Captured Onyx Read online

  Captured Onyx

  by Linnea May

  Content

  Captured Onyx

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Also by Linnea May

  Lost Petal

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  VIOLENT DELIGHTS

  Prolog

  Also by Linnea May

  Connect with Linnea

  Copyright © 2019 by Linnea May

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

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  This is the first part of a duet. You can pre-order the 2nd part of this story here.

  Prologue

  Nate

  Her eyes.

  Those ebony black eyes captured my attention from the first moment I saw her. Not her hair, dark complexion, stature, or the round shape of her young face.

  Her features perfectly align in unison with my needs. But none of it would matter if it weren’t for those dark gems that pulled me in from the beginning.

  I can’t help it.

  I don’t want to help it.

  Because I need her.

  Her eyes are closed now, hidden beneath a thick set of lashes and lids painted in sapphire blue and shimmering silver accents. The makeup looks comical on her, applied clumsily, obviously by a hand that lacks the skills of one who applies it daily.

  It must have been a special night. Tonight must have been one of those rare occasions when she retrieved her rarely used makeup and tried to convert herself into the kind of woman she isn't usually. I bet it took her forever to achieve this look. I wonder how many times she reapplied the eye shadow until she was satisfied? How many times did she curse herself for not doing this more often so she was more skilled at it?

  I wonder.

  That's all I can do for now. Wonder. Ask questions that won’t be answered.

  Right now there's only one thing for certain.

  She'll have to learn how to become better. I can't present her looking like that, not with a face that looks like it has been made up by an amateur and wearing a dress that hangs too loosely from her petite figure.

  She needs to learn.

  And she will.

  Her body bounces in my lap as we hit a speed bump and I throw a disgruntled scowl to the driver upfront.

  "This is not a chase, Mike," I growl at him. "Slow down, would you?"

  "Yes, boss," he responds through gritted teeth.

  He's not a fan of this idea. Neither of them were when I first suggested it. But it's not like they have any alternative suggestions. And it's not like we have a choice.

  We're fucked. And we have been for a while. This could be our only way out.

  If this works. If she works.

  The girl is sound asleep and her frame sinks heavily in my lap. I retain a tight hold on her to keep her steady in consideration of Mike’s reckless driving. Just the girl and I are in the backseat; my other associate Daveed is sitting up front next to Mike.

  I never sit in the back, it's not where I belong. I’m the one in charge, the one leading this operation. It stirs me in an unpleasant way to be sitting back here, as if I was nothing more than a henchman—or back to a life that I’ve long left behind.

  This one time is an exception. For her.

  I don't trust these boys. I won't trust anyone with her. She's mine for now. My idea. My responsibility. My job.

  My subject.

  My gaze trails down then, latching on to the soft features of her face. Stray ringlets have escaped from her carefully pinned hairstyle, the black locks lying limply against her cheek. The red evening gown she's wearing has thin straps across her shoulders, but it ends below her knees, matching the conservative cut that hides her almost non-existent cleavage. Her uninspired outfit starkly contrasts her overdone makeup and the exorbitant jewelry adorning her neck.

  I wonder who she is and what her name is. I wonder what she was doing in an Atlantic City casino and who she was there with.

  Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore. Because her role is clear from here on out.

  She’s our Onyx.

  Chapter 1

  Malia

  I've never been tormented by a headache as bad as this one. The pain is throbbing through my skull. It feels as if a small but vicious hammer is slowly splitting my head into parts. I hide in the blackness, seeking comfort as I wait for the piercing pulsations to stop.

  The agony weighs me down, forcing me to keep my eyes shut after I wake up from a slumber that was induced by force, leaving me confused.

  What happened? And where am I?

  I had just gotten back to my room. I was happy - and drunk, having celebrated a bit too much. I never drink, but tonight was a special occasion. It was my best friend's wedding, and it was a crazy one at that. They had decided to elope, calling me on short notice to come with them as their only witness. Despite everything that has happened between me and my friend Liliane, we were happy, elated, and even a little boisterous. I wanted to act crazy, just like she was. Liliane has lost so much, dared so much, and in the end, she risked everything to reach a pinnacle of happiness that seemed unattainable if she hadn’t dared to do something insane.

  I went through hell with her. She forgave me for what I did, but I’m not sure if I can ever forgive myself.

  It's probably time I stopped blaming myself because Liliane is happy now, and she wanted me to share in that happiness with her. On her wedding day.

  We were having so much fun. We drank. A lot. Too much. My head was spinning when they guided me up to my room. Even though I repeatedly insisted that I was able to walk on my own, they supported me as I tripped and stumbled through the casino.

