving up pretence of being under the influence of whatever he’d given me, I squeezed my eyes, swallowing back a whimper.
He twisted my nipple again, shifting from demeaning to the edge of painful, but what made it worse was I’d wanted him to touch me there. I would’ve willingly slept with him only hours before. Before I knew the animal inside the cultivated man.
"You’re too skinny. I prefer women with more…assets than you," he whispered, cupping my other small breast. "However, your tiny stature might prove to be a blessing with some of the things I have planned." He pinched me again, turning my nipple like a corkscrew.
I flinched, forehead furrowing against the pain.
He chuckled. "I knew it was wearing off." His touch turned from painful to excruciating. I bit my lip, barely holding back a cry.
"Just in time." Letting my breast go, he captured my hand, linking his icy fingers through mine. There was nothing romantic or caring about Jethro holding my hand—it was a pure reminder that I had no chance in hell of getting free.
Vaughn. Tex.
I wanted so badly to talk to them. To beg for rescue. But I could no longer be the woman I’d been. I couldn’t be the workaholic who blamed others for my unhappiness. I’d accepted my father’s old-fashioned law about not being permitted to date, because in all honesty, I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Because meeting someone meant the possibility of falling in love. Which meant the worst pain imaginable when they left.
If anything, Jethro had done me a favour.
I never wanted male company again. If I could return to my sewing machines with no other companionship but my twin, I’d be happy, eternally grateful, and would live the rest of my life in peace.
Tugging my hand into his lap, Jethro murmured, "I meant what I said on the plane. Play your part and you’ll live to see another sunrise."
Something snapped inside as if the drug suddenly gave up its hold on me, along with everything I’d been trying to avoid. The tears, the fears, the constant worrying of what was to come.
It all disappeared.
I couldn’t afford to drain my energy with useless wonderings. Jethro said I could work. I intended to drown myself in fabric and continue designing my next runway show. I would pretend my world hadn’t become a monster-filled nightmare, and lock my mind in a place where it was safe. Mundane was safe. Routine was safe.
I would create a sewing room deep in my soul and ensure no one—including the numerous activities Jethro had planned—could ever ruin me.
And talk to Kite.
My heart thumped. He wasn’t kind or a sympathetic ear to cry to. But I was glad. I didn’t want someone to pat my back and make me feel worse with commiseration. I needed someone to tell me to buck up, keep going, and never wallow in darkness.
Kite didn’t know it yet, but I planned to use him as my barometer of liveliness. If I could muster up the energy to flirt and chat and pretend everything was okay, I had the strength to continue. The moment I used him as an outlet to purge whatever Jethro did to me, I would know I needed to re-centre myself and dig deeper to stay true.
Jethro let my hand go, tossing it away almost violently.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened as his fingers latched around my upper thigh.
Whispering harshly, he said, "Keep watching the horizon, Ms. Weaver. You’re about to see your new home." His hand crept up my leg, following the same path his brother had—freezing my exposed skin with his icicle-like fingers. "Don’t take your eyes off the windscreen. You behave and I’ll make sure you have somewhere warm to sleep tonight. You disappoint me and you’ll sleep with the dogs."
I bit my lip, eyes flaring wide.
Sleep in a kennel? Shit, Nila. You couldn’t be any more stupid.
All this time I’d braced myself for sexual payments—bodily taxes and unwanted attention—but in reality I hadn’t stopped to think about the bare essentials of living. There was so much more Jethro could do to me than torment my body.
He could deprive me of nutrition.
He could prevent me from sleeping.
He could make me live in squalor and suffer illness after illness.
Daniel stayed facing the front, ignoring us. I risked my first question since the airport bar.
"You aren’t just going to use me. Are you?" My voice sounded strange after not speaking for so long.
Jethro stilled, his fingers twitching on my inner thigh. "So naïve. You’re worse than a pet. You’re like a child. A loveless girl who knows nothing of the big, bad world." Breathing shallow, his hand moved higher and higher. "Pity I’m not turned on by little girls. Pity you don’t get me hard, my loveless, clueless Weaver. Then you might’ve been prisoner in my bed."
In front of us, the car’s headlights illuminated a driveway. The woodland stopped, giving way from thicket to a huge expanse of manicured lawn and a large oval fountain. Birds of prey replaced angels and fair maidens, their talons dancing on top of water spray.
Jethro’s hand burned, never stopping his slow assault. My heart jack-knifed, pain shooting in my chest as panic replaced my blood. I’d wanted sexual contact for so long but not like this. Not taken. Not even wanted.
The car slowed, skirting around the fountain. We turned left, following the sweeping driveway.
And that was when I saw it.
The monstrosity that was my so-called new home.
The rising monolithic, French turreted, tower fortified, sweeping, soaring mansion. Tarmac turned to gravel beneath the tyres, pinging against the metal panels below. Jethro’s fingers crept higher, demanding I pay attention to everything he did.
"Welcome to Hawksridge Hall, Ms. Weaver. It’s going to be a pleasure entertaining you as my guest." The sentence wrapped around me like a noose; my eyes snapped closed as his fingers brushed my core. Firm, unyielding, he cupped me through my knickers, sending snow to my womb with his vile fingers.
