CAPTURE — Wrecked Innocent (The Billionaires Club Book 5)

by Q. Zayne

  Lucas went ashy. He looked shocked to his soul. “Oh, no. No, no, no. No killing, no damage. The hunting, the weapons, all of it is designed like a big old role-playing game for grownup boys. Kind of like those war enactments some people do. A big deal with all kinds of attention to detail. I think the whole thing here is a kind of fetishism, hell, several kinds.”

  I stared at him. He made some kind of sense, but the whole thing gave me the creeps in a bad way.

  “What’s the point of the whole thing?”

  “The game requires the capture of the beautiful woman who signed Gabe’s contract.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking you.”

  “Think of all the books and movies and stuff on TV with some woman in danger. There’s usually a chase scene, and you know in the horror flick she’s going to look back and fall. The thrill of the woman being hunted, overtly or in some subtler way, is a mainstay in entertainment. It was so popular so long in the publishing industry they had a term for it, womjep, short for woman in jeopardy. It’s big because it sells. I suppose it ties into some atavistic lizard brain fixation on the hunt and the most uncivilized forms of rutting, the animal level. No thought, no courtship, just take. Spear that vulnerable opening and pass on the seed. Surveys of women show that rape fantasies remain popular. With college students, too, we’re not talking the downtrodden here.” He met my eyes with a serious expression, his handsome face heart-piercingly earnest. “We are discussing fantasy, not actual criminal acts and traumatizing harm to women. The hunt and its erotic elements offer a special form of satisfaction. It’s a combination of sex and violence that may be hardwired into the species, and no matter how hard people try to repress it and hide it, it always resurfaces.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.” His analysis and earnest presentation got under my guard, made it all less personal. And he impressed me. I could spend all day listening to the man talk. He wasn’t only panties-creaming hot, he was smart.

  “As reprehensible as the realities are, we see this sexual violence in situations where the usual restrictions of civilization fall away, in gang behavior and in war. In contrast, certain men are drawn to enact power over women in ways that don’t inflict harm. They may enjoy causing pain, but pain within limits, pain with consent, pain that tends to heighten arousal for all during peak experiences. The states attained are not unlike those achieved during physically intense spiritual rites. Flagellation, piercings, many extreme acts lead to states beyond ordinary consciousness.” He smiled and looked at his hands, seeming self-conscious. “You aren’t the only one who wants to understand what Gabe does and why he does it.”

  I got a flicker that Lucas loved Gabe, in that powerful way men sometimes let themselves love each other, even in our messed up, homophobic society.

  “So you think it’s safe.”

  “Well, if you think about it, nothing is safe. Your trip around the world isn’t safe.” He shrugged, his big shoulder muscles working his whole sexy body. “It’s sure not painless. A lot of these men are sadists all the way. I suppose that’s what brought them together. They’re the powerful men who don’t run true to type. Instead of looking for a dominatrix or mommy-figure, they get their relief by wielding their power on a helpless girl. Helpless in quotation marks. Again, we’re enacting fantasy here.” He gave me a stern glance.

  I nodded, beyond speech, my brain struggling to grasp what he told me about Gabe and his billionaire buddies. It seemed important to him that I understand the intents were erotic and not psycho-killer or just plain chauvinistic craziness. I liked that in him. And I liked Lucas more than I wanted to. His full lips looked as though they’d be soft as rose petals on mine. He made pictures in the air with his big hands. He had sensitive musician’s hands. They looked like they’d be gentle. I wished I had my curves back and his hands were slipping under my clothes to explore them.

  I looked out to sea, recalling my mission, fighting the attraction I didn’t want to feel. My face felt way too hot. I leaned forward, hiding my burning cheeks with my hair.

  “Tell me what happens, Lucas, please. During the — game.”

  “You'll be hunted. It’s for real. They spread out through the jungle and track you. But they aren’t allowed any tech — no tracking devices, no infrared goggles, no peeking at the surveillance monitors back at the house. They aren’t allowed to use tasers or any unauthorized equipment that wasn’t designed for the game. All the hunters are frisked by staff before going out in the field. They aren’t allowed phones or coms of any type, so they can’t signal your location to each other except by voice or non-tech signals, such as old-fashioned trail-marking. The point is to give the prey a sporting chance. They will do everything they can to find and capture you, but it’s all old-school, on the ground hunting.”

