Captured Read online

  Yeah, Willow, because killers take time to dress how you think they should. Stop thinking like a writer and think like someone who may need to fight for her life.

  “How did you get into my house?” My voice is weak, but at least I’ve done something other than stare at him. How do I know him?

  “I asked you a question first.”

  This is not going to be a game of tit for tat. I’m not in the mood. I just want to go back to remembering Abe.

  “You showed yourself in, so I assume you know how to get out.”

  He laughs. It’s the first male laughter I’ve heard since Abe, and it makes me angry. He shouldn’t be here, not in our home, our space where we loved so freely. I don’t know who he is or why he’s here, but he needs to go.

  “Please leave before I call the police.”

  “With what phone? You stopped paying for your cell months ago, and you don’t have a landline. Answer my question, Willow.”

  He takes a few steps toward me and kneels when he’s about a foot away. A small smile touches his face, making him even more familiar. It’s making me crazy that I can’t figure out how I know him. He grabs a picture of Abe, and I smack it away, not caring what he does to me. He will not touch my husband.

  His hands come up in a gesture of truce, and I back into my chair as far as I can, taking in everything I can about him. His perfectly messed-up sandy hair. Well-groomed beard and mustache. Manicured nails. Everything about him is meticulous. It makes no sense that he’s here with a grieving widow who showers at most once a week.

  When did I last shower? I think, embarrassed at my lack of hygiene in his presence. I shouldn’t care but having him so close is messing with me. He smells of a cologne I can’t place but I’m sure is expensive, the spices wrapping around me and making me want to go clean up. Everything about him makes me want to look better.

  “Why are you here?” I whisper. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing you don’t want,” he says with no hesitation. “But first, you need to answer my question. Do you really want to leave this earth?”

  I think about it a minute. About my pain. Life without Abe. Trying to move forward without him. “Yes, I do.”

  He reaches out his hand, and I just stare at it. Does he really think I’ll take it? He laughs again, not even slightly offended by my reaction.

  “I’m here to release you from your pain. When you’re ready, all you have to do is take my hand.”

  It’s a joke. There’s a catch. It can’t be as simple as what he’s saying. Good-looking business men don’t break into a woman’s house and tell them to take their hands if they’re looking for release. That shit only happens in books. Do I care though?

  If he can take me away from my pain, should I fight him? Looking into his icy gaze, I see the same broken I’ve seen in my own eyes too many times. He’s lost too.

  Nodding, I reach out and grab hold of his strong hand. He pulls me up, and it’s then I feel the fear I should have felt the entire time. He’s huge, a beast compared to me. Tall and muscular. Now that he has his hands on me, I can’t get away.

  Do I want to?

  Yes.

  No.

  Maybe.

  Hell, I don’t know. It depends on what his plans are for me. I just don’t want to go on the way I have been. I don’t want to keep suffering. I can’t take this pain.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, looking down at me.

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice shaky.

  “I’m Brecken Wade, and I will release you from your pain.”

  3

  The Beginning of the End

  Brecken

  My heart thunders in my chest as Willow holds out her hand to me. Can it be this easy? Another willing participant in my sick little game. My dick throbs with excitement as I reach out and take her hand, pulling her toward the door and into the cool night air.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her voice trembles as she speaks.

  “To a place where all your pain will soon be gone.” It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the complete truth either.

  It's the same question they all ask. All the willing ones, anyway, hoping amongst all things that I’ll take their pain away. What they don’t know is that’s how I play. I build them up, watch them rebuild their lives, and then snuff them out. Gain pleasure from watching as they pitifully take their last breath.

  “Hey, you’re Brecken Wade. I thought you were dead.” I chuckle in my mind. Little does this schmuck know he soon will be.

  “I am in all the ways that matter.” He looks at me in confusion, and I smile. “I'm here to help you, Russ. Do you want my help?”

  “Y-You know me?” Of course, I do. I remember every person I’ve ever done business with, and at one point he was the best. It’s almost sad to see him like this.

  I nod and offer my hand. “I can give you everything you’ve been begging for if you just ask.”

  He stands slowly and takes my offered hand. “Where are you taking me?” The question sends a jolt of excitement through my body. I want to tell him ‘To your final resting place,’ but instead, I say, “To get you back on your feet.”

  Russ Wegner had once been a Wall Street investment banker, but he lost everything with the crash of the market in 2007. It wasn’t instantaneous. Little by little, Wall Street melted down, and so did he. I listen to him spill his story even though I already know the tale.

  One minute, he had a house in the Hamptons, a penthouse on Park Avenue, wife and kids he absolutely adored, and was living the dream. For years after the meltdown, he struggled to find work, living off every penny he had saved up in the bank for a rainy day. It took years for the well to dry up, but when it did, gone was the house in the Hamptons. Foreclosure took the penthouse on Park Avenue, and soon the wife and kids disappeared into the night, leaving behind a note that said they were through.

  Russ had been living on the streets for over a year when I found him, malnourished and begging for someone to take away his pain. There was something that drew me to him. He recognized me the moment I stepped in front of his lifeless eyes. That recognition made his surrender even sweeter.

