Captive Heart (Club Risque Book 6)

by Poppy Flynn

  She wanted to spend the rest of her life right there next to him, looking after him, learning from him, healing with him, creating a family with him. Even if that family turned out to be just the two of them. Would he be content with that? Or would he want more? Would he want the children she might not be able to give him? If she told him how she felt, would he still think she was still motivated only by gratitude. Would her confessions of love frighten him away? She was desperate to tell him how she felt, but for the first time in her life, a different kind of fear kept her quiet.

  In the meantime, Micah was affectionate and attentive. Every night, he joined her in the big bed in the boudoir, even if they didn't have sex, and somehow that meant even more to her than the delights he continued to show her and teach her about. It was little things like that which had her falling even deeper than she thought possible.

  Right up until yesterday anyway. Last night, he had sent her off to bed alone with some excuse about staying up late and not wanting to disturb her. But the fact that he hadn't joined her, was the thing that disturbed her the most. She had spent almost the entire night awake and unsettled, tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep, and second guessing anything and everything that popped into her mind.

  Now she felt tired, both physically and emotionally, and Micah's attitude this morning wasn't helping matters, either. He was unusually withdrawn, and even though it was a Tuesday and officially one of his days off, he had holed himself up in his office, as if he didn't want to see her or speak with her. It wouldn't have been quite so bad if he'd gone out for the day, at least then, she wouldn't have felt quite so deliberately side-lined.

  Melody tried not to let it upset her; the last ten days had been pretty full on after all. He probably just needed a little bit of alone time. She wasn't completely successful in her efforts, though, and doubts and uncertainties bombarded her usual common sense and pragmatism, setting her nerves on edge and pushing her into imagining all kinds of unpleasant scenarios.

  Had he had enough of her? Was he bored with their relationship? Did she do something wrong? Was she too needy? Had she not been enough to satisfy him? Was she just too damaged?

  She tried to quell the nasty little voices in her head, but they were unappeasable, whispering scenario after malicious scenario until her head was whirling and she just couldn't sit at a loose end any longer, with so many destructive thoughts pounding in her head.

  Determined, at least, not to give in to her despondency and head back to bed like a sulky child, Melody decided to make a start on re-stocking the bar. The shipment had come in that morning but wasn't usually dealt with until the following day. Melody had helped Micah with the job several times now, so she knew what she was doing. Hell, if he really was busy, then at least she'd be helping him out. And the job was one that required enough attention that it would take her mind off of the other stuff. She hoped!

  Three hours later, Melody collapsed into one of the comfy chairs in the seating area adjacent to the bar with a bottle of water. It had taken longer than she expected, doing it on her own and she still wasn't so proficient that she was quick at it, either. Still, it had helped somewhat, since she'd had to concentrate on where everything went as well as checking through the packing slip.

  Now she was left with a large pile of empty boxes which needed to be broken down and taken out to the recycling area. She'd tend to that when she'd finished her drink and then go and make an early dinner. Maybe she'd be able to coax Micah out for food, if nothing else.

  With a sigh, she re-capped her water bottle and went to find a knife, so she could flatten the boxes. This was the kind of job that gave her too much time to think again.

  Micah sat in his office, two fingers of whisky in the tumbler on his desk, even though it was still far too early in the day to be drinking. He'd made it to mid-afternoon at least. Well, that's what he was telling himself, anyway, as he stared at the amber liquid which he'd not yet tasted, while he tried to talk himself out of touching it altogether. It was four years since Sara had died. Even longer again since the two of them had been an item. He should be over this by now. In fact, he was pretty sure he was…almost.

  Despite holing himself up in his office and brooding, he wasn't the moody wreck he normally was on the anniversary of Sara's death.

  Staying away from Melody last night and using his own bed for the first time since they had started sleeping together, had left him feeling unexpectedly lonely and had resulted in him thinking more about Melody than he had about Sara.

  He'd hurt her, he knew, with his withdrawal, but he had expected to be plagued with his usual guilt over letting Sara down and hadn't wanted to inadvertently take it out on her. Melody didn't deserve that.

  Conversely, though, that made him feel guilty in an altogether different way. Doubly so, in fact. First, feeling guilty on the one hand that he'd withdrawn from Melody without any excuse or explanation, hurting her in the process, even though his intention had been to protect her from his own bad mood and brooding. Then, on the other hand, feeling guilty that Sara was slipping from his mind, no longer his sole focus, as if he were guilty of forgetting her, even though they had no longer been a couple when she died.

  Even though she'd been living with another man.

  A man whom she had chosen.

  A man whom she had left him for.

  A man whose hand she'd died at.

  But this year, for the first time, Micah no longer felt the bone deep guilt that he might, somehow, have prevented it. He'd let go of all the usual second guessing; what if he had just tried harder to be what she wanted him to be, even though he was opposed to it?

  What if he had tried harder to stay in touch with her, even after she had decisively cut him out of her life?

  What if he'd tried harder to intervene when he first began to suspect that the relationship which she shared with her new Master was more abusive than consensual.