  “That’s a relief, I guess.”Given the sophistication of Gabe’s lair and the boat, there’d be no game if tech was allowed. The prey would be captured in seconds. No fun it that, so like a cat playing with a mouse, they set it up to draw out the torment, make it last. Play with their food. What if they were cannibals. No, that was crazy. I’d seen too many horror movies. And read too many books on serial killers. Horrific details were seared into my brain.

  “During the game, when they sight you, the members will shoot you with painful darts. Their guns have projectiles that hurt and mark your skin. Scanners read each hunter’s code in the marks and tally points based on the target zones on your body.”

  “Keep talking,” I said with ice in my voice. “How could Gabe think I’d do this? This is such offensive crap. Let me guess, boobs, butt and V get the highest scores!”

  “Yes.” Lucas averted his eyes.

  I knew it. What were they, a bunch of adolescents? Why didn’t they just beat their meat to some girlie mags and leave me the fuck out of it? Because they were freaking billionaires.

  “He’s out of his mind. Why the hell should I cooperate?” I ranted, my voice rising. My hands shook, as much from fear as outrage. I could imagine myself running through that jungle, hit in the most vulnerable, intimate parts of my body by men shooting at me for fun. Shooting to cause me pain and get their rocks off. I wanted to scratch Gabe’s face. Hell, I wanted to slug him.

  Lucas raised his brows and looked down at the beach. The Amazon rocked in her moorings between the house and the huge rock covered in cormorants. No doubt Gabe put it in my line of sight to keep his bait at the front of my mind. Lucas gestured to the boat with his chin. He didn’t have to say a word.

  I shut up. He had me. They all had me. Damn Gabe.

  I jerked up from my seat and leaned out over the railing. For a heady moment, I imagined stealing the boat. Aside from the absurdity of trying to steal something that technologically advanced, there was no way I could evade capture by a bunch of billionaires. And trying to evade them, if by some miracle I even got away from the island, would destroy my shot at completing my trip around the world. I had priorities. Deflated, I sank to my knees.

  Lucas sat beside me and tucked his long legs into a tailer’s seat. He reached out and took my hand.

  I looked at my hand, so small and pale in his. It was like I’d never seen it. His touch mended me like magic. Better than the doctor. I rested my head against his big, strong shoulder and let out all my fear and worry in a sigh.

  “Bottom line, Lucas. They’re going to fuck me.” My voice came out small.

  “Well, yeah.” He sounded so matter of fact, as though he was surprised I needed to bring up something so obvious. “The one who captures you. Unless he’d rather whip you or something, but sure, once a hunter catches you, sure, he’s going to fuck you. It might be a team capture. Six of the hunters brought down the last girl. They banged her every way that six men can stuff a girl and most of them had seconds. She was limping when they finished, but she had a smile on her face. They caught her by noon. Gabe thinks you might give them a run until dinner. That would be phenomenal!” He sounded so admiring.
<
br />   “Huh.”

  Their high opinion of me would have been pleasing if they weren’t treating me like a prize race horse, or a fox. Or a whore. A super crazy whore. One who’d agree to be banged for a boat. That amounted to a lot of money in whore dollars, so maybe the mysterious billionaire found my price. They say everyone can be bought. Gabe had the power to make my dreams come true. Hell, maybe if I won this thing I’d have the nerve to ask him if he’d help Dad.

  Lucas stretched, the sun loving his rippling muscles. He seemed comfortable in silence. I liked that. My gaze returned to The Amazon, the key to everything.

  Gabe said they developed that boat. My boat. Maybe he or one of his buddies had a bead on cutting-edge cancer treatments. I bet billionaires didn’t have to go through the horse shit regular patients did. Maybe I’d ask even if I lost. I wasn’t sure if he had any heart at all, but after he put me through losing my virginity to a stranger — or to him — oh hell, would Gabe hunt me, too? The nails of my free hand dug into my palm. After the hunt, when I looked him in the eyes, standing there broken between the legs because of him, would he refuse to help save my father’s life? If he did, maybe I’d slug him. No point getting ahead of myself. One step at a time, as Dad said. Just tackle what’s in front of you.

