Captive Bride: A Dark Obsession Romance

by Dark Angel

  The mother weeps and cries out as the emergency personnel bring the boy up and put a blanket around him. Derrick is down below, talking to the emergency workers.

  Remarkably, the Staten Island Ferry resumes service immediately, although it turns around and heads towards Manhattan.

  It’s only once we dock again in Lower Manhattan that Derrick comes up to me. He’s dripping wet, and soaked to the bone.

  “I think we’re going to have to cancel today’s event, love,” he says looking directly into me. “Seems our first foray into respectability is all washed up.”

  I can’t help but smile. Emergency personnel have taken the child to the clinic at the ferry terminal and the mother looks towards Derrick very briefly.

  She never got a chance to even thank him, I think to myself. But then again, no one will ever even know about what he did. His heroism.

  Except for me.

  “You smell like dirty water,” I say, cracking a rare smile at him. “I think you need to go home and change.”

  He smiles back. “Let me have the car drop you off then,” he says. I hesitate. I can probably take the subway on my own. It’s a Sunday morning. “I insist,” he tells me. I finally nod my head in agreement.

  “Make sure you stay on your side and don’t get me wet,” I tell him with mock sternness.

  “It's my job as Prince Sin to get every woman as wet as I can,” he says with a chuckle and a smirk and I can’t help but laugh.

  Only Derrick would appropriate a name meant to shame into a badge of pride.

  The ride to the Lower East Side is relatively short and Derrick holds the door open for me.

  “Thank you for an interesting morning,” I say to him, and before I know it, I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

  God, just doing that is getting me all sorts of hot.

  Derrick raises his eyebrows. “Did I get you fucking wet there, love?” he asks with a grin.

  “No,” I reply, sticking my tongue out at him. “But you will if you get any closer.”

  I’ll leave you to decide what kind of wet I’m talking about. I get too hot just thinking about it.

  Derrick is happy to stand there playing along but I eventually turn around and head into my building, going up the stairs, my mind filled with thoughts of random happiness.

  Those thoughts are interrupted when I see the door to my apartment jarred open. I look closer. Someone’s broken through the lock.

  Oh no!

  The door is off its hinges and listing to the side on one hinge. I gulp. I probably shouldn’t go inside, but I can’t help myself.

  I take a step inside.

  “Jenna?” I call out. No answer. The living room is untouched. I go knock on Jenna’s door. She’s not in and the door isn’t locked. I take out my phone and call her.

  “What?” Jenna answers in a cold voice when she picks up.

  “Have you been to our apartment?” I ask.

  She sighs on the other end. “No, and don’t worry. I’m staying with my parents in Connecticut.”

  That’s not what I asked her but she continues. “I’m moving out. You don’t have to see me. I think you treated Jake like a real bitch and I don’t want to be around you as you finish him off, Alicia.”

  I look at the phone. Is this the same Jenna that was sleeping with my boyfriend? While I was in the apartment? What is going on? Since when did I move to Bizarro world, where Derrick is saving people and I’m becoming a social pariah?

  “What did he tell you?” I ask, and Jenna sighs again in irritation.

  “You know, it's not even worth it Alicia. He told me all about how you…” Jenna begins but I cut her off.

  Because I’ve just walked into my room.

  The window is broken. My laptop is broken and tossed on the ground. My posters are ripped from the wall. My desk chair is broken into three pieces. My mirror on my vanity is cracked – like someone took a baseball bat to it.

  I hang up, not even thinking what I’m doing. I’m crying, and shaking all at once.

  Someone’s wrote in black spray paint, “SLUT” across my wall.

  “Oh my God,” I say to myself and I run out. Someone's been here and they came to trash my room. Why would anyone do something like that?

  I call Jenna again, but it doesn’t even ring. She puts me straight to voicemail.

  I’m so scared I grab my purse and run out of the apartment. So violated. So afraid.

  There’s nowhere for me to go. No one for me to call.

  I don’t know why I do it, but I dial his number.

