Captive Beauty Page 4

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You did a number on Kill’s face. Those scratches are usually on the back.”

  My mouth falls open but he just swallows his coffee and sets his cup in the sink.

  “Let’s go. We’re on a tight schedule,” he says, taking my arm.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. What exam? I have a doctor. I don’t need—”

  “You need to be checked for STDs and we need to make sure your birth control is up to date.” He’s dragging me toward the hallway.

  “What? Oh my god. You’re crazy!”

  He stops.

  “If you’d rather wait for Kill, we can do that. He’ll be here soon. I’m sure after last night, he’ll be very lenient.”

  I look at his face, his eyes. They’re hard. He’s not messing around. I move when he begins to walk.

  “I don’t need an exam,” I try, but I know my words fall on deaf ears.

  In my bedroom, Dr. Horn has stripped the bed of everything but one pillow. He’s also set up his tools on a tray beside the bed. I recognize all the implements. My gynecologist uses them when I go in for my annual visits.

  “Please disrobe and lie on the bed.”

  Hugo has released my arm but I stiffen at the order. When I back away, I hit his wall of a chest.

  “Do as you’re told and don’t waste the doctor’s time.”

  Dr. Horn looks at me. “It’s just an examination. Routine.”

  “It’s not routine. I don’t need—”

  Hugo picks me up by the arms and carries me to the bed. I’m fighting but it’s useless. Once there, he sits me on the edge and takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. “I can tie you spread eagle to the bed or you can lay back and do what the doctor says and have it over with. This is happening. You decide how it’s happening.”

  Instinct takes over and I try to make a run for it. Logic isn’t working because if it were, I’d know I have no chance of escape. I kick and scream as Hugo hauls me onto the bed and links my hands with a set of leather cuffs already attached to the top of the bed. Once I’m secured, he grabs one kicking leg at the ankle and drags it wide, his cold eyes on mine as he does. He links it to the cuff there. I’m still fighting when he takes the other leg and does the same. I’m spread wide, the robe barely covering the essentials, but Hugo keeps his eyes glued to mine as he unties and opens it wide, exposing me to him, to the doctor, to anyone who chooses to walk by the open door.

  He then shakes his head at me. “She’s all yours, Doc.” He moves to the far wall where he’ll have an unobstructed view between my legs, and folds his arms across his chest as he leans against it and watches. I see Helen walk by the door but she doesn’t glance inside. She’s whistling and carrying on with her cleaning as if this is totally normal.

  Dr. Horn’s gloved fingers press against me, opening my folds, smearing lubricant into me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hate the tears that slide from their corners as he does his work, taking a smear. It’s over within moments. I open my eyes to watch him place the sample in his bag and retrieve two syringes.

  “What are those for?”

  “Birth control and a blood sample.”

  He comes to the top of the bed and I start to struggle. Hugo steps forward.

  “Blood first,” the doctor says.

  Hugo grips my arm so hard, I can’t move it. It hurts when the doctor sticks the syringe in, taking the sample. When Hugo releases me, I do the only thing I can. I open my mouth and bite his hand.

  “Fuck.” He swipes it away.

  It wasn’t even hard enough to draw blood.

  “I can shoot this one into her hip if you turn her over and hold her still.”

  “With pleasure.” Hugo uncuffs one leg, but his grip is so tight as he folds it over the other, that I can’t move it at all. I feel the cold cotton swab readying the area and flinch when the needle penetrates skin. I’m so caught up in what’s happening to me that I don’t even hear Kill when he enters the room.

  “She’s compliant, I see,” he says when the doctor pulls the needle out and Hugo releases me so I roll onto my back.

  “That’s her. Compliant,” Hugo deadpans.

  I look at the scratches down Kill’s face. I got him good. But I know he’ll get me better.

  I meet his eyes. The rage of last night is gone. He still looks terrifying even wearing the expensive suit, but he’s not out of control. He shakes the doctor’s hand.

  “Thank you, Dr. Horn. Your services are appreciated as is your discretion.”

  “Of course, Mr. Black.”

  Mr. Black?

  But I don’t have time to think about this now because Kill turns his full attention to me, looks me over, walks to the bed, and sits on the edge of it. His gaze wanders over my naked body, pausing at my sex before his eyes meet mine.

  “I’m going to teach you to obey me,” he says, and I know he hasn’t forgotten what happened last night. He undoes my still bound leg, then my wrists. I sit up, rub them, cover myself as best I can. From inside his jacket pocket, he takes out a cell phone, scrolls to a number and dials it, then hands me the phone.

  I take it, confused, put it to my ear.

  “Cill?” It’s Jones.

  “Oh, God. Jones.” Relief washes over me and tears warm my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay, sis. Are you?”

  I glance at Kill. I’m not sure how to answer that. “Where are you?” I ask instead.

  “I can’t say, but I’m safe. I guess he needs you to know that.”

  “Are they hurting you?”

  “No.”

  I nod, but he can’t see me.

  “Sis, you shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

  I’m crying, wiping my face with one hand, pressing the phone to my ear with the other.