I bit my tongue, hating him. Hating myself. Hating everything to do with debts and vendettas and family feuds.
"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" Jethro whispered, pressing harder, forcing the seam of my knickers into my sensitive, barely experienced pussy.
Everything clenched, repelling against his awful ministrations.
I tore my eyes open. "Not like this." Dropping my voice, I locked eyes with him. "Please, not like this."
The car rocked to a stop.
Daniel looked over his shoulder, his gaze dropping to the blatant position of Jethro’s hand between my legs. He smirked. "Welcome to the family. Don’t know how much you’ve been told about us, but forget everything." His teeth glinted in the pooling light from the mansion. "We’re much worse."
Jethro stroked me, drifting down to where the silk of my underwear gave a little, pressing against my entrance. "He’s right. Much worse."
I shuddered as his finger bit into me. The unhurried, controlled way he touched me twisted with my mind. His violation was different than his brother’s. Still not wanted, but at least more easily tolerated.
He was the devil I knew. Not the devil I didn’t. In a morbid way, that made Jethro my ally rather than tormentor.
"I’ll look forward till we meet again, Weaver." With another smirk, Daniel shoved open his door and disappeared.
Jethro’s fingers rocked into me, but I refused to give him any reaction—neither upset nor regret. Sitting with my hands balled, I asked, "Why are you doing this?"
Jethro chuckled. "The ultimate question. And now that we’re home, you’re about to be told." Removing his hand, he opened the car door and climbed out.
All the blood in my body rushed between my legs—almost as if every molecule needed a cleansing—searching for relief from the hot, cold, tempting, vile way he’d touched me.
He looked so elegant in his dark grey suit, so refined with the glint of diamond on his lapel. Why did someone so horrid look so beautiful? It wasn’t fair. Nature’s cruel irony. In jungles, birds died from being attracted to the gleam of cavernous flowers. In rainforests, snakes and omnivores succumbed to toxin-riddled-jewelled frogs.
Beauty was the ultimate arsenal. Beauty was meant to deceive. It was meant to trick and beguile so their prey never saw death coming.
It worked.
And to a woman who made her life creating beauty for others and never being granted the ease of naturally acquiring it, Jethro was a double threat, both to my ego and lifespan.
Turning back to offer me his palm, Jethro waited for me to accept his token of help.
I ignored him.
I wasn’t naturally a defiant person, but there was something about him that made me become a brat. Pushing off the seat, I propelled myself awkwardly and stiffly to the open door. The moment I was in grabbing distance, Jethro snatched my wrist and jerked me from the vehicle.
Of course, standing for me was already a careful affair, mixed with an unknown substance that’d hijacked my motor controls, I didn’t land on my feet.
With a cry, I tripped out of the SUV, sprawling face first on the gravel below. The car suddenly cranked into gear and drove off. Leaving me alone and bruised before a manor worth millions.
"What on earth?" The gruff exclamation came from above—different from Jethro’s deep timbre, but powerful and full of supple authority.
"Goddammit, this is getting ridiculous," Jethro muttered. "Are you going to be like this all the time?"
His strong hands lassoed around my waist, yanking me to my feet. The moment I was vertical I blinked, trying my hardest to fin
d an anchor and remain standing. The world steadied and I shook Jethro’s lingering hold off my hipbone. "Yes, I’m ridiculous. Yes, I’ve suffered all my life. Yes, I know it’s a huge inconvenience for someone who wants to kill me that I’m already a little bit damaged, but did you stop to think—just once—that the reason I’m struggling more than normal is because of the stress you’re loading my system with?
"Have you never dealt with an upset stomach or a tension headache?" Waving my hand in his face, I snapped, "It’s the same thing. My body doesn’t handle upsetting circumstances well. Get over it or let me the hell go!"
It felt wonderful to let go of the anger bubbling inside. It purged me a little, giving me room to breathe.
Jethro remained steadfast, his eyes wide, mouth thin and unamused.
"Well, she has fight. All the fun ones did."
The man who’d spoken stood on the second-to-last step of a humongous portico. The house loomed overhead, blotting out the moon and stars as if it were a living entity. Burnished copper gilded the many roofs and turrets, criss-crossing flowerbeds lived beneath soaring lead-light windows, and lattice planted grass grew on the side of the turrets. It wasn’t just a building—it was alive. Maintained, proud, a piece of impressive architecture that had weathered centuries, but been so well cared for.
I craned my neck left and right. The building continued on and on, at least ten stories high, with intricate alcoves, sweeping doorways, and a hawk embellishing every keystone.
It’s a work of art. I was a creator. My passion didn’t just lie in textiles, but in everything where a level of skill blared from every inch.
And Hawksridge Hall was majestic.
I wanted to hate it. I despised the family who owned it. But I’d always been a lover of history. I’d always pictured myself as a lady of a manor, with horses and gardens and refined dinner parties. I loved exploring stately homes, not for the furniture or statues, but for the drapery, hand-stitched wallpaper, and massive hanging tapestries.
The talent from an age where women sewed by candlelight never failed to impress and depress me. Their talent far outweighed my own.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 73