Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  I didn’t respond, and she continued to stare, gauging my reaction. “Victoria, please tell me. Do you know him?”

  I blinked away from the screen and looked back at her. “He owns a club and a hotel, right?”

  “Marx hotel from memory, but I can’t recall the name of the club.”

  “Do you know if he frequents any of them in particular?”

  She shook her head. “No idea. I can try looking it up.”

  She picked the phone up and started to type away on the screen while I thought it over.

  He was alive.

  He was in the city.

  Hobbs was here, too.

  And Eman, I was sure of it.

  The crew were probably close behind.

  They’d be seeing each other somewhere. Probably a conference room in another…hotel.

  Feeling my body jolt, I jumped to my feet. Kim looked up from her phone, asking, “What’s going on?”

  “I need to go to that hotel,” I told her, racing to my room. I opened the drawers of my dresser and started leafing through clothing.

  Kim appeared at the doorway, watching me, her blue eyes round. “Why do you need to go there?”

  “Because that’s where he’ll be,” I told her. “Or, at least, one of them will be there.”

  “One of who?”

  I made a grunting sound in response. I didn’t have it in me to explain. She wouldn’t get it and I couldn’t waste time. Blowing out a hard breath, I shut my drawer violently and swung my eyes at her. “Do you have anything nice to wear that I can borrow?”

  She leaned against the doorway, lips flinching. “What sort of look are you chasing?”

  “A dress,” I explained. “A form fitting one. I want to show some cleavage, and some leg. I want to feel like…”

  Like me.

  Because that was me, wasn’t it?

  The clothes I was wearing now never fit right, never felt right. I missed feeling like a goddess.

  “I’ve got just the right dress,” she murmured, smiling at me now. “Do you need me to tag along, Vic?”

  I shook my head. “I have to do this alone.”

  *

  Marx hotel was huge, and it was opulent on the inside, but it looked aged on the outside. At night, it almost blended into the rugged street. Its lights were dim, its presence was unremarkable. There was a steady stream of people coming in and out. Some savoury people, others…not so much.

  I stepped out of my taxi and stood before the doors, feeling a mixture of nerves and butterflies in the pit of my belly. The only reason I was here was because I had to confront him. He was alive and he’d let me go, and I needed to understand why. Because living like this – feeling like I was breathing only a spoonful of air every few seconds – wasn’t going to go away until I had this resolved.

  It still hadn’t hit me that he was even alive. My body hadn’t caught up. My feelings were detached from me. None of it felt real.

  I could see my reflection in the glass doors as I approached them. I was in a white, long sleeve, deep plunge, bodycon dress that ended just above my knees. It was a super tight fit, Kim was skinnier than me, but it really showed my curves off and the fabric did well to smooth over the unflattering lumps in certain areas.

  The door opened just as I got to them, and a doorman stood before me, smiling kindly as he widened the door to let me through.

  “Good evening, Miss,” he said.

  I walked past him, smiling back. “Good evening.”

  I stopped in the middle of a large, marbled lobby and looked around. I was immediately out of my depth. This looked nothing like the hotel on the island. It was bigger, fuller, and there were signs everywhere, leading to reception rooms, cocktail rooms, seminars, private meetings and board meetings, and all sorts of functions.

  I halted, feeling swamped with shock.

  Okay, I didn’t know where to go, and now the lobby workers were staring at me curiously.

  I moved, my white heels a little tough to walk in because it’d been so long since I’d been this high off the floor – four inches to be exact.

  I did full laps around the hotel ground floor. I peeked through doors, walked in on seminars mid-way through. It was very apparent I was getting absolutely nowhere.

  I noticed cameras everywhere I went. Noticed how abnormally monitored this hotel was. For a fleeting moment, I had the most intense fear that maybe there was another girl he called his. Another girl in a pretty dress, trapped inside these walls.

  One such girl walked past me in the halls. I stopped moving in the opposite direction and trailed behind her, paranoia eating away at all reason. She was beautiful and tall. Her blonde hair flowed down her back. Her dress was the type he’d have bought and hung in the closet. I wondered, as I followed her, if her pussy was waxed, if my former bitch hairdresser Alessa had worked on her layers because she certainly put more effort in this goddess’s hair than mine.

  I eyed her bouncy walk. Her hips swayed back and forth like a hypnotic pendulum. So, Nixon had upgraded dramatically, I deduced. He’d found the perfect captive, and she didn’t even look miserable.

  Because she knew what she had.

  I wondered if he fucked her like he did me.

  If he forced her down, feeding her his cock. She wouldn’t have been stupid to reject him. She wouldn’t have spat curses like I did. She would have consented and, how cute, a full-blown consensual affair was transpiring. No lies spewed to hide emotion.

  I felt angry at this girl, and so fucking jealous.

  My jealousy lasted for a solid ten seconds before the girl let out a beautiful laugh, stopping by the restaurant area to wrap her arms around a man that was so not Nixon.

  I almost collapsed with relief.

  I’m so fucking crazy.

  I changed direction and found myself back in the lobby, back to being gawked at with curiosity by the girls at the front desk.