  “There. You know he’s not hurt. Now say goodbye,” Kill says.

  My eyes snap to his.

  “One month. You’ll see him after that,” he says.

  I study him, trying to gauge if he’s telling the truth, that he’s not going to hurt Jones. Jones sounds okay though. Not under duress.

  “I have to go,” I say. “I’ll see you again when this is over, okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jones says. “I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot.”

  “Say goodbye,” Kill repeats.

  “Goodbye.”

  Kill takes the phone and puts it into his pocket. He gets off the bed. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.” He motions to the shopping bag I hadn’t noticed.

  “Leaving?”

  “We’re taking a trip.”

  “Where to? I have a job. Rent.” I’m a freelance journalist, but still. I need to work to pay the bills.

  “You told me that last night. I took care of everything. All you have to worry about for the next month is pleasing me. You do that, and all will be well.”

  “You said I could leave.” I don’t know why I bring that up. I won’t leave. I know that.

  “I changed my mind.” He gives me a long look, then turns and walks out the door, closing it behind him.

  6

  Kill

  Not fifteen minutes later, Cilla walks out of her bedroom and into the living room. She’s dressed in jeans, a sweater and a pair of knee-high boots I ordered for her from a nearby boutique. I got the size right. The jeans hug her tight ass and the cashmere sweater displays the small, soft curves of her breasts. The deep crimson sets of her olive skin and dark hair. She’s not wearing makeup and still she’s stunning.

  I nod in approval and finish my cup of coffee. Helen takes it from me and I retrieve the black wool coat and hand it to Cilla.

  “I have clothes,” she says, looking at the coat but not taking it.

  “When you receive a gift, you say thank you.”

  “I never asked for a gift.”

  “That’s the definition
of a gift, isn’t it? A thing given willingly without the expectation of payment.”

  “But there will be payment.”

  I give her a one-sided grin. “Coat. It’s cold out.” I’m now holding it for her to slide her arms into it.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, taking the coat from me and putting it on herself.

  “Sleepy Hollow.” I don’t look at her when I say it. I don’t even know why I’m taking her there. I haven’t been back in years. Part of me wants to go. To see it again. But another part, maybe the smarter part, says stay the fuck away from the past.

  “Sleepy Hollow?” She’s scrunching up her face, confused.

  I nod and gesture to the man standing at the elevator that we’re ready to go. The doors slide open a moment later and I nod in the direction of the elevator.

  She moves into it. “How long will we be there? What’s up there anyway?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” We’re riding down to the garage.

  “Give me one answer and I’ll stop.”

  I turn to her, my gaze sweeping over her face. “My house.”

  “I thought this was your house.”

  “My other house.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. She’s quiet until the doors slide open and we’re at the garage.

  “I’ll drive myself,” I tell the driver waiting beside the SUV. My head’s in a weird place. It’s like I’m talking and moving, but it’s not me. Like I’m watching myself go through the motions because I’m trying to make sense of what the hell I’m doing. Why I’m going back. “Is everything in order at the house?”

  “Yes, sir. Ready for your arrival.”

  I look at Cilla, take her arm to walk her around to the passenger side, open the door and gesture for her to get in.

  “Why are we leaving the city? What did you mean you took care of everything?”

  “Because I want to and I mean your rent is paid and apartment secured while you’re away. As far as work, you’re a freelance journalist. You can write when I don’t require your…services.”

  That last part makes her stop. “Am I going to be safe?” she asks finally, quietly.

  “Finally a question that matters.” I give her a cold grin. “You will be safe, but you will also be obedient. You made the trade to save your useless brother’s legs. You offered up anything I want. This is what I want. Now get in.”

  She climbs into the truck. I close the door and walk to the driver’s side, taking my time. I take the keys from the man I’d usually have driving me, get in and start the engine.

  “Can I at least stop by my apartment and get some clothes? My laptop?” she asks. “I mean, if we’ll be there for a while.”

  She’s fishing for information, but thing is, I don’t have it. Not even for myself.

  “I’ll get you what you need.”

  She sighs, looks ahead as we pull out of the garage. It’s so quiet for the first fifteen minutes that I switch on the radio to break the silence.

  “He’s not useless,” she says when I do.

  “What?”

  She’s not looking at me. “Jones. He’s not useless. You don’t know anything about us.”

  “I know he was willing to let his sister sell herself to save his ass. I’m being kind when I use the word useless.”

  She turns to me, her gaze fiery. “Like I said, you don’t know anything about us.”

  “Then enlighten me. It’s a long drive.”

  She shakes her head. “Why did you have a doctor check me out?”

  I glance at her. She’s looking straight ahead. “You don’t think all I’ll expect from you is conversation, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m not stupid, you just could have asked.”

  “I’d rather be certain.”

  “What about me?” she asks, defiance in her tone. She’s shifted in her seat to look at me now. “What if I want you tested?”

  I give her a wide, toothy grin. “I’m clean.”

  “I’d rather be certain.”

  “You’re going to be fun.”

