Captured: Claimed Book 3

by M James

  The hardest part, though, is knowing how close I’ll be to Rain—living in the same house as her, for fuck’s sake. That kind of proximity is going to eat at me, and I know it. But there’s nothing I can do about it except try not to let it get to me.

  This is a test, and I know it. Not an official one, not one that anyone but me actually knows about, but a test nonetheless—a test of my ability to work under pressure, of my ability to keep my head and focus on the job, even when there’s distractions and Rain’s a boss level distraction.

  I can’t fail. Even now, I can feel April’s eyes on me from her spot on the plane, probably wondering why I keep glancing over at Vincent’s fiancée. Or hell, maybe she already knows. I have a hard time believing that the FBI hasn’t made the connection between their prize’s bride-to-be and the agent they’ve got on the case. But maybe someone fucked up somewhere, neglected to put that in the file. Maybe they really have no idea what we used to be to each other.

  In which case, I need to keep it that way.

  That’s a tall order, but I’m used to things not being fucking easy. It’s not any different from the rest of my life. So I’ll manage.

  I force myself not to look at Rain for the rest of the flight. My discipline needs to start now if I’m going to get through this and do my job.

  What I want has never mattered before. It’s definitely not going to start now.

  6

  Rain

  I’m completely exhausted by the time the plane lands, sometime in the early evening. Cars are waiting for us on the tarmac, and I don’t even bother trying to catch a glimpse of Zach as we disembark and walk towards them, Vincent’s hand wrapped tightly, almost painfully around mine. He slides into one car with Sonya and April, and Erin, Vincent, and I go to another. There’s a van waiting for Gianna and Ezio, specially equipped to handle his bed and equipment, and I can’t help but notice how capable Vincent is of being caring and doting when he wants to be. His father is getting the very best treatment, but of course, that’s in his interest.

  Just as it’s in his interest to keep me cowed and submissive.

  I don’t say a word on the ride back to our brownstone. There’s no point. I know better than to antagonize Vincent here, and what’s to come will only be worse if I make him mad. Now that we’re back on our home turf, I have to be the sweet, pliable fiancée that he wants, even if it makes me sick. There’s too much on the line to do anything else.

  Erin is quiet on the ride home as well, almost sullen, but I’m glad. The less she talks, the less of a chance there is for her to make Vincent angrier. Hopefully, once he’s had a chance to cool off, he’ll see that she hadn’t meant for all that to happen when she let Matteo in.

  “We’re home!” Vincent says cheerfully as the cars pull up to the gate of the brownstone, and we all get out. Sonya looks pissed, her full mouth pinched as she glares at her cousin, and Zach’s face is carefully blank. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now—but I don’t really want to. “Welcome to my humble Manhattan abode,” Vincent adds with a satisfied smirk as he pushes the gate open, leading the way down the path and up the steps.

  Andrea is waiting just inside in her usual uniform of pressed black trousers and a black shirt, her white-grey hair pulled back into a severe bun. “Welcome home, Mr. Jamison,” she says, inclining her head slightly. “And Erin! So happy to have you back, sweet girl.” She beams at Erin, who manages a small smile in return. “And who are the rest of our guests?” She glances around at the others and then back at Vincent expectantly. There’s not a glance or a word in my direction; to her, I’m as invisible as April. Possibly more so.

  “This is my mother, Gianna,” Vincent says, reaching for her elbow and drawing her gently forward to meet Andrea. “My father Ezio is ill. They’ll be bringing him inside in a moment.”

  “Ah, yes. You asked me to make sure the largest guest room was ready for them and specially equipped for his needs.” She smiles broadly at Gianna. “It’s been my pleasure to serve your son all these years.”

  I catch a brief glimpse of Sonya’s unimpressed expression; for once, we’re on the same page. Andrea is really laying it on thick.

  “This is my cousin Sonya,” Vincent continues, gesturing. “And her partner Chase. They’ll be sharing a room.”

