His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance (2 page)

The line to get into the 712 Club stretched nearly another full block in the opposite direction. Men in suits ignored dude-bros in backward baseball caps who had no chance of getting in unless one of the magazine-perfect women decided to grace them with their attention. And that was definitely not going to happen. The women stood in groups of three with their backs turned out, arms crossed inward, breaking the formation only when the line inched forward.

Rachel didn't know what it was like to stand in a line. She cut to the front of the crowd, ignoring the frustrated sighs and disapproving glances. Her head dipped briefly toward the bouncer, a slicked-haired thug in a thousand dollar suit. One corner of his mouth twisted as her breath touched his ear and
presto
. He stepped aside to let us in, twitching his eyebrows at me once when I passed.

I heard a protesting cry go up among the ones who'd been waiting but shrugged it off and kept my head high. I'd gotten used to it in the few months I'd been with Rachel—she slid by without issue while everyone else struggled. Most people waited in line; she didn’t. Most people paid for every meal; she definitely didn’t. She seemed to have a tunnel through the ordinary fog of daily effort that was made just for her and acted like that was just the natural order of things. I wanted that for myself. I wanted her life, but I had a long way to go, according to her.

“What did you say to him?” I hissed discreetly as we passed through a plastered arch lit by pale-colored LEDs.

“Say to who?” she sighed vaguely.

“That guy? The bouncer?”

Her eyes swept the room and then careened around to me, focusing on my face as though she was a little surprised I was there.

“Ahhhm… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered distractedly. “Just follow me.”

I swallowed a sigh and pulled myself up. My skin prickled. The room seemed to have gone mute. Even in the dim light, I could see every head turning toward her as though we had just stumbled through the curtain and onto a theater stage. But she was the perfect actress for every stage. She carried herself with the poise and purpose of a supermodel, absolutely demanding their attention and commanding it once she had it. All I had to do was hover tight in her shadow, and I would be fine.

***

If not for the bar and most of its patrons being visibly thick with booze, I might have guessed it was some fancy restaurant. The walls were trimmed in rich cherry wood, the floor a similarly colored stone. LED televisions were embedded in the walls with the sound off and captions on, and techno music in French swirled unobtrusively from hidden speakers. The seating was typical enough: high stools and small tables. But there was something luxe about them that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe they just
smelled
like money.

The crowd parted for Rachel as she made her way toward one near the center of the room, and I followed close. I suddenly felt as though every eye in the room wasn't on her. It was on
us
. It was on the supermodel and her weird, mismatched, out of place friend.

When we got to the table she whirled around on her heel, staring down at me.

“Stand up straight, look natural. Hunching over like that, trying to hide— you look like you're about to try to rob the place or something.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard, wincing as the bright pain brought the room into focus. My hands tried to slide my handbag onto the tabletop and trembled, knocking my knuckles against the wood.

“Jesus, Jolie. Just... relax already. No big deal. We're just trying to get a few drinks and do a little shake and trade. Simple as can be, right?”

I nodded unconvincingly.

“I’m just a little chilly from outside.”

She sighed through her nose and I could feel her tolerance for me slipping away like water through my fingers. I flashed her a big smile and quirked an eyebrow, trying to mimic her best self-entitled-vixen pose.

“Yeah, okay,” she chuckled impatiently. “That’s pretty good, I guess. Just keep faking it til you make it, as they say. Feeling good?”

“Terrific,” I lied.

“Perfect. Well, I see you’re finally getting the hang of making an entrance.”

“I learned from the best,” I purred, swelling a little where I stood. As long as she was still smiling, I felt pretty okay.

“Yes, you did,” she nodded, giving me a starry wink. “And I think you’re ready to do real battle, yes?”

“Definitely.”

“Excellent. Your new assignment is to get someone to buy us a drink, and you're going to do it without saying a word. Get the drink, thank him with a little hair toss or something, then turn away. Don't want any creeps coming over. You're a pretty girl, so act like it.”

“Wait, what?” I said, the words coming out in a garbled choke. “No… wait, Rachel. You said this was your deal. I’m just here to observe…”

“You’re here to
learn
,” she asserted. “And from what I can see, half the men here have already scoped you out. There’s no better time.”

“Wh— really?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. I tried to find evidence of men actually scoping me but couldn’t catch anyone’s eye. “Like who? Like that guy in the tie there?”

Her fingernails waved me off. “I didn’t take notes, Jolie. Now do what I say. Get us some drinks.”

I couldn't help but smile a little at her encouragement, odd as it was. She was really trying to help me out. I knew she always was, but she was being strangely nice and nurturing about it. I had asked her for weeks to take me to one of her meetings and she had always told me I wasn’t ready.

