Willing Captive
Authors: Belle Aurora
Tags: #romance, #love, #death, #contemporary romance, #kidnapped, #protected, #willing captive, #belle aurora
Willing Captive
Published by Belle Auro
ra at
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Copyright © 2013 Belle Aurora
First published 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
A series of unfortunate events
Lily
She wrapped her
small hand around his thick girth and squeezed. “I can make you
happy. Just give me a chance, baby.”
“
Don’t do it, Brock. Don’t fall for it,” I mutter to myself.
Tapping the screen on my eReader to turn the page, I cringe and
whine, “Oh, you stupid son of a bitch! She’s sleeping with your
brother!” Shaking my head, I sigh, “Serves you right for falling in
love with a ho.”
My bedroom door
opens and my sister, Terah, creeps in and shuts the door behind
her, careful not to make a sound. I look at her ensemble and
already shake my head vigorously. Her face pleads. She says nothing
just smiles huge and nods excitedly. I sigh, “No, Terah. I almost
got busted last time.”
“
Lily, you’re gonna dry up like an old prune. You’re only
twenty-two, sweetie. Live a little!” She sounds
exasperated.
Suddenly feeling defensive
, I scowl at her. “I
live
just fine, thank you very much.”
Terah’s face
softens, and she sits on the edge of my bed. “He can’t hold onto us
forever, you know? We gotta grow up sometime.”
I know she’s
right.
I
hate
when she’s
right.
My name is Delilah
Flynn. Everyone, except my dad, calls me Lily. I spend most of my
days right here, in my bedroom. This has not always been my choice,
but over the years, I’ve grown to love my room. It’s become a sort
of sanctuary to me.
In this room, I can
be who I want to be. No pressure. No expectations. I can do as I
please. And I like it like that.
Our family owns a transport company called Flynn Logistics. My
father came over to America from Ireland when he was thirteen. His
family had nothing. When I say nothing, I mean
nothing
. He tells me stories about how my grandfather
would come home from work and remove his coat only to hand it to my
father so he wouldn’t be cold when he walked to his job as a
grocery store shelf stocker.
They had to
share
a coat.
It was a communal coat!
That’s
how poor they were.
Mom met Dad when she
was in high school. High school wasn’t really an option for my dad.
His family couldn’t afford it, and back then, there was no shame in
that. Mom and Dad happened to live on the same block and soon
became friends. A year passed and Mom fell hopelessly in love with
Dad; she never cared about the fact that he was poor. Her family
wasn’t much better off. But she figured if she could only have him
as a friend, she’d somehow deal with that. What she didn’t know was
that dad loved her just as much, maybe more, but he wouldn’t ask
her out until he was sure he could provide for her properly. Dad
says he loved her before he even knew her name.
Talk about being brought up with an unrealistic view on love,
right? Like that would ever happen to me. The probability of that
happening to
anyone
is
maybe one in a billion.
I
admire my dad so much. What he’s accomplished in his life is short
of miraculous. He started working in a transport sorting center
when he was sixteen for a major logistics company. He spent the
first year working his ass off and showing his superiors he was
reliable and enthusiastic. Eventually, he was moved up from the
sorting center to manager of transport. He spent five years with
them and learned
all he could. From
packing and shipping items, to understanding how sorting machine do
what they do then working up to managing a ground crew. He saved
every spare penny and resigned when he was twenty-one. That’s when
he started Flynn Logistics. It was a huge risk. Luckily, it was a
risk that paid off. As my dad always says in his thick Irish
brogue, “Can’t lose a thing if ye’ve got nothing to
lose.”
Flynn Logistics now
goes head-to-head with the major transport companies. We’re
competition, a huge threat to them, and I see the pride light my
father’s face whenever this fact is brought up.
My
father is somewhat
overprotective. When I
say he’s somewhat overprotective, it’s kinda like Channing Tatum
being somewhat good looking…as in tremendously. So, here I am, a
grown woman with my sister as my only friend. If I want to leave
the house for anything,
anything
at all, I need an escort. The same goes for my sister, but
she’s sneaky and finds ways around the rules. I never really
understood why this was, but my father is not a person you argue
with. Don’t get me wrong, my dad is a loving, caring man. He rarely
raises his voice to anyone and it takes a lot to get him angry.
He’s a good dad, just a little over the top and extremely paranoid.
But in our household, my father holds a lot of respect, respect
he’s earned. So, rule number one, you don’t ever question my
father.
