Captured: Claimed Book 3

by M James

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I stare up at him. “Vincent, I—”

  He moves forward, pinning my arms down with his knees, and I cry out. “Vincent!”

  “Shut up,” he hisses. “Or do you want me to go downstairs and see if your sister wants a taste? She’s developed an appreciation for the finer things. Maybe my associates are right, and the younger ones are easier to handle.”

  For a brief, terrifying moment, I think I’m going to puke all over him. Terror washes over me—for me, for Erin, and I feel myself sinking further, despair flooding me.

  He grips himself, slapping the tip against my cheek. “Open up. I’m not going to ask again. Be a good wife, Poppy, suck my cock and swallow my cum.”

  I’m not his wife yet. But the distinction doesn’t matter. He still owns me.

  It’s never been more clear.

  I look up at him with tear-filled eyes, this man I used to love that I don’t recognize anymore, and I open my mouth.

  2

  Zach

  I fucking hate hospitals.

  This one is even worse, with nurses running around speaking Italian. I don’t understand a damn thing anyone is saying. All I know is I have to be here because Sonya wants me here, and I have to stay at her side like a good little puppy.

  Vincent is gone, at least, and normally that would make me feel relieved. But it doesn’t because I’m almost certain he’s gone back to the estate.

  Where Rain is.

  My Rain, except she isn’t.

  The thought of him speaking to her, touching her, causes a feeling I haven’t felt since my father and mother?

  Rage?

  I was in the room when he tried to wake her up yesterday when he tried to fucking shake her awake while she was still unconscious. He wouldn’t even have a doctor look at her. All of his focus was on his father, and Rain was just pissing him off.

  We’d listened to him rant about it the entire way to the hospital, about how weak she was, how selfish, demanding attention at a time like this, trying to make it all about her. As if she’d fainted on purpose.

  Erin is back at the mansion, too, confined to her room until Vincent figures out what to do about the fact that she let Matteo into the back garden. That worries me, too—Vincent isn’t the sort of guy to take something like that on the nose.

  All of that means that I’m worried about three things—Rain, her sister, and keeping my “girlfriend” from realizing that anything is off with me, all the while still needing to focus on my actual fucking job. My job isn’t supposed to be worrying about the women around me. It’s supposed to be figuring out what the fuck Vincent Jamison is doing in Italy and how Sonya factors into it and bringing this whole goddamn operation down. But of course, I can’t get Rain out of my head.

  I haven’t been able to since I kissed her last night.

  God, it felt good. She was sweeter than I remembered, softer, her whole body arching into mine like a flower opening up for the sun, as much as I hate that comparison after finding out what Vincent calls her. Poppy. He can’t even call his future wife by her own fucking name. I don’t know why he calls her that. I thought it was a term of endearment at first, but she clearly hates it. And I want to know why.

  Another distraction. Another thing that has nothing to do with what I’m supposed to be focusing on.

  I walk back into the hospital room, feeling the tension winding through every part of my body. My shoulders and neck ache and my eyes feel gritty from no sleep. Sonya is sitting next to Ezio’s hospital bed. Her face is more tired than I’ve ever seen it, makeup-free but still beautiful, her lips pale. Her hands are knotted together in her lap, her hair pulled back in a bun, and it’s the least put-together I’ve ever seen her.

  I’m pretty sure that I’m seeing the secret Sonya here, unfiltered and raw, just a niece terrified for her uncle. And she should be—no one is sure if Ezio is going to make it. He had a massive heart attack, and from what’s been translated to me, the doctors are very concerned. He might never wake up.

  On the other side of the bed is Gianna, more elegant and self-possessed than Sonya right now, but I’m sure for her that’s something that goes bone-deep by this point. Wives of crime bosses like Ezio of her generation never let a hair out of place, never let a single piece of their emotions show unless in private, and if necessary. They were solid cornerstones, every single one of them. I’ve heard the older guys in the agency talk about how they were impossible to break. How they’d never roll over on their husbands, never breathe a word of anything. But they were always polite to the end. Never cursing, never yelling, never breaking their icy elegance. Powerful and tight-lipped to the very end, monoliths of women. Gianna is one of the last of those women, wives who will protect their husbands and families with poise and grace, all while remaining in their appointed place.

  Sonya, on the other hand, would go down shouting and cursing, threatening everyone around her. It doesn’t make her any less powerful, though. Her power is in the fact that she’s willing to be every bit as brutal as the men, every bit as cruel, every bit as vulgar. Gianna would never want to be one of them. Sonya wants nothing else.

  It’s interesting to see these two women flanking Ezio’s unconscious body—two powerful women from the same family, with very different goals and very different ways of accomplishing them. Two generations, united in their singular desire to see the man they love, a husband, father, and uncle, open his eyes again and take up his rightful place as the patriarch of the family.

  If he dies, it will be a shit show. With Ezio gone, Vincent is poised to take over, but I know Sonya isn’t about to let that happen without a fight. She believes that she should inherit it, and speaking from a purely neutral standpoint and not as an FBI agent, I can’t say she’s wrong.

  If I were in this business, I’d want that woman running everything. She actually scares me sometimes, to be completely honest.