  “‘Friend,’ is it?” Andrea looks mildly confused.

  I catch the barest glimpse of a wince on Zach’s face, and just that is enough to boost my spirits a tiny bit.

  But then he wraps an arm around Sonya’s face, pulling her closer, and I feel my mood plummet all over again. “In every way,” he says with his most charming grin, and I see Andrea soften even through her disapproval.

  “I’ll show them up,” she says quickly. “I’m sure you want to freshen up as well. Come along, Erin, dear, and all of you. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  I want to stay right where I am, to feel Zach slip past me as he walks towards the stairs, maybe catch a whiff of his cologne. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him kissing me in the garden on the night of my birthday, as much as I’ve tried. But instead, Vincent grips my elbow, steering me towards the stairs before Andrea can show everyone else up. “Come along, Poppy,” he says, his fingers digging in. “We should freshen up, as Andrea said.”

  ---

  “I’ll be leaving for business tomorrow,” Vincent announces over dinner that night. Andrea has had the cook go all out, and it’s quite the spread—tomato gazpacho, salmon with microgreens and lemon, sides of roasted vegetables, and garlic mashed potatoes. I’m very conscious of what goes onto my plate, knowing that Vincent is watching me, and whatever I might have gotten away with in Italy are over now. I stick to a small bowl of the soup, a slender piece of salmon and veggies, and I try not to look longingly at the mashed potatoes as they’re passed around.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” Sonya asks disapprovingly, glancing at my plate as she scoops potatoes onto hers and hands the bowl to Zach. “I’m starving after that flight.”

  I lick my lips nervously, clenching my hands in my lap as I try to think of how to answer, but in the end, I don’t need to. Vincent does it for me.

  “Poppy is watching her weight for our wedding,” he says with a smile, reaching for my hand. “She keeps saying how she wants to be the most beautiful bride in Manhattan. Of course, I think she already is, but it never hurts to have goals.” He smiles at me, and I feel like I want to throw up. None of this is my choice, and it makes me sick to hear the lies slipping so easily off of Vincent’s tongue.

  “It’s good for a girl to watch her figure,” Gianna says, nodding approvingly. “So many don’t nowadays, and then you get to be in your forties or fifties, and the weight just appears out of nowhere, and it’s impossible to lose. And then your husband’s eye starts to wander, and where are you then? Nowhere, that’s what.”

  I’m afraid it’s a little too late to keep his eye from wandering, I think bitterly. That was over long ago.

  “What is this business trip you’re taking?” Sonya asks, lifting a forkful of salmon to her lips. “We all just got here, and you’re leaving again? And why wasn’t I told about this?”

  “With my father recovering, I’m in charge for now,” Vincent says tightly. I can feel the tension stretching across the table like a rubber band, ready to snap. “He had a trip lined up to Tokyo starting tomorrow. He can’t fulfill his obligation, obviously, so it’s my duty to step in and go in his stead.”

  “I could have gone.” Sonya’s voice is terse.

  “As you said, we only just got here.” Vincent’s smile is pleasant, but I know all too well how quickly that can change. I’m just relieved that I’ll have a week without him. “I’m sure you’ll want time with Chase and to get used to your new surroundings. Perhaps the next trip will be the one that you go on. Besides, I need you here, handling things. I wouldn’t leave it in anyone else’s hands.”

  It’s so smooth, the way he talks, brushing ov
er any objections until it’s impossible to remember why there ever were any at all. Even Sonya looks slightly pacified, turning her attention back to her plate, or maybe she just doesn’t want to fight with Vincent at the dinner table; appearances and manners are everything to people like this.

  “It’s good of you to take over your father’s duties,” Gianna says, looking at her son gratefully. “He’ll be so pleased with you, Vincent, I know it. He raised you well.”

  “I’d like to think so, Mama.” Vincent smiles at her, without the edge that his smile directed at Sonya had. “I’ll be leaving early in the morning. It’s a long flight. So I likely won’t see any of you for about a week. But Andrea runs everything smoothly here, and Poppy can show you anything else you need. Right, my love?”

