Captive Read online

  Everyone feared him but me.

  No, I thrived on pushing his buttons. I liked to see him contain himself. It riled me up to watch a monster hold back his claws, and he loved it too. Because he took it out on me when we fucked, and that was all we seemed to do.

  Argue, then fuck.

  Fuck, then argue.

  Argue, then fuck, then argue.

  He reappeared in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at me from across the apartment. I felt like he’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t. His eyes narrowed as he studied my posture. “Get in here, Vixen,” he demanded in a no bullshit tone.

  I stood straighter, fixing him with a glare. “I didn’t know there was any rush.”

  He slid his jacket off and tossed it on the nearby couch before levelling me with a firm stare. “I deserve a thank you.”

  I crossed my arms stubbornly. “Thank you for what? For allowing me to take a walk outside? Wow, how grateful I am. I’m pretty sure corpses breathe more fresh air than I do.”

  There was nothing playful in his expression. “Get in the bedroom and suck my cock, Vixen. I’m tired of waiting.”

  He disappeared into the room again, silencing me. Oh, he knew what that did to my temper. Did he want me to rattle the cage I was in? Jailbreak the fucker all so he could open it back up for me to crawl back into?

  I strode to the bedroom, fury in my veins. He was already naked in the centre of the unlit room. His face was tight when he turned to watch me come in.

  “Are you removing my voice, Nixon?” I seethed. “Do you want –”

  “Shut up,” he cut in harshly with a dark look. “Now I love your smart mouth, but I just want to fuck it tonight. No more talking. Give me some fucking respite, baby.”

  My mouth screwed shut. He looked tense when he sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to service him. He wouldn’t even look at me. There was no amusement, no anger, nothing but a tense man that looked like he was at the end of his rope.

  I dropped my arms to my sides, aware as ever he needed me.

  Tonight wasn’t about the push and pull.

  Tonight he needed me to make him forget something.

  I rubbed at my chest, irritated at myself for feeling warmth there. I had this desire to help him, to remove whatever tormented him, and that made me feel weak.

  Here was a man who controlled every part of my life, right down to what I wore and where I went.

  And here I was, falling into the emotional trap of wanting to care for him when he was down.

  I wished I was strong enough to stomp away. A lesser feeling person would. Maybe the key to my freedom was not giving him respite when he needed it. He’d get sick of that, surely, and cast me out. I was happy enough never to turn him in; I was prepared to make up some bullshit excuse for my disappearance. Anything if it meant he left me the fuck alone.

  Yet despite all that, I still found myself moving to him. I was only human, and I reassured myself that it didn’t mean anything if I helped him through tonight.

  Plus, he was like crack, remember? And I admittedly wanted another hit.

  His legs were spread for me, waiting. The position should have insulted me, but all I felt were aching tugs between my legs. Fuck, he looked incredible. All male. He could have been a model in some other life.

  A really scary one.

  I slowly dropped to my knees before him. My hands journeyed up his huge, muscled thighs. He looked down at me, and I met his gaze, studying the tense lines of his face, wondering what was wrong.

  The simple caressing motion to his thighs began to harden him. I took his cock into both my hands, feeling it swell between my fingers. Soon, my fingers wouldn’t be able to touch. Soon, the look of his pleasured face would drive me fucking wild.

  Leaning down, I spat at the head of his cock and used my saliva as a lubricant. I spread it around his cock and pumped him, riveted by the slippery feel of him.

  “Your mouth, baby,” he demanded tightly.

  I took him into my mouth, and he let out a long breath. His shoulders relaxed as I pumped him and sucked him. I knew the pace he liked. He’d showed me what it took to get him off. He liked the teasing. He liked the eye contact. He liked watching his cock disappear into my mouth.

  He gently moved the hair falling over my face and bunched it up over my head. “Deeper now, sweetheart,” he groaned.