  What if; what if…

  The world was full of what ifs. The truth was, he had tried all of those things.

  In an effort to compromise, he'd agreed to a trial period with the two of them living a Master/slave relationship and he'd hated it. It had done nothing at all to improve their situation; in fact, if anything, it had just made things worse. Things between them had become stiff and formal, and even Sara hadn't been happy with how everything had played out. It was the very reason she had sought out someone else. Even Sara had realised that the Master/slave dynamic was never going to work between the two of them.

  He had loved her, and they were fairly well matched when it came to kink, but the compatibility, in that particular area of the lifestyle, just hadn't been there.

  And he had stayed in touch with her after the breakup, even as rejected and heartbroken as he'd felt at the time; he hadn't wanted to turn his back on her, so he'd left the avenues of communication wide open.

  It was Sara who insisted that their continued friendship was detrimental to her new relationship; the Master/slave relationship which she had coveted and didn't want to compromise.

  It was Sara who had blocked his number, so he could no longer contact her.

  And when he had suspected that things weren't all as rosy as Sara claimed, when he was worried that her new Master was jealous and controlling on a whole different level to a healthy Master/slave relationship, when he suspected that it had, in fact, been he who had insisted on Sara cutting her ties with Micah, he had co-opted some of their mutual friends to look out for her, and none had claimed anything particularly untoward. So maybe Micah had been jumping at shadows, seeing things that weren't there in his latent grief over the end of their relationship.

  Even the circumstances of her death were inconclusive. Sara had been choked, but her lover had only been convicted of manslaughter, claiming that it was the result of a tragic accident during a breath play scene which had gone disastrously wrong. Her autopsy had shown a number of welts and bruises but nothing truly outside of the scope of t
he lifestyle they were living. Nothing like the systematic violence and abuse that Melody had endured during her incarceration, which, even she had accepted as just a characteristic of the slave union she was trapped in.

  The depth of the feelings he had toward Melody had him looking at his past relationship in a completely different light. Was it possible that he'd just never wanted to accept the truth, preferring to wallow in the perceived guilt that he could have changed what he considered to be her coercion, rather than face the facts and accept that Sara simply didn't want him anymore?

  It was that mind-blowing comprehension that had Micah reaching for the whisky glass.

  Before the liquid made it to his lips, however, he slapped it down again, the force with which he did so causing the amber liquid to slosh slightly, dribbling down the side of the glass and onto his desk. He cursed and grabbed a tissue from the holder then blotted up the mess.

  What the hell was he thinking? He needed to go find Melody and explain himself to her first. He knew she'd been confused by his withdrawal today and his refusal to share her bed last night. It wasn't fair to leave her hanging the way he had, because of his own personal crisis of conscience. If he was seriously considering a meaningful relationship with the woman—and he was—then, at the very least, they needed to start out with honesty between them.

  Micah cursed himself. Melody had been through enough at the hands of heartless men who had used her for their own selfish ends. The very last thing he wanted was to appear as if he was one of them, casting her aside as soon as he'd taken his fill, when, in reality, nothing could be further than the truth.

  He was indebted to her, he realised with a start. This thing between them, which had started with his own lofty thoughts of liberating her and possibly doing something to redeem himself in the process, had been his deliverance.

  How short sighted he had been. After all was said and done, she had been the one who had saved him, made him see the truth for what it really was. She had brought about an epiphany in his own closed mind. How could he have been so blind?

  Easily, of course. While he might rate his psychological prowess above that of the layman, when it came to studying oneself, it was nigh on impossible. Emotions inevitably got in the way of clear thinking. Hadn't he postulated that very thing when he realised how he had gotten things wrong with Melody, herself, because he was far too close to the situation. He knew better, but in the end, he had known nothing at all, and it had taken Melody to show him the way.

  And now, here he was, repaying her by behaving like a sulky, sullen kid who'd had his lollipop taken away. Shame washed through him. He had always considered himself better than that, more in tune with the workings of his own mind. Level headed and rational, that was what he always strove to be, but this…

  Micah shook his head and gave a wry laugh. This just proved he was human after all, didn't it? That he was just as much a casualty of the whims and quirks of fate as the next man, as much a victim of his own emotions as anybody else, and that wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was wonderfully, reassuringly normal.

  It was time to stop berating himself, learn from his mistakes, and know when to take action. And that time was right now. No more sitting here brooding over Sara and no more beating himself over the head for not being superman.

  And no more letting Melody down. It was time to tell her the truth…about why he'd been behaving like an idiot and exactly how he wanted to pursue their relationship. She deserved a bit of stability in her life, and he wanted to be able to give it to her.

  Micah strode purposefully out of the room and headed, first, for the staff room. When he didn't find Melody there, he wandered over to the boudoir. It was only when he couldn't find her there, either, that he felt a trickle of trepidation crawl down his spine.

