His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance

by Watson, Meg

“No, wait, I’ve heard about this…” I started, searching for the images that I had seen on the news. The Farnsworth camp was under investigation for trafficking underage girls and boys. There had been terrible stories from a few of the teenagers who had come back scarred and twisted, but they were met with the sort of derision only at-risk teenagers can understand.

  No one believed them for years since Fran Farnsworth was a bit of a hometown hero. He’d been a football coach for decades. But the stories wouldn’t stop, and a few of the teens never came back.

  It took dozens of reports corroborated by other teens before anyone would listen. By the time the story broke the old coach had conveniently gone mute after a devastating stroke, and one of his assistants had left the country. His disappearance was as sudden as it was predictable. He left a wife and three troubled children of his own. But not before laying the blame on the camp administrator, Micah Humboldt.

  “You found him?” I whispered, incredulous. “This is the Micah Humboldt who was on the news?”

  He nodded.

  “Rachel said it was a terrible time to be a child molester…” I said vaguely, my voice trailing off.

  Rafe drew a hand hard over his face. “I suppose I can take that as a compliment.”

  “But how are you…”

  “For all his shortcomings, Bronson possesses an unparalleled skill in finding people who do not want to be found. We had been looking for Micah for six months at least. Bronson liberated him from a fishing shack in Iowa.”

  “How?”

  “There are no secrets anymore, Julie. Anything you want to find out can be found out, if you’re willing to pay a high enough price.”

  He shrugged one shoulder, glancing at me, measuring my reaction. Was he waiting for me to cry? Crumple? Run from the room?

  The figure on the table let out a long, low groan. Rafe's hand drifted toward the plastic gate on the IV tubing, notching it open or closed, I couldn't tell. He had the efficient, practiced moves of a surgeon, and I couldn't help but admire the elegance and economy of his motions.

  “So this is… revenge?”

  Rafe shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he let out a deep breath.

  “This is justice,” he finally growled.

  Justice. I turned the thought around my mind. As the slender, bony figure shifted slightly under the restraints, I looked him up and down. He could have been anybody. Just some stranger on the street, or some barfly from back home. But he was worse: he was a man who had at least procured and sold teenagers to other men to do whatever they wanted. And he had probably done terrible things himself. Once this kind of person knew that their victims couldn't fight back, they generally seemed to lose all control.

  But here he was, captured. Helpless. How many other people had felt helpless once they realize they were trapped with him? Just regular hard-luck kids who thought they were getting a free chance at a summer camp? What had they thought about, the first time they realized what was really going down?

  I knew that feeling. I remember when my mother brought Ricky home the first time. I was seven. He was hilarious, trotting out magic trick after magic trick until I was convinced my ears were filled with quarters. By the time school started, he was living with us and mom told me to start calling him daddy. And then sometime soon after that, I started waking up with him in my room, silhouetted dark in the doorway against the feeble hallway light. And then sometimes he would be on the edge of my bed. And then sometimes I would wake up with his fingers creeping under my nightgown.

  When I told my mother, she called me a whore. Her eyes went wide and frantic, searching all around the small kitchen as though looking for answers there. She said I did it on purpose. She said I wanted him for myself. She said I ruined her life, and I realized later that I probably did.

  I cocked my head at Micah, feeling emboldened by his imprisonment. I could get right up and inspect him. Was there some kind of mark on him? Some kind of sign? I looked him all over as he was laying there, unconscious. He looked like a regular man, if smaller and more brittle than most. He looked like he'd been starving, maybe while he was hiding from Rafe. I tried to imagine what that was like for him, as though maybe he knew Rafe was coming for him. Did he feel safe in Iowa? It was easy to imagine Bronson all chummy and sly, coming up to talk to him like he did to me. Then taking him down, choking him out and tossing him in the back of the SUV. Suddenly the memory of that seemed less frightening. It seemed righteous.

  “You don't seem scared,” Rafe observed.

  I shook my head.

