Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart

by Opal Carew, Cathryn Fox, Eve Langlais, T. J. Michaels, Teresa Morgan, Sharon Page, Mandy Rosko, S. E. Smith, Pepper Winters

  Vaughn.

  He would sense the moment my life was snuffed out. We were linked more than spiritually—but soul-glued and breath-bound. I’d known when he broke his collarbone from kayaking. He’d known when I’d dropped my heavy Singer sewing machine onto my foot.

  Linked.

  Don’t think about it. It hurt too damn much. Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them back, trying to remain in my false little bubble of sexting. This was all I had. I could flirt with Kite with complete safety, knowing I would never be able to break his heart when the time came.

  In a way, his fastidious request for distance protected him. And for that, I was oddly grateful.

  Running a hand through my long hair, I sighed, re-grouping myself. I smiled softly at Squirrel. "If a drunken whoopsy daisy was my only attempt at making a man come, how the hell am I supposed to do it via a faceless message?"

  Be someone you’re not. Act. Pretend.

  "Fine."

  Swiping at the dirty mixture of hay, dog hair, and dust from the blanket Jethro had given me, I prepared to embrace my inner sex-kitten.

  Needle&Thread: Imagine your hand is my hand. I’m holding you firm, tight. I’m kneeling at your feet while you sit on a large chair. A throne. Your hand wraps in my hair, pulling me forward. I obey because I know what you’re asking me to do. Your eyes don’t ask, they tell, and I lower my head into your lap. My mouth waters to taste you. You’re big. Smooth. Begging for my mouth.

  My breath came faster; my mind playing out the fantasy in crystal detail. The warmth I’d been looking for spread from my core like a tentative sunrise.

  Kite007: Fuck me, woman. Why haven’t you been talking to me like that all along? What was with the shy bullshit? Fuck, keep going. I’m so damn hard. I want your mouth so fucking much. Give it to me.

  My skin broke out in goosebumps. The power. The approval. Kite was a wanker, an arsehole, and a complete shallow prick, but he approved of me. He wanted me.

  Needle&Thread: You’re holding your cock while I lick you once at the very tip. You want me to swallow you, but you don’t force me. Because you know I’m going to swallow every drop.

  Kite007: Did you taste it?

  I frowned.

  Needle&Thread: Taste what?

  Kite007: My precum. Fuck, I’m so close. I’m in your mouth. I’m fucking your lips. I’m holding your hair as I drive so deep down your throat. What do I taste like to you?

  Needle&Thread: You taste…

  "Hell, I don’t know." Looking at the cluster of muscular dogs, all watching me as if they knew what I was up to, I swiped a hand over my face. "What the hell does a man taste like?"

  Needle&Thread: You taste of expensive liquor, making me drunk as you come. Spilling over my lips, dripping down my chin. You don’t want me wasting a drop, so you capture the liquid on your thumb and push it back into my mouth.

  The instant I sent it, a chill darted in my blood.

  Thumb. Mouths. Sucking.

  Him.

  My taste buds brought back the crisp taste of Jethro. His unyielding hold on my chin as I licked his finger. He hadn’t really had a taste. Just the cold precision of stone. But having him dominate had given me the permission to feel a flutter in my core, to not be embarrassed of wanting more. Of becoming wet.

  Kite007: Fuck me. I haven’t come like that in a while. It’s all over me—splashed up my chest, sticking to me like fucking glue. I like you like this, naughty nun. You’re more…relaxed.

  My voice was soft. "That’s what happens when your life is no longer your own and there’s nothing you can do to control your future."

  Squirrel yipped in agreement.

  "That’s also what you do to survive. You become different. You change."

  As much as I hated the Hawks, they’d given me something I’d been searching for all my life.

  My little kitten claws were growing, prickling. Still too new to scratch with—but there.

  My battery flashed again and I knew this would be the last time I’d have the luxury of using it until Jethro let me charge.

  Ignoring the emptiness inside and the sharp twinge of letting Kite use me, I sent my last message.