  I could do this. I could run and I could hide — and I’d fight back. I’d survive. I owed it to Dad. I owed him everything. I’d see this through to the end and get that boat. And damn straight I’d never tell anyone. I didn’t need pages of non-disclosure clauses to want to keep my mouth shut about letting a bunch of men hunt me like a wild pig. A bunch of men any of whom could have me exterminated at a word, any time, any where.

  At least, not till I was super fucking old and they were all too long dead to mess with me.

  Tracked in the Jungle

  A shower put me in a better frame of mind. A curvy, doe-eyed young woman dressed me in a black lace half-cup bra and thong set. She helped me into a body-hugging black evening gown that slid over my skin like a cool waterfall. My nipples perked up and I tingled between the legs. She hummed while she brushed my hair. I envied her apparent contentment.

  She made up my face, too. Her touch as soft as butterfly wings heightened my arousal. Her attentions took me back to early fantasies of women preparing me to be deflowered by a sheik. They bathed and anointed me, dressed me in fine, filmy material and presented me to the man who held ultimate power of his women. The glam evening makeup changed me, gave me a doll-like, yet sultry look. Until this, wearing I only wore makeup for proms.

  The lovely woman stood back, smiling as she surveyed the effect of my paint job and my hair falling smoothly to my ass.

  With my brows plucked and lips painted red, and all my bones sticking out in approved magazine cover fashion, I didn’t look at all like me. My cheekbones, collarbones, and hipbones jutted out so far they cast shadows. My breasts shrank so much from weight loss and becoming so toned all over, I bet I could put on a baggy T and jeans, cut my hair, and pass for a boy. Some men went for that. But in the evening gown that plunged to the base of my spine and showed off what was left of my heart-shaped ass, I was all woman.

  I did a turn in the dress and the woman giggled, rushed toward me and patted my hair into place. Yes, keep the good presentable for the pasha.

  She nodded and left me. Her hair swayed as she walked. It was much shinier than mine.

  I barely knew myself. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. My freckles and my hungry eyes gave me away. Still me, after all.

  I never in my life thought I’d fuck for money, but when it came down to life or death, Dad’s life or death, yeah, I’d do that.

  Gabe joined me for a private dinner on the balcony, served by an impeccably-dressed muscular Latino man who I suspected doubled as a body guard. Like other people I’d encountered on the island, he related to Gabe as a friend, not a servant.

  “Thank you, Eduardo. Tell Renee she has outdone herself.”

  After making sure we had everything we required, the man left us to feast on our own.

  I didn’t talk much over dinner. The sumptuous food kept me fully occupied. It had been so long since I’d eaten anything so delicious, it was just as well Gabe seemed to enjoy watching me eat without requiring conversation. I cleaned my plate. I wouldn’t have minded licking it except my upbringing prohibited that.

  We finished and Gabe put the dishes on the tray. I liked that. Here he was, outrageously wealthy, but he didn’t call a servant for every little thing. The people around him seemed to be super happy with their jobs. He couldn’t be a horrible person, could he?

  “What a meal! Thank you. You have an amazing staff.” A meal made by cheerful people, from fresh, delicious food. Such a difference from the denatured food sold in supermarkets and fast food joints. Everything I ate came to being at the creative direction of Renee and her team of retro-costumed beauties.

  I forced myself to remember my manners. I was overdue to thank my host, no matter how much his proposition pissed me off. Thanks to Gabe I’d had a warm bed to sleep in, hot tub jets to ease my sore muscles, wonderful food, the luxury of a suite of rooms with a view of the sea. I’d watched frolicking seals, a pod of whales and pelicans flying near.

  Remembering the kitchen women helped put me at ease — the compound wasn’t at all what I expected. It wasn’t some dirty old men’s club. Would Renee, the woman in charge of the kitchen, be part of something super bad? Well, there had been killer couples, horrific female serial killers, and girls and women who served as accomplices to horrible, sadistic men. And these billionaires were unapologetic sadists. Hurting girls for jollies was recreation for them.

  “You look worried, Angie.”

  “Wouldn’t you be worried?” I sipped a Malbec that kept delivering more flavors to my tongue. I’d gotten spoiled in New York where the drinking age was 18. When I returned to California, it was surreal to realize people my age could get drafted but we couldn’t buy alcohol. I supposed on his private island, the drinking age was whatever age Gabe said.