  They helped me onto the elevator, selected the button to my floor, and steadied me as the car climbed. Once off the elevator, they helped me to my room, unlocked my door, and guided me over to the bed.

  And then they left.

  An abrupt sound like a heavy door slamming shut reverberates in the distance, the noise seeming to come from far away, like it is being muffled by walls or doors. All I know is that I'm inside a closed room and lying on a soft mattress with sheets that smell like citrus, but not in a good way. The smell is pungent and doesn’t go well with the atmosphere of the room.

  And there's one thing that really unnerves me.

  My hands are tied. And so are my ankles.

  I'm lying on my back and my hands are tied together at the front, resting on my belly. I
try to calm my breathing as the panic settles in.

  My ankles are not tied together, though, but tied to something instead. Is it the bed frame? Am I even on a bed? The only way I can know for sure is if I open my eyes.

  But I'm too scared.

  I'm too scared of what I might see. Too scared to make all of this real. Once I open my eyes, I can no longer pretend that this is just a bad dream, or that it’s my imagination after drunkenly passing out in my hotel room.

  Liliane and her new husband Jayson left the room. I can still see the concerned expression on her face as she cast me one last look.

  "I'm fine," I slurred, adding a weak but honest smile. I was tired, oh so tired. All I wanted to do was to fall asleep and stop the room from spinning.

  So that's what I did. I passed out just moments after the door closed behind them, and I tumbled into a dreamless sleep.

  But something happened after that.

  There was a noise coming from outside. A knocking that started out gentle at first, but it kept growing louder and more aggressive the longer I didn't react to it. The door was shaking on its hinges, causing a ruckus that was impossible to ignore, even in my pathetic state.

  I forced myself to open my heavy eyelids and get up off the bed.

  I dragged myself toward the door, stumbling and silently cursing my best friend. I thought it must be Liliane who was pounding on the door with such vicious force, returning to check on me, driven by misplaced worry instead of enjoying her first night as a newlywed.

  I was so sure it was her.

  But it wasn't.

  My heart is racing, thumping against my rib cage with such ferocity that it's almost painful. I shift my tied hands to my chest, pressing them against my left boob as if to keep my heart from escaping.

  I'm scared.

  I'm fucking terrified.

  Eyes closed or not, I know that something terrible must have happened to me. I know that I'm in danger.

  My eyes fly open in a sudden rush, as if waking myself up from a terrible nightmare.

  But this isn’t what happens. I don't wake up because I’m already awake. And I am no longer where I should be, in a luxury hotel suite that my best friend's generous husband reserved for me. There's no canopy bed lulling me into a sense of security, no thick, expensive curtains framing floor-length windows, or French doors leading out to a balcony with a view out to sea that was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen.

  There is none of that.

  Because I'm no longer there. The room I find myself in now is so different that I can't fool myself for even a second into thinking that I might still be at the hotel in Atlantic City.

  First of all, this space is a lot smaller. I am lying on a bed, a queen size bed with dark sheets. My ankles are tied to the bed frame, my legs slightly spread, stretching the fabric of my dress. And even fueled with this ice cold fear for my life, I cannot help but wonder why anyone would tie up a person in this manner. I’ve seen it before in movies, the helpless kidnapping victim with their hands and ankles tied and fastened behind their back, or a person sitting on a chair with their hands tied behind their back and feet strapped to the chair's legs.

  But like this? The closest I can think of is the way a deranged sadist would tie his prey to the bed before sexually assaulting or torturing them. Spread out like a star with all four limbs stretched out and tied to the four corners of the bed frame.

  I’m thankful that this is not the position I find myself in. I am less exposed, because I can still move my arms, to some degree, and I can sit up. I can move, but for some reason, I don’t.

  The room is dark, barely lit by a single light bulb right above me. It's only bright enough to illuminate the area right around the bed, and the rest of the room remains obscured in shadows. As far as I can tell, there’s not much to see to begin with. Four walls, no windows, and a door to my left. There’s no other furniture, no wall hangings or decor, nothing. It’s just a large cell with a wooden floor, four bare walls, and a simple bed in the middle.

  It has nothing in common with the room I was supposed to wake up in this morning.

  Before I was kidnapped. Taken. Whatever you want to call it.

  I opened the door expecting to see Liliane, but it wasn’t her face there. That’s pretty much all I remember.

  No. I remember that there was a man standing there. A tall man.

  Not even a second passed before he charged at me.

  And then my world went dark.

  Until now.

  I’m beginning to think that someone’s trying to fuck with my head.

  The noises outside the room don't stop. Again and again, I hear doors being slammed, footsteps shifting back and forth, the shadows breaking the light that finds its way inside the room underneath the door.