  He picks up on the first ring.

  “Derrick,” I say with a broken voice, trembling despite the warmth of the day.

  I don’t need to say any more. “Give me ten minutes,” he says. “Fuck. Give me five minutes.”

  He stays on the phone not saying anything but not hanging up and literally 7 minutes later a black stretch Bentley peals around the corner and brakes hard outside my building.

  Derrick bounds out and grabs me in his arms.

  I sink my face in, and feel his strong arms around me, and for the first time since I get home, I start to feel a little safe.

  “Someone broke into my apartment,” I say, my voice muffled into his chest. “They trashed my room.”

  Derrick motions to someone and from the background I notice that he has nondescript bodyguards dressed as civilians. The man nods and opens the door to my building.

  Derrick looks at me, “What apartment, love?” he asks.

  “4F,” I reply weakly, not wanting him to let go. Derrick conveys this to the man standing at the entrance to my building and the man rushes upstairs. Derrick continues holding onto me.

  “Sam’ll go upstairs and get whatever he can carry and bring it back to my place, okay?” Derrick asks, disengaging himself slightly to be able to look me in the eyes. “You’re coming over and staying with me until we get this whole thing sorted as well. Okay?”

  He’s commanding, and takes control of the situation. But that’s exactly what I need right now. I look into his eyes and nod.

  He holds onto me as he helps me into the car and the Bentley takes off.

  He never let’s go the whole time.

  Derrick

  Fuck me, I’m going to go mental if I don't fuck that beautiful body of Daphne’s soon. It’s only been one fucking morning and already my cock is twitching like it’s got a mind of its fucking own. It knows what it fucking wants and it's getting pissed as all hell at my brain for denying it.

  That’s exactly all I’m thinking about right now as the Bentley’s driving me to One57. I’m still fucking wet from jumping into the water. But I’m not even thinking about that. Why wouldn’t I jump in? You’re thinking I’m trying to be a hero for Alicia or something, right? Well, listen, mate, I’m no fucking hero. I know you might be shaking your head, especially if you’re the skeptical type, but you need to believe me when I fucking tell you that I wasn’t doing anything on that boat for Daphne. I was just trying to get through the morning without popping my massive fucking cock in front of her.

  She’s been gone for a bit but it’s doing nothing for my state of mind.

  That’s when my phone rings.

  It’s Daphne. I pick that shit up on the first fucking ring.

  “Derrick,” she says and her voice is fucking trembling like she’s afraid.

  Fuck me.

  I don’t need to hear another fucking word. “Give me ten minutes,” I say into the phone. I look at where we are – on 23rd street near Chelsea Piers. Fuck, I think we can do better than that. Pressly looks at me for the driver’s seat. “Fuck, give me five minutes,” I say out to her. I nod to Pressly who kicks the shit into high gear. The tires squeal as he turns a fucking U-turn onto 12th Avenue, and kicks the speed up as fast as it’ll go.

  I’m on the phone but I don’t say anything unless she needs me to. I’m not hanging up on her and she’s not hanging up on me. I can hear he
r breathing and I curse under my breath, wishing I could fucking fly.

  The Bentley’s flying, dodging traffic left and right. The other cars on the street, let's just say they’re rightfully fucking pissed.

  It’s too long, but eventually we turn onto Daphne’s street, and the Bentley literally peals in and I jump out as I see her on the curb.

  She runs into my arms and I hold her while Sam, my bodyguard that was in the front seat rushes up to her.

  “You’re coming over and you’re staying with me until we get this whole thing sorted, as well. Okay?” I ask her, but I’m not really asking. I’m taking charge because I’m going to protect this woman. This most perfect creature that I’ve ever met.

  She’s already told me her apartment number – 4F – so we climb into the Bentley.

  I don’t fucking let her out of my grasp the whole fucking time until we get to One57.

  “You live here?” Daphne asks me. She turns around to look at me and expands her question, “By yourself?”

