His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance
Read His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance Online
Authors: Meg Watson
Copyright: Meg Watson
Published: August, 2015
Publisher: Meg Watson
The right of Meg Watson to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual activity, graphic language. It is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over only.
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HIS CAPTIVE
The Unabridged Collection
MEG WATSON
The idea for this book began very simply: can you fall in love with someone even if you think they're evil? Everybody seems to line up like keys and locks, like kettles and lids. There's that old saying about how every pot, no matter how crooked, has a lid that fits. Well, what if you are the lid for an extremely crooked pot?
The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me. Everybody has a certain crookedness to them. Either by circumstance or their actions, everybody gets a little twisted after a while. But it seems impossible that someone gets so wretched that they could never find love again.
I have to admit, crafting characters who are so flawed they’re evil and then letting them fall in love together has been a deliciously terrible experience. As a writer, especially in romance, I get to explore some very naughty recesses of the mind. But until now, I had never really allowed myself to explore the truly twisted labyrinths that knot and pulse in the heart of a killer.
For this edition of HIS CAPTIVE, I have included a few deleted scenes and expanded passages, as well as an epilogue that hints at their journey after the arc of this story is complete. As with any book, the characters feel very real to me, and I am incredibly curious about the rest of their story. I hope you will be too.
Thank you so much for reading this book.
She is making just the most precious sound, there, her cheeks puffing against the tight white cloth that stretches over her mouth. The whole room is filled with light that comes down from the high ceiling like beams through a cloud. This is just how I imagined it. Every time.
A thousand times. A million.
Standing just inside the arched doorway I wait, knowing she can’t see me as she slowly wakes up. She will think she’s alone as her eyelids lighten, as she slowly tries to make the room focus. It will be long seconds before her thoughts clear enough to wonder where she is.
Her golden hair rustles against the platform end, streaming in waves, gleaming as she tries to move her head. Then, there, she tries her shoulders. Then, there, her hands flex against the bands that hold them tight to the platform. I watch her fingers clawing futilely at the empty air with a sensation in my chest that is as light as joy.
Next she’ll try her hips, then try to raise a knee. I can hardly stand it: how perfectly this aligns with my vision. I can hardly believe it’s happening and my heart swells with anticipation.
Now she’s trying to cry against the white cloth, her voice muffled into parody. I breathe deeply, inhaling the light, the sounds, the salty tang of her awakening fear.
She’s going to be the last, because after her I would have no real purpose, no excuse to indulge this… fascination. And since this is the very last one, I want every moment tattooed into my memory so that I never forget it.
Maybe I will have this room turned into a library. Perhaps an authentic cathedral with white marble niches and a place for each of my artifacts. I would like to come back here to remember, but only here. The rest of my life will be clear of this. All this...
All this blood.
The thought of her hot, healing blood catches in my chest and I hear myself sigh in anticipation. She hears it too and begins thrashing in earnest, trying to see who is behind her. Her hair streams wildly from side to side but she can’t maneuver to catch sight of me.
It’s only discipline that keeps me where I am, savoring every second of this, knowing that at some point I will break and already sorry for it to be over. I feel myself walking toward her, though I haven’t moved yet. I feel my face bathed in the heat of the light that reflects off her naked belly. I feel my palm stroking the array of thick blades, pausing over each to choose the perfect one. Which one?
I know which one, really; that’s just another tease. I know exactly which blade, just like I know exactly how the rest of our encounter will go.
It’s going to be wonderful.
I cast an eye toward the stainless steel tray next to her. It’s ready, though I can’t see anything on it through the reflected glare. My hand flexes.
With a powerful, violent surge she strains valiantly against her bindings, the leather creaking and groaning as she bucks. She can’t get loose, no matter what she does. Rationally I know it’s impossible. Still the worry gnaws at me.
Don’t rush me, please.
Please.
I have waited so long for this, I need just a moment more to savor it.
