CAPTOR (The Alpha Brotherhood) (Standalone Dark Billionaire New Adult Romance) (11 page)

The idea of him touching another woman makes my stomach turn. And the fact that I’m jealous is completely infuriating. He’s supposed to be my enemy, the control freak holding me captive. This attraction doesn’t make sense and I can’t let it override my better judgment.

But when those elevator doors finally open at 3:45 and I see the exhaustion and inebriation on his face, I have a thousand questions that I wish I wasn’t compelled to ask.

“Where were you?” I blurt out, rising too my feet.

“Out,” he answers flatly.

“Out with who?”

He smirks at me, letting out a laugh that turns into a yawn. “What’s it to you?”

“I…” Ugh! What the hell do I say to that? “You are so…”

He rubs his eyes as he strides over to me. How the hell is his indifference more frustrating than his creepy outbursts? “I’m so what?” he asks, his eyes heavy lidded and the scent of wine wafting off him.

“So... so…” Is there a hint of woman’s perfume in there? Oh my God.

“I’ll finish for you. I am so tired of your bullshit.”

He grabs my arm, yawning again as he drags me toward the staircase. “Get your hands off me!” I yell. Shane exhales loudly and scoops me into his arms, laughing as I thrash and curse at him the whole way upstairs. “Jackass!”

“You’re lucky I’m fucking exhausted,” he informs me, tossing me onto the bed. “I think you’re grounded again.”

“Grounded?”

“Yeah. Keep acting like a kid and I’ll keep treating you like one,” he replies.

Then he royally screws up. With a long yawn, he reaches over to the keypad at my door and punches in the code while I can see it. He should have done that from the hallway. Shane turns to give me an admonishing look before closing the door and I struggle to keep the smirk off my face. The telltale lock clicks, but I’m not trapped in here anymore and he doesn’t even know it.

After about an hour, I’m finally calmed down enough to fall asleep. It’s so hard not to use that code when I wake up, but I resist. It’s just too good of an opportunity to waste. Especially when I can’t stop thinking about his touch, his kiss, and what it would have been like if I’d kept my smart mouth shut and let him keep going.

Zoey

After one day of the silent treatment, I wake up to an open door and a huge bouquet on the dresser. It’s the same arrangement of flowers as before. Maybe sunflowers mixed with red roses mean ‘I’m sorry for violating you’ in the floral design world.

There’s also the most tempting form of entertainment he’s given me so far. Pottery supplies. I recognize the name of the supplier on the box and open it to find every type of premixed clay they make. There’s another box with rollers, wood strips of various thickness, canvas, molds, basically everything I need to hand build with slabs, my preferred method. And this is the expensive stuff, things a potter on my budget could only dream of affording. Shane…

I don’t even try to resist. There’s a sturdy table in my gigantic bedroom and I’ve been wanting to do more than eat on it since I got here. If I’m going to be locked in this place for the rest of my life, which I apparently am, at least I’ll still be able to create. My lips curl into a smile the moment I touch the perfectly moist surface of the first ball of clay.

I spend most of the morning getting a few slabs to the perfect thickness. Then I have to wait for them to dry out to the hardness of leather and I pass the time playing with the tablet. Once I’m able to start shaping the piece into its final form, I’m so occupied that I don’t even notice that Shane gets home a lot earlier than I expect.

I’m so excited to see him when I hear the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs that I want to run out in the hallway, but I’m in the middle of forming a corner and can’t let it go. All of the sudden, my door slams shut and I hear him punching in the numbers at the keypad, locking me inside. Haha, you control freak. I have the code.

I’m about to use it, then I hear him yelling on the phone, something about getting ready to entertain an important guest and how there had better not be any mistakes. A few moments later, the place is bustling downstairs with more voices than I can count. It sounds like they’re setting stuff up and moving furniture around.

The party hasn’t started yet and I can’t wait to crash it. Okay, I’m actually nervous as all hell, so I decide to crack open the giant case of cosmetics he got me the day after I got here. I normally don’t wear much makeup, but who knows what tonight will turn into. It couldn’t hurt to look nice.

What the hell should I wear? Shane will be in a suit of course. I have a few dresses, but nothing all that formal, not that I want to look like an overdressed idiot in a ball gown if it turns out to be business casual. All black might work. There’s a pair of silk skinny pants cropped right above my ankle and a top with a scooped neckline and three quarter length sleeves. Very Audrey Hepburn. A red pair of flats is just dying to go with this outfit, but I’m too shy to wear them, so I settle on their black counterparts.