  We’re standing in the living room of my apartment. She’s looking out the window from the 75th floor of my penthouse apartment, high above the clouds of New York City. The living room is built in such a way that it juts out and you have views from three separate sides. On one side, there are clear unobstructed views of the Park. The other side has spectacular fucking views of Midtown Manhattan. On a clear day you can see all the way down to the Freedom Tower.

  “Just me, love,” I tell her and walk to the window. “Come, see this,” I say, putting my hand at the base of her back and guiding her towards the balcony.

  She steps outside and a burst of cool wind whips her beautiful fucking hair around her face. She’s fucking gorgeous. Like a fucking doll.

  She looks at me, “So let me get this right,” she says. “Three bedrooms, a dining room, servants quarters, massive kitchen, living room, family room, study, and three bathrooms. And all this is for one person?”

  I look at her. I can tell she’s waiting for my reaction.

  “You forgot the balcony, love,” I say with a grin.

  At first I think she’s going to slap me. But then she just rolls her eyes. “For one person?” Daphne asks again. “Derrick, your balcony is bigger than my bedroom.”

  “That’s because it’s a wraparound balcony,” I say, smirking. Another wind comes through and I shiver. I’m still wearing the fucking damp clothes.

  Daphne notices. “Let’s go inside,” she says and walks inside. I follow, but I stop. I’m staring at her ass. Her luscious and firm ass. God fucking dammit.

  Now you know I’ve been with a lot of women. Fuck, you’ve seen me with a stripper and a news anchor. Let me tell you they couldn’t hold a fucking candle to this woman. And it’s not just because Daphne is fucking gorgeous.

  She’s so elegant, even after her apartment got broken into.

  She’s got some real class.

  And you’re going to fucking groan, but there are two things in this world that drive me absolutely mental about a bird.

  The first is if she’s got class.

  The second is her ass.

  Class and fucking ass. And Daphne has both in spades.

  I admire her as she walks around, cooing and making comments to herself as she studies my apartment. Like a bird, before it nests.

  Her legs are fucking toned. Her tits are fucking ripe. Her face is beautiful. I want to turn her around, bend her over and fuck her till we both pass the fuck out. That’s the only thing I want in this life. That’s all I know I will ever want in my life.

  I’ve been ruined for all other women. And I haven’t even kissed her yet.

  “You need to get out of those wet clothes,” she says as she walks up to me. “You’ll catch cold.”

  “Right, love,” I tell her. “You want to join me as I get out of them?”

  Her eyes fucking twinkle. Four days ago, she would have rolled those eyes and maybe even slapped me. But not now. Instead she just smiles and says, “I have nothing to change into.”

  “That’ll change soon enough,” I tell her. “Sam’s bringing your shit over as we speak.”

  “Just because you’re so wealthy doesn’t mean you can call all my stuff shit, Derrick,” she says. I look over at her startled and see her teasing smile.

  Then she nods, thoughtfully. “I wonder who would want to break into just my room. I mean, I didn’t really even have anything valuable in there.”

  I don’t know either but I’ve asked Sam and Pressly to do a very thorough check of the place after Daphne’s stuff gets brought over.

  “I’m so afraid to go back,” she says, and her eyes cloud up with uncertainty and fear again.

  Fuck, why does she remind me so fucking much of Alicia? I don’t even know where Alicia is at after she graduated from Yale. But I remember enough about her that my cock stiffens again just thinking about her when she was 18 – before she left St. Livy.

  She probably left hating my fucking guts. Because Prince Sin – the bad boy Prince of the fucking world – was too much of a chicken shit coward to admit his real feelings for her. Because I’d been too fucking scarred by the ill treatment of my mother by my father. Because I was too numb from her eventual death. Because I was too worried about how I had treated Alicia as a kid. Where I had not just treated someone despicably, but wasted an opportunity to tell a woman that I loved her.

  Yes, alright. I fucking admit it. When Alicia left, I knew that I loved her. That’s why during her going away party, I conveniently went to Cannes. I didn’t want her to see me and I knew I couldn’t keep that shit to myself.

