Captive Read online

  He looked…well, he looked downright gorgeous.

  I stood up straighter and looked back at the ocean. With a disinterested shrug, I muttered plainly, “Okay.”

  I wasn’t going to open the door for conversation. This guy was like them, and he should have known better than to be talking to me. Unless it was Tyrone or the regulars behind Flynn, dialogue was to be kept to a minimum.

  From my peripheral, I saw him shuffle closer to me, but his gaze was still fixed to a spot in the sea. With a low voice, he said, “What’s your name?”

  I felt surprised he didn’t know. I’d walked in on Nixon’s arm. Wasn’t that enough to ward anyone away?

  Dangling the glass to my lips, I stated simply, “Vixen.”

  He took a moment before repeating, “Vixen?” in what sounded like disbelief. “That can’t be your real name.”

  I tossed him a bored look. “Well, it is.”

  His eyes narrowed curiously at me. His plump lips lifted in a smirk. “What sort of name is Vixen?”

  “Like you should be talking,” I retorted, giving him a quick once over. “You think Flynn is any better?”

  “It means something to me.”

  “Am I supposed to ask what?”

  He smiled and dropped his head to my level, staring at me fully now and I…couldn’t look away. “I get a lot done. I persevere when I want something bad enough. I got a sharp tongue, and I’m quick on my feet. Women can’t resist my charm, and guys don’t think I’m intimidating enough to create trouble. So, I keep to myself, I say sweet things the girls like to hear, drink with the fellas and laugh with them too, and before you know it… I’m in like Flynn.”

  Okay, it wasn’t a response I expected to hear.

  And he’d said it in such a way too. The kind of way that made a woman’s knees go weak. Yeah, he was charming, just like he’d said. I told myself to toughen the fuck up. I had to remind myself that the strange butterfly sensations in my stomach were driven by a fuckboy that looked like the kind of guy I’d have dated back in College.

  And those guys wanted to get in my virgin pussy. Had even made bets on it.

  I kind of felt glad Nixon beat them to it.

  Man, I was so fucked up.

  “Well, your name’s shit,” I commented rudely. Maybe if I was a snobby bitch, he’d leave me alone, but…he just stood there, glowing at my response.

  He smirked and nodded once. “It’s shit,” he agreed.

  I cut my stare short and looked down into my glass, feeling somewhat out of my depth because he was still watching me, and I wasn’t used to this sort of attention.

  What was he doing talking to me in front of everyone?

  Nixon would know about this.

  Paranoid, I glanced at the door, half-expecting to see him strolling in. Flynn followed my line of sight, a knowing look on his expression. His lips curved up, an amused smile spreading there. “You’re safe,” he assured me, softly.

  I frowned, glaring at him now with suspicion. “I saw Tyrone talking to you,” I abruptly said in an accusing way. “You know you aren’t allowed to just come up to me like this. Nixon knows nothing about you, and you’re not going to be popular with the crew by disrespecting him like this.”

  “Tyrone said you were off-limits,” he acknowledged. “He also kept calling me ‘kid’. I’m twenty-eight years old. I think I know what I’m doing.”

  I gave him a solemn look. “You don’t know Nixon.”

  He didn’t look one bit unsettled. With an easy grin, he replied, “He doesn’t know me, either.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s cute. Are you implying you’re some badass?”

  “No.”

  No. That was all he answered with, and he looked like he genuinely meant it.

  “So, you’re stupid,” I guessed. “Because you have to be to be risking your neck right now.”

  He laughed confidently. “Actually, I’m safe. This job coming up? They need me. They’ll fail if they don’t have me.”

  “Ah,” I nodded, understanding. “You’re basing your safety on the fact they can’t touch you before this job is done.”

  He smirked. “Exactly.”

  “And after?”

  His eyes glowed now. “I’ll be gone. They’ll never find me.” Then he added under his breath, “I can do that, you know.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make anyone disappear.” His gaze cut to mine and lingered longer than necessary, sending his meaning well and clear.

  Jesus.

  I turned away quickly, feeling my heart catch in my throat. This conversation was dangerous to have, and I didn’t trust this guy. I couldn’t afford losing what little freedom I was awarded after so many months trapped in my hotel room after simply taking a back exit out of a fucking restaurant.

  “You’re boring,” I stated coolly. “Go away.”

  I was good at pretending. I dismissed him by staring fixedly out the window. A cold brush off. He couldn’t know my heart was thumping wildly in my chest, or how hard I resisted the adrenaline fused shakes at the desperate thought of escaping this stupid island.

  He watched me for a few moments, not exiting in haste like he ought to. Instead, he casually nodded at me, a cool smile on his face before he retreated from me.

  I let out a long breath, and the anxiety brought on by his presence ebbed away at a slow rate. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. I could feel Tyrone’s eyes on me. I didn’t need him to see me seeking Flynn out to confirm his worries.

  He didn’t need to worry, anyway.

  Like a cow stuck on a farm, I wasn’t going anywhere. While the cow was secured behind a fence, I was secured in place by cold ocean water that spanned as far as the eye can see. And with Nixon’s surveillance upped like never before, the ferries and boats that entered the marina or anchored not far past the shore were closely monitored.

