Captured: Claimed Book 3

by M James

  “Much better,” he croons, running his finger along my jawline. I look in the mirror, trying to see what he sees. A couple of weeks of strictly following my diet again, going to every session with my trainer, not drinking, and rigorously using the hundreds-of-dollars work of skin care I own has definitely transformed me—in some ways, for the better. My skin is clearer and smooth and radiant, without any of the zits that plague me sometimes. And I have some curves from the weight-lifting, some lift my ass, and some tone in my thighs and arms, but I’m thinner than I’ve ever been. My jawline is sharper and more angular than it’s ever been before, and my eyes look huge in my thinner face.

  Vincent seems pleased with it though. “You look much better,” he repeats, running his hand over my breasts. “A push-up bra might be in order with the dress I want you to wear tonight, but you should fit nicely into it.”

  I try not to react, but I can’t help the embarrassment flush on my skin. I hate when he talks about me like this, as if I’m just something for him to mold into the shape he likes best, to dress and puppet.

  Vincent interprets the flush as desire, laughing as he turns me to face him. “I know what you want,” he murmurs, flicking a finger over my nipple. “But I have something else for you, so that will have to wait, my greedy little Poppy. Maybe after the party tonight, I’ll be in the mood.”

  Nothing about my reaction had anything to do with desire, but I let him think that. He slaps me on the ass, pointing me towards the closet. “Get dressed, and meet me out in the living room.”

  I obediently do as he “asks,” slipping into a pair of skinny jeans and a dark red sleeveless silk blouse. Vincent loves red on me, and I figure the more I can do to keep this bright mood going, the better things will be. I add rose-gold jewelry, slipping on the bangle and earrings he gave me, leaving my blonde hair down. It’s humid today, even in the house, so it’s curling softly, and I have to admit that it’s a good look on me.

  When I walk out into the living room, Erin and Dena are both waiting for me, along with Vincent. He is smiling proudly as if he’s really done something. Erin is in a pair of the low-rise skinny jeans we bought on our pre-Italy trip, with more rips than denim, a black crop top with a smiley face on it, her hair pulled up in a high Ariana Grande-style ponytail. She’s wearing the giant diamond hoop earrings and platform wedges, and she looks stylish as hell. I suddenly feel frumpy and plain in my jeans and silk top, especially if I include Dena. She is wearing a black denim miniskirt and a white, stretchy ribbed top that stops just below her pushed-up breasts, complete with a pair of Louboutin strappy sandals I gave her and chunky gold chain jewelry. Her black hair is cascading everywhere, her lips plump, and her makeup natural, and I can tell she’s gotten lash extensions and filler lately. She looks like a fucking supermodel.

  I wish I’d done more now.

  “I organized a surprise for you all today,” Vincent says with a broad smile. “The club opening is tonight, and I expect you and Erin both there, Poppy.”

  Erin is underage, so there’s absolutely no reason she should be going to Vincent’s club’s opening night. But I can’t protest. Erin’s eyes have gone round, as if she’s about to forgive him everything on account of that, and I already know that any argument I have against it will fall on deaf ears. It’ll just make Erin upset with me and Vincent angry.

  Just thinking about it makes me feel depressed and exhausted.

  “And Dena will be working tonight,” Vincent continues, “but I know you haven’t gotten to see your friend all that much lately. So I wanted to include her in on the treat. For today, Poppy, spend as much as you want on the credit card. You’re all going to go downtown—with April, of course, and shop to your heart’s content. Poppy, I expect you to find appropriate outfits for you and Erin for tonight—it’s a burlesque club, so black or red or metallic, and sexy. Dena knows what I want after being there for the last week. I also made appointments at the spa for you, and you can have lunch wherever you like.” He smiles at me as if he’s giving me the world. “You’ve been great, Poppy. I thought you deserved a treat. And Erin, you’ve been good too, keeping to yourself and not breaking any of the rules. So I thought it would be nice for you to go out today as well, with Poppy and her best friend. Don’t you think so?”