  The last two words are laced with a warning that I know only I can hear. I can’t help wonder how it makes Zach feel to hear Vincent call me that, if it rubs him the wrong way, or if he just doesn’t care. But that’s the last thing I should be worried about right now.

  I smile at Vincent. “Of course. I’ll make sure everyone is taken care of while you’re gone.”

  “Erin is not to leave the house.” Vincent’s voice is firm, and everyone pauses for a moment. “She’s not to have any visitors. Am I understood?”

  I see my sister’s cheeks flame red at that, and she looks down at her plate, her hand starting to tremble. I want to reach out and comfort her—what she did is stupid, but it doesn’t deserve this ongoing embarrassment. She hadn’t known and besides she doesn’t even know anyone here. His declaration is unnecessary, but I can’t say any of this, of course.

  “Understood,” I say quietly.

  “Everyone else, make sure security is with you at all times if you leave. Andrea handles the shopping and deliveries for the house, so anything you need, she can get for you. So there shouldn’t be much need to leave, but if you decide to have an outing, do not go without at least two security members. Am I understood?”

  I can see a rebellious flicker in Sonya’s eyes, but she doesn’t speak on it.

  “Fine,” she grinds out.

  “Of course.” Zach shrugs. “Happy to do whatever is necessary to keep us all safe.”

  There’s something about his manner that throws me off. Something that makes me feel like there’s more to the way he is with Sonya, around Vincent and the family, just like I know there’s more to why he insists on being called Chase.

  After dinner, everyone heads up to their respective rooms, too tired to do anything else after the long flight. I feel a knot in my stomach, going back to the master suite with Vincent, but I have no choice but to get over it. This isn’t going to change, and the less time I spend tearing myself up about it, the better.

  I don’t bother asking if he wants me to go on the trip with him. I know the answer already, and I know he’ll be taking one or more of the flowers with him, probably Daisy. One of the ones who he isn’t tired of, who hasn’t been ungrateful, who is thrilled to have any part in his “garden.” Someone who makes him feel adored and worshipped.

  My life would probably be a lot easier if I could learn to do that. If I could fake it constantly, make him think that there’s no one else in the world for me but him. He’d be happier then, probably nicer to me. But I can’t anymore. I’m so sickened, not just by him and his treatment of me, but by myself too, for not seeing it sooner. For not realizing what was happening. For being so blind and taken in by the glitter and glamour of his life, until I was trapped.

  “Aren’t you glad to be home, Poppy?” he asks, taking my hand and pulling me into his arms. “It’s good to be back in our room, in our bed.”

  My stomach knots, but I go with him anyway without a word. Seeing Zach has made this so much harder, and then his kiss in the garden made it even more so. Now he’s in the same house as me, just down the hall, maybe doing exactly this with Sonya. It makes me want to throw up. I’ve lost so much, and I don’t know how to get any of it back. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

  I try to remember, as Vincent strips my clothes off of me, the days when we would wrap ourselves together like vines on the same plant, breathless and sweating, when he would pleasure me with his tongue until I thought I’d lose my mind with pleasure, when he’d make slow sweet love to me until the world shrank down to the two of us and what our bodies could do together.

  Now I feel like we aren’t even part of the same universe. I’m floating out somewhere alone, lost, and there’s no one to save me anymore.

  I can’t even save myself.

  He kisses me hard, firmly, and it’s not a kiss of love. It’s ownership. A brand. When I’m fully naked, he jerks his head towards the bed, and I go to lay down, watching as he strips out of his clothes, his eyes appraising my body like a piece of jewelry he might want to buy or an investment. He’s hard, his thick cock jutting out towards me like a threat.

  This is about possession. He’s turned on because I belong to him, because I’m an object that he can order to lay down and spread my legs and let him come in me, and there’s nothing I can do about it, and that gets him off. I think it’s about the chase with the other flowers, I’m sure, about trapping them with the glitter just like I was and then using them up. With me, it’s the fact that he has me caged.