  I took him as deep as I could go, and it wasn’t that far in. My mouth ached from how stretched it was trying to accommodate him, but his sounds spurred me on. I felt tingles travel to the pit of my belly. I felt the urge to caress the spot between my legs against his foot – anywhere to relieve the tension.

  “Faster now,” he demanded. “Squeeze me.”

  Surprised, I followed his instruction, aware now he just wanted to be sucked off without any teasing. There was no pleasure in this for him. He needed a weight lifted off his shoulders.

  I quickened my pace, closing my eyes as I swirled my tongue along the tip of him. He tasted good and looked good. Everything about him was pleasing. I was not going to delude myself by thinking I’d ever find another godly cock in this life.

  He’d ruined it for me, and that was strangely okay.

  By how impossibly hard he was getting, I knew he was close to coming. I took him as deep as I could into my throat and massaged his balls. He cursed under his breath and his gaze went distant. He came hard, his fist in my hair tightening, his groans long and pained. His hips went up as he rode it out, pushing deeper still in my mouth, until I was struggling for air.

  Then he let go of me and collapsed back onto the mattress. I released him from my mouth and watched his chest rise and fall. His hands ran through his hair, tugging at the ends.

  He was still not okay.

  “Nixon,” I whispered, worriedly.

  He made no response.

  I climbed up the bed and over him. With my legs bent on either side of him, I sat down on his still hard cock and stared down at him.

  He looked back, not a single emotion leaking into his expression. It was peculiar seeing him so vacant. I didn’t like it. I wanted our old banter back.

  “Talk to me,” I urged.

  “About what?”

  “Well, was that good for you?” I asked, cheekily, desperate to see a smile. “I can rim you next.”

  His brows shot up. “Feeling kinky, Vix?”

  “Yeah, your perversion’s been rubbing off on me.”

  “Well, that would be a first for me.”

  “Me too.”

  His lips lifted just barely to one side. “I’m pretty sure I took all your firsts.”

  I tapped my chin, pretending to think about it. “Well, I can think of several guys that I’ve taken to –”

  My breath whooshed out of me as he flipped me over in one big swooping motion, until my back was on the mattress and he was looming over me. There was a wicked glint in his eye and a warning in his expression. “Now, be very careful what you say, Vixen.”

  I swallowed a laugh, enjoying his reaction. “Oh? Why should I do that?”

  “Because I’ll hunt down these boys and kill them.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “You want to know what’s fucked up, Nixon? I actually believe you would.”

  He dropped his face to my neck and sucked fiercely at my skin. I squirmed, trying to get him to stop. “You’re going to mark me.”

  “Good,” he murmured, licking up my throat now.

  “Jerk.”

  “You marked me with your nails. It’s only fair I mark you back.”

  I protested. “Now, I apologized for that.”

  He paused to look at me. “I’m sorry for leaving a hickey on your throat, baby.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I see what you did there.”

  “Now we’re even.”

  I pretended to look filthy at that. “You hurt me just now, you know.”

  He let out a hard laugh. “Here we go.”

  “What?”
<
br />   “I hurt you again?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re always hurting.”

  I bit back my smile. “Because you’re rough on me.”

  “Where are these bruises, Vix, that display all your pain?”

  “They’re too deep to show.”

  “That sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Uh-huh.” His chest rumbled with laughter again. “Tell me where else it hurts.”

  My cheeks heated as I spread my legs and grinded against his front. He looked amused, finally. Seeing his face glow made my heart hiccup in my chest. Like he was still my Nixon.

  My saviour. A tiny voice whispered in the black void I’d done so well to ignore.

  “Oh, no,” he said, playing along. “I hurt you down there, did I?”

  I nodded. “I think you need to kiss it better.”

  He kissed me fiercely, lapping his tongue against mine. He dragged a moan from me before he pulled away and began kissing down my body. I breathed hard, staring up at the ceiling now, awed by what his mouth was capable of. Just his lips on my skin and my body was on fire. He flipped my dress up and slid my panties down. His fingers grazed over my pussy, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

  “Look how wet you are,” he murmured, awed.