  Needle&Thread: I’m glad. I’m licking you clean. I’m drunk on everything you’ve given me. I’ll be here for you when you next need a release, but please…don’t call me naughty nun anymore. Call me Needle.

  Jethro came for me at eleven a.m.

  The horses across the yard were gone—to do what, I had no clue. I’d spent an hour or so listening to the grooms prepare them and the comforting clack of their metal shoes disappearing into the distance on cobblestones.

  I pictured myself commandeering one and galloping away. Not that I knew how to ride. I’d never had time. Sewing had been my one obsession.

  Squirrel and his gang of hounds had left not long after I finished messaging Kite. A piercing whistle summoned and they’d charged from the kennel through a small dog-size exit down the back. I’d tried to follow—to get free—but it only opened if a coded collar was in range. A password programmed to every dog allowing them access.

  So, I’d spent the remainder of my morning alone. Alone with thoughts I flatly ignored.

  It was odd to sit and do nothing. I had nowhere to rush off to. No emails to reply to. No to-do list to attack. I was in limbo, just waiting for the man I loathed to appear.

  My stomach was a ball of knots wanting him to get it over with, whilst my jangled heart wanted him to stay away forever. I’d never felt so jumbled inside—including my stomach.

  It’d stopped growling for food around dawn, but the empty ache only grew worse.

  Jethro swung open the top partition of the barn door, leaving the bottom closed. Resting his arms on the top, he nodded. "Ms. Weaver."

  The sun took the liberty of bouncing into the gloomy kennel, granting bright light and silhouetting Jethro. His face remained in shadow but his thick hair was wet and messy from a shower.

  He’d shed his charcoal suit for a more casual grey shirt, the diamond pin twinkling in his lapel. I’d grown to recognize it as his signature piece, linking him to whatever organisation his father ran.

  Is it a gang? Did they rob and cheat and kill?

  It wasn’t my issue. I didn’t care. I didn’t condone what they did. I was the innocent party—their hostage.

  I didn’t return his greeting, deciding to stay bundled in my blanket and glower.

  Jethro sniffed impatiently, removing his arms from the door. He unlocked the bottom partition, swinging it wide.

  More sunshine entered, illuminating the bottom half of his wardrobe. Dark jeans. Well-fitted jeans. Jeans that made him seem young and approachable and normal.

  My hands balled. Don’t buy into the projection. There was nothing normal about this man. Nothing sane or kind. I learned that last night—many times over. There would be no more begging from me. No more pleading. It fell on deaf ears, and I was done.

  Jethro snapped his fingers as if expecting me to heel. "Get up. It’s time to begin." Taking a threatening step into the kennel, he pursed his lips. "Shit, what did you do in your sleep? Roll around like the dogs?"

  I kept my lips pressed together, watching him in the silence he so seemed to enjoy. When I didn’t move, his face twisted, taking in my hay-riddled hair and dirt-covered blanket. "I won’t tell you again. Get. Up."

  I shrugged. It was liberating to no longer care. To no longer be captive by the need to obey and jump to attention for fear of retribution. I meant what I said to Kite. Everything inside me was gone. Locked down, bunkered inside, ready to weather whatever war was coming.

  Standing slowly, I placed my dead phone into my jacket pocket. Letting the blanket fall off my hips, I brushed lingering lint off my clothes.

  Jethro snapped his fingers again, and I moved willingly—coasting to his side exactly as he wanted.

  He scowled, his gaze full of suspicion.

  I gave him an empty smile. I’d found salvation in
not caring. It didn’t mean I had to pretend to like him. He wouldn’t know that by trying to break me last night, he only gave me a new avenue of strength.

  I’m ready.

  For whatever he threw at me.

  I’ll survive.

  Until I no longer needed to try.

  Running my hands through my hair, I quickly gave up with the tangles and focused on pinching some colour into my cheeks instead.

  "You think that will save you? Looking presentable?" His voice was blizzard and snow.

  I didn’t say a word.

  Jethro gritted his jaw. His hands curled beside his spread legs.

  My muscles braced for punishment. The air shimmered with violence.

