Captive Bride: A Dark Obsession Romance

by Dark Angel

  I drape my arms around my besties, propping my head between Lisa and Ashley. "Thanks, you guys. I sure love you guys. You guys are the best."

  "Yes, and you are very, very drunk," Ashley says with a laugh. "We need to get you home."

  Home. That sounded lovely. We should all go home.

  Kaden

  I see Mark Anthony head towards me, and I smile grimly. I’m about to get an earful and I’m not sure I’m up for it, but on the other hand, I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? I am the client and I do pay him stupid amounts of money to be my attorney, but he also doesn’t hesitate to tell me when he thinks I’m being a dumbass bastard.

  "Kaden, you dumbass bastard, what were you thinking?" he hisses, holding out his hand and shaking mine as if this is a normal meeting. As if he isn’t bailing my ass out of jail. He smiles broadly for the cameras, the reporters all wanting a shot of us greeting each other, and then the police shoo the reporters away, telling them that they have their picture – they can go now.

  I know they’ll be waiting for us outside, but at least now I don’t have to pretend to be happy while getting my ass chewed by Mark. My smile instantly drops the second that the door closes behind the reporters, and I sink down onto the bench in the visiting area.

  "I was just…bored," I say with a shrug, not meeting Mark’s eyes.

  Truth time (which I am absolutely not going to tell Mark this, but I’ll tell you): I’d first seen the girl on the dance floor of the Bungalow 8. She was amazing. She could dance. I loved watching her out on the floor, and had just decided to buy her a drink when they started shutting the place down.

  I was one of the last people to leave, and saw her with a group of friends, discussing how hard it was to get an Uber. I was standing off to the side in the shadows, debating whether or not to approach her or just keep showing up at the Bungalow and hope she comes back at some point, when she loudly announces, "I’m gonna cop a squat."

  I thought I’d bust a rib, trying to keep my laughter in. I like it when girls say it the way it is, and…well, she was definitely doing that. I stayed in the shadows and watched the whole thing – the futile trip down to the closed Starbucks, back to the club, then down the alleyway, all in search of a place for her to go pee.

  I’d just pushed out of the shadows, ready to go home and try to meet up with her another night (because what kind of weird stalker follows a girl down an alleyway and tries to pick up on her while she’s peeing on a pile of napkins?) when a cop car passes by, driving real slow. I’d stopped and melted back into the shadows. A cop was never a good sign. He flipped a U-turn and stopped across the street, and then headed down the same alleyway. He’d spotted the girl, and I knew she was going to get in trouble for urinating in public.

  So…I reacted. Was it smart? No. And my lawyer is right to chew my ass about it. But I don’t regret it. Leading the boys in blue on a merry chase for a while was more excitement than I’d had in a long time.

  Plus, bonus points – the girl got away. Well, at least they didn’t bring her into the same precinct as me.

  I wonder for a moment when she’d show up at the nightclub again. It’s not like I have any other way of tracking her down.

  "Bored?!" Mark thunders, jerking me back to the present. "You’re a multi-billionaire. How on god’s green earth are you bored?!"

  I shrug again. "Maybe I’m bored because of that."

  He sits back and just stares at me. "You have too much money and time on your hands?" he asks sarcastically.

  "Something like that."

  The truth is, I hit it big two years ago, when I bet some serious cash on the oil prices going down when everyone else thought they were going up. When the oil prices took a sharp tumble as more oil reserves opened up in Alaska, my bet paid off. In a big way.

  I don’t need to work another day in my life – hell, my hypothetical grandkids won’t need to work a day in their lives either – but I didn’t step down as the CEO of my investment firm and float off into the sunset on my yacht. Who wants to just sit around all day and have their every need taken care of, almost before they can think of it? It sounds good in theory, but I get bored easily.

  I can wipe my own ass, thankyouverymuch. I don’t need someone to do it for me.

  Speaking of getting bored easily, that character flaw is what got me into this trouble to begin with. Lately, even the challenge of making my clients boatloads of money wasn’t much of a challenge.