  “They always get away with it,” I whispered.

  Rafe took a deep breath, standing up under the lights, tall and strong and determined.

  “They don't always get away with it,” he growled. "Why would you say that?”

  I shrugged, suddenly shy. I wasn't going to be able to tell him about Ricky. The shame of my mother’s accusations still echoed in my heart even though rationally I knew that couldn't be true. But I could have been quiet a little longer, for her sake. I wish I would have.

  Suddenly he sighed. “Oh, Julie. I understand,” he said softly, turning to me fully. His eyes met mine and I felt that connection again, only this time I understood what it meant. He knew. He really had seen right to the middle of me, just as I had thought. He nodded as though answering a question I hadn’t asked.

  “Because of my… position, I am able to affect certain changes. What we are looking at now is nothing more than my duty. The authorities had been searching for Micah halfheartedly for two years. When coach Farnsworth had a stroke, the investigation was all but abandoned.”

  “You — you know this?”

  He raised his chin, casting his eyes toward the ceiling.

  “I have connections,” he said simply. “Sometimes a situation will get beyond the scope of good people who are trying to work within the social structure. I don't have to work within that structure. And so, regretfully… Occasionally it will fall to me to do the things they cannot.”

  I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he was saying.

  “You're telling me that people know? That he's here?”

  He cut his eyes toward me almost suspiciously. I stood my ground.

  “Are you telling me that you were asked to do this?”

  He spread his hands in front of him, palms up toward the ceiling. “Sometimes the only thing that can be done against evil, is evil. I can't tell you how much I regret the decisions that I have had to make —”

  “— like me?”

  He nodded slowly, standing to face me.

  “But I didn't do anything,” I shook my head.

  “No, you didn't. But that wasn't because you were being noble, Julie. Hm? Let's be honest. If Bronson hadn't… er, escorted you here, no matter how misunderstood the circumstance, you would've gone further down the path Rachel was leading you, now wouldn't you?”

  I wanted to object. A gasp caught in my throat and my jaw opened and closed several times. What could I say?

  “I'm — I'm nothing like this guy here,” I blurted out, gesturing at Micah. The tone of my voice must have reached him, and he began moving his head from side to side.

  “I'm very grateful that we reached you in time,” Rafe said in a low grumble.

  “No, it's not the same!” I yelled out, my voice rising and echoing throughout the room. “So Rachel sells a few pills here and there for extra money, that's not the same thing at all! Not the same thing as selling little children to pedophiles! It's just a few pills!”

  "No!” Rafe’s fist came down hard on the metal table, causing it to roll away and the body to slosh to one side. He took several steps toward me with his hands raised. I clutched my robe closed at my throat and turned my head away but didn't move.

  “Do you know what a junkie would do for pills?” he snarled so close to my ear that I could feel his breath blowing my hair back. “The weak, the desperate? Because Rachel knows. Because Gemma taught her! Rachel isn�
��t just selling you a party. She’s selling a nightmare… She’s selling torture like you can't even imagine!”

  “Gretchen?” I whispered. The word hung in the air as though we could both see it. Rafe quaked in front of me for several long seconds before letting his hands drop to his side.

  “Gretchen was weak,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with an immeasurable pain. “And I should've saved her. I would have, if I had known how badly — but I didn't see it. I didn't see it the way Gemma could see it. I know now that I didn’t want to see.”

  He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling then twisted away from me, pushing his hands through his hair and taking fistfuls viciously. The wound was obvious, and still fresh. I almost felt like I could see him bleeding on the inside.

  “It is the worst feeling in the world, to be helpless.”

  He trembled where he stood, and my heart broke to watch him. I had seen him so strong, so able. And now I knew all of that concealed damage so deep and fresh it must be killing him.

  “You're not helpless,” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  Suddenly he was all motion, action. He snapped the hem of his shirt down to straighten it, then slid a table close to his side. Reaching over Micah’s torso, he thumbed the IV gate until Micah began to groan louder and strain his bony shoulders against the leather strap.