  Her shoulders slump as she leans back in her seat and watches traffic crawl by.

  I turn my attention to the road too, my mind busy. Hugo arranged for a cleaning crew to get the house ready for us early this morning. It’ll take more than a few hours to clean all the rooms though. So much has been shut up. Helen, who worked for my father and then my uncle, will travel to the house later today as well. I know she’s gone back to the place since that night. Someone had to make sure of the upkeep. When I told her I wanted to return to Rockcliffe House early today, she just looked at me for a few minutes before nodding her head, telling me she’d be ready to go this afternoon.

  I glance over at my passenger. She’s wrong about me not knowing anything about her or her brother. I know they grew up in foster homes, their parents having been killed when Jones was fourteen and she was twelve. No relatives to take them in and too old for adoption. They bounced around for the first two years, but then stayed with one family until Jones’s eighteenth birthday where he was granted guardianship of his sister. Ironically, the judge who did that was also the man with whom they both had lived for the last two years of their time in the system. And what did Jones do after that? He fucked up over and over again, and his little sister cleaned up for him over and over again.

  Given all of that, this should feel like a fucking vacation to her, and me, I’m her fairy fucking godmother.

  Traffic slows us down but when I finally pull off the exit and see the familiar sign to Sleepy Hollow, I feel my gut churn. I want to turn around. Go back. Forget about coming here, but I keep driving. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as we pass gated mansions spread farther and farther out as I approach Rockcliffe House. Cilla is sitting up, really paying attention now. I wonder if she’s memorizing the road. Maybe thinking she’ll have a chance to run. She won’t. I’ll make that clear when we reach Rockcliffe House.

  The tall iron gates finally come into view. They’re supported on either side by a large, stone pillar which becomes a six-foot high perimeter surrounding the property. Each of the pillars is topped with a watching gargoyle. And they are truly watching. Cameras are embedded within each one.

  I slow the SUV and turn onto the path leading to those foreboding gates.

  “This is your house?” she asks, her eyes on the gates, on the turret just visible over the hill behind them.

  I don’t answer, only because I can’t. It’s taking all I have to keep breathing. Keep calm.

  When we reach the closed gates I stop, punch in a code. The tall iron creaks as they slowly open.

  I navigate the SUV through and movement in the rear-view mirror tells me the gates are already closing behind us. Cilla’s leaning forward in her seat to watch now, her mouth slightly open. I keep my eyes on the road even as the house comes into view, casting its shadow over us, bringing memories long forgotten into the foreground of my mind. I pull to a stop before the entrance and switch off the engine. I look around at the overgrown lawn, wet with all the rain we’ve had. I remember playing in it as a kid. Remember Ginny and me out here for hours and hours. We only had each other. Given my family’s line of work, we grew up on our own. Home-schooled, and essentially friendless. Becoming more and more isolated as the years went by and my father’s paranoia deepened. Although, I guess it wasn’t paranoia. Not after what happened to mom.

  I clear my throat and steel myself before turning to Cilla.

  “Welcome to Rockcliffe House.” Her mouth is still open. I reach over, put a finger under her chin and close it.

  She draws back. “This isn’t a house. I guess I have no idea how much money thugs make these days.”

  I could take offense, but honestly, I need her distraction right now, so I chuckle.

  “You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.” I get out of the car and walk around to her side. She’s already got the door open and is climbing out.

  “Are you going to loc
k me away from the world for the next thirty days?”

  I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and guide her toward the large wooden doors. “It’s tempting to have you at my beck and call.” I stop walking and turn to her, make her face me. My grip is just tight enough to warn. “But you already are. Don’t forget why you’re here. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re anything other than mine. Mine to do with as I please. What happened last night will not happen again. Am I clear?”

  She’s watching my face, studying my eyes. Trying to read me. “Or what?” she asks, but her voice is higher than usual, giving away her anxiety.

  I lean in close so our noses touch. “Test me and you’ll find out. Please.”

  We stay like that for a long minute, and I’m pretty sure she only breathes when I release her. We turn to the front doors that are pushed open, two men standing at attention just inside.

  “Boys.” I nod in greeting, my tone casual although the old, closed up smell of the house still carries something familiar in it. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out. It’s Hugo. I silence it, but need to call him back.

  Cilla’s looking around, her eyes like saucers. The formal living room and the dining room, both of which we can see standing in the foyer, have been thoroughly cleaned, and I remember how my mother had wanted to replace the carpet in the dining room where a spill stained it. She never got the chance though.

  I turn my gaze to the curving staircase, wide and opulent, the steps white marble veined with black to match the foyer.

  “Is the blue bedroom prepared?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please take my guest to it. Assign a man to her room in case she needs anything or feels the need to go wandering about.”

  She gives me a glare but her curiosity has her following the man up. I head to my father’s study, blocking the memories from my mind. I don’t have time to deal with them just yet. I’ll work now. Give myself until tonight. Then I’ll go out back. Out to the barn. The greenhouse my mom had such hopes for. Then I’ll stand inside and let myself remember.