Maybe I should just wait it out because I never really had a plan to use this code to begin with and tonight might not be the best time. I mean, what should I do? Open the door and go out and argue with him? Then he’ll know that I have the darn thing and change it before he just stops talking to me again. Because somebody with gorgeous blue eyes that I can’t stop thinking about doesn’t have to explain himself.

It’s quiet for a while, then I hear Shane greet his guest. Judging by his tone, he’s not very happy about the intrusion. A business partner probably, based on the financial nature of the conversation that follows. The visitor asks to see Shane’s latest projects in person, and their voices get farther away. They went downstairs.

Okay, if I’m getting out of here tonight, now’s my chance. I’m sick of Shane always having the upper hand. He can squirm for a change. I scamper down the stairs as quietly as possible, quickly spotting my first obstacle. Shane has a bunch of furniture now instead of the lonely waiting room couch. My path will have to be a lot closer to the archway to get around it. I hope they don’t hear me.

I finally reach the dining room at the same time Shane and his guest are coming up from his workspace. Holy shit, this dining table is a lot bigger than the already ridiculously oversized one that was here this morning. Since I have no actual plan, I run into the kitchen and listen at the door. It’s definitely some sort of an unwelcome business associate. Whenever the conversation starts to get personal, Shane steers it away until they’re talking about money again.

Eventually, that stops working and Shane decides to offer the man some wine instead. I assume it’s the bottle chilling next to me on the counter, so I grab it from the bucket of ice, along with a silver tray and two wine glasses. I’m standing in the door with a white towel over my arm. I knew I wore all black for a reason. Looks like someone has a new maid tonight that gets to overhear all his private conversations while he fumes.

The look on Shane’s face as he walks through the kitchen door is absolutely priceless. If he was holding something, he surely would have dropped it. His nosy business associate has clearly realized that his questions were being dodged and followed him, so he’s standing behind Shane and sees me right away.

“Is this your maid?” the silver haired man exclaims, obviously shocked.

“Of course not, Father,” Shane replies hoarsely. “I remember your lessons about permanent domestic servants quite well.” Father? Shit!

“Then why is she standing there ready to serve us wine?”

“Because my girlfriend is exceptionally helpful, even when she has a headache and is supposed to be upstairs taking a nap.”

“Girlfriend?” the visitor asks enthusiastically.

Shane’s back is still toward his father, so he can’t see that his son’s slightly panicked eyes stay locked with mine as he mouths the word ‘please.’ Hmmm. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Do I play along or do I expose him for who he really is?

“Why didn’t you mention her?” his father asks while we continue our staring contest.

“I’ve only lived in Chicago for six months. It’s obviously new,” Shane answers, the desperation on his face worsening.

Dammit. Shane is a total horse’s ass, but he did basically save my life. And I’ve never really had a crush like this, I can’t stop thinking about him. I guess I can go along with this charade for a little while. Winking at him, I sit the wine and tray back on the counter and step forward, offering my hand to his father to shake. “Zoey,” I introduce myself.

“Rupert Alcott,” he replies, taking my hand in his and dipping down to kiss it.

Well, that was old school. Should I curtsey or something? Probably not. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Umm…” It’s going to be awkward when some assistant doesn’t show up with any food for me.

“Of course she will,” Shane says. “I’ll grab the wine.” With a smile, his father turns back toward the dining room, leaving us alone. “You really are a pain in the ass, Z, aren’t you?”

“You said you were looking forward to it,” I remind him, giving him a big, cheesy smile. “Don’t forget a glass for me.”

He’s trying not to laugh, almost like he’s happy to see me. “You are not old enough to legally drink.”

“Holding someone captive for weeks and not speaking to them isn’t exactly legal either, you know,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Touché, Zoey.” Shane opens a cabinet and places another glass on the tray. “Just follow my lead and try not to fuck this up.” He strides out the kitchen door before I get a chance to tell him that he’s the fuck up, not me.

Once we’re all sitting down and sipping an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon, Rupert asks, “So how did you meet?”

