CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (9 page)

“Shit, Shane! No. Just way above my acceptable level of blood, which is typically unintentional.”

“Good to know.” I’ve always wondered just how dark he could get. “Well, then. I suppose you’re even with the thief now. Why don’t you stop blackmailing her?”

“What fun would that be? Plus, I find her to be a rather unique companion.” So he has a new girlfriend, not a submissive. “And she was only half way stealing from me to begin with, it’s rather complicated and the reason I’m not here drowning myself in all this pussy surrounding us tonight,” he laughs. Typical Trent, somehow turning this conversation around until it’s all about him. “But I have rules about abusive pasts, as you know. I finished researching her background, which was a real needle in a haystack situation. Several hundred French haystacks. Literally in France. Anyway—”

“Trent, I could give a shit about your crippling remorse over beating a woman to the brink of death nor your exhilaration about later falling in love with her,” I snap.

“Could you possibly be any more theatric?”

“Yes.” I growl out the word, surprising myself. “Looks like they managed to find that needle in all those French haystacks. So why couldn’t they find mine?”

“Fuck…”

“Did you block my research on Zoey?”

He stalls by drinking nearly an entire glass of water. “I never even started it,” he admits. “Adam convinced me that it might be best if—”

“You fucking assholes! Do you have any idea where I found her?”

“Actually Maddox told me about that and in retrospect I realize—”

“I trusted you.” I’ll never make that mistake again. “And holy shit, why the fuck did I come to you of all people for advice?”

“Now that I wondered myself, but I wanted to see you. So here we are and at least the food is fantastic. How’s business?”

“Fuck you.”

“Right then.” He gets up to leave, reaching across the table and holding out his hand. I refuse it, glaring at him. “Good luck with your captive, little brother. I’ll see you soon.”

Something about the way he said that doesn’t sit well with me. See me soon? I hardly speak to any of them anymore, and certainly won’t be socializing with him after this exchange. I thought I was an asshole. At least his terrible relationship advice did some good for my conscience.

It’s three in morning when I get home. Zoey is asleep, so I creep into her room and sit in the chair beside her bed. The flowers are wilting, I’ll have them replaced by morning. I suppose it’s also time to let her out of her cage.

It’s so difficult to leave the door open when I go, even more difficult than it is to resist crawling into her bed instead of mine. This compulsion to keep her under lock and key is irresistible. She can’t get out, I’m sure of it, but I double check every exit and change all the entry codes. Except for the playroom. I want to see if she’ll try it, that’s the only one she could have seen. And if she has it, will she dare to go inside?

Zoey

This is the second morning that I’ve woken up with the door left open. It’s so obviously a test, but I’m going crazy in here. Yesterday was the worst because the only thing keeping me from walking out of this room was an invisible force field of fear. I can’t stand it anymore.

I’ve been patiently biding my time, making sure that I don’t piss him off again so maybe he’d ease up on the total lockdown thing. I even started using the internet a little, hoping he’d assume I let my guard down. Maybe my plan actually worked.

I’m pretty sure Shane’s ‘at the office’, which I assume is in this building. The first place I head is the kitchen. This place is so heavily monitored I’m afraid to try the baby powder on the keypad trick. But I am getting sick of eating take out leftovers from the mini fridge in my room, even if he has been feeding me from some of the best restaurants in the city.

Feeding me. Like I’m some kind of animal. I should be counting my blessings, he could have been full on brutally fucking me this entire time. But at least then I’d know where I stand with the guy.

Eating dinner together is so awkward. I’m like 99% sure he wants me to piss him off so he can drag me back into the creepy torture chamber. Sometimes though, it seems like he wants me to actually talk to him, strategically asking a string of questions that starts to border on real conversation. And I find myself wanting to participate instead of merely answering him, to elaborate on something, to give my opinion. I’m not all that much of a talker, either. How the hell did I let myself start crushing on my kidnapper?

Shane stocked the kitchen with actual ingredients to make normal people food. Including flour. I nonchalantly look around the kitchen for the gleam of a tiny camera lens and find nothing, but I know it’s here. It’s too risky. Making a sandwich isn’t though, so that’s what I do.

He’s standing in the kitchen doorway when I’m finished, startling me so much I nearly drop it. Without a word, he walks up to me and surveys my choice of condiments.

“Hello, Zoey,” he says.

“Hi.”

“That looks delicious.”

“Uh… does that mean you want me to, like, make you one?”

“No,” he replies, grabbing two slices of bread and the jar of mayonnaise. “Z, I think we need to start over.”