  So, I kept walking.

  As I began to turn into a random hallway leading who knows where, I spotted a well-dressed old dude waiting in front of the elevators. I immediately changed direction and joined him. I looked at him from my peripheral, noticed how remarkable his suit was, how expensive his watch looked, how fucking loaded in money he must have been.

  This was a long shot.

  I was probably wrong to think he was associated with Nixon in any way.

  But the old man peered at me from the corner of his eye, too, looking over my body in that hungry way I’d once gotten so used to.

  The elevator opened, and he stepped in. I pretended to roll my ankle, gasping in alarm as I fought to regain my balance. He played the hero, stepping out quickly to keep the doors open and to stand me upright again.

  “Oh, my God, thank you,” I said, flushing.

  He smiled. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  I stepped into the elevator, making sure I was a little closer to him than was normal. Of course, these elevators had interior mirrors on every side. Fuck my life. I got to watch him eye my ass before he redirected his gaze ahead.

  The elevator doors closed, and he looked at me, waiting expectantly for me to push a button. I smiled kindly. “You first,” I said. “The saviour always gets first dibs.”

  He laughed, louder than was necessary. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t like where I’m going.”

  I tossed my hair back. “And I’m afraid you wouldn’t like where I’m going, either.”

  This made him pause as he watched my face carefully now. “Are you one of the girls in the betting room?”

  Fucking jackpot.

  My smile brightened. “You the gambling type, mister?”

  His shoulders relaxed and he looked elated. “My, my, I can always depend on the gambling room to be frequented by the most beautiful girls.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  He winked at me – ew – and pressed the button to the ground floor.

  We rode down and a moment later the elevator doors opened for
us. As we stepped out, a cold breeze slammed into me. We were in the underground parking lot. I pretended to adjust my heels so he could overtake me and lead the way. Then I followed as he walked to the end of the huge parking lot and to a door.

  This was nothing like the island, either.

  It was kind of creepy.

  I hurried to his side now, knowing what direction we were going in, aware we would be faced off with some bodyguards, and they would not just let me through without questioning me. Unless, perhaps, I looked like I belonged to this guy.

  Taking a deep breath, I slid my arm around the old man’s and pressed my shoulder to his, whispering, “I think I need to hold you again, in case I fall.”

  He turned cherry red. “Hold on to me, honey, and don’t let go.”

  Eww.

  We got to the door and he used his cane – I didn’t even notice it before, what the fuck – to knock on it.

  Moments later, the door opened, and a face poked out. “Yes?”

  “Grant here, plus one,” old dude replied, smiling up at me with stars in his eyes.

  The door shut for a few moments, and then re-opened, this time wide enough to let us through. We squeezed past the bodyguard who’d given us a quick body pat before we went down a narrow staircase to another door.

  “Be a darling and open that for me,” Grant told me.

  With a shaky hand, I twisted the knob and turned.

  I asked myself what the fuck I’d gotten myself into the second it opened.

  50.

  Victoria…

  This place was like an underground club. The lights were dim as we stepped in, music blasted all around. There were people everywhere.

  But not normal people.

  I could smell the stench of crime in the air. Could see it in the faces of the savages that chatted from every table, from every corner. There was a bar area and a stage filled with dancers. These girls weren’t as modest as the ones on the island. They were almost completely nude, dancing provocatively as men salivated from their chairs, tossing money their way.

  Still wrapped in my arm, Grant steered me in another direction, moving through the crowd. I felt eyes lap me up. Felt the hands of men casually glide down my back, brushing against my ass, as Grant took me to another door. I felt sick by the time we got to it. This was all wrong. Not what I expected at all.

  I’d been too hasty.

  I should have just harassed the staff at Cabochon instead.

  The bodyguard at this door spoke to Grant, and when he explained who he was, the door opened straight away for us. We stepped into a room almost as large as the one we’d just been in, but instead, this room was bright and quieter. The gentle music was overwhelmed by the sounds of excited voices. There were gambling tables formed on one side, and a small dining area on the other.

  Now this, this was like the island.

  Except…I glanced at the people around the tables, at the black leather jackets, at the cuts on these jackets, and I felt the most intense bolt of fear shoot up my spine.

  This room was filled to the brim with bikers, and not just any bikers.

  The One Percent.

  “Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, already detaching from Grant, which was a grave mistake. Grant, my senile hero with the lecherous smile, had been my temporary protection.

  The second I let him go, heads swivelled in my direction. I stood alone as the old man trudged to one of the tables, and it had not gone unnoticed.

  I stood still, keeping my head held high. I refused to look back at the door, refused to let my emotions slip. I wanted to leave, but I’d been around the block in this kind of world to know that leaving so soon after I’d walked into a room surrounded by these sorts of men was suspicious as fuck.