But she can’t hear me and the more she thrashes, the more that niggling voice whines in my mind
—
what if she gets out? What then? I don’t want to engage in anything as vulgar as a wrestling match. I don’t want to chase her around the grounds. I don’t want her blood anywhere it shouldn’t be.
But she’s not stopping, and already I can see one shoulder rising higher than it should. No matter how improbable, she is getting loose, and now I am going to have to rush things. This is not how I wanted it and I feel this moment ripping away from my vision, cleaving the imagery into something else entirely.
I’m going to have to act swiftly to get this back on track. I don’t want it like this. But there, it’s undeniable, her shoulder is definitely jerking beyond where the restraints should have held her fast.
Please stop, I want to call out. I feel the back of my neck going hot with urgency. My legs quake with the suppressed impulse to run. Stop this now, and we can have a few more moments together.
But she’s not going to stop. She’s going to push it. And then I won’t be able to help it.
She’s going to make it all come out wrong.
JOLIE - One Day Earlier
From the silent safety of the cab barreling down Fourth, I scanned the sidewalks, watching faceless men and women fly past us in a blurred haze. Our rickety apartment row seemed far behind us as the blocks rolled by, the scenery gradually changing and getting richer by the second.
At first the men and women were painted in lurid watercolors, bathed in the neon of the shady nightclubs we passed. Crescents of teeth glowed under the occasional black light as people met each other, smiling and laughing.
Then we rolled through trendy but still fashionably decrepit warehouse districts. Bearded men sheltered their dates under their plaid sleeves and hustled them toward the darkened doorways where lights pulsed from inside.
Eventually we turned onto Sheridan, commonly known as Millionaire’s Mile. The boulevard immediately widened, carefully landscaped with planters and ornate street signs. Men in suits squinted at the women and their shimmering, svelte silhouettes under the streetlamps as we slid by in the anonymous yellow taxi.
I watched them sizing each up warily. The scene was somehow cagier than the cheaper neighborhoods and probably for good reason. I figured that when you were rich, you probably had to be more careful who you took home. Anybody could be anybody, no matter how they appeared on the surface.
My mind seemed to slip in and out of focus. I tried to memorize a few faces here and there but they all just melted together. A whole world full of strangers was out there, and I was farther from home than ever.
A sharp knuckle dug into my side, pulling me from my daydream. I furrowed my brow hard and whipped around to face Rachel.
“Come on! I was just thinking...”
Rachel only chuckled softly, settling back into her seat. She seemed to brighten the dark interior of the cab with her presence alone. Her blonde hair shone brightly under each streetlight we passed, highlighting her classic features in flashes like a film star in slow motion.
The slight upturn of her nose, her full lips, and those sky blue eyes had carried her far, though she still had a home base in that squalid little rowhouse on Dunsbury. She said she liked to ride the fence between worlds: one foot in the ghetto, one foot in the penthouse. It gave her an air of mystery in both places.
“You’re gawking, Jolie. That’s not thinking.”
“I’m not,” I responded automatically, without even considering it. “It’s just pretty, you know? The lights. The people or whatever… I keep thinking I’m going to see someone I know.”
“Someone you know?” she repeated archly. “Really?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I muttered. “It’s just a feeling. It’s nothing.”
My voice trailed off weakly. Rachel crossed her arms under her bust, giving a little shake of her head.
“Listen, sweetie. They’re just people, just like us. Don’t sit there all wide-eyed and starstruck. You’re going to get us attention for all the wrong reasons. Act natural.”
I sat up taller, mimicking the raised jaw of some black-haired executive vixen who was striding along the sidewalk in pointy-toed heels so fast she was practically just a flicker.
“I am acting natural.”
Rachel made a scoffing noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Yeah, okay. A natural
what
, is the question.”
“Ha ha ha,” I shot back, pouting.
She rolled her eyes and tugged fretfully at the bottom of my blouse riding up over a healthy swath of hip flesh.
“You’re lucky I even let you come along, looking like that. The goal is to fit in, see. It’s like a game: we slip in, we slip out. And look at you, you just… wore the wrong team’s uniform.” Another soft chuckle.
