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“Yes.” It’s a squeak.

  I walk around her, resume my position facing her. “At least one of you is honest. But what kind of message would I be sending if I let Jones walk out of here? If I don’t punish him?”

  She drops her head, wipes her nose on her shoulder.

  “It wouldn’t be good for business,” I say.

  “What are you going to do, then?” she asks, her jaw set when she turns her face up.

  “Break a leg. Maybe two.” I shrug my shoulder as Jones starts blabbering some nonsense. I realize he’s probably stoned.

  “I can pay you.” Her voice breaks and she can’t hide the fact that she’s crying now.

  I step to her, reach out to touch a tear with my thumb. She gasps.

  “This isn’t about money, sweetheart.”

  “Please don’t—”

  “Shh, Priscilla.” I turn to Jones. “Get up.”

  She obviously thinks I’m going to break his legs right here, right now, because she throws herself forward, crashing into my chest. I catch her when she bounces backward to stop her from falling.

  “I’ll do anything!”

  I’m still holding her by the arms and she’s trembling.

  “Please, please, just let him go. It was just a stupid—”

  “Since when is stupidity an excuse?”

  “Please. I’ll do anything you want.”

  I let silence hang in the air between us, watching her. “Anything?”

  She pulls back and turns her face up and suddenly, I want to see her eyes. But then, she nods. Three quick, nervous little nods.

  I touch her face, smear a tear down over her chin, her throat, to the hollow between her collarbones, the skin of her chest. She’s holding her breath as I drag my finger down to where her blouse has torn a little, feel the softness of her breast. “Are you offering to fuck me, Priscilla?”

  She draws back sharply. I watch her struggle to come to grips with what she’s just done. I walk behind her and touch the ropes binding her wrists. “I’ll have to see what’s on offer, of course.”

  She makes a sound and I know she’s crying again.

  Slowly, I untie the rope and the first thing she does is reach up to her blindfold. I grip both wrists from behind.

  “Don’t do that,” I whisper in her ear. “Not if you want to walk out of here.”

  Her hands shake but she nods and slowly sets her arms at her sides.

  I move to stand before her.

  “Show me.”

  “Wh…what?”

  “Show me what it is you’re offering.”

  Her mouth falls open like she can’t believe what I just asked her to do. I don’t actually expect her to do it. To strip. I can tell she’s not that kind of girl. But when her trembling hands reach to draw her coat off her shoulders, I’m surprised. Hugo’s watching her too but her brother’s head’s bowed. I can’t believe he’d let his sister go through with this. Fucking asshole. When I’m done here, I think I’ll break his arms too.

  Priscilla’s coat drops to the floor and she reaches for the buttons of her blouse. Tears are sliding down her face, but I can’t stop watching as each button is slipped through its hole and she pulls open her blouse, then drags it off, letting it drop to the floor on top of her coat. She’s wearing a pretty little white bra and I can see her hard, pink nipples through the lace.

  Her hands move back and it takes her a minute to get her skirt unzipped. Once she’s done it, she pushes it down over slender legs. She’s wearing skin-colored thigh high stockings and I can see the neat mound of dark hair through the white lace of her panties.

  She sets her hands on either side of her. I guess she thinks she’s done.

  “Continue.”

  “I…will you…” she’s starting to hyperventilate.

  “Your brother’s a piece of shit. You sure he’s worth this?” I can’t help but ask. She reaches up to her face and I grab her wrists again, hold them between us. “U-uh.” I don’t want to have to hurt her. It doesn’t feel right. “Get dressed and go home. Let your brother deal with the consequences of his actions.”

  “I can do this. I—I just need a minute. I just—”

  “Cilla.” It’s Jones. We both turn to him.

  “I—” Cilla starts, but stops.

  “Go home, Priscilla. You don’t belong here,” I say.

  “Please, I just…”

  “You just what?”

  Nothing.

  I look her over. Something about her makes me curious.