Our family isn’t
big. It’s just me, my older sister, Terah, my mom, and my dad. We
live in a mansion in an exclusive suburb in Atherton, California. I
thought this house was a little over the top when we moved in. I
mean, I know we have money, but dad insisted we move from our old
home, a sweet four-bedroom house, into this monstrosity four years
ago. Our newest house includes ten bedrooms, six bathrooms, a
library, three offices, a sun room, a huge pool with matching pool
house the size of our old place, a tennis court, and, of course, a
state of the art monitored alarm system.
I
hate this house. There is nothing homely about it. It’s sterile. It
feels like a prison decorated to look like a palace. But I know
better; I see it for what it is
.
My dad was so
excited to show me my new room that first day here. When the door
swung open and he shouted, “Ta da!” I almost fainted.
My
bedroom is freaking huge. It’s five hundred and thirty square feet,
which is half the size of our old home. If I stand at the door and
look into my room, this is what I’d see: On the left-hand side is a
mahogany, four-poster, king-sized bed with a floral-print
bedspread. Next to it is a matching mahogany dresser that is just
for looks
because I don’t have a
lot of clothes (I’m not a girly girl who likes to shop), a desk
which I never use because I prefer to do any school work on my bed.
There’s a door leading to my built-in closet, and a second door
leading to my private en-suite bathroom. On the right-hand side, is
a complete entertainment system with a big screen LCD TV, DVD
player, a PlayStation 3, a brand new stereo, which also acts as
surround sound when I watch movies, two comfortable sofas, and my
favorite feature is my library lining the entire back
wall.
Reading is my escape. It makes my brain work, which gives me a
short reprieve from my isolated
life.
My room has been
painted a pale-peach color, which I love. I have several paintings
lining the walls, and a huge bay window leading to the small patio
outside.
Terah, who is twenty-four, has a room that looks identical to
mine, just on the opposite side of the hall. Our bedrooms are the
only two that are permanently occupied on the second
floor; the rest are guest bedrooms.
Mom and Dad occupy the only bedroom on the first floor. Dad said
it’s safer for Terah and me in case any intruders come thieving in
the night, that way, theirs would be the first bedroom approached.
Can you believe that? I’d rolled my eyes and told him he’d been
watching too many ‘CSI’ shows.
Looking up from my eReader, I sneak a peek at my sister. Her
puppy-dog eyes are wide in pleading and she bats her lashes at me.
She looks like a constipated shih-tzu
. I laugh,
“Don’t even try it. I’m not going. You wanna party? Party, Terah.
I’m staying right here.”
She throws her hands down on the comforter and growls at me.
“Fine! Become a crazy cat lady. See if I care. Don’t say I didn’t
try to help when you’re stroking your pussies all night long
wishing someone was stroking yours.”
I burst into
laughter as she slides off my bed and makes her way to the wall to
wall mirror in my walk-in closet. Stepping out of the closet, she
asks, “How do I look?”
Looking up, I silently take her in.
She’s beautiful. As
always. Wearing a pair of black short shorts that make her already
long legs look impossibly longer. The deep-green sequined halter
she has on makes her emerald-green eyes pop, her deep burgundy hair
cascades down her back in soft waves, and the small-heeled sandals
make the whole look deceptively innocent. She takes a pair of my
gold dangly earrings and puts them on.
Truth be told, I
look a lot like my sister. When people see us together, they ask if
we’re twins. We look almost identical to the way our mom looked
when she was younger: deep red hair, green eyes, tall and slim. My
dad always said he hoped we’d be ugly like him. That never fails to
make me laugh because my dad is really quite handsome. He’s tall
with a solid frame, dark brown hair, and light-green eyes.
“
You look beautiful, Rahrah.” I say wistfully.
She smiles at my use
of her childhood nickname. Her soft eyes peer into mine. She
whispers, “Please come with me. Just one more time.”
Dipping my chin, I
shake my head slowly. “Naw, I’d just become the life of the party.”
I shoot her a wicked grin. “I know how much you like being the
center of attention. Wouldn’t wanna take that away from you. You
go. I’ll cover.”
Stomping
over to me, she sits back
on the bed and wraps her arms around me. I hug her back as hard as
I can without choking her. She snickers, “Ha ha, bitch.” She holds
me a long time before she mutters, “Not always gonna be like this.
You’ll see.” And it makes me want to cry.