“I did not.” I sat up properly then, crossing my own arms. “I look fine. They’re
your
clothes, Rachel. I think I look pretty damn hot, thank you very much.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, flopping back into the seat dramatically, groaning. “They don’t even
match
, Jolie. The top isn’t you at all. Hiding your assets and drawing attention where you don’t want it drawn. You couldn’t have gotten it more wrong if you
tried.”
I looked down and held my arms out. The top was too tight, but I couldn’t help that. I’d picked the biggest one she had but I was still spilling out of the scooped neckline. The sleeves had a sheer flutter to them that I thought was pretty. And the skirt was just a short black wrap that didn’t even seem possible to get wrong. Was it the waistline? Pulling it back and smooth, I tried to tighten my belly and lose the roll of flesh that wanted to perch on top. I shook my head.
“Well… I don’t know,” I mumbled, feeling exposed and cringing hard. “Why don’t you just go then… I’ll just head back home.”
“Oh I don’t think so, little duck,” she said with a quick snap of her head. “You’re here to learn. I am here to teach. Just watch what I do and try not to get lost or attract too much attention, yes?”
I nodded.
“
Yes?
” she said again, needling me with an affectionate poke.
“Yes, fine,
yes…
whatever,” I agreed, sullen as a teenager.
She squinted at me for a moment longer as though calculating just how sincere I was. Her narrowed eyes flickered over my outfit once again and I could see the slight shake of her head.
“Well, all right,” she finally said, sighing. “That’s good enough I suppose. And after this, you will be able to buy your own clothes.”
“Mmm,” I sighed. That would be fun. I had a mental image of a closet just like hers, organized by color with sections for day and evening wear. Shoes for miles, in odd colors like electric blue and pumpkin. Odd colors are for people who have too many options, my aunt always said. But I would have more than one of everything. The nearness of that reality startled me as though it was just arm’s length away. I could practically reach out and touch it.
Rachel sat up, tapping vigorously at the back of the taxi driver's seat with her long, black-red manicure.
“Hey, stop up here. I want out. Here, here.”
The cab rolled to the curb and she pushed the fare to him and not a cent more. He glanced at the bills and then back at her. Most people tend to assume the best of a woman who looks as good as she did, so maybe he thought for a moment she'd just forgotten.
The dawning annoyance and confusion on his face made me wince as I scootched over the cracked back seat, and he stared me down as if I had any control over her. He clearly wanted me to tip. Well, maybe if I had a little money, I would have. All I could do was give an apologetic shrug before hopping out of the cab and into the chilly night.
I bit back a smirk as we collected ourselves on the sidewalk and the cab hissed away down the wet pavement, watching a shiver run through her. Matching or not, at least my clothes were almost warm enough. Her painted-on red mini-dress couldn't have been protecting her in the slightest.
Her head swiveled briefly left and right and then she set off at a confident stride toward the line of private clubs and restaurants at the end of the block. As I caught up to her, a quick glance confirmed my smug suspicion. Her nipples were standing out, prominent and hard through the blood red fabric. A cold breeze whipped her long blonde hair off her bare shoulders. She was clearly freezing, but it didn’t even seem to slow her down as she prowled, fast and purposeful along the sidewalk, stiletto heels ringing out like muffled gunshot.
My self-satisfaction turned sour quickly enough when I realized that this was probably exactly what she intended. She looked determined and hard, like she had been sculpted from ice. Most people would probably be afraid to talk to her, and those who did could be turned away with one frigid glance.
I glanced down at my own outfit, feeling more and more frumpy as we approached our destination and the line of people in suits and cocktail dresses. I wished desperately for another chance at picking an outfit again.
Well, what would you do differently, Jolie? Do you even know?
Setting my jaw, I tried to shove the thought out of my mind and finally caught up to Rachel. I matched her walk stride for stride, stretching my legs uncomfortably to keep up with her. She glanced down at me and gave me a tiny wrinkle of her nose in affirmation as I mimicked her march to the best of my ability, and a candle flicker of pride sparked in my chest.