I slipped onto the high seat, sitting up a bit straighter, trying to mimic her confidence and body language. My eyes slowly swept the room, landing on faces and holding there for an extra beat to see what would happen. After a few men turned distractedly away, a fourth man held my gaze.

I followed her advice to the word, and it seemed to work beautifully. I just stared meaningfully at him, letting my mouth open into a wet, welcoming smile. Though the expression felt foreign and goofy, I didn’t cringe away from it like I wanted to. His head tipped to one side and then he jerked his chin at me in a bit of a reverse-nod, silently agreeing to the question I had put into the air between us.

Swiveling toward the barman, he broke our shared eyeline and I took that chance to turn completely in my seat. In moments, a small man in a tight white shirt and barred tie brought us matching martinis. He murmured that they were compliments of the gentleman at the bar.

“Do
not
turn around,” Rachel growled, cutting off my automatic response.

“Really? I want to say thank you, at least—”

She brought the glass to her lips and paused, one eyebrow arching supremely as she stared me down.

“Fine, fine,” I mumbled.

“It’s just a drink, Jolie.
Christ.
Drink it.”

Rachel always told me that I was my own worst enemy. Get a free drink, and I would act like I owed somebody a chunk of my life. That was my way. It drove her nuts.

Rachel’s way was simpler. Get a free drink: shut up and drink it, you don’t owe anyone anything. She didn’t have those pesky little voices in her ear telling her that what she was doing was wrong, that she should be ashamed, that she didn’t deserve this or that. Nonsense, she said. But she didn’t hold it against me, she said. What I thought were “manners” were just self-imposed shackles, but I would get over that. I just needed training up.

According to Rachel, she was just like me until she learned what was what. Living hand-to-mouth, scraping together a few bucks here and there and always trying to outrun the bridge on fire behind her until Gemma took her on and showed her the ropes.  That was when everything changed and she became who she is. And she told me she would do the same for me.

When I first saw her, she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with a guy in a liver colored jacket and amber-tinted eyeglasses. Everyone seemed to have their eye on her, but she only looked at him. Jeep. Or Joey. Or something.

He was supposed to be a dealer, or a thug or a genius, depending on who I asked. Possibly a former actor. In any case, he was the most captivating guy at the bar, and so she had laid claim to him immediately.

I watched them from a small table by the lone slot machine in the corner while I chewed the straw on my sixth diet cola. Free refills. It was getting late and every time the bartender made another circuit of the outer tables, I expected him to send me packing.

Finally he swerved my way, scowling. I stared at the fake woodgrain on the table top and attempted to disappear.

With one meaty, soot-colored paw he snatched the empty glass and my mangled straw and replaced it with something shorter, icy, and dark. I looked up at him in confusion.

“You’re wanted at the bar,” he said in a sullen growl.

I shook my head.

“I don’t know anybody here,” I replied, looping my fingers protectively through the handle of my backpack.

He scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, homeless girl,” he said as his jaw worked back and forth. “But she wants you.”

My eyes followed the gesture of his chin jerking over his shoulder and I saw her, staring at me. She smiled out of one corner of her mouth, and it was like she was calling to me. I could see her in utter focus like the overhead lights shone directly on her.

Jeep or Joey’s head tipped back so he could continue whispering in her ear. She didn’t seem to notice. She just stared at me until I realized I was supposed to do something. I was supposed to walk over to her. With one hand knotted in my backpack strap and one hand clutching the drink she’d sent, I slid off my barstool and walked across the room. That was three months ago.

I sipped the ice-cold, salty vodka and squinted at her now in her red minidress, trying to imagine her as anything less than luminous. What did she look like when Gemma found her, I wondered. Like me? Some dumb hick in a bus station bar?

“Tell me about Gemma,” I said with a smile.

Her attention was pinned far over my shoulder and she inhaled through her nostrils, flaring them regally. She glanced at me but didn’t really seem to see me.

“Who?”

“Gemma,” I said a little louder.

Her eyes narrowed under her perfectly shaped brows, her attention flung far away from me.

“Would you look at this,” she said in a low growl, cutting me off. I tracked her gaze to the wall and the center LED. A newscaster was reporting from a remote location outside the city. Police lights flashed red and blue in the background, illuminating the stubby grasses of a ditch alongside some farmer’s field.

“Another one?”

“God, yeah… Looks like it—”

I tried to read the captions on the screen as a few club patrons and waiters walked back and forth.

...found in this remote field by a group of teenage ATV enthusiasts…

...remains were strewn for a quarter...

...Granholm, who had been reported missing last week, was currently under indictment for...

