Captive Read online

  “Nixon,” she groggily whispered in her sleep.

  “Shh,” he cooed, watching as she slipped back under. He stroked the face he’d memorized every line of. The face he missed every time he went away. “My sweet Victoria.”

  His little vixen.

  He spoke to Tyrone on the phone about what he found on the cameras. Apparently, the bum had made a few appearances, strolling straight through the main entrance of the hotel. He looked groggy and out of it, but his hand had been in his pocket, and he seemed to be in search of something.

  The basement, Nixon figured.

  “I’ll give the tapes a look in the morning,” Nixon said. “Thanks, Ty.”

  “Sure thing, Nixon,” Tyrone replied. “I want to catch who’s responsible same as you, but it seems this guy came alone. Either he acted out of a drug-fuelled bender, or someone sent him.”

  Either way, Nixon would find out.

  Then he made a call and ordered two of his men to guard their door.

  Just in case.

  But as Nixon roamed the apartment, a glass of whiskey in the palm of his hand, mulling over the series of events that transpired, he slowly began to realize the men would be standing on guard for nothing.

  Something from the past nagged at him.

  It nagged.

  And it nagged.

  Like an itch in his chest, he couldn’t suppress it.

  It nagged until he stopped pacing.

  This had happened before, hadn’t it?

  He froze at the realization.

  Of course.

  How could he be so stupid?

  There was no real threat.

  This whole thing had been orchestrated.

  An attack that was doomed to fail.

  But who was the culprit?

  12.

  Vixen…

  I woke up in the middle of the night with my heart in my throat and my body shaking. My hands reached out around me, desperately seeking Nixon. When it touched nothing but air, I gasped in fear.

  “Easy, baby,” he said from across the room. “I’m right here.”

  My heart slowed down and I sagged into the mattress. I blinked several times, my sight adjusting to the darkness. Then I searched for him, wondering what he was doing out of bed.

  He was standing by the window in the dark, looking out, his phone glowing in his hand. He was in nothing but his black briefs, his broad muscular back was to me. I couldn’t see his face from where I lay, but I didn’t have to. His body language was relaxed, like he hadn’t leapt across a table and saved me from a gunshot merely hours ago.

  God, he’d looked so frightened for me.

  I’d never seen that look from him before.

  I sat up, staring at him, feeling unusually emotional. “Nixon, I’m scared,” I admitted, lips trembling.

  “You shouldn’t be,” he simply responded in the most unruffled tone.

  I waited for him to turn to me, to come and hold me the way he’d done in the basement. But he just stood there, more attentive to the island below. Cold again. It felt like a smack in the face. There I was, leaking emotion from my voice – an unusual feat by me – and it may as well have fallen on deaf ears.

  “I’m not safe here,” I told him firmly. “You need to get me off the island.”

  “You’re perfectly safe,” he replied. “What happened today was a fluke.”

  I frowned. “A fluke that may have killed me.”

  He didn’t respond to that. Of course. God forbid he reassure me or anything.

  “Do you want me to die?” I asked, desperately. “Is that the only way you’ll let me go?”

  “You always jump to this,” he replied, irritated. “I don’t even think you know why you want to go.”

  I felt a spike of anger. “I can think of a million reasons why.”

  “The world isn’t what you think it is, Vix.” He turned his head, glancing at me briefly. “It’s cold and dark and it doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

  “I want to learn that the hard way.”

  “I’m not letting you go.”

  When he spoke like that – the authoritative tone present – it made me frustrated and want to claw at my face.

  He stated he wasn’t letting me go like he was talking about a sweater he wanted to wear again. I felt stranded and boxed in. What was the point of living if I had no fucking say?

  “You know what this is about?” I snapped, coldly. “This is you enjoying having power over someone helpless. You like being in control of me. You want me miserable.”

  “Ah, right, here we go.”

  “Yeah, here we go,” I growled, sarcastically. “Your captive’s doing that thing again, begging for her freedom! Oh, the fucking audacity.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, what, Nixon? Yeah, you like the power? You enjoy saving me from gun-wielding men? I think you like it when I’m scared. Scared and miserable and fucking powerless.”

  “And you want to know what I think?” he retorted, turning fully in my direction. “You want to believe I’m all those things because it gives you reasons to hate me.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief. “I don’t need to find reasons. Hating you is easy, Nixon,” I argued, feeling the familiar fight in my bones. “You make it very fucking easy to do.”

  “So, you hate me.”

  “I do!”

  “Go on, keep telling me that.”

  “I hate you,” I repeated, passionately.

  He began to move toward the bed, and it made me antsy. I didn’t know what his reaction was going to be when he got to me. He was always unpredictable. I felt myself sliding to the other side of the mattress, nearing the edge in case I needed to bolt.

  “And there you scurry,” he murmured low in his throat. “Always ready to run from me. You like the chase. This is the game you play, baby. You press my buttons on purpose.”

  I didn’t answer. Half of my body was hanging off the bed. My foot touched the carpeted floor. I stared at him in the dark with my chin up in defiance.

  There was nothing pleasant in his expression. Zero amusement clouded his features. Shit, he was pissed. He might hurt me, even. Good. I hoped so. I really wanted him to. Anything to make me loathe him even more.