  “You’re a million miles away,” Daphne says and I shoot back to reality. Her eyes are wide and she’s looking at me.

  I take a step closer and can feel her breath.

  Fuck me. I can’t be falling in love with Daphne. Not after just meeting her.

  Not when I’m hoping to find Alicia one day.

  My face inches closer to her and I can see her eyelids droop as I get closer.

  I don’t care if she’s a fucking stripper. All I want is to fucking be with her.

  My arm drapes around her and descends to her lower back.

  I feel so at peace when I’m with her. She banishes my fucking demons.

  Our lips are centimeters apart.

  I’m going to kiss her. She reminds me so much of…

  “Alicia.”

  Daphne opens her eyes and looks at me. Concern, or jealousy, or fear, or what the fuck I don’t know.

  All I know is I’m standing there, like an idiot about to kiss fucking Daphne and I’m mumbling Alicia’s fucking name.

  Fuck me.

  Daphne’s eyes are wide. She’s studying me. I know I’ve fucked up and for once, I don’t have a fucking one-liner or a comeback.

  I’m ready to take this – however it comes. Bring the fucking pain.

  But I don’t get a chance to. The door opens and Sam and Pressly walk in. They’re carrying two suitcases each.

  “Where should we put Miss Daphne’s clothes, Your Highness?” Pressly asks.

  I don’t answer at first, but Daphne clears her throat and moves backwards. Our moment is done. It’s gone. Destroyed by yours truly. With his fucking anti-Midas touch.

  “I’ll take them,” Daphne says as she leads Sam and Pressly to the first guest room in the hallway.

  All I can do is watch her luscious fucking ass sway as she walks away.

  I feel like a fucking idiot. Most likely because I am.

  Alicia

  As much as I hate to admit it, Derrick’s place is so much nicer than mine.

  I mean, I always knew no matter where he lived was going to be luxurious. But I almost jump for joy when Mike tells me over the phone that he doesn’t want me coming in for a few days but to stay at home. “Besides, it sounds like you’re not far from your target anyways,” Mike says.

  Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. After Derrick’ guys brought my suitcases in, I started unpack
ing in the guest room. I’m going to be staying here for a little bit.

  You want to know something? You can’t tell anyone, okay?

  Well, here goes.

  So, I stayed in the guest room and focused on packing the whole afternoon. Derrick came by a few times but I pretended to be busy. But, the truth is, it was a lot easier to stay in the guest room because I wouldn’t have to face him. I wouldn’t have to face what was going on inside of me.

  I mean, can you blame me? How messed up is this situation? Here’s a guy who’s a Prince. He’s an arrogant jerk. An asshole. And I somehow had the misfortune of growing up with him. So I got out of the country and went to college to get on with my life. Only I didn’t do a good job because I ended up dating a guy that cheated on me. Then I broke up with him. But then my apartment got ransacked. So I moved in (temporarily) with the asshole. Only I’m lying to him and pretending to be a stripper. Named Daphne. So I can write about his dirt.

  But it doesn't end there. I almost kissed him outside a few hours ago! And I would have, if he hadn’t held himself back.

  And said my name.

  My real name.

  Alicia.

  When he told me that I reminded him of someone, I didn’t believe him at first. Then he said my name. I know, I know. Go ahead and roll your eyes. He was basically telling me I reminded him of myself.

  Is he really thinking of me? Has he really been thinking of me? This whole time?

  I mean, it's an understatement to say the man is easy on the eyes. That strong jawline of his, his luxurious hair, hell, the entire package.

  Actually, speaking of package, I’ve had quite a number of times to check it out. Whether it's when he was showing me around the apartment, or when he came by as I was unpacking.

  It looks just as large in person as it does on television.

  I mean, come on, this guy is a Greek god when it comes to his body. The only thing that kept me from having my panties melt whenever I even thought of him was knowing that at least he was a real asshole.

  But from jumping in the water to save a little boy, to coming to my rescue as well, he’s anything but an asshole. He’s a real life Prince.