  I need something new. Something interesting. Something I can do that keeps my interest for more than three minutes.

  I hear my lawyer mumbling something that sounds like, "God save me from spoiled rich kids," but when I ask him to repeat himself louder, he brushes me off. "Nothing, nothing," he says brusquely. "I’m here to post bail. I’ll get you out, and with any luck, I’ll get you off with just some fines."

  "Thanks," I say gratefully. Because as bored as I’ve been lately, not even I am bored enough to want to continue to sit around in a jail cell all day long. That’s a new level of boredom that I just can’t stomach.

  As my lawyer takes off to get the paperwork done and out of the way, I stare at my hands clasped in front of me, my hands cuffed together like a common criminal. I really need to find something to do with myself that doesn’t include breaking the windshields of police cruisers. Maybe I should try hang-gliding. I’ve heard it’s a lot of fun. It would certainly mean less time behind bars.

  Either way, I’m going to put in a word with the bartender at the Bungalow 8. A few Benjamins might convince him to keep an eye out for Ms. Mystery. Greasing palms has never failed me before, and she’s worth whatever I need to pay.

  Brittney

  "Read this," Erica says, shoving a newspaper into my hands. I stare down in shock at it – first off, who reads newspapers anymore?? – but then the words on the page jump out at me, and I’m just blown away. I stare at the grainy black-and-white photo above the article, trying to decide if that was really who I saw on Friday night. It’s hard to say. I wasn’t exactly sober when the guy had been busy bashing in the cop’s windshield, plus it had been dark and he’d been far away.

  But…yeah, sure, it looked like him.

  "Kaden Charles was the one who broke the cop’s windshield?" I ask in shock. "Kaden? Really?!" Everyone knew of Kaden the Wonder Kid. He’d made a name for himself a couple of years ago with some oil trade or something, and he was worth billions because of it.

  So why was he going around, breaking windshields? It didn’t make any sense.

  "That’s what the article says. Apparently, he spent the weekend in the clink."

  "Do you…" I hesitate, the words sounding insane, even to me. "Do you think he did it for me? To distract the cop?" God, how self-centered do I sound! Am I seriously suggesting that someone would go to jail for the weekend, just to save my sorry need-to-go-pee-right-fucking-now ass? That seems a little extreme.

  Erica stares at me contemplatively. "Well…I don’t know. It sounds a little nuts, I’ll grant you that, but on the other hand, does it really matter why he did what he did? Whatever way you slice it, he saved you. And I think that deserves a proper thank you."

  "Are you thinking what I’m thinking?" I ask her breathlessly.

  "If you’re thinking that you should fall face first onto his lap and give him the blowjob of a lifetime, then yes. If you’re thinking we should go out for tacos for lunch, then also yes."

  I roll my eyes and toss the newspaper at her. "I have places to go, people to do," I say with a naughty grin. "Don’t expect me back in time for tacos. I prefer hot dogs anyway."

  Erica bust out laughing. "I cannot believe you just said that," she said between snorts of laughter.

  "How is it that you’re surprised by my naughty side?" I ask with another naughty grin, slinging my purse over my shoulder. "I’d think you would expect it by now."

  "I should, I really should!" she calls after me. I saunter out, putting on my sunglasses to ward off th
e too-bright sun. It’s time to see what the Wonder Kid’s dick looks like. With any luck, it’ll be as magnificent as his bank account.

  Kaden

  I know it’s Tuesday morning because the calendar app on my phone says that it is, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s really Monday. After not getting out of jail until late – even Mark Anthony, as good as he is, struggled to save my ass – I just didn’t go into work yesterday. Which makes it the first day off that I’ve taken in almost two years, and quite frankly, my idea of a day off really shouldn’t include an orange jumpsuit.

  I contemplate hang-gliding again. It could be fun. It could give me the rush I’ve been missing for a while. Gweny, my secretary, hurries over to greet me as soon as I arrive on the top floor of my office building. This whole floor is my office – ridiculous, right? Who needs 10,000 square feet of office space? But I will admit that the view is fabulous.