  “Not wet for you, Nixon,” I said, panting.

  “No?” He trailed his hot tongue up my slit. My hands shot out to his hair. I tugged fiercely at it as my body began to thrum. Oh, dear God.

  “You think,” he started, his hot breaths at my centre, “if I sucked you hard enough, you’d scream my name?”

  Heat bloomed from within me.

  We played our roles to a tee. The familiarity of it melted me.

  “I won’t say your name,” I told him with conviction, the challenge in my tone present. “It could be anyone’s mouth on my pussy, Nixon. You do nothing for me.”

  I waited for his usual rebuttal. The tongue in cheek response before he pulled apart my words and proved me wrong, but it was utterly absent. The silence dragged, until I lifted my head and looked down at him. His eyes met mine, and instead of amusement in their depths, there was something else.

  Something…warm and delicious.

  I swallowed hard, feeling increasingly uncomfortable by my body’s response to him.

  “Lay your head down, baby,” he said gravely, “and allow me to prove you wrong.”

  I dropped my head and shut my eyes as he began to lick me, pulling sounds out of me that – even after all this time – surprised me.

  As expected, he proved me wrong.

  19.

  Tyrone…

  Fury drove him here.

  He followed Flynn to his room, feeling rage coursing through his veins.

  The second Flynn got to his door, Tyrone hurried from behind him and shoved him against it. He forced his front against the door, grabbed at his hair, and growled, “What the fuck you trying to do, Flynn?”

  “Get off me, man,” Flynn retorted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m not getting off you until you give me some answers.”

  “About what?”

  “Why are you fucking with Nixon’s girl?”

  Flynn let out a surprised laugh. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw you at the bakery. I saw what you did!”

  Tyrone had seen Nixon leave the hotel with Vix. It was so shocking, Tyrone had wound up following Vixen, praying to God she wouldn’t run. Tyrone didn’t need that kind of heartbreak from Nixon, and Vix didn’t deserve the punishment that would ensue as a consequence of fleeing.

  But she didn’t flee.

  She’d just wandered, looking stunning in her dress, wind blowing through her hair before she’d disappeared into the bakery.

  The last thing Ty had expected to see was the way Flynn interacted with her there. The close proximity, the light touches – THE FEEDING HER FROM HIS HAND – it was shocking.

  It made him furious.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Flynn told him, sounding pissed now. “She showed up at the fucking bakery. I talked to her.”

  “You touched her.”

  “So what?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at her.”

  “She’s fucking beautiful.”

  Tyrone let go of Flynn and took a giant step back, feeling like he wasn’t capable of stopping himself from beating this fucking kid to the ground. “What’s your fucking aim, Flynn?”

  “I have no aim.”

  “You said something to her, and she fled.”

  Fixing his sports jacket, Flynn turned to face Tyrone. He glared at him. “None of your fucking business.”

  “I warned you, kid, not to mess with her.”

  “I wasn’t,” Flynn snapped. “I was minding my own fucking business. She came into the bakery on her own.”

  “I want to know what you said.”

  Flynn smirked darkly. “Like I said, none of your fucking business.”

  Tyrone didn’t respond. He studied Flynn, trying to understand why he couldn’t stand the sight of him. He’d voiced his concerns to Hobbs after the meeting, but Hobbs had brushed him off, adamant the kid was imperative to the job. Toby had stressed a driver was needed, had even steered Hobbs in the direction of the kid who’d been making news all over San Diego for being a street racer.

  “If you’re fucking around, you’re messing with the wrong people,” Tyrone warned.

  “I went to a fucking bakery,” Flynn retorted, slowly, “I was eating from there when she walked through the door and said my name. She sat down next to me, and I fed her from my fucking plate. Why is that such a fucking problem?”

  Tyrone didn’t respond.