  “One month,” I hear myself say.

  “W…What?”

  “You’re mine for one month.”

  “I—”

  “I own you for thirty days,” I make very clear.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do. You have one minute to decide.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Anything I want.”

  She knows my meaning.

  I catch Hugo’s eye because suddenly, there’s nothing I want more than this. Her. One month. Her to myself. Mine.

  When I give Hugo a nod, he cocks the gun. She jumps.

  “Yes! Yes. Okay. One month. What you said. Please don’t hurt him. Please.”

  Jones is quiet. I look away from her to him, grip a handful of his hair. “You going to let your sister do this?”

  “I said yes!” his sister cries out. “Leave him alone!”

  “Nothing?” I ask Jones.

  He whimpers. Like the fucking coward he is. I take a deep breath in and lean in close so he and I are eye to eye. “I just need to know one thing before I take your sister to my bed.”

  His bloodshot eyes finally glide over to where she’s standing beside us.

  “Here, Jones. Focus here.” I tug on his greasy hair until he looks at me. “Who put you in touch with the buyer?”

  Nothing. Nothing but fear.

  “Let me help you out. Was it my fucking cousin?”

  He doesn’t have to answer. I see the truth in his eyes. I release him and he falls backward.

  “Please don’t hurt him!” the girl cries out again. I turn to her. Pull her toward me so her chest is touching mine, so my cock is pressing against her belly. So she can get a feel for what she can expect. Her hands come up between us, a barrier. One I easily push aside.

  “Pretty Priscilla,” I start, reaching to undo the blindfold, dragging it slowly from her eyes. “So concerned for your brother. But aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

  3

  Cilla

  I blink in the sudden bright fluorescent light. His fingers hover over what I know is a bump where the jerk in Jones’s apartment slammed my head against the wall. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I’m processing his words. His warning.

  It’s his chest I see first. Solid and thick. He’s huge beneath the suit he’s wearing. All black from head to toe. I pull my hands off, I’m afraid to look up. To see his face. His eyes. I’m terrified. He’s a wall of muscle and power.

  When I inhale, I smell aftershave, it’s subtle but it’s there. And as I stand here now, nearly naked, with him holding me like this, I know he will hurt me.

  But I have no choice.

  I force my gaze upward. Neat stubble hones the already sharp line of his jaw. His hair is dark, almost black. I’m delaying having to meet his eyes, they’re a blur in my periphery. His skin in smooth, but for the scar that spans his left cheek. No hair grows in that fine line and I know it was a knife that made it. That cut him like this. Another centimeter and he would have lost his eye.

  I swallow, blink, force myself to look up, meet his eyes. Black or blue, I can’t tell. Like a bruise. Like midnight. With an unmistakable edge inside them. A hardness. But something else too.

  “Well?”

  He’s waiting for my answer. He won’t take what I don’t give but if I say yes, I will have to give. I’ll have to give everything.

  But what’s the alternative? Standing by while he breaks m
y brother’s legs? I can’t do that. I won’t. And this man knows that. “I agree to what you want.”

  He nods, but doesn’t move. His eyes burn into mine and I have to blink several times. I can’t hold his gaze. There’s a hunger inside them. A fiery, almost demonic hunger. Like he’s starved. Ravenous.

  And I’ve just agreed. I’ve said yes.

  I don’t even know his name.

  “Please let my brother go.”

  Without breaking eye contact, he gives a nod of his head and the other man shoves Jones forward. Jones stumbles, but doesn’t fall. The gun is still at his back as the man follows him out.

  “Is he worth it?” the beast before me asks, and suddenly, I feel like her. Like Belle, trapped, her life exchanged to save her father’s. “Is he?”

  Jones doesn’t even look back.

  “I don’t know your name,” I say.

  “Kill.”

  I don’t think he’s even blinked. He’s devouring me with his eyes. What will be left of me when he uses his hands? His mouth? His…

  “Kill?” My voice breaks on the single syllable. What kind of name is that? Who names their son Kill?