Totally normal question. Totally bizarre situation. Biting my lip in embarrassment, I look over at my captor as he struggles to find the right words. “It’s actually a complicated situation, Father, and not exactly suitable for the table,” Shane explains. “Zoey was in an unhealthy relationship with one of my business associates.” I guess that’s a clever way of putting it without technically lying.

“Oh, my,” he gasps. “How unfortunate.”

“It’s all behind us now.”

“I assume you’re no longer associating with this man?”

“Of course not,” I say defensively.

“He was accusing me, sweetheart. Not you.” Shane leans over and kisses my temple. I’m just going to ignore how much I enjoyed that. “And like I said, it’s a complicated situation. We’re not on the best of terms right now.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” I blurt out. Shane breathes out a laugh and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask.”

“No, you don’t, Father.”

“Alright then. Age is just a number anyway,” Rupert says. Damn it, why did Shane have to dodge that one? I’m so curious about how old he is.

“Old men often say that,” Shane chuckles. I was thinking the exact same thing.

“Because it’s true.” His father leans forward and pours us all another glass of wine, leaving mine a bit smaller than the others. “Well, Zoey, are you in school?”

“Yes. I’m studying nursing at U of I Chicago.” Technically, I’m not because I can’t pass one stupid prerequisite class, but we’re stretching the truth anyway tonight.

“Nursing! How wonderful.”

“She’d be much happier pursuing her passion and studying Ceramics at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I’m trying to convince her to take the plunge.”

I nearly choke on my wine as my eyes bug out. How the hell does he know that? Where I really want to go to school isn’t on any official document he could have found. Shane stares at me with a satisfied expression as I resist the urge to stomp on his foot.

“You’re a ceramics artist, too?” Rupert asks, pleased.

I want to say yes. “I don’t know if I actually qualify as an artist,” I explain, keeping my eyes locked with my disturbingly intrusive captor. “It’s just something I like to do in my spare time.”

“Zoey doesn’t give herself enough credit. She’s incredibly talented.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. She made that vase over on the wall.”

We all look in the direction that Shane’s pointing to see my favorite project, a trumpet vase with an incredibly vivid blue and green mottled glaze that turned out perfectly. Oh, my God. That was sitting on a shelf in my bedroom. Shane’s been in my house.

“Lovely,” Rupert says, rising from his seat for a closer look at the piece.

My heart starts pounding in my chest and I turn toward Shane. Based on the cocky smirk he’s wearing, he expected me to be outraged, but my fear must be showing instead. Lips parting, his eyes soften as reaches forward, but I back away.

“Why?” I whisper. Rupert is going on about how beautiful my work is and start talking about a pottery shop in the town where he grew up, but I can barely hear him over my racing pulse.

“Z, chill out,” he says casually, but he seems unnerved by my reaction. “Yeah, I went to your apartment.”

“Obviously. Why?” That is so over the line. The idea of him rummaging through all my things, all of Daniela’s…

“Zoey,” he says firmly. “Relax. I wanted to see if it was safe enough for you to go home. It wasn’t. The place was ransacked. That vase was laying on your bed. It truly is a work of art. Even Marlowe’s thugs didn’t have it in them to smash it. But they did break a lot of your other pieces. I wrapped up everything that was still intact and collected all the other shards in case you wanted them.”

“When was this?”

“It must have happened the first day when I was waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You clearly cannot comprehend how terrifying it is to be locked in a skyscraper by a man that you barely know,” I tell him. “That’s it. I want to go home.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I don’t believe you.” And I can’t believe that he actually has the nerve to look offended right now, either. “What did you expect me to do? Just smile and nod at your bullshit?”

“Honestly? Something like that, yes,” Shane confesses.

“I need to see this for myself. You’re taking me there. Tonight.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” I insist, clenching my fists as I watch him sigh and run his fingers through his hair. “I’ll tell your father exactly what you’re doing to me. Right now. You have three fucking seconds before the words come out of my mouth. Don’t test me.”

“Shit,” he mutters, more annoyed than threatened.

“Zoey?” Rupert’s voice interrupts us. “Did you hear me? I must say, I have to agree with my son. And that doesn’t happen all that often, just so you know,” he laughs. “Why aren’t you pursuing this? Shane, you must convince her somehow.”

I keep my eyes locked with Shane’s and whisper, “Three. Two.”

“Fine!” he whispers back. “In the morning though.”

“One.”

“I swear, Zoey. Please,” Shane hisses, like the word is burning his tongue.