  “Yes,” Erin says quietly, and I can see that she’s learning the lessons that took me so long to learn. It makes my chest ache because I don’t want Vincent to break my sister the way he broke me. I can’t bear it. “

  “Thank you,” I tell Vincent, forcing a bright smile onto my face. I just can’t take actual joy in the things that Vincent gives me anymore, whether it’s jewelry or my “best” friend coming to stay with us—especially when Dena is hardly my best friend, I don’t even have a best friend anymore—or license to spend as much money as I want for a day. There are always strings. Always an ulterior motive. And I just can’t enjoy it anymore.

  “Well, go on girls,” Vincent says, an indulgent expression on his face. “Enjoy your day. The driver is already waiting outside.”

  Erin and Dena are beaming with excitement—apparently, the promise of a day of shopping is enough to perk my sister right up out of the black mood she’s been in since my birthday—and I force a smile onto my face as we walk outside and down the steps towards the waiting car with April following closely behind. As usual, she says nothing, going to sit in the front with the driver as Erin, Dena and I pile into the back.

  It reminds me all too much of the last shopping trip I went on with Erin and Sonya. Dena is a slight improvement over Sonya, but not nearly as much as she used to be. The moment we’re in the car, she gets champagne out of the minibar, pouring glasses for all three of us.

  This time, I don’t protest Erin having a glass. I know by now it does no good.

  “To a day out on the town in Manhattan with an unlimited credit card!” Dena squeals, clinking our glasses together. I keep that same smile on my face, but it’s pasted on, the champagne bitter on my tongue as we drink. Erin looks almost gleeful, and Dena is glowing. All I feel is resentment, which is the last thing I ever wanted to feel towards my sister. She doesn’t have to endure the things I do. Neither does Dena. I’m the one who has to put up with it all so that they can enjoy the lavish lifestyle when Vincent decides to bestow it on us.

  But as we move through traffic into downtown, even I feel the knot in my stomach loosens up a little. Maybe part of it is the two glasses of champagne. Still, it also feels good to be away from the brownstone and out from under Vincent’s thumb, away from Sonya and Gianna and Zach and the constant reminder of the life that’s pulling me down like a whirlpool day by day. It feels good to not be cooped up, to be out in the city.

  I still feel the need to be careful about what we spend—just because Vincent said there was no limit doesn’t mean that there’s not some arbitrary one floating around his head or that he won’t see the credit card statements a month from now when he’s pissed at me and forget that he agreed to this at all.

  But Erin and Dena have no such worries. “Dresses first,” Dena says firmly. “Then jewelry, and then shoes. And then we can go to lunch before our spa appointment.”

  “I’m not sure if Vincent meant for us to buy that much—”

  “It’s fine,” Dena insists. “He said so himself.”

  It won’t be you that gets punished if he changes his mind, I think bitterly, but there’s nothing else I can say. I have no voice with anyone anymore. That’s been made very clear.

  We wander through Chanel, Dior, Dolce & Gabbana, trying on dress after dress. Erin settles on a black sequined dress that barely comes to the tops of her thighs and is skin-tight on her, with a deep scoop neck that’s slightly tomboyish. It suits her and doesn’t show as much cleavage as I’d been afraid it would, especially since she’s even more flat-chested than I was at her age. I don’t argue because it could have been a lot worse.

  For instance, she could have picked what Dena picks out—a black
satin dress with thin black straps and a neckline of loose draping fabric that makes a ‘U’ shape, dipping low enough that I can see most of her large breasts and all the way down almost to her bellybutton. It’s short, too, and it shows off more of Dena’s body than it covers. I’m sure Vincent will love it, I think miserably. It’s not even that I care if he fucks anyone else. It’s just that, of course, I know something is brewing between him and my “friend.” And it feels shitty to be so certain that if he went after Dena, she wouldn’t even hesitate. She’d fuck him in an instant, even though he’s my fiancé, and she’s supposed to be my friend.

