Captive (7 page)

Since the beginning I’d been upfront with Beth. I’d warned her this wouldn’t go anywhere, but did she listen? No. Like usual with women around the club, they make more out of a situation than there is, and then act like their feelings are hurt or some shit. I don’t get it, I really don’t. A guy tells you he wants to fuck you. He uses your body, gives you pleasure, and sends you on your way, what is there to get upset about? Both of you had a good time, the end, right? Wrong. This is what you get, and this is why men are inherently stupid when it comes to the opposite sex. We think this time will be different when the truth is, this time it’s just a different woman. Nothing more.

Stomping through my lounge room Beth dresses furiously, so much so you can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. When she done she makes her way to me, and as her parting gesture she slaps me soundly across the face. I’ll let her have that one because she’s pissed, and because I can’t be fucked to deal with anymore drama if I pull her up on it. I just want this done. Over. Finished. I want her out of my house, and out of my life.

“You are a fucking asshole, Reaper. And mark my words, I’ll make you regret humiliating me like this.”

Slamming the door behind her Beth walks out leaving me holding back a laugh at her threat. If I took her seriously I would’ve warned her against making an error in judgement threatening me, but the truth is I couldn’t care less, and there’s not a damn thing she could do that would be any worse than anything I’ve already suffered through…Or so I thought.

How – The Cranberries

              I may not have thought through the ramifications of calling Boss this morning, and in hindsight it was a colossal fuck up on my part. The last person I want to explain the mess I’ve found myself in is Boss. Okay, maybe not the last because that honour would most definitely go to Emily, but he’s high up on the list of people that will shit a brick when he finds out. Not only that, but there is someone I should have spoken to before I made my impulsive, out of character phone call, but that too was not one I was ready or felt able to make.

Four weeks is a long time to bite your tongue when you want to spit fire at someone. When you want nothing more than to tell them you hope they get anally violated by a big black man that calls them bitch, and pulls their hair. Now before you get the wrong idea, I’m not usually a violent person, sure, like anyone else I have the occasionally homicidal thought, more often than not whilst driving, but on the whole I’m actually pretty passive.

In saying that, I’m not a push over. I won’t be bullied. I won’t lay down and take a beating like a good little dog. And I sure as hell will not be used as anyone’s verbal punching bag again. All-in-all you could say that the long fuse I pride myself on has finally reached its end, and lucky Reaper is the one that’s going to be front and centre for the explosion.

This however is the least of my immediate concerns. First on the list is the three angry bikers that will be barging into my house in less than an hour. Albeit invited, because I’m an idiot, they’ll be demanding answers as soon as they set foot in the door. When they have them the next concern is a crapshoot, it could go one of two ways as far as I see it. Either Diesel will call his mom, Emily, immediately throwing me directly under a very pissed off bus, or I’ll be left to talk down three huge, testosterone laden bikers that will want to tear someone apart with their bare hands. I’m hoping it’s one of those two options, and not both because I can only handle one thing at a time. And if they distract me with having to talk Emily down it will leave them free to go after their number one target, and that will not be pretty. Actually I can imagine it will be downright scary.

But scary is the name of the game, and my final concern, which is what the hell am I going to do now is gradually making its way up the list to number one, consuming everything else in its path. What is the problem you ask?

Simple. I, Adelyn Pippa London, am a fucking moron. I was more worried about getting the man I’ve fantasised about, dreamed of, and coveted in my bed than telling him it was essential to wrap his junk. Yes, you heard me right. I didn’t insist on using condoms, and to be honest I was too wrapped up in the moment to consider the consequences of being so foolish.

I didn’t just forget to consider the risks involved that he might have some disease from one of the numerous whores he’s slept with, but I didn’t stop, even for a second to remember that I’m not on any form of contraception. I haven’t ever needed it, and I certainly wasn’t something that I planned to happen even if I’d been considering taking a man, that man being Reaper, to my bed for some time.

I don’t have sex. I haven’t since the last time I was forced against my will to spread my legs for a man, and that was fifteen years ago. A lot of people would tell me I was crazy for allowing that to be my only memory of intimacy with a man, but in my case it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something I thought out. It just happened that way, and in some respect I’m glad that it had because if it hadn’t Reaper wouldn’t have been the new memory I made, and that’d be a damn shame.