  I shudder.

  He steps back, checks his watch.

  “Hugo.” The man who’d just escorted my brother out returns. Jones isn’t with him.

  “Sir,” Hugo says.

  “Take her to the penthouse. Put her in one of the bedrooms and post a man. Get her something for her head.”

  My head aches. He must know because he felt the bump there.

  “Now?” He wants to take me now?

  He barely turns back to me as he exits the room. “Not one of the idiots if you can manage it,” he tells Hugo.

  “But,” I start, taking a step after him. Hugo steps between us. His eyes scan my nearly naked body and I cover myself with my arms.

  He walks around me, picks up my discarded coat, puts it over my shoulders. “You don’t want to catch a cold.” His voice is grainier than Kill’s. He pokes a finger into my back, my signal to move toward the door.

  I turn to him. “Now? It starts now?” My insides are churning. I think I may puke, except I haven’t eaten since breakfast. “I can’t—”

  “You agreed,” he says, urging me forward. “One month. I wonder if you’ll be walking when your time’s up.” He chuckles.

  I glance over my shoulder but he’s not looking at me. More men crowd the hallway and their gazes slide over me. These are dangerous men. The one hadn’t hesitated to slam my head into the wall. And their leader—Kill—what won’t he hesitate to do?

  What did I agree to? What have I done?

  I slip my hands into my coat and hug it to myself. I left the single shoe I was still wearing in the room so I’m barefoot but for the stockings which must have torn when they brought me here.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Hugo puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me, and a moment later, he’s sliding the wet blindfold back over my eyes.

  “No.” I touch the cloth, want to drag it off.

  “It’s either this or you ride in the trunk,” he says, stepping into my line of vision.

  I open my mouth to argue, but he raises an eyebrow and I know this is the end of the conversation. If you can call it a conversation. I drop my hands.

  “Good girl.”

  I glare and he gives me a dark grin then secures the blindfold and guides me up the stairs. I grip the handrail, each of my steps heavier than the last. When I stumble, he catches me. A door opens and I hear music, people talking in low tones. Don’t they see me here? Doesn’t the sight of a woman being walked out like this, against her will, alarm them? Is this the norm for them? Blindfolded, bare-foot women guided out by these violent men? Where am I? What have I gotten myself into?

  No, what has Jones gotten me into?

  Had Kill said coke? Cocaine? Jones is clean. He swore it to me just last month. Did he lie?

  A gust of cold, wet wind hits me. I hear a car’s engine humming and brace myself to walk barefoot through icy puddles of water, but before I take one step, an arm wraps around my middle and I’m lifted up off the ground. I grip Hugo’s forearm instinctively wanting to free myself, but he talks to another man there, giving instructions, then I’m placed on the leather seat. Hugo climbs in after me and closes the door. I take a breath and smell him, Kill. It’s his aftershave. We must be in his car.

  “Where’s my brother?” I ask.

  “You don’t need to worry about him.”

  “How do I know he’s safe?”

  “When Kill makes a deal, he keeps it.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “You don’t.”

  I open my mouth to speak but a phone rings, and a moment later, he’s talking and it’s not to me. I turn my head toward the window, trying to see through the blindfold, but it’s impossible. Instead, I try to make sense of what’s happened since a few hours ago. I was supposed to be having dinner with my brother. That was all. Instead, I’m sitting blindfolded driving to what I assume is Kill’s penthouse where God knows what will be expected of me.

  No, I know what will be expected.

  And the thought makes me shudder.

  I guess it’s half an hour before the driver slows and we pull into a garage. I know because the interminable rain has finally stopped pelting the windows. Hugo hasn’t spoken to me and after that one call, he was silent.