  I thought he’d ask me to end his life. Just as he had been crying for night after night on the streets, but he didn’t. Instead, he begged for a helping hand. Money, a job, and anything that would help him prove to his wife he wasn’t a loser. But it wasn’t to get her and his kids back. He wanted to be spiteful and sadistic. To rub in her face that he wasn’t a loser and that she’d walked away when the going got tough from the one person who loved her. She had forgotten her vows. The ones that said for richer or for poorer. He hadn't.

  I gave him what he wanted, let him believe that one day he’d have it all back. All under the guise that he’d walk away free from his hell when I was done. All he had to do was trust me.

  There is no one looking for Russ. No one there to lend a hand. His family all deceased, and his wife and kids long gone, he is an easy target. When he finally takes his last breath, no one will even know he’s gone. No one but me. And I will not miss him.

  For months, I’ve allowed him to day trade under a shell company I created, letting him believe that it would all be his when it was time. Russ was a trader before he climbed the corporate ladder into his high-paying desk job. As the money rolled in, I moved it to offshore accounts that only I know how to access.

  Russ found his bliss after his first multi-million trade, and I knew it was time.

  Snow falling outside, I warm myself by the fireplace, feeling relaxed by the crackling of the fire. Across the room, Russ drinks fifty-year-old scotch, three fingers deep, from a crystal highball. The broken man I’d found has morphed into the smug bastard he’d been all those years back. ‘Entitled’ would be the word that best describes him. He’s made plenty of money while soaking up the free room and board, food and booze I willingly give. Russ is becoming far too comfortable with the luxury I provide for him. It’s time to follo
w through on what he asked for all those months ago.

  I stand, walking toward the double glass doors, stopping to stare out them. Briefly, I watch as the snow falls before I close my eyes and see the face of Emery as clear as day. “I miss you terribly,” I say softly, knowing I’m the only one who can hear my words.

  Speaking louder this time, I say, “Do you remember what you asked of me in the alley all those months ago, Russ?”

  His voice grates on me as he speaks. “Yes, I begged for mercy, for someone to relieve me from my hell, and to end my miserable life. I prayed to die, but you ended my misery in a completely different way. A way I’ll never forget, and for that I am thankful.”

  Thankful, what a fucking lie. He isn’t thankful. He expects that because I have money, I should do this for him. That it is my duty. He is only saying what he believes I want to hear. He had a chance to be honest. It might have saved his life.

  I turn to look at him, to see the true soul of the man I whisked off the street. “See, Russ, that is where you are wrong. I am going to end your miserable life, just as you begged for that night when I asked if you wanted my help.”

  The realization of what I’m saying reflects at me in his panicked eyes. They’re wide, frightened, and pleading. The dumbass doesn’t move. It’s like he’s hoping he misunderstood me. If he’s too stupid to fight for his life, he doesn’t deserve to live. “Tonight, I’m delivering what you begged for.”

  The sound of my gun echoes through the room as I put a bullet in his chest. I make sure it isn’t to the heart, not wanting him to die too quickly. I want him to suffer. To beg. His hands clasp over the wound, his eyes bulging. And just when it looks like he is ready to take his last breath, I give him what he’d wished for, sending the final bullet through his heart and ending his miserable life.

  Russ was my first attempt of finding salvation, when I realized draining the last breaths out of the fuckers who’d stolen my everything hadn’t given me the satisfaction I needed. I was elated at their deaths. Even laughed as they lay in their own pools of blood gasping for air, begging me to let them die quicker. But it didn’t close the gaping hole Emery had left behind.

  I believed I’d find satisfaction in severing Sebastian's dick from his body, shoving it in his mouth and duct taping it securely in place. I relished as he choked on his own appendage, his eyes watering and trying to beg for mercy. I didn’t care if he died from lack of oxygen or bleeding out first. I just wanted it to be me who took his life, and I wanted to watch his soul crawl back to the depths of hell it came from.

  I should have been released from my hell when I stole the last breath from Sebastian Locke, but the pain stuck with me. The need to take more lives, to see if I can find that release lives on, hoping one day, the memories of Emery’s death will be wiped from my mind.

  But each kill leaves me more damaged. Each kill takes me further from the man Emery knew and turns me into more of a monster. After my last one, I knew something had to change. Maybe I needed to step up my game, or maybe the answer was staring me in the face the day I saw Willow. All my victims had been men. Maybe it was time to rescue a woman from her pain. Deliver her the peace she so sought and in doing so save myself.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked once more, pulling me from the memories of how I got to where I am today.

  Lifting her hand, I place a soft, gentle kiss to the back of her hand. “Somewhere I can take away your pain, Willow. It won’t be long now. Your suffering will end soon.”

  4

  Disappointed

  Willow

  Brecken Wade? It makes sense why my brain screamed familiarity when I saw him. His face was everywhere for years. On the news, interviews, reality shows. You either loved or hated him. I’ll love him now if he’s for real. Can he take my pain away and reunite me with Abe? Should I trust him? All my instincts say no. There’s something dark and sinister about him but knowing he may be bad news didn’t stop me from taking his hand.