  This seems to go on forever, and my heart jolts every time I sense a motion or hear a sound from outside the room. Fear washes through me in waves, receding and rising in turns, depending on how imminent the danger from the outside world seems. My heart calms as the activity quiets down outside the room, returning to its frenetic pace as soon as there's even the slightest sign of another human close to me. I'm all alone, lonely in the dark, but whoever is out there, cannot possibly be my friend, can they?

  That's why I don't call out. That's why I remain silent, even when I hear another set of footsteps approaching, accompanied by voices for the very first time. Deep voices, male voices.

  My heart races, so fast that it makes me feel dizzy and sick with terror. Once again, I see shadows lurking in front of the door, but this time, they don't just pass on their way somewhere else.

  This time they come to a halt.

  And so does my breath.

  Chapter 2

  Malia

  The lock turns, and the corresponding loud clicking sound makes me jolt up straight on the mattress in an instant. It's awkward to sit and steady myself like this with my legs stretched out to the front and parted and no way to support myself with my arms. But it's way better than to remain on my back, helpless like a fish out of water and at the mercy of whoever is going to come through that door.

  It opens slowly, letting in light before anything else. My eyes have gotten used to the darkness, so I squint at the intruder, not able to make out anything more than his large outline at first.

  I'm not surprised to see that it is a man. Broad shoulders, hugged by a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The light framing him from behind is so bright that I can't see his face at first, making it impossible for me to make out anything else about his appearance other than the fact that he's quite tall and has a muscular build.

  He pauses for a moment, standing silently in the open door. The twofold combination of his height and the lighting work to his advantage, dwarfing me. With every second that passes, my excitement about a welcome diversion is replaced with growing fear.

  Who is he? What is he going to do to me?

  Where am I? And why am I here?

  I don't dare voice any of my questions, mostly because I'm afraid of the answers.

  Finally, the tall man moves, flipping a switch next to the door as he steps inside the room. The light bulb above my head becomes brighter, illuminating the room so that the light from the outside no longer contrasts the darkness inside. But before I can get a better look into whatever lies behind the door from which he entered, he closes it.

  Everything inside me screams to get away from him as he approaches the bed, calmly but steadily, burying his hands in his pants' pockets, his head tilted to the side. I look up, drinking in his handsome features, which somehow counterintuitively manage to soothe me despite my predicament. He's gorgeous in a way that's baffling to say the least. Hazel brown hair and a neatly shaved undercut that reveals a tattoo on the left side of his head. I've never met a person with a tattoo on their skull, and for the longest time I can't tear my gaze away from following the black lines that stop at his temple. His rectangular jaw line is speckled with a thre
e-day stubble, masking furrows caused by the smirk that accents his face as he regards me.

  He doesn’t seem to be much older than me, I'd say. But his expression exudes dark wisdom, the kind that's left by experiences very different from mine.

  My pulse speeds up in tune with every step he takes, the beat of it so loud that I can feel it pulsating in my ears when he finally comes to a halt. He's towering over me, that sinister smirk still on his face and a flicker in his gray eyes that scares the hell out of me.

  "Hello, Lailah."

  His voice is a profound growl, in sync with his appearance. But it's not only the sound of it that makes my blood freeze, it's the name he uses to address me.

  I scrunch my eyebrows, slowly shaking my head as I return his unyielding gaze.

  "Th-th-there has been a mistake," I stutter, cursing myself for sounding like a scared little kid. "I'm not Lailah."

  "You are now."

  He adds an affirmative nod to his words, as if it was that simple. He says I'm Lailah, so that's who I'll be?

  "I don't know who that is!" I protest. Luckily, my voice shows a little more vigor this time, camouflaging the terror that's clutching me in its icy hold. "I don't know who Lailah is, but it's not me."

  His smirk widens into a smile, no less dark but spiced with a friendliness that comes across condescending.

  "You are," he insists. "That's the name you'll learn to listen to from now o-"

  "No, that's not my name!" I interrupt. "My name is Malia, and I-"

  "I don't want to hear it!"

  I flinch when he charges at me, his hand finding my neck with such swiftness that it spawns a new wave of horror. His fingers close around my throat, almost encircling it entirely as he holds me in place. He's not applying enough pressure to cut off my breathing, but it still feels as if he's choking me. The threat alone is enough for me to stop breathing as I freeze within his touch. He leans down to me, moving his face so close to mine that we almost touch. Daunting menace flickers in his gray eyes. Now that he's so close to me, I notice the little, bright-colored specks. They reflect the light in a way that makes his eye color appear more golden than gray.