I’m sure that coming into this with the history I have, all of which is bad, no horrible, anyone could have shown me what it is like to be treated gently, with patience, and care. They could’ve shown me what it felt like to have a man’s hands on my body I actually wanted there, not ones that grabbed me roughly, and punished me. More than likely other me could have shown me what pleasure, real pleasure feels like, but it wasn’t any man that did those things. It was Reaper, and that was both a mistake, and a blessing.

A mistake because I can’t get the feel of his rough, calloused palms out of my head. The way he watched me intently, making sure I was focused on him, what he was doing to me, what he was making me feel. It was a mistake because I want him like that again, not just for a night, but for longer, much long. Like forever. And that’s just not an option. Reaper isn’t a man that wants, or should be tied down. You can see it in his eyes. In the way he holds himself, ready to run at a moments noticed. And you know he doesn’t want to become too attached to anything because he doesn’t welcome many people, if anyone other than his son Steel and his family, into his life.

I wouldn’t tie a man like Reaper down even without those reasons. He’s lived so much of his life for the job with the FBI, for the club, which he’s still doing, and for his son. He needs time to live for himself, which is why I didn’t share my news with him. And it is
my
news, not his. He didn’t consider the consequences either, and he sure as shit hasn’t mentioned a word about that night in the last four weeks either, so as far as I’m concerned it makes it my news, and my news alone. Some might think I’m selfish, that I should give him a choice, a say in what I do now, but I can’t bring myself to contemplate what I’d do if he told me to get rid of my baby. It would break me in a way that would be so permanent I don’ think there would be anything to resurrect me from that pain.

There is only one thing I want from life, one. For as long as I can remember, so I would have been about four-years-old I’ve wanted a baby, a family of my own. Someone to love with everything in me. It’s something I need. Something I desire above everything else. It might be wrong to bring a little person into the world with such a great responsibility hanging over its little head already, but in all reality doesn’t every mother want to be loved unconditionally.

I didn’t go out to get pregnant on purpose. I didn’t not demand Reaper put a condom on so that I could trick him into knocking me up. No, it was a simple twist of fate that it happened to be the right time of the month, and that my first experience with a man, since the sadistic fuck that was merely an excuse for a man I escaped, happened to be with Reaper, the only man that could be less inclined to be a father all over again was the one that made my dream come true. Hence the blessing part of my dilemma.

No matter what happens from here on out this baby, the night I spent with his or her father, and the memories of how he or she was conceived will always be a blessing. I wholeheartedly believe in looking at the positives in life in any situation, even mine, and even the one’s I’d prefer not to remember. But I don’t have time to consider the positives because on the other side of my front door is a furious looking biker, clad in leather, menacing in nature, banging repeatedly on the door to the point it looks like the poor thing might disintegrate.

Standing up I try to gather my strength, pull my thoughts together, so that I can tell him to leave, that I don’t want him here. It might sound stupid under the circumstances, especially since this is the one time I should probably invite him in, let him talk to me, but truthfully I want nothing to do with him. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, not after what he said when he left that morning. I couldn’t bear to have him throw what a mistake it was at me again. I can’t listen to him tell me he thinks I’m no better than a common whore, infected with who knows what, not fit to be allowed near his family. What he said, what he spat at me in anger was unforgiveable, and I haven’t, forgiven him that is. Regardless of how much my body still craves him now I know what his feels like beneath my hands, under my tongue, between my legs, I won’t forgive him for being so hateful towards me. Especially when I’ve done nothing to deserve his ire. His anger. His spite.

This is why I asked Boss, Diesel, and Fury to come. Boss and Diesel to help me pack my belongings, and Fury to hold the behemoth of a man, Reaper, at bay while we do it. There is no doubt in my mind that my secret will come out. There’s no way those three will allow me to just leave Blackwater without an explanation, no matter how much they love and care for me. And in the end that’s what I fear most. Not that I will be hurt, because I don’t believe for a second that any one of the four men would ever lay a hand on me, but I fear for Reaper. I fear what they may do to him. I fear how he will react when he finds out why I’m leaving, and what he’ll do to stop me. More than that though, I fear what he won’t do to stop me. Because honestly, I don’t think he’ll do a damn thing. And that will hurt more than anything else in this clusterfuck of a situation I find myself in.