My hands start to tremble. “Start over?”

“Yes.” He takes a seat at the kitchen table instead of going into the fancy dining room. I decide to do the same. “Your roommate’s boyfriend. Ricky. He’ll be arrested tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I typically mean what I say,” he replies, gesturing for me to start eating my food. “But no, I won’t allow you to leave.”

Not all that surprising at this point, dude. I’ve been keeping up on the news quite a bit this week. It’s been a bloodbath, just like he said. “Why hasn’t Marlowe been arrested yet?” I ask softly, holding my breath afterwards in case I’ve overstepped my bounds.

“That has never been the objective,” Shane answers, completely unfazed. If anything, he looks pleased.

“Why did you hate him so much in the first place?”

His brow furrows, but he isn’t angry. “Short answer? He killed my brother’s sister. Not technically, but that’s how he sees it.”

His brother’s sister, not his own. I won’t push my luck and ask for the long answer. “Well, the city is better off without him.”

“It won’t matter though, will it? Another kingpin will his take his place within a year. Such is life.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I murmur. Shane’s finished his food, but looks down at the table blankly. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It does. I was not born into luxury, Z,” he informs me.

“You weren’t?” Could have fooled me, Mr. Formality.

“Humboldt Park.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” I clap my hand over my mouth.

“You can be as foul mouthed as you please. You just can’t go anywhere,” he laughs. “And no, I’m not fucking kidding you.”

“No shit?” I pop the last bite of my meal into my mouth as he nods. “What part?”

“East. The good side.”

“The good side is kind of close to a really bad side, though.”

“I didn’t grow up in either area.”

“That’s kind of obvious,” I say, flinching. This is why I don’t speak to the man. Everything comes out either defensively or like the smart ass that I am. He doesn’t chastise me though and now I’m super curious. “So where did you end up?”

Shane rubs his chin, eyes narrowing. “Somewhere better, yet somehow a lot worse at the same time.” What the hell does that mean? I am so not asking. “Come on, Z. I want to show you something.”

Aw, shit. Did I piss him off and not even notice? My pulse spikes as he holds out his hand, but I force myself to take it and brace for something worse. All he does is circle the fading bruise on my wrist softly with his fingertips.

I get a chill as Shane rests his hand on the small of my back, but the dread mingles with something else. Who am I kidding? I’m a virgin, not an idiot. It’s called desire, and as we walk through his giant house it starts to overtake the fear.

My feet stop at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my room, hesitating until he practically pulls me through the archway I was told not to cross. It smells slightly of fresh paint and there’s a thick line of steel near a key pad I don’t remember seeing when I first searched the house. I think he had a gate installed that slides out of the wall.

The see-through stair case is somehow even more disorienting now that I’m expecting it. Maybe it has something to do with the mentally unstable individual gripping my hand.

“You’ve expressed some interest in my work,” he says once we’ve reached the landing.

I have? I mean, I am interested, but I never ask follow up questions at dinner. “Is this like a test or something?”

“If it was, would you prefer to pass or fail?” Shane replies, flashing me a subdued version of that wicked expression he wore that night.

I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t even know what I’d want. That freaked me the hell out, sure, but if my wrist hadn’t started to snap… maybe it would have been… I don’t know. I just can’t stop thinking about it.

“I’m not serious, Z,” he chuckles. “Here.” He places a gigantic tablet in my hands, probably three times the size and thickness of a normal one.

“What’s this?” I ask him.

“A prototype I’ve been working on. Specifically designed for artists.” He hands me a variety of paint brushes unlike any I’ve ever seen. The bristles feel weird. “I don’t think it will ever actually go to market,” he continues, pressing the button on the side to turn it on.

“Why not? This thing looks awesome.”

“What sets this one apart from others like it is the screen sensitivity. But the glass is too fragile for the consumer. They’re also too expensive to produce.”

“It’s super heavy, too,” I say, watching the screen light up. There’s an icon that says ‘Canvas’ I’m itching to tap.

“The weight could be engineered down.”

“Can’t you make the glass stronger?” Screw it, he gave it to me. Shane grins when I open the app.

“Not without losing sensitivity.” He slides one of the brushes across the screen, leaving a trail of perfectly red paint behind it.

“Wow.” There are actual bristle streaks on the edges of the brush strokes, it looks so real. “This is incredible. You totally have to make more of these.”

My captor’s entire face brightens up and I get the strangest sense of déjà vu. “Hopefully the cost of materials will fall within a decade.”

“I’ll do my best not to drop it then.”

“Sit over there and try it out.”

