Wicked Stalker (Captives of the Onyx Brotherhood #1)

Seventeen

Eve

Gabriel’s strong fingers hold my mouth closed, taking away any chance I might have had to spit out the salty liquid. Would I if I could? I don't know. I don’t know much anymore. I feel like Alice, taken from everything I know, from my quiet little life into this strange and dangerous world.

The feel of the liquid grows uncomfortable, the taste too strong. My body takes over, and I swallow it down.

Gabriel draws in a deep breath as my throat works, then he bends, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. His grip loosens on my hair, and he strokes his fingers through it like he's petting me.

“Well done. Tomorrow, breakfast and a tour of the Compound. I'll show you what makes this place so special.”

His voice, so rough and raw moments earlier, now sounds softer. Younger. He's certainly keen to remind me I've earned something for my compliance. I close my eyes and see the Cheshire cat’s smile. Gabriel is like that, mercurial, making promises one moment and using my body like a toy the next.

My nipples still ache, and there’s a part of me, small but insistent, that misses the feel of those fingers. The same part is curious to see what he’s going to do next. I lick my lips, overwhelmed by the lingering taste of him, and he rushes to bring me a glass of water. If nothing else, I’ll always be hydrated in his presence.

I laugh at that, short and sharp. Gabriel halts on his way back from the bathroom, and water sloshes over the rim of the glass, splattering onto the wooden floor. We both stare at the puddle.

“Are you going to make me clean that up, too?” My voice comes out loud, and wow , that’s a high-pitched, brittle edge to the words. I didn’t put it there. It doesn’t sound like me, as much as the crude comment didn’t either. Where did it come from? I realize I’m shaking and slump from my knees into an ungainly sprawl, hands on the floor.

“Shit.” Gabriel’s voice echoes, resonating weirdly. He kneels next to me and holds the glass to my lips. “Drink this, then I’ll get you some food. I’ve got a fruit platter in the fridge.”

So mundane. He has a fridge. He’s taken the time to make a fruit platter. I laugh again at the surreal image of my captor deciding between green or purple grapes and knocking on a rock melon to check if it is fresh. He’s a person—a person who eats and probably does all manner of other normal things—and he just forced me to swallow his come.

I laugh again, but this time, it’s almost a sob.

Gabriel wraps his arms around my body, crushing me to his chest, and he lifts me into the bed. Another sob rips its way out of my throat. Why am I crying? Plenty of reasons, but I can’t pinpoint which one in particular. Gabriel doesn’t let me go, cuddling me tight. More sobs chase the first, and the tears pour out, soaking his shirt.

I can’t help but breathe in his comforting smell. He’s the reason for my sudden burst of misery, but also my only possible comfort. I don’t have anyone, or anything, else in this place. Maybe if he keeps me here long enough, I’ll persuade him to get a cat to cheer me up. Mom hates cats—said they belonged to the devil—and the house I shared with Billie had a strict “no pets” rule.

Maybe I should ask for a cat before he makes me give him a blowjob.

Another hysterical laugh rips out, followed by a fresh wave of sobs. Gabriel just holds me, rocking me and making shushing noises as though I’m a child. I hate that it does calm me. I hate that even after I calm down, I don’t shove him away. What’s wrong with me?

Eventually, I’ve got nothing left. Every shred of emotion has melted away, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. Gabriel must sense the change, as he lowers me to the bed and tucks the covers over me. He slips out of bed long enough to turn out the lights, leaving just a single low light on in the bathroom. Considerate.

He pulls off his shirt and jeans, but I can’t see much in the low light beyond that he has the sort of lean body I’ve always envied. Not that Gabriel seems to mind my body. Quite the opposite.

“What about the fruit platter?” I mumble as he slides in next to me.

“Fuck the fruit platter. You need rest.” He shifts toward me, fumbles for me in the dark, and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“And just in case you were getting any ideas, the bedroom door is keyed to my handprint. If you touch it, an alarm will go off. You don’t want that. There are no sharp objects or blunt instruments anywhere, and the windows are reinforced bulletproof glass. In short, just go to sleep. ”

I don’t think I can do anything else. The darkness weighs a thousand pounds, and it drags me under. His arm rests protectively on my hip as I drift away.

***

Daylight. It’s creeping in from some-darn-where, and I wish it would go away and leave me alone. As much as I try to ignore it, behind my eyes grows brighter minute by minute. Pieces of the previous day play on a loop, driving me into full alertness with the force of an electric shock.

Gabriel’s hand no longer rests on my hip. I open my bleary eyes to see the sun streaming in the picture window, through which I can now see nothing but green and brown stretching into the distance.

The forest is all-consuming and looks like something straight out of Lord of the Rings . It only adds to the disconcerting sense that I’m no longer living my own life. I rub my eyes and search for Gabriel.

He’s watching me, of course. Does he ever do anything else? He’s standing in the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. They’re tight-fitting but covered in cartoon lobsters, the sort of silly design people buy for Christmas presents. He catches the direction of my gaze and mutters, “Fuck,” before turning away and marching into the bathroom.

“Shower.” He barks it gruffly, but I’m sure it’s mainly to cover his embarrassment. An absurd warmth creeps up my chest. It’s an obvious mistake and maybe a glimpse of a person under all the dark mystique he likes to project. It softens the spiky edges of my anger.