  As for me, I don’t know what to buy. I’m still uncomfortable in things that show off my body so much. I never know what Vincent will want from me, if he wants me to cover up because I’m going to be his wife, or if he wants me to show off because I belong to him. He wants everyone to see what is his. I want to feel beautiful, especially knowing that Zach will probably be there—as foolish as that is—but I try on dress after dress without ever really feeling good about any of them.

  And then, when we’re in Dior, I find one that I actually like.

  It’s spaghetti-strap, like Dena’s, and made out of black satin, but it’s fitted like a fifties wiggle dress, which I feel is appropriate for the venue—it’s a burlesque club, after all. And on the left side, from the hip to the hem, there’s an architectural ruffle lined with red satin, like a flame trailing down the side of the fitted skirt.

  It has a sweetheart neckline, so it shows off the cleavage I have without being too risqué, and it fits me like a glove. I actually feel beautiful in it, much like the dress I wore to my birthday party, and despite the four-figure price tag, I buy it without much guilt.

  The next effort is shoes, and we go back through the designers, looking for ones to match. Erin picks out a pair of towering sequin and velvet heels, Dena chooses black patent pumps, and I opt not to get anything. My Louboutins at home will do just fine, and I’m already anxious as hell thinking about how much we’re going to spend at the jewelers.

  Because there’s no way we’re going to leave without a potentially high five-figure or more bill. Dena tells the driver to take us to Harry Winston’s, where the woman who greets us practically falls all over herself when I tell her that Vincent Jamison has sent us to pick out jewelry for his club opening. Pretty soon, the counter is glittering with jewels as she shows us a variety of their newest designs.

  Erin chooses something more youthful, which I’m glad for at least—no necklace and a pair of long, dangling earrings that have diamond strands and black onyx hanging from them. She picks out a cocktail ring too—a white-gold band with six black pearls embedded in it and a thick cross-shaped black onyx ring surrounded by diamonds that the woman tells us is the height of fashion right now; Lady Gaga was just photographed wearing the same thing.

  “I never thought Vincent would be buying me jewels,” Dena sighs. “But he said all three of us should get whatever we want since after the opening, I’ll be able to come and have fun at the afterparty.” She picks up a long strand of diamonds, a lariat-style necklace that will drape all the way down between her breasts. “This comes in a set.” She points at the matching earrings, which are cascading diamonds. The cocktail ring is a large emerald-cut black diamond surrounded by white diamond baguettes.

  “It’s beautiful,” I manage. I wish I could convey to her somehow that these kinds of gifts from Vincent come with a price higher than what I’m about to charge on the credit card, that Vincent will want something in return. It makes me sick to think of what that might be.

  “Pick yours out, Rain!” Erin says enthusiastically as the woman starts to box up her and Dena’s choices.

  I already see the set I want, flame-red rubies set in rose gold. The rings are a set of bands studded with them, meant to be stacked on various fingers, with a matching cuff bracelet, ear crawlers, and a necklace that looks like a collar. It’s such a tight choker, rose gold studded with round rubies.

  It’s a perfect fit, I think. A collar for Vincent’s pet.

  Dena insists on us going back to the designer stores to choose clutches to go with our outfits, and by now, I’m completely over it. It’s obvious to me that she just wants to make the most of this shopping excursion, to make sure that she gets as much for herself as she can while Vincent has his wallet open. Erin is enjoying it too, but I can’t resent her as much for it. She’s like I was back when I first met Vincent, and it terrifies me as much as it ever has. At least she’s not blatantly using Vincent and me, pretending to be my friend in order to rake in as much free shit as she can.

  I don’t know why I ever thought Dena was my friend. I wish I could kick her out, take everything she’s bought today and return it, or just give it to Erin. But I know better. If Vincent has made her a part of today’s outing, which he clearly did, then there’s a reason for it.

  One that I’m sure I’ll find out sooner or later what it is.

  14

  Rain

  Once we’ve finished shopping, we go to a popular sushi restaurant for lunch, where we’re taken back to a private booth and told that we’ll be treated to the chef’s tasting menu. Sake is brought to the table, and once again, I don’t bother protesting that Erin is too young. I just watch as Dena pours it into the small rounded cups and pushes one towards her, and hope that she won’t like it.

