Captured Onyx Read online

  "Now, you listen to me, little girl," he hisses. "I know you're confused, I know you're scared. That's fine. You fucking should be. But there's one thing I won't ever tolerate, and that's you yelling at me like a stubborn little bitch. Do you understand?"

  I want to respond, but my voice fails me, allowing for nothing more but a helpless croak as I stare back at him. I try to nod, as much as his grip allows.

  "Say it," he insists, loosening his grip on my throat. I feel oddly lost when he releases me, as if his intimidating movement granted me some sense of security.

  He juts his chin forward, beckoning me to answer him.

  "I-I-understand."

  My stuttered words are a lie. I don't understand anything. What am I doing here? Why is he calling me Lailah? And why does he insist on continuing to call me that even after I told him that there has been a mistake.

  Because that's obviously what happened here, right? Somehow I was mixed up with someone else who was supposed to be kidnapped, the daughter of a rich family, maybe? Ransom money, that's what he must be after. If he wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already, wouldn't I?

  My head is spinning, the questions circling in a wild cloud inside of my skull. A dull throbbing accompanies their uncontrolled dance, and it feels a lot like the aftermath of being hit against the head. Did he beat me unconscious? Was he the one who took me from my room?

  He locks me in place with his beautiful gray eyes as he slowly removes his hand from my throat.

  "No, you don't," he whispers. "You don't understand anything."

  Of course, I don't. But you threatened to choke me. What was I supposed to do but tell you what you wanted to hear?

  "Do you want money?" I ask. "Is that it? Ransom? Because I… I’m not rich, but I know someone who is and he-"

  "Shut up!"

  He raises his voice to a level that is scary enough to silence me right away. I glare at him, biting my lower lip while I wait for an explanation. But he just shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lets out a deep sigh.

  "Look," he says, casting me a strained look. "There's a lot you need to learn. You'll need to listen, obey, and work hard. We don't have much time to get this right."

  "This?" I probe, tilting my head to the side. "What do you mean by this?"

  He narrows his eyes, pondering for a few moments before he answers.

  "Onyx."

  His response is weighted, offering a solemn taste of significance, as if the word held any meaning to me.

  I throw him a puzzled look. "Onyx? Like the gem stone? I don’t… get it."

  "You will soon enough," he says, crossing his arms in front of his strongly muscled chest. He sighs again, just as heavily as before. He looks stressed and tense, as if this was harder on him than it is on me.

  "All you need to know for now is that you're an integral part of this," he elaborates. His eyes once again find mine and his expression appears exerted. That piercing gaze is enough to send an ice cold blast trickling down my spine, and it only gets worse when he continues to speak, concluding his angst-inducing introduction.

  "You're our Onyx. And if you fail us, you’ll die."

  Chapter 3

  Nate

  Was this a big mistake? How could I not have thought this through?

  This is so typical. Daveed and Mike warned me against it. Both of them fought me on this, trying their best to come up with another plan, a better plan.

  But they both know there is no better plan. While this may be high risk, it's better than the certain death that awaits us if we can't hold up our end of the deal.

  Our deal. My deal.

  The Scivolas expect us to hand over a girl to them for one of their sons to marry. They are expecting us to bring them Lailah. Beautiful, seemingly innocent Lailah. Lailah with her black curls and equally dark eyes, an olive complexion and petite frame, all set off by a radiant smile that attested to the fire burning within her. She was a fiery girl, stronger than she appeared on first sight, and far more cunning.

  She was.

  But how will this girl match up to the real Lailah? How could I expect a random girl off the street to be up to this task? How could I think it would be this easy?

  Things are never this easy.

  Nothing ever is.

  My actions speak of desperation, and I fucking hate it. I hate to find myself cornered in this position, I hate to lose control, and all I want is to regain the upper hand. Capturing this girl was a step in that direction—or so I hoped.

  Now that I see nothing but terror in the depths of her black eyes, it dawns on me that as much as she resembles Lailah, she’s nothing like her. It will take a lot of effort to turn her into the person we need her to be. Hard work, a strict hand. And time.

  I have all of that, except for one thing: time.

  It will take a miracle for this to work. And a lot of threats.

  "I don’t get this…," she repeats, her lower lip trembling as her glossy eyes fixate on me.

  Poor little thing. One more threat from me and she'll burst into tears, but the sooner she gets over this, the better.

  "You can wail all you want, little girl," I seethe, crowding her as I tower over her. Her fearful, teary gaze follows my movements, forcing her to throw her head back, her trembling lips parted in silent terror.

  "I'm telling you this once, and I won't tell you again: do as you're told, or you're dead. And so is your family."

  I came up with that last part off the cuff, and her horrified reaction fills me with an odd sense of pride.

  "I… I don’t un… understand," she cries, and I revel in watching as the first stream of tears roll down her blushed cheeks. "What did I do to you? Why are you-?"

  "You are not being punished for something you did," I cut her off. "Instead, I suggest that you consider it an opportunity."