Pausing at the door, hand on the knob, I straighten my pink sweater and slowly open the door. The first thing I’m hit with is the overwhelming scent of musk, and his cologne that invade my nostrils. It is like crack to an addict. The smell of him is so manly, so all-encompassing that I don’t notice he’s moved even closer until his body is almost flush against mine.

Looking up into his eyes I see the war he’s waging. The one that’s telling him to step back, distance himself. I can also see the lust, desire, and something else forbidden. Something he doesn’t want to feel. Something he doesn’t think he can feel, swirling in his deep blue green eyes.

What really makes me come unhinged is the deep rasp of his voice. The sound is so soothing, yet it causes rough prickles of need to shoot down my spine. Low, deep, hoarse, is the only way to describe the cadence of his speech. It’s a voice I’ll hear every time I close my eyes from now until I take my last breath. And it’s the one memory I hope never fades, because it will be like my warm security blanket when things begin getting rocky. When I think hope is lost, and things won’t get better I’ll wrap myself in the heat and comfort of his voice using it to lull myself into the belief I’ll make it out the other side of whatever the problem okay.

Reaper stands over a foot taller than my five foot two, and weighs about a hundred and fifty more pounds than I do, so when he uses his huge hand to push the door open, crowding my entryway I do something I haven’t done since leaving Furnace…

“What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re fucking doing?” That’s right, I lose my ever-loving-mind. Not a smart move considering the audience, but I do it nevertheless.

Chuckling Reaper walks in, and makes himself at home on my couch. Bastard. Shaking his head he adds,

“You’re the only woman I know that can use religion and curse in the same sentence, Adelyn.” Stretching his arms out along the back of the couch that he seems to dwarf, yet seemed big enough for me when I bought it I can only stare at him open mouthed. “Close your mouth sweetheart you’ll catch flies, or something else.”

Did I say bastard? I mean fucking bastard. Planting my hands on my hips I give him my best don’t fuck with me glare. Clearly that doesn’t work because the big lug starts laughing at me. And while I’m trying to be angry, furious really, at him the sound is beautiful. Full. Rich. Rare. I want, no I wanted, to make him laugh. Be the one to bring him joy, but he squashed that thought with his callous words, and disregard for my feelings I remind myself.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to go with?” Shaking my head rapidly side to side I say, “Forget it, forget I asked of course you are because it’s so fucking normal for someone to push their way into my house, and take up residence on my couch. Not to mention said person being the
only
person I don’t want anything to do with this side of Christmas, next millennium.”

I watch the new play of emotions through his eyes wincing at the guilt, regret, and pain in them. I need to stay strong. I need to get him out of here before the guys get here. For his sake, not mine. I need to remember I hate him.

“About that…I wanted to say,”

I stop him, I can’t hear an apology, or an excuse. I don’t want to, and he doesn’t either. That was mad pretty obvious when he didn’t attempt one weeks ago.

“No!” I exclaim causing his head to jerk up, and his storm filled eyes to meet mine. “Don’t. Just don’t. You don’t owe me anything, and to be honest after that night neither do I. All I want to know is why you’re here. Why you barged your way into my house. And why all of a sudden you want to talk to me? You haven’t bothered up until now, so how about you enlighten me and then be on your way?”

It’s basically a rhetorical question after all, one that shouldn’t take him too long to answer. I know why he’s here, Boss wouldn’t have been able to help himself. He would’ve wanted someone local to watch out for me until he got here, and not knowing Reaper and I have a history, albeit short, he would’ve picked the man he entrusted my safety to in the first place.

Ironic really. The person I trusted most picked the person I trust least to look out for me. I bet Boss hadn’t intended for his friend to screw the hired help, his charge, knocking her up in the process. No, I’m thinking that little revelation isn’t going to go over well.