  “Open your legs.” Vincent looks down at me, his gaze hard and lustful. When I do, I wince inwardly, hoping he won’t notice that I’m not wet. I can’t fake that. But he leans forward, and for one wild moment, I think that he’s going to go down on me, that he might actually want to give me some pleasure tonight. I don’t know how I feel about that—if I even want it. I feel wrong taking pleasure from him, enjoying sex with him in any way anymore, as if I’m somehow traitorous for enjoying anything about my relationship after all he’s done to me.

  But at the same time, it would feel so good to feel desired again. Not just thrown away. Even Zach walked away from me. Whatever he’s doing here is more important than me, just like him running away was more important all those years ago.

  I’ve never been the most important thing in anyone’s life. Never important enough to cling to, to love forever, to hold close and cherish. Never important enough not to leave or abandon.

  So maybe it’s not so bad for me to cling to whatever pleasure I can get.

  But Vincent doesn’t lick me. Instead, he looks up at me, a cruel smile on his face, and he spits.

  Right on my pussy.

  Something inside of me clenches, and I look away. I feel dirty and ashamed, especially as he reaches down, rubbing his thumb over my clit and down between my folds, smearing the wetness around until it lubricates me for him. “Mine,” he growls. “You belong to me, Poppy. My fucking pussy.”

  Those words should have turned me on. For a wild second, I can imagine Zach saying that, growling down at me that my pussy belongs to him, and I know it would drive me crazy with lust. But hearing Vincent saying it just makes me feel sick. I feel tears spring to my eyes, and I keep my head turned to one side as he rubs the head of his cock over my slit, smearing it with the saliva from his mouth as he shoves himself into me in one hard thrust.

  “Fuck yes,” he groans. “You’re so fucking tight, Poppy. Hard to believe, considering what a slut you were before me.” I fight back the tears. Slut? I haven’t even been with three men. But it doesn’t matter. I’m his slut. I have to be whatever he wants me to be.

  “Good thing my cock is fucking huge. Fills you right up, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, still not looking at him.

  “Tell me how much you love it, Poppy,” he groans, his breathing speeding up. “Tell me how fucking good my cock is.”

  “It’s so good.” I force myself to moan out the words. It’s not good. It doesn’t feel good at all. I wish tonight had been one of the nights when he just fucked me in silence, preferring to pretend that I’m not really there, treating me like a blow-up doll that can’t talk back instead of a human. That’s better th
an having to participate in his dirty talk.

  He grabs my chin hard, turning my head so that I’m forced to look up at him, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Say it like you mean it, Poppy. Say ‘cock.’ Tell me how good it feels in your used-up little pussy.”

  I try to breathe, try to think of how to make it sound convincing. “Oh god, it feels so good,” I manage. “Your cock feels so good, Vincent, it’s so good—”

  For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to push to make me say more, but that seems to have done it for him. He lets go of my face, grabbing onto the headboard instead as he slams all of himself into me in one hard, punishing thrust. I hear his ragged groan as he comes inside of me, his hips bucking hard against me.

  I’m going to be bruised tomorrow in more than one place. I know it.

  Afterward, he rolls over immediately, turning off the light without a word. He doesn’t kiss me goodnight, tell me he loves me, or even say how much he enjoyed the sex. Part of me is glad that he isn’t bothering to pretend much anymore; at least I don’t feel so confused about my own emotions. But it also makes me feel lonelier and more hollow than ever before.

  It’s not even that I want vanilla sex. I think I’d probably be turned on by something a little kinky with the right person. Maybe I’d like being tied up, or being blindfolded, or spanked a little. Who knows? I’ve never had anyone be rough with me other than Vincent, and he’s not doing it for our mutual pleasure. He’s doing it because his kink is hurting something he knows he owns.

  It takes a long time for me to fall asleep, and when I do, my dreams are all of me running from Vincent, as far and fast as I can.