Ridiculous .

The water goes on. “Eve. Now.”

Definitely embarrassed. I consider ignoring him, but my skin is sticky, and a strange, musty smell clings to me. I badly need to brush my teeth, too. I swirl a mouthful of water around and swallow it before following Gabriel into the bathroom.

He’s already in the shower, steaming water pouring down onto his head. He locks eyes on me, and one side of his lip curls up as I hesitate on the threshold. “Come in. I’m just going to wash you. No funny stuff. Not before breakfast.”

The smile widens, revealing a hint of teeth, and I approach, trying not to stare. The offending boxers are nowhere to be seen, and there’s nothing amusing about Gabriel’s appearance now. Water sluices off his lean body. Lean but strong, like a long-distance runner. A line of hair leads down to his cock, which, even now, sits semierect.

“My eyes are up here.” Wicked amusement drips from his words as I look up with a gasp. I had been staring. More for a distraction than anything else, I step into the shower. The warm water is a hug from a long-lost friend, and I sigh as I blast it through my ratty hair. Even in the worst possible situation, a shower helps.

“Feel good?” He rubs shampoo through his hair as he asks, then rinses it out in five seconds flat, as people with short hair can. Next, he reaches for the shower gel, and I have to turn away before I embarrass myself again.

“Yes,” I mutter. Play things safe. Casual conversation. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my tour of the Compound today.

“Good. Hands on the glass now. I’m going to wash you.”

His voice has reverted to the commanding one. I’m starting to suspect it’s an affectation or a role he likes to play. It doesn’t feel like the real him. But regardless of that, it works. Something about that deep tone stirs me right in my center. That part demands I do as he says.

I flatten my hands to the glass. He squeezes out some shower gel—my shower gel, I realize as the scent hits me. The one I bought four bottles of when they were on sale. Is it the actual one from my shower, or did he watch me on camera and buy my brand?

On camera.

He confessed yesterday to having cameras all through my house. How many times has he watched me shower before? What did he do while he watched me?

Crap.

Heat rises, the familiar flush of embarrassment, as his hands land on me. He starts at the safe areas—arms and legs—before moving into the more intimate spots. As he promised, though, he doesn’t do anything except wash me. Maybe he lingers a little longer than necessary on my breasts or between my legs, but not for long. He meant what he said about breakfast.

And thank God, because I’m absolutely famished. After he shuts the water off, he gestures to the sink. “Do whatever else you need to do. I’ll be out there with a towel and some clothes when you’re ready.”

With that, he leaves.

I go through my usual morning routine. Having all my products here is weirdly comforting. I can almost pretend this is a vacation and my real life is just a plane ride away. Maybe this is a crazy prank. Some messed-up dark web show with viewers deciding what happens next. Maybe I'll walk out to cameras, a million dollars in untraceable bills, and an unlocked door.

Probably not, though .

By the time I leave, I've almost dripped dry, though my skin is still damp. I couldn't find a blow dryer, so my hair is pulled back into the severe ponytail I use for lab work.

As he promised, Gabriel waits on the bed with a fluffy white towel. He dries me with mute efficiency, shooting glances at the door. Nervous energy crackles around him. Does he regret his offer the previous night?

Once I'm dry, he points to a garment on the bed. I half expected a closet full of all my own clothes, but this is different. A pretty, white sundress, the sort with spaghetti straps and a skirt that flares out as you spin. On top of it lies a little lacy bralette and a pair of white panties that, of course, are my size.

“Did you go through my underwear drawer? Check the labels?” I don’t know why I’m shocked.

“Didn’t have to. You bought a few things in the Victoria’s Secret sale, and they emailed you the receipt.” He taps the bedsheet. Definitely anxious. “Hurry up. I want to get to breakfast before the hall fills up.”

Getting dressed in front of him feels almost worse than being naked. It’s an intimate thing somehow, like I’d imagine couples do all the time. I turn away as I pick up the bra, but he makes an “uh uh” noise in his throat. When I look at him, he’s shaking his head.

“Nope. What did I say about hiding yourself? Look at me.”

I sigh and obey. Eyes on the prize. I struggle into the bra, cheeks heating as I reach behind myself to fasten it and he leans forward with renewed interest. I grab the dress and tug it over my head, glad for the distraction. It fits as if it were tailored just for me. For all I know, maybe it was. Maybe he sneaked into my room at night and took my measurements.

I smooth the fabric down over my ass, and Gabriel makes an appreciative noise .

“Keep doing that, and I might forget about breakfast.”

I drop my hands hurriedly. “No. I’m starving.”

A shadow passes over his face, wiping away his amusement. “You would be. Get your shoes on, and let’s go.”

He nods toward the floor, where a pair of strappy sandals waits for me. I sit on the bed to slip them on. They’re pretty, too, covered in tiny jewels. Shoes for a beach vacation. I almost smile, then reality stabs me in the guts.

If everything he says is true, I’ll never see a beach again.

I duck my head so he doesn’t see the way my features twist. I can’t let this happen. I need to find a way out of here. I stiffen my shoulders and stand. He holds out his hand, and I take it in a hard grip. Time to find out what is real.