  In laymen terms, I was fucked.

  10.

  Vixen…

  There was a hidden room in the basement of the hotel. It was heavily guarded by a bunch of Nixon’s men who were armed with very illegal guns. They looked like those guys at weight-lifting competitions. Some had that fake bronze tan, too. I wanted to tell Nixon that these guys were obviously strong, but their cardio most likely left much to be desired. I was sure they’d just shoot you if you ran from them, but in the off chance they were disarmed and I had to run from them one day in the future, I kept that information to myself.

  Anyway, it was a betting room. A very illegal betting room. A lot of money was blown by very rich, or very corrupt men that came through on their giant yachts. It was past peak season and they kept coming in droves. The services Nixon provided were evidently addictive.

  As we approached, the guards practically bowed at Nixon. If his pants were down, I was sure they’d have kissed his ass. Following us was everyone from the meeting sans Hobbs. He never went down to the basement. Get this, he said gambling was against his moral code. That was akin to hearing a murderer condemn thieving, it was just so what in the fuck?

  The second the doors opened the music flooded out. With his arm possessively wrapped around my hip, Nixon led me in. The room was like a club. There was a bar area, and then a series of tables scattered around the room. There was a stage of exotic dancers, hardly clothed. When I dryly commented once that they might as well have been naked, Nixon explained he didn’t allow poles, cages, or strippers; he said that it would “cheapen the ambience.”

  The betting tables were in the centre of the room, and they were currently filled to the brim with suited men, their eyes downcast at their playing cards. Some of them had a mountain of gambling chips, their expressions smug.

  I hoped to God Nixon wouldn’t join the next game. I didn’t feel like sitting in his lap for hours tonight. Since talking to Flynn, I felt out of sorts. His disappearing comment weighed heavy on my mind. The “what-if” clouded my thoughts. It was dangerous to feel hope, but there it was, already seeding its
elf.

  I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder at him. I expected him to be staring around the room in awe, his eyes devouring the scene before him. Instead, my breath hitched when my eyes met his. Like I’d been burned, I looked away quickly.

  It wasn’t bizarre that Nixon invited him down here. Every time they had a job, they’d have their meetings and then unwind in the basement with some drinks. Doll was already knocking back a drink and dancing her way over to one of the betting tables. She caught the attention of all the men there. She recognized one of them because she descended on him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her teeth grazing at his skin while she looked down at his playing cards. The guy was so clean-cut, he looked like a politician, and he probably was. Too many times to count I’d met or seen people I’d later catch on the television late at night. Oftentimes, Nixon would watch with me, a dry look on his face when whoever it was talked about the greater good. “Funny,” he’d said once. “That guy loves his hookers.” The guy in question had been some businessman that had made it on television for his charitable nature…and he was running for Mayor in whatever the fuck town he resided in. He’d donated some crazy amount to a kid’s hospital and then smiled at the cameras, telling the screen that “every child deserves the best…now vote for me.” Or something like that.

  It was entertaining, but it was also sad. A lot of these people were married. A lot of them had kids. And their loved ones had no idea they were gambling it up in some hidden room located in the belly of a posh hotel.

  I supposed it was nothing compared to the other shit they did.

  As we walked, practically everyone greeted Nixon, but they didn’t overwhelm him. They gave us space as we strode through the room, stopping for quick chats here and there. Nixon made quick work of cutting every conversation short. He took me to one of the tables in the dining area and snapped his fingers at the nearest waitress. She practically tripped over her feet to accommodate him.

  “Get the chef in the kitchen to serve us the usual,” he told her. “Tell him pronto. I want our orders at the front of the line.”

  “Yes, Nixon,” she chirped, before hurrying to the backroom.

  Pulling a chair out from under the table, Nixon kissed my head and murmured, “Sit down, baby, get comfortable.”

  I sat down and he took a seat directly across me. His attention was trapped on me. It didn’t matter everyone stared. It didn’t matter the most beautiful women stopped mid-step just to gawk at him. He didn’t even notice them.

  I could tell from his expression he was in a good mood. His lips were curved up, his eyes feasting on every inch of my face. It was kind of a fucked-up sight because the claw marks just above the collar of his shirt looked red and angry now…and he still wore them with pride.

  “Why are you so happy?” I asked curiously.

  “After the meeting, I took a call from my builder,” he answered, eyes bright. “My plans were approved. I’m getting our house built on the island, sweetheart. It’s happening.”

  Nixon had been talking about owning the island now forever. He was slowly accomplishing this by buying out everything on it. The nature reserve was strictly off limits from what I heard, but everything else was on the table. He’d said there was the most perfect spot atop the highest mountain on Grander island. He’d bought out the surrounding homes, gave the owners more than they’d ever dreamed of, all because he had this vision in his head of the perfect house.

  He said it was for us.

  To me, it was just another prison.

  To confirm that, I asked, “Do I get to leave this house of ours?”

  His expression remained light when he said, “You’ll have everything you need there.”

  “I can’t help but feel like I’ll be more isolated than I am here.”

  “I’ll make sure that isn’t the case.”

  “Seeing human beings daily helps me, Nixon.”