  Jethro’s hand suddenly shot out, capturing my throat. Without a sound, he spun me around and marched me backward out of the kennel. The sun kissed my skin, fanning the warmth I’d tried so hard to keep hold of from talking to Kite. I embraced it, hugging it close, so Jethro’s ice didn’t slice me into pieces.

  His fingers tightened around my neck, but I refused to claw at his hold. I repay in kind. Whatever I did to him in self-defence, I’d get back ten times worse. But none of that mattered now, because I knew how to survive.

  By being above them. By being untouchable on the inside, even while they broke me on the outside.

  "You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?" His arm hoisted me onto the tips of my toes. Breathing was difficult, not fighting was impossible, but I permitted it. All I did was stare silently into his golden eyes.

  "I understand what you’re doing." He smiled. "But mark my words. You won’t win." Shaking me, he unwound his fingers, then smoothed the front of his jeans. The sun gleamed on the gold buckle of his crocodile skin belt.

  My stomach clenched, but I held my ground. Raising my chin, I whispered, "Mark my words. I will win. Because I am right and you are wrong."

  Jethro seethed, silence thick between us.

  "You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you, Ms. Weaver? So sure you’re the one in the right. What if I told you, your ancestors were scum? What if I showed you proof of their corruptibility and eagerness to hurt others in their chase for wealth?"

  Lies. All lies.

  My family tree was impeccable. I came from honest and good and hardworking stock. Didn’t I?

  I ignored my rushing heartbeat.

  Jethro stepped closer, crowding me. "The things your family did to mine sicken me. So continue on your quest believing you’re pure, because in a few hours you’ll know the truth. In a few hours, you’ll realise we aren’t the bad guys—it’s you."

  My throat closed up. I didn’t think he could say anything to crumble my fortress so soon, but every word was a carefully planted spade, digging at my foundation until I stood on crumbling ground.

  My eyes danced over his, trying to decipher the truth.

  Were my bloodlines tarnished with crimes I didn’t know about? My father hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with our history, apart from telling us our family had always been involved in weaving and textiles. It was how we were granted the last name Weaver. Just like the Bakers, and the Butlers, and every other trade that dictated their last names.

  Jethro chuckled. "Don’t believe me?" His hands landed on my shoulders, pushing me backward. I stumbled, wincing as my spine collided with the bricked wall of the kennel.

  "Don’t believe your forefathers were sentenced to death by hanging for what they did to mine?" His gaze latched onto my mouth. "Don’t believe you’re alive because the Hawks granted them mercy in return for a few signatures on a few debts?"

  His voice dropped, sending a constellation of warning skittering over my skin. "Don’t believe I’m fully within my right to do whatever I damn well please to you?"

  His touch seared through my jacket and maxi dress, sending unwanted intensity down my arms.

  Do I believe it? Could I believe it? That everything I understood of this situation was reversed?

  Mind games. Illusions. All designed to trip me up.

  Shaking my head, I snapped, "No. I don’t believe it." My blood pressure exploded, thundering in my ears. His focus was absolute, and it burned, oh how it burned. "Nothing you say will make you the victim in this situation. Nothing you show me will make this permissible. You think I believe a ludicrous debt that you say is over six hundred years old. Wake up! Nothing like that would hold up in a court of law these days. I don’t care that you’ve staged my disappearance, or following my family with a loaded pistol. I don’t believe any of this, and I certainly don’t believe you have anything law abiding on your side."

  Jethro scowled, but I continued my tyrant.

  "All I believe is you’re a bunch of sick and twisted men who made up some bullshit excuse to make themselves feel justified while tearing other’s lives apart. Show me where you have the right to own me. No one has that right. No one!"

  He chuckled, gold eyes growing dark. His body language switched from stand-offish to oozing with sexual innuendo. It was like watching a glacier melt, shedding winter for volcanic heat.

  "I like it when you’re feisty. Your whole perception of the world is warped. You live in a fairytale, princess, and I’m about to destroy it."

  His shoulders softened, lips parting; his gaze caressed my face to land on my mouth. "You think we don’t have men in high places? Men who make what we say absolute law? You think we got to the level of standing in society or the obscene amount of wealth we have by not using the very same law you think will protect you for our gain?"