  I took a single step back reflexively, staring wide-eyed at him and the stranger on the table. I knew that's how I looked. Pitiful, vulnerable, weak. Plain and naked. Micah couldn’t hide what he truly was under the lights of Rafe’s white chapel.

  Rafe walked slowly around the table, his hands clenching and relaxing at his side as he circled it. He stared down at the man, a slow, hungry smile spreading across his lips. The look was vicious and delighted all at once, like a lion with its prey under a heavy paw.

  Micah’s long hair clung to his forehead and bare shoulders, dripping with the cold sweat of terror. Rafe pulled the purple cloth off his eyes and Micah blinked frantically against the light, his eyes wildly darting around the room and then back to Rafe.

  My heart hammered in my ears as I remembered this feeling, slowly pulling together details, waking up strapped to the icy cold surface. I remembered the way the sound echoed in shards. Micah snarled against the cloth that was tight over his mouth, forcing his jaw apart. I could see his tongue pushing against the fabric.

  Rafe circled back, coming to stand in front of me. “This is what you wanted to see, Jolie.”

  I gave a quick nod, my eyes firmly on Micah’s. His whole life was changing, skittering sideways from whatever he had planned. This was his new, terrible reality, and it was as though I could see him assembling that fact as I watched.

  I was almost right there. At this point. And I almost deserved it.

  As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew Rafe was right. Rachel had convinced me to do whatever I needed to get by, even if I knew it was wrong. The justifications were so easy, so sneaky. And it had seemed like there wasn’t anything else. But hadn’t it always been like that? Ricky had convinced me to be quiet when I knew I shouldn’t. Travis had convinced me to accept his rough love. And every time I opened up my mouth I made it worse, my whole life.

  But that was the wrong way of looking at it - it wasn’t the truth-telling that made it worse, it was going down that path in the first place.

  “This is what I needed to see,” I whimpered, desperate and filled with remorse. This stripped man, waking up to the last terror he would know. His hips strained against the middle strap. His fingers splayed and I noticed he was missing one finger, the wound still fresh and red.

  “I know it’s hard,” Rafe whispered from behind me. His breath seemed to sink into my skin, then my spine, giving me strength. “It’s hard to truly confront what we are.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered for the hundredth time.

  “I know, Julie. I understand,” he said, filling me with comfort.

  A small, sharp noise sounded out behind me. Rafe drew his hand up with a large folding knife, revealing the blade with a smooth, practiced motion. He turned it in his hand with a strange sort of reverence, at once inspecting and worshiping it.

  He grabbed my hand then, and I pulled away quickly. “What a—“

  Rafe pushed the handle of the blade into my palm, forcing my fingers closed around it. I shook my head hard, giving it back to him the second he released my fingers.

  “No? What's the problem, Julie? I thought you wanted to know?”

  My heart thumped wildly, hard and seemingly out of time as the reality of the situation came crashing down on me. As much as I wanted to be beside Rafe, as much as I wanted to understand him, as much as I felt like I trusted him... this was still him.

  I'd been in denial. He was a killer, and he wanted me to be a killer too.

  “I don't want it. I don't want to. I can't, he doesn't...” I pointed to Micah. “You could turn him in, Rafe. You could let the police… It's wrong, this is... this is all wrong.”

  His words were even, measured, calm. “This man is scum, Julie. He’ll never stop, and sadly, the police have lost interest in stopping him. He is a cancerous tumor that will be excised from humanity. And this is what I do, Julie. I have to if no one else will.”

  He advanced slightly, and I couldn't help but shrink back as he held the knife in midair.

  “No one else is going to do it.”

  Rafe forced me to take the blade again, closing my fingers painfully tightly around the handle. Micah raised his head, now fully conscious. His eyes were shiny and wide, pleading. The gag kept back a muffled, terrified groan.

  “He knows now, Julie. Look at his face. He knew this was coming.”