  He popped back to his office and flicked on the security monitors to see where she might be in the vast building. He didn't want to wait any longer, running around searching for her in this huge place. As he was scrutinizing each screen, he finally found what he was looking for. Well, almost. The camera in the bar showed signs that someone had been working down there, and Micah realised Melody must have busied herself replenishing the stock, even though there was no sign of her right now. Nevertheless, he quickly made his way downstairs to find her, not even stopping to turn the security screens off.

  Micah jogged downstairs with a spring in his step and a new lightness in his heart which he was prepared to embrace. He called out to Melody when he reached the ground floor, his voice ringing out through the cavernous, empty nightclub. There was no reply, so he headed back to check the stock room, frowning when he didn't find her there.

  Back at the bar, he took in the half empty bottle of water and the pile of broken-down boxes and swung his gaze to the emergency exit which was often used for easy access the recycling area. The door was ajar, and Micah picked up what was left of the stock boxes, realising she must have gone out with a load already. He had crossed the dance floor and almost reached the door when he heard a shrill, terrified scream which was abruptly cut short, making his blood run cold. He dropped everything and sprinted for the door, reaching it in time to see a car speeding off, kicking up the gravel from the parking area in its haste.

  It was too far away to get the number plate, but he noted the make, model, and colour and the direction it took off in. His gut instinct was to give chase, but that would take too long. He wasn't wearing shoes and his car keys were still upstairs.

  Heart pounding and pulse racing, Micah looked around in case he was mistaken in his assumptions. "Melody?" he called out with a despairing kind of hope.

  There was no reply.

  He glanced around and saw a trail of stock boxes and a distinctive scrape through the gravel where it looked like something had been dragged. Overcoming the urge to stand there and bellow, Micah instead ran back into the club, heading for the security footage in his office and fumbling in his pocket for his phone along the way. Thank God he had Detective Andy Storer's personal number on speed dial.

  It was taking too long, Micah thought to himself forty minutes later as he tried his very best to remain patient and calm.

  Is this how Jake had felt when Charlotte had disappeared? This panicked, clawing fear and frustration? And Charlotte hadn't been tracked down for months.

  Micah didn't think he could remain sane if that happened to Melody.

  Of course, Charlotte had taken off of her own free will and hadn't been in any mortal danger like Melody might be. He couldn't bear to think of what might happen to her at the hand of the vicious, brutal 'V'.

  Jesus, he hoped Andy and the other detective who had descended had some answers.

  Right now, they were poring over the security footage of the car park. Micah couldn't bring himself to watch it again. Couldn't bear to see how Melody had been surprised and then overwhelmed and then subdued with a violent punch to the face which had her falling to the ground and hitting her head, leaving a pool of blood on the rough stone and another trickling from her nose. He couldn't bear to watch her unconscious form being dragged carelessly toward a waiting car by a guy wearing a ski mask to hide his face.

  Micah fisted his hands. If he ever got his hands on that bastard, he was going to give the asshole a taste of his own medicine and relish doing so. The prospect didn't even disturb his normally passive sensibilities which abhorred physical violence in the form of either abuse or brawling. His vision was filled with a red haze of rage and while he paced the crowded room, and clenched and unclenched his fists in an effort to control it, he was very well aware that he was a man on the edge.

  Logan Thornton, co-owner and lawyer, clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed in an open show of support. Logan was the one of his four friends and bosses with the closest temperament to his own, whereas Joel, Jake, and Connor were all far more volatile characters, so maybe Logan was able to pick up on Micah's uncharacteristic fury better than the rest.

  All of them were here,
along with their wives, even Desi, who had refused to be left behind, and Charlotte, who had brought baby Jacob along with her. Trinity was on her way, too, along with her fiancé, Christian, though they had a long way to travel, and although Xavier was working, he was also on standby in case they were able to find her fast and she needed urgent medical intervention. As he remembered the video showing her bleeding and unconscious, it seemed unlikely that she wouldn't. But just how bad would it be?

  "We'll find her," Logan assured with quiet encouragement.

  Micah nodded curtly. Yeah, he'd find her all right, because Micah wasn't going to leave a single stone unturned until he found out where she was. He just couldn't help agonising over what sort of state she might be in when they did, and the longer this took, the more his anxiety grew.

  "Okay, this is what we have so far," Detective Storer addressed the room at large, swinging his wheelchair around as best he could in the cramped space and facing everyone who had crowded into Micah's office. It had been turned into a makeshift hub since it housed the security monitors showing every bit of pertinent footage they had been able to piece together from the many cameras around the club.

  "We have managed to get a partial number plate on the vehicle. If we can improve on that, given that we have the make, model, and colour of the vehicle, then that might be our quickest route to finding Melody." He frowned and scratched at his dyed purple goatee beard, while he fiddled with the laptop, balanced on a useful tray which clipped to one of the arms of his wheelchair to serve as a table.

  "On the positive side, the department haven't been sat around idle for the past few weeks since Melody was found." He gestured the other detective who had accompanied him. "This is Jason Scott. I co-opted him into helping out with some of the research, so we could speed things up after the close shave Melody had with the dude in the nightclub the other week, but I'd like to reassure you all, right now, that you have his complete discretion over the nature of this club."