  I looked around, pretended I was searching for a face in the crowd. There were ladies everywhere, some in the laps of bikers, others getting felt up by a man or two, but none – none – dressed like I did. They were dressed like they were crashing a house party, and I was dressed like I was about to crash a merrymaking cocktail event.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a gruff voice called out from the corner of the room. I turned to look at him, knowing for sure I was in deep shit. This guy was fucking huge. He sat on this elegant chair, almost like a fucking throne the way he owned it, literally pressed against the corner of the gambling side of the room. He was nursing whiskey from a hand that literally swallowed the glass he was holding. I noticed tattoos on that hand, noticed tattoos on his neck as well, some snaking all the way up to the back of his ear. It was probably all over his skull, too, hidden under inches and inches of ruffled blond hair.

  Okay, he looked pretty hot for a bearded biker.

  And familiar.

  Really familiar.

  It didn’t mean anything, though, because Roz had looked good, too, and look what a piece of shit he had turned out to be in the end.

  It startled me that I was thinking of Roz at a time like this.

  Hiding my nerves, I smiled, stating simply, “I’m in the wrong place.”

  Just as I turned to the door, he said curtly, “Not so fast.”

  Fuckity-fuck.

  I turned back to him, feeling my smile waver now. “Yes?”

  “Come here,” he demanded.

  Heads turned my way, watching me as I made the short trek over. I stopped before him, unable to look him in the eye. He was far too intimidating.

  “You picked a bad time to come here looking the way you do,” he said.

  “The Prez will want her,” one of the bikers said. “He said he wanted a nice piece of ass.”

  The biker in front of me looked me over. “Not sure he would like a woman this polished.”

  “We oughtta just put her in a room and let him decide.”

  A few murmurs of agreement followed.

  I shook my head quickly at the man in the chair. “I’m in the wrong place, believe me.”

  “Where are you supposed to be?” he asked curiously.

  “I was looking for someone.”

  “Yeah, who?”

  “Nicholas Cooper.”

  The room went quiet for a few moments, and then laughter erupted from all around. “What crack is this girl smoking?” one asked.

  “Just another girl trying to get in bed with an untouchable.”

  “You’re more likely to find the lost world of Atlantis than getting your hands on that one.”

  The only one that wasn’t laughing along was the guy on the chair. “Afraid that can’t happen,” he told me. “He doesn’t like to be seen on such short notice.”

  “Then I guess I’ll come back later,” I quickly replied, taking a step back. My back slammed into a hard chest and arms wrapped around me.

  “The Prez will like this one,” the man gripping me said.

  “Like I said,” the man on the chair retorted, “she’s too polished.”

  “Isn’t that for him to decide? Look at this bitch. She’s so clean, I bet her pussy’ll taste like a rainbow.”

  “I assure you it doesn’t,” I whimpered.

  The man holding me growled, “What floor’s Prez on again?”

  “In the penthouse suite,” someone told him. “The first door.”

  Stares settled on the man in the chair, waiting for his final say. He leaned back, tearing his eyes off me before gesturing with his hand for me to be taken away.

  The man yanked me back and steered me to the door. I tried to resist before he peered down at me just before he opened the door and warned, “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and I’m thinking you won’t be too fond of the hard way, buttercup.”

  I stopped resisting.

  *

  He dragged me into the elevator, and we rode up floor after floor. His grip on my arm was bruising. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to fight the tears in my eyes. Two times the doors opened to let people on, but the second they saw us, they stepped back and let the doors close back on their faces.
r />   This was a very bad place.

  People turned the other cheek.

  “I really think you should let me go,” I said quietly, trembling now.

  The biker gripping me let out a scoff. “Why should I do that?”

  “If something happens to me, people will know.”

  He cackled now. That was hilarious, apparently. “And I think you should shut the fuck up. If you wanna live, you’ll do as you’re told.”

  “Please, mister, I know you guys aren’t all bad.”

  “Save your breath,” he retorted as the doors slid open on the top floor.

  He dragged me to a door and began pounding on it. I bent over as we waited for the door to be answered. “The fuck you doing?” he asked me, annoyed.

  I sucked in air. “Just having a panic attack.”

  “Well stand up straight so Prez can see you.”

  I groaned, forcing myself to stand upright. My head swam. I looked at the biker – another pretty one – as he glared at the door. “I’m going to vomit, mister.”

  “Shut up,” he told me.

  “I’ve been in these situations before, you know, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

  Now he gave me an odd look. I was talking crazy. I felt crazy. I couldn’t stop thinking how stupid I was. Did I honestly expect this place to be like the one on the island? That I’d breeze into the room and there the crew would be, cheering as they saw me? That Nixon would fall to his knees and declare how much he missed me? In this fantasy, he had a really great excuse for not telling me he was alive.

  Fat tears fell from my eyes. “I’m sort of thinking maybe your Prez isn’t home.”

  Ignoring me, the biker pounded on the door again, calling out, “Prez!”

  A loud curse sounded on the other side. I went tense and my knees buckled. He was definitely there, and I was screwed.

  The door opened a moment later, and there the Prez stood, white beard to his chest, fat gut hanging out – definitely not the stuff of biker romance.

  “I got you a girl.” The guy sounded proud.

  The Prez swung his old, cataract eyes at me. “She’s different.”