  "Oh my god, you’re here!" Gweny says, checking me over as if she’s expecting that I’ll be covered in knife cuts and bruises. "I was so worried when I heard about the reports."

  "I’m fine," I say, shrugging away her concern. She’s in her late 50s, and in many ways, feels like my grandmother.

  "If you say so," she says with a frown, stepping away from me. "I sure wish you’d take some time off, though."

  "What do you think about hang-gliding?" I ask her.

  "Hang…" She’s just staring at me, mouth hanging wide open. "I haven’t been hang-gliding before, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you’d like me to research it, I can find out death rates and—"

  "No. Don’t worry about it." Only Gweny would think to research death rates for a hobby. "What happened over the weekend?"

  "$52 million dollars." She flashes me a happy smile. "Those stocks you picked skyrocketed because of what’s happening in the Middle East, and your customers made $52 million dollars just in the last three days."

  "Great." I’m trying to sound enthusiastic, but let’s be honest here – I’m failing miserably. It is all too easy, too predictable. I need a challenge. I need someone or something to force me to do something difficult. The financial markets stopped being difficult a long time ago.

  "If you need something outside of work to do," Gweny says quietly, "may I suggest golf? There’s a significantly smaller mortality rate with golf than with hang-gliding."

  "How do you know?" I grin at her. "You haven’t actually looked up the mortality rates for hang-gliding yet. Maybe golf is dangerous too. There are other golfers who might hit me with their clubs, and—"

  She reaches out and ruffles my hair, laughing. "If anyone is going to get a swing at you, I’m at the front of that line. I’ve had to put up with your shit for so long, I deserve some sort of payback."

  Before I can come up with a sufficiently witty reply, Gweny’s intercom buzzes. "Is Mr. Charles up there?" Jennifer’s voice comes through clearly. She’s our front desk receptionist, tasked with keeping the crazies out who "just need a minute of your time, sir, to tell you about this new opportunity that you can get in on the ground floor" and letting through the visitors I actually want to see.

  "Yes, he’s right here," Gweny calls back.

  "Well, Mr. Charles, there’s a lady here who wants to thank you for saving her last Friday night. Says she was part of the windshield breaking that you did?"

  The curiosity is so strong in Jennifer’s voice, she’s practically begging me to tell her the "real" story behind my weekend stint in the slammer, but I ignore that.

  My mystery girl is here. I didn’t even have to stalk the nightclub to see her again. Excitement buzzes through my veins. "Send her up!" I call out.

  I head to my own office casually, as if it’s normal for me to have a girl come up to my office to meet with me…who isn’t also a client of Kaden Charles Associates.

  Perfectly normal.

  "Golfing is a very fine hobby!" Gweny calls out as I close the office door behind me and head for my desk. I ignore her and instead focus on sitting down and looking casual. Relaxed. As if I couldn’t care less who walked through my door next.

  Just breathe, Kaden. Just breathe.

  Brittney

  A severe-looking woman escorts me inside of Kaden’s office, and pointedly says to Kaden, "Don’t forget the meeting at eleven," before closing the door behind her. I’m thinking she doesn’t approve of me, although I’m not sure why. Does she blame me for Kaden spending the weekend in jail? It wasn’t exactly like I asked him to break the cop’s windshield or something.

  Speaking of, I really have no idea why he did that. Turning to Kaden, who is relaxing in his chair behind his desk, I decide I’m going to ask him point blank. There’s no point in me beating around the bush. Right? Right. Before I can start in on my interrogation, though, he preempts me.

  "Hi, I’m Kaden Charles," he says, coming around the corner of the desk, his tall, muscular form towering over me as he reaches out to shake my hand.

  "Hi…hi," I stutter. "Britt…Brittney Bartlett." I sound like an idiot, but being up close and personal to Kaden, I am pretty much completely incapable of speaking. We clasp hands and jolts run up my arm, setting me on fire.

  Holy shit!

  I stare, open-mouthed, up at him. I probably resemble some sort of goldfish, my mouth gaping and then closing rhythmically, but hot damn if I can do a thing about it.