  Instead of climbing the bed, he rounded it, his eyes never leaving me. He was like a lion circling its prey. I brought my foot back up and moved over the mattress, keeping the distance between us.

  “Tell me,” he ground out quietly, “what would you do with your freedom, Vixen?”

  My lips parted, but no words came out. I had no smartass response. I’d never really entertained the thought. What was the point giving myself hope when freedom seemed impossible?

  “Do you even know?” he pressed, continuing to circle the bed.

  I scurried to the middle of the mattress, keeping my eyes on him. My heart jumped when he stopped moving. He stood still suddenly, staring at me, waiting. The dark look on his face was beginning to frighten me. He looked eerily like the first time I’d been in a room with him.

  “What would you do with your freedom?” he demanded slowly. “Tell me.”

  I sucked in a few breaths, trying to formulate a response quickly. “I…don’t know, Nixon.”

  “You’d find a job, wouldn’t you?”

  I swallowed, thinking. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, and you’d have your own place?”

  I nodded slowly. “I guess.”

  His lips slowly spread into a wicked smirk. “And you’d have a boyfriend, wouldn’t you? A guy you’d fuck a couple times a week.”

  I glared at him. “Yeah,” I spat out. “I would, Nixon, but it would be more than a couple times a week.”

  “Yeah? How many times would you fuck the college boy?”

  “Twice a day.”

  His brows shot up. He feigned surprise. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, and he wouldn’t be a college boy. He’d be a lawyer…or a cop, even. The kind of guy that would put p
eople like you away.”

  He barked out a laugh, but it sounded cold and sinister. “Tell me the kind of people you’ve bunched me into, baby.”

  “Murderers,” I listed off. “Thieves. Rapists.”

  He made an O with his mouth, again feigning that surprise. “Rapists?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve fucked you against your will, Vixen?”

  I balled my hands, boldly replying, “Every time.”

  I’d hardly finished that sentence when he suddenly moved over the bed, grabbing at my leg. I yelped as he dragged me down the mattress to him. His strength was startling. His biceps flexed, looking massive in the moonlight. I tried to kick him, but he was one step ahead of me. He grabbed both my legs and tossed them over the edge of the bed. Then he trapped them with his own legs and bent over, grabbing at my arms. I went crazy, bucking under him as he forced me down, effortless and quick.

  “Let me go, Nixon,” I growled, panting.

  He gripped both hands in the palm of his large hand and then proceeded to tear my dress off with his free hand.

  “This was such a silly fucking dress,” he uttered. The fabric tore easily, though I winced and pretended he was hurting me. He barked out another laugh, catching my fake pained face. “You’re unbelievable, baby.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Am I?” He slipped the dress off and proceeded to pull my bra down, freeing my breasts. “Tell me how much I’m hurting you, Vixen. Is it like how I take you against your will?”

  I seethed, opening my mouth to form a curse when he suddenly slapped at one of my breasts. I gasped at the pain shooting down my body. He immediately rubbed at the tender flesh he smacked, grinning at the look on my face.

  “What’s wrong, Vix?” he asked, mockingly. “Don’t like what I’m doing?”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I glowered. “Let me go, or I’ll spit on you.”

  “Then spit on me.”

  I spat on him, a pathetic spat that landed on his chin. He laughed and rubbed at his chin before he smeared my saliva on my pained breast. And then he delivered another sudden slap, this time on my other breast. Another shot of pain travelled down my body, pooling in that aching place, and then he rubbed the pain away again, his touch gentle.

  “Oh, sweetheart, if you could see how beautiful your tits look,” he murmured, awed. “Pink suits you.”

  “Fuck you, Nixon.” But my voice sounded weak with desire.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get around to fucking you, Vixen. It’ll be forceful, right?”

  “Always.”

  “What about your cunt? Does it feel like I force it open every time?”

  Before I could respond, he cupped my pussy, staring down at me now with the most wicked grin on his face. My cheeks burned. I was wetter than I’d ever been, and the victory in his expression both pissed me off and turned me on.

  “Baby,” he whispered, cockily, “how can you pretend I force you when your body begs for me?”

  Suddenly he flipped me over and climbed over me. His front body pressed against my back. He gripped a chunk of my hair and spread my legs apart with his knee. I wasn’t fighting it. My body was tense beneath him, every nerve firing with anticipation.

  “You think your lawyer boy will fuck you like I do?” he growled, pressing his cock against my entrance. He ran the tip of his cock along my folds, teasing. “You think he’ll give a fuck about your needs? You think he’ll ever figure out what makes you tick?”

  I let out a pained groan as he slowly slid into me. He bit at the back of my shoulder, stinging me before he sucked fiercely at my skin. I closed my eyes, blowing out a ragged breath. Fuck, he was swollen tonight. More so than usual.

  “Do you think he’d play along?” he asked before moving out of me and harshly thrusting back in. We groaned at the same time, and his breaths came out harder. His voice turned lower as he gritted out, “You think you could ever tell him you have a thing for dubious consent? You think these men of law will take your no’s and still fuck you like I do?”