  Once we’re parked, Hugo climbs out and his hand closes over my arm to drag me across the seat. I guess he’s not worried about anyone seeing a blindfolded, bare-foot woman being escorted by a giant man because we’re not rushing and he’s even laughing at some lame joke the other man, I assume the driver, is telling. I hear a ding of an elevator and feel carpet beneath my feet when I step on. I’m glad for the carpet. I’m freezing even with my coat.

  We ride up until the doors slide open. Once there, the blindfold comes off.

  “Welcome home, at least for the next little while.”

  I gaze around the luxurious expanse of the space. It’s huge. I wonder if it takes up the whole floor. And everything is shiny and sleek and looks like it’s been freshly polished.

  The elevator doors slide closed behind me and I turn, looking at the outline of my reflection, watching my freedom slip away. I stare at the blur of my face in the polished nickel.

  “This way.”

  When I face him, I find Hugo watching me. I can’t read him. I know he’s as violent as the others but I also know he carried me to the car so I wouldn’t have to step in puddles of water when we left wherever we were. He hasn’t hurt me and I’m not afraid of him hurting me for some reason.

  But he did hold a gun to my brother. He cocked it. Readied to pull the trigger.

  He clears his throat.

  I walk toward him, taking in my surroundings as I do. Is the elevator the only exit? No, there have to be stairs.

  The long hallway holds six closed doors. He opens one, switches on the light and gestures for me to enter. It’s a luxuriously decorated bedroom, everything in shades of cream, softer than I’d expect of the man I met. I take one step in but stop and turn to Hugo, panic taking hold of me. I shake my head and, without thinking, walk past him as if I have a choice. As if I will go back to the elevator and push the button and walk out of here. As if he’ll let me.

  He grabs my arm, his grip hard enough to warn me. “Don’t make this hard.”

  I breathe fast, in and out, and my eyes heat up with tears. “Please don’t make me.”

  “I’m not going to make you do anything but go into the bedroom.” He studies me, lets me take in his words. “Have a bath. Relax. Kill will be here in a few hours.”

  How is he so calm?

  Without waiting for me to reply, he turns me, places me inside the room.

  “Aspirin should be in the bathroom. A man will be posted outside if you need anything. But try not to need anything.”

  “Wait!”

  He’s closing the door, but I wr
ap my hands around it so he’s forced to stop.

  He sighs, letting me know he’s irritated.

  “Can I call my brother? I can’t just—”

  “Don’t make this hard.”

  His repeated words are a warning and I understand. I drop my hands and step back and watch the door close and lock and I don’t hold back the tears when they slide down my face this time because I’m trapped. I’m finished. And I don’t know if, once this month is up, I’ll be walking out of here at all.

  4

  Kill

  It’s two in the morning when I get to the penthouse. I’ve been thinking about my pretty little captive all night. My dick’s been hard with all the things I plan to do with her in the next month.

  Although how tonight went down still baffles me. Why did I react the way I did to her? It’s not like me. On the other hand, I’d rather fuck a beautiful woman than break some asshole’s legs.

  I dismiss the man standing beside the girl’s door and pour myself a whiskey as I strip off my jacket and tie, and undo the top buttons of my black button down. I make my way down the hall to her room. Turn the key in the lock. Push the door open. The lights are still on but she must have been asleep because she startles awake. She’s still got her coat on and I spy the torn stockings on her feet. She rights herself. She must have been sitting up waiting for me. But I’m not fool enough to think she did it because she couldn’t wait for me to show up.

  I stand back and sweep the arm that’s holding the drink toward the hallway. I’m wound up from the club. Need a little release before bed. There’s never a shortage of women willing to suck me off, but I saved myself for her tonight. I wonder if she’d be grateful if I told her.

  I decide not to.

  Meanwhile, she’s still sitting on the bed, arms folded across herself.

  “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

  She doesn’t reply with words, just a glare.

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “Safe.”

  “How do I know?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Like I said, how do I know?”

  I feel my eyes narrow and bite back my response. She’s already scared, no need to terrify her. It’s right she’d have questions.