  On the other hand, Vincent seems to be teetering on the edge of madness, so power-hungry that he might just take everything down with him if he’s not careful. And I need to be focused on that, ready to exploit it.

  Not thinking about Rain and how good her lips felt under mine.

  Not thinking about how Vincent is still in her bed, still engaged to her, still planning to marry her.

  To take her away from me forever.

  I need to remember that she’s not meant to be mine. Not ever again. I lost her, and there’s no getting her back.

  There’s only bringing down the man who wants to hurt her. And then I need to walk away—from Rain, from Sonya, from all of it.

  I’ll ask the FBI to transfer me, after this, I think, watching Sonya reach up to push a lock of her uncle’s hair out of his face. Somewhere warm, maybe. Florida. Somewhere that I can chase drug-runners and sit out on the beach afterward with a daiquiri, watching girls in bikinis walk by. Somewhere that maybe, I can finally fucking forget about Rain.

  I loved her what feels like a million years ago, I remind myself, for what feels like the millionth time. There’s no reason to still be hung up on it now.

  Except for the fact that she seems to be in my blood, in my bones, sunk into me in a way that I’d thought only ever came with matrimony, and not even then. We’re knitted together, it seems, in a way that I didn’t know was possible. A way that hurts to lose, like ripping out a part of myself alive and breathing.

  Still, it’s a necessary surgery, and I know it.

  Sonya stands up, walks over to me. “Do you think he’s going to make it?” she whispers, her arms going around my chest as she leans against me, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. She rests her head against me, and I breathe in the scent of her without perfume, unwashed, the smell of slightly stale skin and too-worn clothes. She’s more human now than she’s ever been, and it tugs at something in me. I guess some men can fuck a girl without giving a single shit about her, but maybe I’m not made like that. Because I can’t help but feel for her, just a lit
tle, even knowing what kind of person she is.

  “I hope so,” I say quietly, smoothing a hand over her hair. And I actually mean it. Because if Ezio dies, pitting Vincent and Sonya against each other for the inheritance, I have a feeling that the dominoes are going to begin to fall in a way that I won’t be able to control.

  And in a way that will put Rain and Erin in even more danger than they already are.

  3

  Rain

  I feel numb after Vincent leaves me. I lay there for several long minutes after the door shuts behind him. Then slowly, I force myself up to a sitting position and then make myself swing my legs out of bed, taking one step at a time across the floor towards the bathroom.

  My jaw aches, and I can feel bruises starting to form on my chin where he grabbed me and on my upper arms where he knelt, pinning me down. My skin feels itchy from his touch, and I turn on the taps for the shower the moment I walk into the bathroom, eager to wash him off of me. I let it get as hot as I possibly can and then get underneath the water, opening my mouth to let the scalding spray hit my tongue and wash the taste of him out of my mouth.

  I can’t wait to go back to New York, and that makes me feel bad too because I don’t want to wish this kind of treatment on any other woman. I think he would have come to me tonight no matter what—it wasn’t about pleasure, but about reminding me who is in control here. But the rest of the time—if there were someone else, he probably wouldn’t choose to fuck me.

  There was a time when that would have stung, but now I’m grateful for any reprieve. I hope he’s gentler with the other women. His treatment of me is specifically because he can, because he wants me submissive to him, a passive wife-to-be. Because of all the ways he thinks I’ve failed him.

  It’s the only way I can live with all of it, anyway—believing that he’s nicer to them.

  I stay under the water for as long as I can, scrubbing myself two and then three times, until my fingers start to wrinkle and I start to feel a little light-headed from the heat. When I can’t stand it any longer, I turn off the water and wrap myself in one of the thick towels, focusing on the small things that I need to do to be presentable enough to leave my room and go talk to my sister. God forbid Vincent sees me wandering around the house in sweatpants or some shit like that. He’d probably have an aneurysm.

  Although in the end, that would probably be the best outcome for me. Just not the rest of my family.

  I do my makeup, not for Vincent but to hide the blooming bruises on my chin, though. I carefully layer on foundation and concealer until it would take a close look to pick up on the discoloration, and then quickly braid back my wet hair, picking out a silk peplum shirt with elbow-length, fluttery sleeves that will hide the marks on my upper arms, along with a pair of dark jeans and designer sandals. I take one look in the mirror and stifle a humorless laugh.

  I can’t help but wonder if there’s a catalog somewhere for women like me—kept women about to be or already married to men who can’t stop hurting them or sticking their dicks in everything else that moves.

  My huge engagement ring glitters in the lamplight, and I glance down at it, feeling a shudder of disgust. I’d thought it was so beautiful once, but now I can barely remember when I was happy to wear it. When Vincent proposed to me in front of a crowd of all of his friends, I had no idea that I wasn’t the only one or what was in store for me in the months to come. It’s the last time I can even vaguely remember feeling truly happy.

  So much has changed. I’ve changed. And I have nothing to anchor myself to anymore. Nothing to get me back to the person I once was.

  I walk down the hall to Erin’s room, glancing around to make sure that Vincent won’t catch me before I tap on the door. I’m not sure entirely what’s going on, but I’m almost certain that Erin is on his shit list for her part in the whole disaster.