Shane gestures to a black leather couch against the railing. That wasn’t there the first time I was here. I take a seat and start playing with the thing, hoping he’ll sit next to me. Instead he picks up a pair of pliers and approaches that same robotic arm he was working on the first night.

We spend nearly an hour together in silence. I keep glancing at him and he keeps looking up at me, both of us tearing our eyes away when they meet. At first he’s cute when he gets frustrated. His eyes are so determined and it’s pretty hot when he uses his veiny forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. But then his determination takes a darker turn and he slams his fist on the glass floor.

It’s so startling I let out a little squeak and drop the tablet safely on the couch I felt comfortable enough to relax in. Shane jerks his head up to look at me and I stare back like a deer in the headlights.

“I guess it’s time to take a break,” he says, deliberately trying to keep his voice calm.

Am I the break? Do I want to be? My breathing gets heavier as our eyes stay glued together. “You know, sometimes when I can’t get a project right, I put it aside and work on something else,” I suggest softly, dropping my chin.

“I don’t give up that easily.”

“It’s not about giving up,” I explain. “It clears my head to feel like I’m still accomplishing something. But I guess pottery is, um, you know, a lot less complex than whatever you’re doing.”

“The stupid thing works. It’s already in production. And profitable,” Shane says, leaning his forehead on his arm against the project. “It’s just not perfect.” His shirt is pulled up a bit and I can see the waistband of his underwear over his jeans. I thought abs like that were all photoshopped.

“I can’t hold my projects to such high standards,” I reply, resisting the urge to lick my lips. “Sometimes you spend hours getting the glaze just right. Then you send it to the kiln and it comes out with a little bubble or crack, an imperfection that will always be there. There’s only so much you can do to control the end result.”

“That would be beyond infuriating.”

“I like to call it character,” I whisper. He stands upright, his shirt falling back into place. I wonder what he looks like with it off. “But hey, what do I know. Maybe robots aren’t supposed to have any character.”

“Well, this one doesn’t get any,” he says. “But these are pretty cool.” Shane beckons me over to a different workbench with a wave of his hand and I practically jump to my feet. I make sure not to brush up against a single thing, the last thing I want is that temper of his to start raging again. “These actually had too much character.”

There’s a row of drones all lined up on the table before us, each with a controller. They almost look like they have faces. “Did you design these?”

“I did. But we decided that the one with the least personality was the most professional. Some of the other faces will make it onto toy models though, but I haven’t gotten around to starting that company yet,” he laughs.

“So these are…”

“The real thing.” He picks up a remote and the most menacing drone’s blades begin to spin. It rises into the air, remaining perfectly vertical. I guess he does need two and a half stories of empty space. Watching his face is more enjoyable than watching his creation flying around. That gleeful smile is contagious. I flash on what he probably looked like as a little boy. “Do you want to try?” he asks.

“And break one of your million dollar projects?” I laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve destroyed at least a dozen. The real ones are operated by computer. I turned the leftovers into toys.”

I bite my lip, hesitating. “Okay, I’ll try.”

The drone hovers beside us, sending a current through the air stronger than most fans as Shane approaches me slowly. He stands behind me, his arms on either side as he puts the controller into my hands. “It’s pretty intuitive,” he whispers into my ear, guiding my thumbs on the tiny joystick to move it side to side. “And it does tricks.”

I giggle as the thing flips end over end. “How do you make it rotate or go up and down?” I ask, leaning back into him as he shows me the controls.

His hands depart and I’m on my own operating the drone, but his body stays pressed against mine. I hit a button to make it flip, then another to do a different trick. His face turns, breathing heat on my neck. It makes me flash on that night he tied me up. That dungeon is right below us. I don’t want him to hurt me, but I still think I’d like to go back.

Then I hit a different button and hear a gunshot. It scares me so much that I drop the remote. “Oh my God!” I squeal as he pulls me to the ground and watch the drone crash to the bottom floor through the glass.

His arms envelop me, his shaky hand cupping the back of my head to his heaving chest as his heart thumps in my ear.

“I am so sorry,” I say, wincing as I prepare for the inevitable fallout.

“That was a live round.”

Shane holds me even tighter as the pace of my breathing quickens to match his. The warmth of his solid body against mine is so comforting even though I can sense the anger radiating off him in waves. I peek my head up when he allows it to gauge the fury on his face. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“The problem is, Z, I didn’t either.” His eyes close as his jaw clenches. “There are a thousand bullets flying on the streets out there tonight. You are the one person on the planet that I don’t want to catch one. If that toy had been facing us…”