I shuddered, trying not to imagine what the kids had found. That field was just like the hundreds of fields near my aunt’s farm. I could easily put myself in their place: riding a four-wheeler hard over the rutted, February fields with my friends, trying to get to a finger of woods or some privacy to drink or get high or get laid. Then maybe something catches your eye: a piece of fabric or a bit of hair. Maybe you think it’s roadkill…

I guess Rachel sensed my uneasiness. She heaved a heavy sigh that bordered on dramatic as she reached into her purse. Then she took my hand, holding it in hers and stroking the top with the other like she was comforting me. I could feel the little white pill pressed between our palms, and I knew just what she had in mind.

“You
have
to loosen up.”

“Oh, no… No, thank you.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “This'll make you someone worth talking to. Trust me, you need it.”

“No, it’s just… I mean I used to have a four-wheeler too. I was just thinking…”

“Yeah, it’s a terrible time to be a child molester,” she agreed archly.

“Oh, no… Well maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t—”

“Of
course
he was,” she snapped. “And now somebody did us all a favor. Case closed.”

“No that’s not how—”

“—and now
I
am going to do
you
a favor, Jolie.”

The objections curdled on my tongue. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

She’s doing you a favor, Jolie, and you’ve come this far. Just take it.

I slipped the pill from her palm as she pulled away, but couldn't bring myself to move my hand toward my mouth. I just stared at it: small, white, powder-perfect. It sat primly in my palm like it could have been anything. Baby aspirin, even.

I leaned forward, speaking lowly enough that only the two of us would be able to hear. “What
is
this, exactly?”

She shrugged and traced a finger seductively around the rim of her near-empty glass. “Sedative. Sorta. It's a party drug, and it'll fuck you up like nothing else. It's about the strongest thing you can possibly get your hands on, and I worked
hard
to get to a place where I could get hold of it. Now I’m
sharing
it with you.”

“I don’t know…”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “It’s customary to say thank you when someone gives you a gift, you know.”

“I feel fine, though. I’m getting warmed up now.”

“Just take the fucking pill. Jesus,” she snarled, her eyes flashing bright in the dim room. “Always second guessing me. I told you it's going to help you. What more do you need to know?”

I narrowed my eyes a bit, hesitating for a long moment before asking something I was not entirely sure I even really wanted the answer to. I knew I was on the last dock of the far end of her patience, about ready to slide off to nowhere if I didn’t watch it. 

“Rachel, where did you get this?”

She groaned, leaning back in her seat. She arched her back and her eyes travelled down the front of her minidress, appreciating the perky nubs of her nipples through the fabric. Satisfied, she glanced back up at me and raised her brows.

“That's none of your business. It’s real, and it’s safe. Filled at a local pharmacy if you must know. Are you going to take it or not?”

Staring straight into her bright blue eyes, I popped the pill into my mouth, subtle and slow as if I was yawning. She laughed silently at my dramatic pantomime. After I chased it down with the last of my martini, I realized it may not have been the best idea to wash a sedative down with alcohol.

Instant regret.

The thought occurred to me that if I hurried, I could go throw it up in the bathroom and not tell her. She lowered her chin and squinted as though reading my mind and I just settled back into the chair.

Crap. Crap crap crap.

I’ve never had a high tolerance for drugs. In high school, my sometimes-boyfriend Darby always laughed and called me the “one-hit wonder,” because a single lungful from a bong would have me stoned off my ass, gibbering and paranoid all night long. But then horny as hell too, so that was all right.

It was going to be an interesting night, if nothing else. Maybe I
would
be someone worth talking to as she promised, but it wasn't going to be for the reasons she seemed to be hoping for. I was going to be a total mess.

“That's better.” Rachel gave a soft smile then, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. The wild night breeze had blown it around a little, and I'd hardly thought to fix it once we got in. The heat from her fingers on my ear was tender, almost sisterly. “You know I'm just looking out for you, right? I wouldn't give you anything that would hurt you. You're too important to me.”

I nodded silently, distracted by the feeling of the tiny pill sliding further and further down my throat. Her fingers lingered on the edge of my ear and then she gave it an affectionate little pinch. My cheeks burned dimly and a smile crept across my lips.

I always felt so torn when she acted like this. One minute, she behaved like I was just an inconvenient tagalong and the next, she was spoon-feeding me praise. Maybe she thought I was like a stubborn farm animal, too stupid to just follow her directions. But once she'd pushed me through, she comforted and encouraged me and I couldn’t help but just wag my little tail until I fell over.

As the pill inched its way toward my stomach I tried to keep track of it, imagining its edges dissolving into powder, then the powder bouncing like tiny ping pong balls into my bloodstream like an animation on a TV ad. I thought I could feel it for awhile, all effervescent and blue, fizzing as it dissolved. I smiled back at Rachel every time she glanced at me, imprisoned in my chair under her oversight. Then I couldn’t feel it anymore at all.