  She wrinkles her eyebrows, slowly shaking her head. "No."

  No? Now I'm the one shaking his head. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I regard her with a severe look. "No, huh?"

  The girl swallows thickly. She doesn’t say a word, instead pressing her lips so forcefully together that they become a narrow white line. She's scared of me, but not as much as she should be.

  The surprised shriek she emits as I grab a fistful of hair at the back of her head is music to my ears. She cries out in painful surprise when I force her down onto the mattress with one violent yank. Her tied hands and ankles are of no help as she tries to support herself and struggle against my grip, her entire body squirming beneath me as I hold her down with just one hand, barely using any effort. I keep her head pinned to the bed with one hand, using the other to exert a new kind of threat, one that I'd hoped to save for later.

  Her eyes widen in panic when I place the palm of my hand on her upper thigh, sliding the hem of her dress up until the tip of my fingers almost meet her sex. She's still wearing the red dress she wore when we took her from her room, and it leaves her exposed to my touch as the fabric stretches between her spread legs.

  "No, no, no," she frantically repeats her favorite word, all the while trying to shake her head. "Please, don't..."

  I ignore her desperate pleas, my hand traveling further until it finds the heat of her core. She mewls, failing at closing her legs to save herself from my intrusion.

  My palm finds her mound. I cup it, almost tenderly. I can feel the outline of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, parting her soft lips slightly with the placement of my middle finger.

  She cries out as if in pain, screaming and howling, and I stop moving. I just hold her like that, one hand still clasping her hair and pinning her down on the mattress while the other is placed on her warm sex, applying just a hint of pressure. I'm not moving, not doing anything but holding her in place like this, but my touch is enough for her to hyperventilate in fear. She continues to screech even after I stop journeying further, squirming and shaking beneath my hands as if I was handling her roughly.

  My sini
ster laugh mixes with her sounds of torment, as I wait for her to calm down. As much as I enjoy seeing her like this, I need her to understand her place. The sooner she gets accustomed to her situation, the sooner she'll be of use to us.

  I patiently watch her slowly wear herself down, her wails turning into desperate sobs, her piercing screams transforming into wimpy moaning, until she opens her eyes to find mine. We regard each other in tense silence, her teary eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. She seems to be waiting for something, and her expectant gaze almost pushes me further, against my better judgment.

  But whatever it is that she's waiting for, it won't be happening any time soon.

  "You don't get to tell me no, little girl," I tell her. "When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it—or else...."

  She gasps when I bend my middle finger at her core. It's a minute motion, barely evident, but the impact on her is as big as I could hope for. She jerks up, her eyes widening, her frame cringing.

  "Please, don't—"

  "No, that's not how it works," I interrupt, pulling again on her hair, all while bending my finger a little more, further parting her lips through the fabric of her panties. "You don't tell me what to do or what not to do. Understand?"

  She whines, grimacing as she closes her eyes in shame.

  "Understand?" The urgency in my voice causes her to respond before I have to worsen her predicament.

  "Yes," she breathes, suggesting a nod. "Yes, I understand."

  "Good girl."

  I let go of her, evoking a sigh of relief from her trembling frame when I distance myself. She's shivering, obviously repulsed by me touching her like that. It stirs an anger inside me that comes as a surprise.

  Why does this bother me so much? What the fuck did I expect to happen?

  "You'll have to get used to my touch," I tell her, ignoring the new wave of shock that scurries across her pretty face.

  "Why?" she wants to know. "Why are you doing this to me? Are you some kind of... slave trader?"

  I can't suppress a chuckle.

  "It's not that simple, little girl. Not that simple at all."

  She inhales, her breath hiking as she attempts to suppress a fresh wave of tears. I admire her efforts to be strong, even when it's so obvious that she's not.

  This, we can work with. Determination, a will that works in our favor.

  "Please, tell me," she pleads. "Tell me what this is about."

  "A demand, huh."

  She hurries to shake her head. "No. An appeal."

  That's better, way better.

  I clear my throat, relishing in the way she jerks up when I move back to the bed, sitting down on the edge right next to her. I hated her evident repulsion at my touch, as intrusive as it may have been. But I revel in her intimidation. It's a healthy fear that will keep her in check.

  Her flat chest heaves erratically, driven by tense anticipation as she awaits my explanation.

  I know I have to tell her. I need her to work with me on this, and I'll have to bring her into the loop to some extent for that to happen.

  But where to start?

  How do you explain a situation as fucked up as mine?

  Chapter 4

  Malia

  I can't help but think of this as some sort of retribution. Karma is a bitch, they say. And if karma would come back at me with anything, it would be this.

  Waking up in a dark cell? Check.

  Being confused and scared as shit? Check.

  Not knowing why this is happening to me? Check.

  I deserve this, maybe I really do. Despite the reasoning behind all of it, the contract, the promises, the need for it, the outcome—I still know that I did something very, very wrong. And I did it to my best friend.

  Maybe this really is karma's way of enacting revenge.

  But does that mean Liliane is in on this? Is she playing some kind of trick on me?