  Sure enough, Erin coughs as she swallows her first sip, her eyes watering. “Oh my god, that tastes like hot rubbing alcohol that sort of also tastes like pears,” she complains, and Dena laughs.

  “If you’re ever going to make it in this world,” she says firmly, “you have to learn to eat and drink things you don’t like, just as you have to learn to put up with people you don’t like. Look at your sister. She likes it, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I say weakly, taking a sip. I don’t, not really, but I can see that Dena is making a point here. I’m so paranoid now that I can’t help but wonder if Vincent asked her to make the point, if she’s supposed to be watching me and making sure I don’t complain or give Erin the wrong ideas. “It’s great.”

  Erin eyes me, clearly not sold, but Dena tips the cup back, sipping hers without so much as a wince. “If you want to be invited to these kinds of places, to expensive lunches and dinners and parties and club openings and galas, you have to learn to hang with these kinds of people. You have to be classy and elegant and stylish out in public.”

  She pauses then, and I’m glad that she’s at least not about to give Erin a lesson on how she ought to behave in “private,” which to Dena, I’m sure, just means the bedroom.

  “Look at your sister,” Dena continues. “She has everything. A rich fiancé, a huge diamond on her finger, multiple beautiful homes, her own private bodyguard. Don’t you want all of those things, Erin?”

  “Of course,” Erin says eagerly, and I can feel another little piece of myself dying inside.

  “Why do you need a bodyguard, anyway?” Erin asks, looking over at April, who is seated at a separate booth.

  “Security, of course, silly,” Dena answers, without letting me speak. “Vincent works in high places in business with important people, and he has enemies. You saw that at Rain’s birthday.”

  I don’t bother asking how she knows about that. I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer, whatever it is.

  “He worries about Rain because she’s precious to him,” Dena continues, and I have to stifle a bitter laugh. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous, but I can’t say differently—not here, not now. “Manhattan isn’t all that dangerous compared to some places, but he wants Rain protected, like a treasure. And if you learn well, Erin, one day you could have a husband who will value you like that.”

  Just listening to it makes me sick. I want to blurt out that April isn’t so much a bodyguard as a handler, that she’s watching my every move, that I can’t trust her any more than I can trust Dena now, that I have luxuries and money and bags of thousands o
f dollars’ worth of dresses and shoes and jewels in the car waiting for us but that none of it matters. That all of my dreams are dead, that I was fooled, that I was stupid enough to believe that I was special, and now Erin is stupidly falling into that trap too. That I’m anything but happy. Anything but valued.

  I feel a world away from the awestruck and innocent girl I once was, and I know that Erin is headed in the same direction. That one day, she’ll be where I am, trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who cheats on her and maybe even abuses her and has people watching her, so she never steps out of line. I’m sure Vincent’s associates, the kind of men who will woo Erin eventually if I don’t get her out of this, will be the same as he is.

  But all I can do is keep it together, sitting here as the server brings the first of the tasting dishes, tiny crispy tempura shrimp with dots of sriracha and spicy sauce on top. I only take one, careful not to eat more than that even though I’m starving. It’s that way for everything—the thin slices of fish in vinegar, the delicate rolls, the crispy squid in ponzu sauce. I take small, tentative bites of all of it as Dena and Erin dig in, neither of them trapped by a restrictive diet.

  “We don’t have anything like this in Indiana,” Erin says, her mouth full of a tuna roll. “I always thought raw fish would be gross, but this is fucking delicious.”

  “It is,” Dena agrees. “Even Chicago sushi isn’t as good as what you can get in New York. The best of everything is here. If you can manage to stay here, Erin, you absolutely should.”

  It’s like she’s teaching Erin, grooming her for someone like Vincent. It makes me want to throw up the little bit that I’ve eaten, even as I watch Erin pick up a salmon roll drizzled with spicy mayonnaise, and my stomach growls a little. She doesn’t have the slightest difficulty with the chopsticks; despite never having eaten it before, she’s picking up piece after piece as if she does it every day.