  He pulls his hand back, tucking them into his slacks as he leans against the desk, and I find that I can breathe a little easier now. Note to self: Don’t touch him and also expect to be able to talk.

  "So what brings you to my office?" he asks casually. How can he be so cool? So casual? Is this a one-sided electrical storm that I’m experiencing here?!

  "I just wanted to thank you…I just wanted to know…I need to ask – did you break that cop’s windshield to help me out?" I finally sputter out.

  I know it sounds awfully prideful of me to think that someone would break the law just to help me out, but nothing else makes sense. Kaden Charles wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to hop in and out of the clink on a regular basis.

  "Eh," he says, shrugging. "I was bored. His windshield was right there. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I just picked up a rock and shucked it. The waving and blowing a kiss was just for fun." He grins mischievously at me.

  "Really?" I just stare at him, totally perplexed. Okay, so maybe I am starting to get a little big for my britches, because I really thought that he’d done it on purpose. Well, on purpose to help me out.

  To know that he’s the kind of person who goes around smashing windshields because they’re bored? Like, what kind of a loser does that? I know, I know, I was peeing on a pile of napkins in a back alley at four in the morning, and thus, I really shouldn’t be judging anyone right now, but c’mon. That was the most law-breaky thing that I think I’ve ever done in my life. For fuck’s sakes, I even turn in my library books on time!

  Bottomline? As drop-dead sexy as Kaden Charles is, we don’t have a damn thing in common with each other. Which sucks ass, ‘cause if I feel that many sparks just by shaking his hand, imagine what I’d feel if his hand was on my pussy…

  But, whatevs. I’m not about to start hanging around a criminal, no matter what he does to my ability to breathe.

  Stiffly, I say, "Well, thanks for the inadvertent help, then. Good day." I turn away and head for the door.

  "Wait! Stop!" he calls out.

  "You’ve got an 11 o’clock appointment," I remind him without turning around. I can’t bear to look at him again. How could my hormones be that off? If I look at him, I just might give in and say, "Okay, blowjobs for everyone!"

  "Brittney, I’m sorry!" He reaches out and touches my shoulder, sending shocks down my arm and back.

  Dammit! Why oh why do I have to feel this way about a common criminal?! At least on my side, the sparks are so huge, we’re in imminent danger of starting a wildfire in Oklahoma. I cannot believe that my body would betray me like this.


  Bad Brittney, bad!

  "I was trying to play it cool," he says, his hand still on my shoulder. He’s stroking it lightly with his thumb, sending jolts through my body. "I just didn’t want to seem too eager. The truth is, I was kind of stalking you."

  Okay, that got my attention. I turned around and stared up, up, up at him (WHO MAKES PEOPLE THIS TALL?!) and glare. "You what?!" I gasp. I mean, if I’m going to have a stalker, Kaden is defs the one I’d pick, but still…I can’t believe he said that.

  "I watched you out on the dance floor – you’re amazing, by the way. When you dance, you’re just gorgeous. I was just about to ask you to dance when the club finally shut down for the night, kicking us all out. I heard the…uhhh…pee discussion—" okay, my face is flaming red right now, "—and so when the cop spotted you guys, I knew you were going to get in trouble. I didn’t know what to do, so I just reacted. I grabbed a loose brick on the ground and shucked it as hard as I could at the windshield."

  He shrugs. "I didn’t realize at the time that I’d spend the weekend in jail, but it was worth it, because you’re here in my office. I thought I was going to have to haunt the club for the next month, hoping to see you."

  "Really?" I breathe, staring up at him. I’m in shock. I mean, I thought he’d done it to help me, but hearing it was different. Hearing it made it real.

  "I’d planned on stopping by on the way home and slipping a hundred to the bartender to keep an eye out for you and call me if you showed up again."

  "Really???" Okay, so I know that I wasn’t all excited about being stalked by him like five minutes ago, but hearing that he was willing to pay $100 just to be told the next time I showed up at a nightclub was…flattering.