  No, that can't be it. Even if this is karma's work, my best friend has nothing to do with it. She would never do this to me. Never.

  But who would?

  And who is this man?

  This man, who emits danger and yet a confusing sense of comfort at the same time, who blinds me with his rugged handsomeness and the tortured expression on his face as he sits on the bed next to me, visibly struggling to find the right words to shed at least a little light on this horrifying mystery.

  The longer he makes me wait, the more I hope that he's just getting ready to save me from this ordeal.

  Ha, ha, got you! See! This is what it feels like, Malia!

  And then the door would open and they would come in, my friend Liliane, laughing, untying me as she apologizes for scaring me like this. And we would share a friendly giggle, a look, a smile that's so full of meaning, a depth that only makes sense to the two of us.

  I know how silly it is to dream up this prospect, how unlikely it is for any of this to happen. But what else is there for me to do? I'd rather cling to the smallest ray of hope than to dwell on the terrifying reality of this.

  He sits with his back half turned to me, his gaze lowered into his lap where his strong fingers intertwine, twisting and turning as if he was weaving the words with an invisible piece of yarn before he's able to say them.

  This man is in trouble, that's for sure. He may look strong and in control at first, but it becomes more and more apparent to me that as the moments pass, he's not displaying the same powerful demeanor I've witnessed up until now.

  He kidnapped me, but he didn't want to—is that it? Did someone force him to do this and now he's feeling guilty?

  I want to push him, beckon him to tell me what the hell is going on here. But I'm afraid to act on it, fearing that it will only anger him and cause him to threaten me further and perhaps not tell me anything.

  I flinch when he lets out another deep sigh, bracing myself for an attack that doesn't come.

  "Here's the deal." His voice is hoarse, reminding me more of a dull growl than the carefully lowered tone of someone who's about to deliver bad news.

  "You will take someone else's place. You will play a role and carry out a mission for us," he goes on, speaking without looking at me. "I will do my best to help you. I will train you, I will teach you everything you need to know, and I will keep you safe."

  He clears his throat then, lifting his head before his eyes trail back to me. "I will do what I can to make this work, because you cannot fucking fail. If you do, you're dead. And so am I."

  I frown. "What if I don't want to do this... mission?"

  His eyes narrow forming a deep crease between his eyebrows.

  "You don't have a choice," he replies, his tone becoming even more sinister than before. "If you want your family to live, you'll fucking do what I tell you to do."

  I inhale sharply, feeling as if a clamp has been tightened around my heart making it hard to breathe.

  My family. He'd kill my parents if I don't go along with this?

  "My parents," I breathe out frantically. "Where are they? Did you kidnap them, too?"

  He shakes his head. "They're safe, and they will remain safe as long as you play along."

  I can't believe this is happening. How can he be so cruel? He says these things as if it's the most natural thing in the world, as if he was conducting a job interview with me or something.

  "Why me?" I ask, seeking his gaze with a pleading look. "Why do you want me for this mission?"

  His eyes lock onto mine. "Because you look just like her. You look just like Lailah."

  There's a hint of sadness in his voice, or so I want to believe. It almost sounds as if he's apologizing.

  Or grieving.

  And again, that name. He called me Lailah when he first stepped inside the room, and now I know why. Because I have to become her. I have to take her place for some kind of mission, and it’s because I look just like her.

  "Who is Lailah?"

  His expression hardens in response to my question, but he doe
sn't say a word.

  "And what's this... this mission about?" I probe further. "Why can't she do it?"

  He sighs and rubs his hand across his face. "You're asking a lot of questions."

  "Can you blame me?"

  I lift my tied hands, yanking at the rope that's fastened around them, trying to pull them apart. A dark chuckle vibrates in his throat, lightening the mood for only a split second before I remember how dire my situation is.

  "No," he says. "I can't blame you. But you need to remember that you're not the one in charge here. I'll tell you what you need to know. Nothing less and nothing more."

  "But—"

  "And that has to stop!" he hollers, making me jerk to the side. His expression darkens as he raises his left hand to point at me with his index finger. "No 'buts', no backtalk, and no objections. We don't have time for this. You either comply or you'll deal with the consequences."

  Another objection dances on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to keep it to myself. As hard as it is for me to believe that this is for real, that he's indeed threatening my parents’ lives, I need to take into consideration that he may be serious and I don’t want my stubbornness to be what makes him flip.

  "So... if I don't comply, you'll...," I stammer, barely able to voice the terrible thought. "You'll kill my parents?"

  He nods, pinning me with a sinister look. “So, are you ready to start?”

  “What? Start what?” I’m baffled at his question, instinctively shaking my head. “No, I’m—"

  I’m cut off by his sudden motion as he jumps to his feet, the bed frame squeaking loudly. He hesitates for a split second, standing with his back turned to me, before he starts marching toward the door.

  “Hey!” I yell after him. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone in here!”

  But he doesn’t even acknowledge me. His hand is already on the doorknob when I add, “Did they… did they put you up to this?”