  He frowned, as though seriously thinking through my questions.

  “Yes, I suppose I would be. I guess it comes down to whether you trust the person making the proposition. We just met, so we don’t have much basis for trust.” He spread his arms, as though to indicate our opulent surroundings. “Obviously, I have no reason to cheat you. I assure you, I’m a man of my word. The boat is yours upon the condition that you participate in the game. As I said, your participation gains you the boat free and clear. You don’t even have to win.” His blue-green eyes sparkled. He seemed confident he was offering me the world. He might even know about my dad. How difficult would it be to scan my Id and do a search on all my details? There were devices that could do it without getting near your chip.

  I laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, closer to the sound a rooster might make before getting its throat cut. I felt queasy.

  He cocked his brow.

  “As if the prey ever wins. It’s like saying the fox could win a fox hunt, surrounded by men on horses and packs of dogs. It’s disgusting.” I’d intended to rein my anger, but being scared pissed me off. Not much scared me. I’d faced a lot of hard shit early in life. It took a lot to rattle me. But Gabe rattled me like some macabre instrument made with toe bones. Fucker.

  “We don’t use dogs,” he said in all seriousness.

  I cracked up. I couldn’t help it. I had to squeeze my legs together tight to keep from peeing. The whole scene was crazy. I sat there with a billionaire, wearing a dress that must have cost more than all the clothes I’d ever owned put together, a dress that caressed my body at the slightest movement, and he in all seriousness assured me he didn’t use dogs when he hunted women.

  Once I mastered myself, I dared a glance at him. His face wore a business man mask, eyes gone distant. What did the cormorants and pelicans do at night? What was I going to do to get off this island? I sighed.

  “You swear you’ll give me t
he boat when it’s over and I’ll be okay? Not injured or dead?”

  Spots of color rose in Gabe’s cheeks and the rest of his face drained of color.

  “Hell no. What kinds of barbarians do you take us for?”

  I looked him right in the eyes. He had the grace to look away. We were, after all, discussing a group of billionaires hunting me down for sport. Shooting my girl bits for thrills and game points. And doing whatever they wanted to me once they caught me, including popping my cherry and defiling me in any manner. Though I hadn’t mentioned my virginity, it seemed scarcely the time to raise the issue. The stakes were on the table: my participation in his sicko game for the boat. My hymen and my father’s health were hardly likely to interest the man who assessed me as a game piece with such unfathomable deep blue-green eyes.

  Yet I believed Gabe was being honest with me. He spoke of a contract, everything detailed and agreed upon, my part in the show and the compensation of the boat.

  He cleared his throat. “If it helps you feel any better, our doctor — my friend Eustace whom you met yesterday — will be on hand and monitoring all the events.”

  “All the events.” I took a deep breath. “How long does this hellish game go on?”

  “Dawn to dusk. We give you a two hour head start.”

  “To be sporting.” I twisted the words with sarcasm.

  “Yes. Of course, you’re welcome to explore the island ahead of time. Familiarize yourself with the trails, resources and terrain. That’s what I’d do.” His face had closed down and his voice had a reserve that hadn’t been there before. I’d wounded him.

  It was a revelation that my low opinion of him and his sport had the power to hurt him to his core. It shocked and gratified me. I was so furious I wanted to do it again, hurt him and hurt him and hurt him until he lost all desire to ever hurt another girl again.

  But in a secret way, curiosity surged in me. I felt excited. Lucas intrigued me with his talk of states reached by physical intensity. I wanted to know why a man as devastatingly attractive as Gabe, a man who literally had freaking everything, who owned a piece of the world to an extent most people couldn’t even imagine — why did such a man want to treat me this way? Beyond being a pervert. What was that wound at his core? Not that different sexual tastes necessitated having a wound, but I sensed Gabe was a damaged man. Deeply damaged. But he’d backed me into a corner and I resented him for that. No amount of being a good host or offering me an awesome beyond belief space-age boat could quite trigger forgiveness. He had me at his mercy. What kind of man wielded his power in this way against a shipwrecked girl? The bastard, the dead-hearted camel-humping bastard.