  “Go away,” Erin mutters from the other side of the door. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  I turn the knob anyway, but it’s locked. “Erin, it’s Rain. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice sounds flat and sullen, and I wonder if Vincent has already talked to her—or eviscerated her, more like. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Erin, we need to talk.” I try to make my voice sound as serious and no-nonsense as possible, which is tough when my sister doesn’t fucking listen to me anymore. “Come on, just open the door.”

  “Why, so you can tell me how stupid I was?” I can hear the resentment coloring her tone, and it hurts. After all, I’ve been stupid about men, too. That’s how we ended up in this situation. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care.”

  “I’m not going to lecture you, Erin. I just need to talk to you.”

  There’s a long silence on the other side, and finally, I hear the sound of the door unlatching. Erin opens it slowly, and I slip inside, smoothing my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  She looks at me suspiciously. Her hair is loose, long, and silky around her face, and I think for the millionth time how much she looks like a younger version of me. It makes Vincent’s comment earlier about going to Erin instead of me for his pleasure that much worse. I shudder just thinking about it because I’m not sure I’d put it past him anymore. Not all that long ago, I would have thought never, he’d never do anything like that, but now I’m not certain. I’m not certain of anything.

  I know I have to tread carefully with Erin, or she’s going to shut down. She’s already withdrawn away from me so much, lured in by the glamor and sparkle of Vincent’s life. “I just want to understand,” I say hesitantly, sitting down on the edge of the pretty blue-and-white bed. “What happened tonight?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Erin says sulkily, sitting as far away on the opposite edge as she can.

  “I understand a lot more than you think?” I sigh, trying to be as patient as I can.

  “You have Vincent. You’re marrying him. You have everything you want. You don’t remember anymore what it’s like to be lonely or want someone to love you.”

  If only she knew. It makes my heart ache to realize all over again how wrong Erin is about my life. How perfect she thinks it is when it’s actually anything but. “I love you, Erin. Mom loves you. You know that.”

  “Not that kind of love.” Erin looks at me as if she thinks I’m stupid. Maybe she does. “I want a guy to love me.”

  “And you think that guy loves you?” I ask, trying my best not to come off as condescending.

  Erin hesitates. “I don’t know,” she says with a huff, crossing her arms. “But he wants me. And that’s close enough.”

  Oh god. No, no it’s not. I don’t know if I want to hug my little sister or shake her at this point, but I do know one thing. I wish Vincent had beaten the shit out of Matteo last night or killed him. Whatever it took to make sure he never showed his face around here or to my little sister again.

  “Erin, lust and love aren’t the same things.” I hesitate. “Have you talked to mom about all of this? Before Italy, I mean. About boys.”

  Erin sighs dramatically. “I thought you said you weren’t going to lecture me.”

  “I’m not,” I assure her quickly. “I’m just trying to talk to you. To understand.”

  “Of course I don’t talk to mom about boys.” Erin shakes her head with disgust. “She has so much going on with dad,” she sighs, then her eyes cut at me. “Besides, did you talk to mom about boys?” She asks accusingly.

  I try to think back. Erin’s right about that. I didn’t. But, for me, there weren’t boys. There was only one boy, a boy with floppy blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes, an old car, and a promise.

  A promise to protect me, no matter what.

  A promise that, in the end, he couldn’t keep.

  A man now, not a boy. A man with hard muscles and stubble on his chin sometimes, a man who could keep that promise, who could sweep you away from here if you found a way to convince him, who really could protect you now— />
  Erin looks at me curiously. “I don’t remember you bringing a load of guys. Other than Marcus and —” her eyes go round suddenly, and I can see the wheels in her head turning, putting two and two together.

  “Oh my god,” she whispers, scooting onto the bed towards me, Matteo and all of her animosity forgotten in this new revelation. I know exactly what she’s about to say, and it makes my stomach turn with absolute, blood-freezing fear. Because Erin could be the end of all of us if I can’t get her to keep her mouth shut.

  “Zach.” She stares at me; I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that she would remember him. I sort of thought that she was too young, all those years, too distracted with her own middle school and then freshman dramas, to remember him well enough to recognize him now. Especially when he looks so different. Our only saving grace was when she did see him, we weren’t together, nothing romantic at all, but from what Zach has told me isn’t a saving grace. No one can know that he’s not who he’s is, which isn’t Zach.

  “He’s Sonya’s boyfriend now?!” Erin’s eyes are wide and shining with the excitement of figuring it out. And then her forehead furrows, and she frowns.

  “He said his name was Chase. Why? Is that his middle name or something? Why does he act like he doesn’t know us? At least you? It’s weird.”

  “ I-It’s—complicated.”

  “Right. Is that the go-to that adults tell teenagers instead of the truth?” Erin glares at me. “Fine. I’ll just go ask him myself.” She starts to scoot off of the bed, and I grab her arm harder than I meant to.

  “Ow!” she yells. “What the fuck, Rain?”

  “You can’t.” The words come out harsher than I meant, but my heart is hammering in my chest, fear turning my veins to ice. “You can’t, Erin. I mean it.”