  “No,” I cried out, entirely defeated. “They wouldn’t, Nixon.”

  “No,” he agreed. “They wouldn’t.”

  “Just you would.”

  “Yes, Vix.”

  “So then shut up and fuck me.”

  I felt his mouth against my ear. “How do you want it?”

  “Dirty.”

  He groaned with approval. “Anything for what’s mine.”

  And he delivered. He fucked me harshly, moving in and out of me at an animalistic pace. The moment his hand let go of my hair and wrapped around my throat, my eyes rolled to the back of my head. He squeezed just enough to leave an ache, but not enough to cut off the air, and it drove me wild.

  Utterly fucking wild.

  I buried my mouth into the sheets and moaned into them, lost to the feeling of his punishing thrusts. I liked feeling used. I liked how dirty it made me feel. I liked being Nixon’s toy – abused when he wanted to fuck me, and pampered when he wanted to show me off.

  But right now, it felt different.

  It felt…more personal.

  Perhaps it was seeing him leap across the table to protect me that put a chink in my armour. When he covered his entire body over mine, shielding me from the shot and ready to take the bullet for me, he let his guard down. He pretty much broadcasted to the powerful people in that room what he would die for.

  And God, was that true?

  Would he truly die for me?

  My orgasm hit me in a powerful wave of pleasure, but it died quickly, buried in the pain of my realization. Buried in the need I still had for him after what happened. My emotions surfaced so strongly, and it was physical agony. I sobbed into the sheets, the tears flowing down my face endlessly. He promptly pulled out of me and wrapped his arms around my body, hauling me up the bed and into his lap. He rocked me back and forth, stroking my back, shushing me gently.

  “My beauty,” he cooed, kissing my temple. “It guts me when you cry.”

  I buried my face into his bare chest, coating his hard flesh with my tears. “You’re breaking me, Nixon.”

  “Shh.”

  “I want you to stop.”

  I couldn’t bear the feeling of being cut open. I needed him to just fuck it all away. To dominate me, put me in my place, and make the feelings go away. I couldn’t seem to lock them away. They kept surfacing like blood after a bad cut, oozing out of me, making my vulnerability show.

  He didn’t respond to that. He just held me in his arms, stroking me.

  I wished he hadn’t tried to save me. Things were less complicated before that moment. If he’d just sat and let it happen, Flynn would have still stopped the man and I would have known where I stood in Nixon’s world, and it would have been fine. It would have been what I wanted confirmed all along.

  But this…

  This fucked things up.

  This made me feel like I wasn’t his captive and he wasn’t my captor.

  But he was. He really was. He was the bad guy. The guy that deserved to rot in prison for what he’d done.

  And I needed to remember that.

  I needed to remember my life before him.

  He took away my freedom and he threw away my life like they were nothing to him.

  My eyes were raw from crying. I held him to me, and there I was, seeking assurance from the very person that was killing me slowly.

  It was just so fucked.

  But it was fine too. Because it filled my chest with warmth and yearning.

  “Are we safe, Nixon?” I asked, worriedly, half-asleep in his arms.

  “You’re safe, Vix,” he assured me, warmly. “As long as I’m breathing, you’re safe.”

  My heart squeezed. “Then don’t stop breathing.”

  “So long as you’re mine, I never want to.”

  He rocked me back and forth, caging me in his arms. After I settled down, I twisted around to face him, wrapping my legs his back. I was very aw
are we were naked, flesh against flesh, his semi-swollen cock brushing along my pussy. I could smell our arousal in the air, and it was familiar and comforting.

  As I watched him, he stared solemnly back at me.

  I didn’t like the tension between us. It felt personal and awkward. I didn’t know how to act when our walls were down. When I viewed him as more human than monster, it made me panic.

  “I really do hate you,” I whispered, bitterly, clinging on to that tiny shred of rebellion. I used it like a shield.

  His lips rose up in a lazy smile. “You never learn your lesson, do you, baby?”

  Before I could respond, he flipped us over, placing me flat on my back. He loomed over me, the tendrils of his hair falling over his forehead. When I saw him like that – his black hair gorgeously ruffled, his face roughened and filled with lines, his lips pulled up in a challenging smirk – it did things to me.

  “What lesson are you about to teach me?” I asked, acting disinterested even as his hand lazily roamed my body, leaving sparks behind.

  He spread my legs wide and plunged into me sharply, filling me whole once again. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I helplessly groaned.

  He kissed along my jaw and pressed his lips to my ear, whispering, “You can’t pretend forever.”

  When he pulled back to look at me, I desperately buried my face into his neck, not wanting to confront his words.

  Thank God for small mercies. He didn’t push. He simply fucked me the way I needed him to.

  “You like this, Vix?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered through a moan.

  “I think you like my cock buried in your little pussy.”

  “I think you’re dreaming.”

  His chest rumbled against mine. He kissed along my face, capturing my mouth in a deep kiss. “Sometimes I think I’m dreaming, too,” he rasped, picking up the pace, driving himself as deep inside me as he can go before he came.

  Always he tried to touch my soul.

  Always he longed for it in the depths of his eyes.

  Always I denied him.

  13.