  “I know that.”

  “I can’t have a repeat of last year.” My voice trembled as memories of that month stuck in my room flooded in. I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring pleadingly at him. “I can just stay here, can’t I?”

  He leaned over the table and gingerly took my hands into his. He continued watching me intently when he said, “I let you out.”

  “You nearly broke me.”

  “You ran from me, Vix.”

  My eyes stung with tears. “I said I wouldn’t do it again, didn’t I? And have I once?”

  “No, you haven’t.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking down at our entwined hands, appearing thoughtful now. “I long for the day I can trust you.”

  “Trust me now.”

  “You spent an hour in our room telling me to let you go.”

  “Because I want to feel like I have a choice in this, Nixon.”

  “I understand.”

  Did he? I watched him, waiting for him to dismiss my words, but he stared fixedly back at me, determined not to waver.

  The thing with Nixon was I could never tell what his looks meant. I couldn’t know if he was looking at me like I was something he owned, or if he was genuinely seeing me. Too many times his actions made me feel like it was the former, and that fucking stung.

  “What Doll said was right, you know,” I told him, bitterly. “I’m practically your pet.”

  Nixon looked amused. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” I icily retorted. “Only, now that I really think about it, I think pets have longer leashes than I do.”

  “You want a longer leash, Vix?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, sarcastically. “I want a longer leash, Nixon, and I want you to take me out on walks, too.”

  He enjoyed playing into my temper. He liked the shit I had to say because it was funny to him, and that just pissed me off some more.

  “I’m taking you out now, aren’t I?” he said, lightly.

  “Oh, for sure.” My sarcasm hit tones that even astounded me. “I love to be taken to the basement of your hotel, Nixon. It’s so romantic. I love watching married men in here frolic after half-naked women, too. It definitely sets the mood. Do you want to feel how wet I am?”

  Nixon was grinning now. “You’re so fucking cute, Vix, you know that? When you get angry, it’s like watching a puppy have a meltdown.”

  In a dramatic move, I went to rip my hands out of his grip, but he’d beaten me to it, gripping my hands tighter so I couldn’t even do that. He watched my face as it contorted to anger. I seethed and he grinned, never tearing his eyes off me.

  “I will scream if you don’t let me go,” I threatened.

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “So, scream.”

  My face burned with rage. “You want everyone to see your pet have a meltdown?”

  “I think my pet is too well-behaved to do that.”

  My heart sped. I gritted out, “I will embarrass you, Nixon.”

  Jesus, the smile he gave me now was positively predatory. “Go on, baby, keep me on my toes. Breaking you fills me with purpose.”

  Was that the trick, I wondered for the first time. Did I need him to shape me into the perfect toy before letting me go? Was that what this was? Taming a bad pet until there was nothing else left to tame?

  Was I capable of being so good?

  The waitress arrived with our routine drinks, interrupting our stare-down. Wine for me and whiskey for him. He let go of my hands and I rubbed them, pretending he’d hurt me, but he knew he didn’t.

  “Ease yourself, pet,” he told me, cheekily. “Have some wine and behave yourself.”

  Ha-ha. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled. Asshole.

  He took a strong gulp from his glass, and he scanned the room in the process. I did the same. Tyrone was sitting with the other guys, Doll was still entwined with the suited man at the betting table, and Flynn was at the bar area. He was sitting alone, watching the room. I thought of what he said. How he could make anyone disappear. And the way he’d said it made me feel like he had
no reason to lie. My eyes lingered on him longer than they should have. Because when I finally turned away, Nixon was staring at me, his brow furrowed, that amused face fading.

  I swallowed hard and glanced around the room again, settling on the stage. I stared longer than necessary, hoping to emphasize it wasn’t Flynn that had captured my attention. That it was harmless.

  I didn’t succeed.

  “What do you make of our pretty boy, Vixen?” he asked suddenly, his voice low now.

  I shrugged, though my shoulders felt tight. “No idea.”

  “Should we invite him over and get to know him better?”

  I took another sip of my wine, keeping my face neutral. “Do whatever you want, Nixon.”

  “I think I want to watch you squirm.”

  My eyes hardened on his. “Why would I squirm?”

  “Because you’ve been staring at that boy every chance you get, and now you look uncomfortable I’m bringing him up.”

  “I think you’re delusional.”

  “But I think I’m right.”

  I rolled my eyes, fighting to control my emotions. “Nixon, don’t tell me you’re the insecure type.”

  A scary smile spread on his lips and my heart started beating faster. His dark side was inching in. His eyes remained locked on mine as he ground out, “Insecure implies I’ve got something to lose, and last I checked, you can’t lose what you own outright.”

  “Are you saying you own me?”

  There was a wicked gleam in his eye. “Are you saying I don’t?”

  Jesus.

  He was good at this game. At pinning me down with a few simple words, reminding me of my place here. I was his to do as he pleased, and that…grated on me.

  “Did you take me down here to fuck with my head, Nixon?” I growled, gripping the stem of my wine glass tight. Not wanting to listen to his answer, I continued, snapping, “If you’re going to insult me by insinuating I’m into fuckboys like him, you’re wasting your breath.”