  It propelled me toward him.

  The sleek black town car sitting in my driveway is not what I expect. I’m not sure why. Maybe because the revelation of him being Brecken Wade brought on the remembrance of the man I saw through the media’s eyes. The young playboy who threw his money around, always in a sports car and making a spectacle of himself. It doesn’t mesh with the man before me now.

  Gone is the clean-cut boy who was quick to flash his dashing smile at the world. I don’t see the charmer—well, not the man-child who was trying to charm all the ladies out of their clothing. This version of Brecken Wade could most definitely talk women into what he wants with his dark, brooding sexiness, but I’m not sure that’s his game anymore.

  There’s a sadness hovering around him. A deep ache that shines through his blue eyes and makes my already broken heart ache. We’re kindred spirits.

  It’s too bad he came into my life now, only to release me from it.

  “Where exactly are we going?” The words barely slip past my lips, the shaking in my body is so bad. Trepidation and excitement fill my soul at the hope that he’s taking me to where I’ll take my last breath.

  “There’s no need to worry, Weeping Willow. I promise you’ll find what you’re looking for.” His eyes are hollow pools I could delve into with no hope of ever finding the answers I seek. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of drowning in them.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” Curiosity has crept in and taken hold. It’s an odd nickname, and I’m not sure if I should be pleased with it or outraged that he’s chosen it for me.

  He chuckles. A deep chuckle that vibrates through his body into my hand. It does nothing to reassure me of its meaning, but his smile is oddly calming.

  Releasing his hold on me, he opens the car door, and with a grace few men possess, transitions me into the back seat with a hand on my back. I’m so aware of his movements, curious about the ending to my story, I don’t notice the man sitting in the driver’s seat until after the door has closed and Brecken is walking around the car. I jump at the intrusion of another’s presence.

  For months, I’ve kept myself locked away from life, from human contact, and now, within minutes, two men have invaded my senses. It’s too much. Panic begins to bubble up, and I need out of the closeness to this stranger, this car… this situation. Clawing at my legs, the seat, the window, I search for an out—any way to get back to the normality I’ve created.

  “Miss?” the stranger in front of me questions as my lungs stop producing air, and I gasp.

  My hands go to my throat, and my eyes bulge as Brecken climbs into the seat beside me. This is not how it was supposed to end, I think as I try to focus on the man who was going to give me my beautiful release. He was going to lay me down on flowers after poisoning me, and I was going to go quietly into the night to meet my love. He may not have known the plan, but dammit, I would have filled him in. It’s too late now—too late for my happy ending.

  “Shh, Willow.” With gentle fingers, Brecken pries my hands from my neck. “Breathe.”

  I can’t. Air refuses to fill my lungs or find its way to my lips. There’s no way for me to communicate what’s happening. I’m suffocating.

  His lips come over mine, and I freeze. It takes several seconds for my frazzled mind to realize he isn’t kissing me. He isn’t coming onto me. Brecken Wade is forcing puffs of air into me. Wide eyed, I’m transfixed as he inhales and slowly exhales into my mouth, each time a wave of fresh mint taking over my senses. It’s too intimate, too much contact.

  “Stop!” I attempt to shout, but it comes out as a wisp of air as I rip my hands from his and push pathetically against his chest.

  “As you wish,” he says, bowing his head and shifting to his seat. “Home, please, Jamal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jamal has a thick accent I can’t quite place, but it’s familiar. I’m curious about where he’s from, but not as curious as I am about the scar that runs down his right cheek from his e
ye to chin. It’s hideous, deforming even, and I want to see him head on. Is the rest of his face handsome? The writer in me comes to life, always ready to tell a story.

  I hate that nosy bitch.

  She’s always in everyone’s business. Pushing people to give information. Asking too much of others. Forcing them to be more than they think they can—be places they shouldn’t. Causing accidents. Accidents that lead to devastation.

  The accident that left me widowed.

  Brecken showed up at the right time. I deserve whatever death he has planned.

  The car slows and comes to a stop in front of tall wrought-iron gates, overgrown with vines. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it. Of course, Brecken is taking me to a creepy mansion, locked behind gates no one can see through. It’s the perfect horror story playing out. My perfect ending.

  But as the gates open, my mouth drops. A sprawling yard of green grass unfolds in front of me. Trees and flowers in all colors are displayed in beautiful landscaping, showcasing a stunning stone-castle-style mansion. Statues stand tall amongst the flower beds. Water fountains too. It’s breathtaking.

  “Welcome to my home,” Brecken says, but I say nothing back, too enamored with the beauty around me.

  Jamal stops in front of the house. He walks around and opens my door. His dark skin is perfect on the left side of his face. I would call him handsome if not for that hideous scar. It mutates his appearance so badly he seems frightening. It’s awful of me to react to him this way without knowing him, but it’s a gut-deep reaction I can’t help. I shrink into the seat as he opens my door, but Brecken nudges my shoulder before getting out on his side. I have no choice but to accept Jamal’s outstretched hand.