  I stared at Micah and saw understanding spread across his features. All the confusion was gone. Rafe was right. Panic whitened his features. Micah’s eyes immediately shot to the shining length of the blade, going pale in horror. He shook his head hard and began pulling desperately at the straps, jogging the table left and right.

  Rafe stepped aside.

  He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear. “Do it. Do it now. He's filth. End it.”

  My body vibrated, waves of horrified tension washing over me. I knew that I could and no one would ever know. Micah’s crimes were disgusting, and I could easily imagine what he had put those kids through. He deserved it. Rafe was right.

  But I stared wide-eyed at the gurney, seeing my own hands and feet tied where his were.

  “I... I can't. Rafe, I can't.” I looked down to the blade, feeling oddly defeated. I had let him down. I felt weak, and even more helpless than I was when I was strapped there.

  He nodded slowly and held out his hand. Trembling, I laid the gleaming knife across his palm.

  “Please leave.”

  There was no anger in his voice, but there was no tenderness either. It was a simple command. He was back to business.

  Stepping backward over the cold tiles, I lingered at the doorway. My heart beat frantically against my ribs, the sound so loud it almost blotted out everything else. I clutched at the neck of my kimono and pressed my back flat against the closed door.

  Rafe glided toward one wall, returning to the gurney with a rolling cart. I couldn’t even see the blades, they were shrouded in the reflected glare of the lights. Micah jerked hard against the shoulder restraints, coming up nearly halfway as he strained. Rafe took a half step back and surveyed him dispassionately, his gaze taking in each restraint individually, assessing their sturdiness.

  Cocking his head to one side, Rafe listened to Micah’s screams crescendo. His bony ribcage heaved with every cry. Clawing pointlessly at the air, he pulled in all his limbs together, then thrust them all out, beating his elbows and heels against the steel. The sound echoed and rang through the white room, filling it with a macabre music.

  I found myself wishing he would just do it. Just end it. Make the screaming stop.

  Raf
e drew his hand over the selection of blades almost lovingly, curiously. He seemed to be taking his time about making a choice. Then his eyes crinkled in a smile and he reached out and flicked away the gag from Micah’s mouth. Instantly his screams filled the room, bouncing bloody from wall to wall. Rafe stared at him curiously as the sound peaked and then trailed off as suddenly as it started. Micah’s chest heaved frantically as he took in gulps of the last air he would ever have.

  Rafe leaned forward.

  “You know why you’re here, don’t you,” he said in a low, even voice. It wasn’t a question.

  “It wasn’t me!” Micah howled. “It was Fran! Fran had this… thing. He was crazy, man! He took me when I was young!”

  Rafe shook his head sadly. Leaning forward, he rested the heel of his palm against the table and raised his eyes level with Micah’s. They were only inches from each other.

  “You were one of the victims,” Rafe sighed sadly.

  “Yes!” Micah screamed. “I was! I had no choice! He made me…”

  Micah’s voice dissolved into racking sobs. His bony knees flexed and relaxed over and over as he tried to curl into a ball.

  “Micah, we all make choices,” Rafe said.

  “He made me! He made me!”

  Rafe nodded slowly.

  “If it’s any consolation, Micah, I believe you,” he sighed. Then he plucked the widest blade from the table and held it up in one hand almost casually, as though posing with a fishing rod or balancing a pendulum.

  “No!” Micah screamed. “NoooooOOOO!!!”

  The blade flashed so quickly, I barely saw it. There was a sound of contact as through Rafe had simply punched him square in the sternum. But the scream frayed and then drowned, wet and then silent.

  Rafe’s shoulders heaved several times. Suddenly he seemed out of breath. He leaned in very close to Micah’s now-silent body. When he stood again, a fine mist of red spatters covered him from his lower lip to the buckle of his belt.

  I knuckled my mouth closed, biting back the animal sound that wanted to come out of me.

  Rafe crossed the room toward me smoothly, like a cat. His arms came up and I pushed myself against the wall, afraid my knees were going to buckle underneath me.