  Because…well, because technically it wasn’t a problem.

  And judging by the confusion on Flynn’s face, Tyrone started to think he’d overreacted.

  But…something, something at the pit of him felt uneasy. He couldn’t explain it. The shooting in the basement had rocked him. Maybe it was responsible for making him so fucking paranoid.

  The incident had brought out a side to Nixon that frankly disturbed the crew. He’d had absolutely no qualms torturing a man, even when he got no answers. Seeing what Nixon was capable of made what happened two years ago all the more real.

  Tyrone didn’t want a repeat of that madness.

  But he had a feeling he had no control over what was going to happen.

  Technically, Flynn saved the girl. Technically, he had absolutely no idea she’d walk into the bakery.

  The kid looked so confused, and Tyrone almost felt guilty for being such an irate dick.

  But…

  Fuck, he couldn’t stop that feeling at his core.

  He turned around and stormed away from Flynn. He took the elevator back down to the basement and nursed a few drinks at the bar, watching for hours as Doll drank, danced, got undressed and wooed the men. He watched with a smirk as Hobbs showed up, pulled her off the lap of an intoxicated Rowan and dragged her out of the basement.

  “Stop thinking,” Tiger told him, noticing Tyrone’s quiet demeanour. “You do too much of that, Tyrone.”

  “I can’t shut off,” Tyrone retorted. “I can’t stop thinking of that homeless guy.”

  “Vixen didn’t get hurt. That’s all that matters right now.”

  The crew cared about Vixen.

  That girl was infectious when she wasn’t acting so miserable. But lately…lately, Tyrone detected something had changed inside her.

  It was another worry.

  Just another thing on the long list of shit Tyrone had to think about.

  20.

  Vixen…

  I sat on the floor in front of the window of the living room with the bedsheet wrapped around my naked body. It was close to two in the morning. Nixon had fucked me twice before releasing me from the bed. He didn’t clean me up, didn’t ask how good it felt for me. Typical Nixon, making me feel lik
e a used tissue. I supposed I made him feel like any other dick.

  This tit for tat was getting arduous, but it was us.

  And the hard part of it being us was I was beginning to like it – really like it.

  I tried to quiet my thoughts by looking out into the darkness. If I stared hard enough, I might see the ocean’s waves crashing against the rocks below.

  It felt like so much had suddenly happened the last couple days. My routine had been shaken. First, with Flynn. Second, with the doctor’s disclosure. And now third with Nixon letting me out and looking at me like…

  It couldn’t have all been a coincidence. My gut was trying to warn me of something, but I didn’t know what it was. There was an ominous feeling of encroaching peril. The feeling was akin to the day I’d been kidnapped.

  It was unsettling.

  “What are you doing out here, Vix?”

  I stirred out of my thoughts and glanced at him from over my shoulder. “Just thinking.”

  Nixon approached me, looking freshly showered in just his black briefs. Drops of water fell from his hair as he slid down to the floor. He wrapped his arms around me and tugged me back. My back moulded into his front, a perfect fit, like a piece to a puzzle. I tried not to dwell on that.

  “Thinking about what?” he asked, planting kisses along my shoulder.

  My lips quivered. I was overcome with the urge to ask him about numero uno. It was there, at the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t know what reaction I’d get.

  Instead, I settled with shaking my head. “Nothing.”

  His finger traced down my bare arm as he made a thoughtful sound. “You can talk to me.”

  “Why bother? We’ll just end up arguing.”

  “No,” he disagreed. “You argue. I’m just along for the ride.”

  I pondered that comment. “Is it wearing you down?”

  “No, I like your fire.”

  “If I put it out, would you be less enchanted by me?”

  “No.”

  I sighed, at my wits end. “You don’t care when I act out. You don’t care when I embarrass you. You don’t care when I throw my fits and tell random guests you kidnapped me. Tell me, Nixon, what would finally get under your skin?”