  His voice whispered over me, threading with his heady scent of woods and leather. "So stupid, Ms. Weaver. We own more than your family. We own everything and everyone. Our word is unbreakable. And we have proof."

  He leaned in; the violence he emitted switched to dangerous lust, buffeting me harder against the wall. His eyes were rivers of fire, annihilating my argument, dragging me under his spell. "You think I can’t make you do what I want?"

  I sucked in a breath.

  He’d never looked at me like that. Never given any hint he might find anything about me exciting. He treated me like a leper. He looked at me as if I were a different species—a species not evolved enough to warrant his sexual attention.

  But that’d changed.

  His interest trapped me, consuming me better than threats and tightly restrained anger. This was unexplored territory. Lust and attraction and flirting were terrifying, because I was the novice and he was the expert.

  I couldn’t fight against something that made me feel.

  Jethro’s nostrils flared, fingers twitching on my shoulders. His voice lowered to a husky whisper—a whisper best suited for seduction. "You think you deserve a life built on other’s blood? You think you’re worthy?" The rhythm and volume turned the horrible questions into a poem rather than curse.

  Don’t fall for it. Don’t let him win.

  He was already winning. He spun a tale of a lethal, unstoppable force. His family’s legacy somehow granted him police approval, government blind-eyes, and the right over life and death.

  Who gave him that right?

  I still couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t stop my legs shifting, pressing together, trying to alleviate the strange ache building with every moment.

  Our fighting coaxed my unseen claws to grow a little more. My temper made my legs firmer; my vision clearer. My body unknowingly found a cure from dreaded vertigo, all while embracing anger and rage.

  Jethro noticed my tension, stroking my shoulders as if I were a skittish prey. "We’re simple creatures, Ms. Weaver. I know what’s happening to you." He smiled gently, his gold eyes attempting to look soft, but unable to hide the steel beneath. "Your skin is hot. You’re breathing faster."

  He ducked his head, murmuring, "You like this. You like being pushed past your limits."

  I shook my head. "You’re wrong. There’s nothing about you that I like."

  He sighed, his gaze whispering over my mouth. "Lying won’t wo
rk. I know you’re growing wet for me, wanting me." His touch morphed from menacing to lightning, sending a rain of sparks through my blood. "Want to know how I know? Because I taste it in the air. I smell it all around you."

  My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, increasing faster and faster. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t push him away. I couldn’t do anything but revel in the intoxicating, melting, glowing, sparking need building rapidly in my core.

  Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard, trying so hard to dispel the sick and twisted desire he conjured. "I’m—I’m not."

  He ran his thumbs over my shoulders, following my collarbone with infinite softness. "You’re not?" he breathed. "You’re not feeling the rush of lust or the knowledge you’d throw all your rules away for just…one…little…taste?" His lips came so close to mine, pulling away in the ultimate tease.

  Yes. No. I don’t know.

  I’d lost control of my body, hurtling straight for a cataclysm where everything was hot and sharp and intense.

  I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know what he wanted.

  He’s fucking with your mind. That’s all he’s doing.

  His thumbs stroked higher, smoothing away the bruises he’d caused on my neck. "Tell me you’re not wet for me. Say it."

  I shook my head, willing the words to come. "I’m not. I’m…"

  "What?" Jethro murmured.

  The ache grew stronger, sending a rush of dampness against my knickers. My body didn’t care this was a monster. My body didn’t care about the future. All it cared about was curbing the intolerable need.

  Opening my heavy eyes, I said, "I’m not wet. Not for you."

  My hands balled, fighting against the thick intoxication. I couldn’t let him steal the warmth from Kite. He’d already turned the small flame into an out of control inferno, cindering my morals, turning my hatred to ash. I couldn’t fall into his web—he’d eat me alive.

  But, one kiss…would it be so wrong?

  To take something from him when he’d already taken so much from me?

  I swayed closer, unconsciously seeking everything he dangled before me. I wasn’t equipped to play these games. I was naïve and woefully unprepared for combat where lust was used as the weapon.