Kidnapped by the Billionaire Page 14

  Shit, she was so screwed up. Was she really that desperate for attention she found it thrilling to be chased by her captor? Did she really want to feel wanted that much?

  It’s not surprising when you consider your parents.

  No, she wasn’t going to think about her parents. Not now. There were too many skeletons in that particular closet and she didn’t particularly want to go digging through them.

  Violet grabbed a cake of soap and began washing herself with deliberation, shivering a little at the slickness of her hand on her own skin. He hadn’t hurt her and yet she felt raw, like the top layer of her skin had been taken off, leaving the rest of her flesh achingly sensitive to any touch. And the soap and water seemed to make no difference to the feeling. If anything, they only made it worse.

  God, she had to stop this. She’d just had unprotected sex with the man who’d kidnapped her at gunpoint, and who knew what was going to happen because of that? Encouraging the feeling was only going to make it worse not better.

  She sighed and put the soap back, shutting off the water firmly, then she stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed a towel, drying herself off before pulling on her clothes again. Wiping away the steam from the mirror, she examined the graze on her cheek from where she’d turned it against the brick wall as Elijah slammed himself into her.

  Definitely insane. How could she have let that happen? The chances of her getting pregnant were slim since she’d just had her period, but the chance was still there. And as for anything else, she’d believed him when he’d told her he was clean. He didn’t have any reason to lie and given how icy and remote he was, she couldn’t see him being a dirty manwhore with tons of other women.

  Not that appearances were anything to go by clearly, her father being a case in point.

  And speaking of …

  Yeah, that whole mess hadn’t gone away. She might have made a very poor decision to finally have sex and had her mind completely blown, but she remained Elijah’s hostage and that hadn’t changed. And if she didn’t figure out a way to escape, he was going to use her as bait to draw out a major crime boss whom he was then going to kill. What would happen to her after that was anyone’s guess, but she didn’t want to find out.

  What she wanted was to follow up the lead she had on Theo, because God knew she wouldn’t ever be able to come to terms with anything until the mystery of her brother’s disappearance was solved. And in order to do that, she had to escape.

  Perhaps there’s a better way. Perhaps you can work with Elijah on that.

  She frowned at herself in the mirror, her brain turning over the thought.

  Okay, so Elijah wasn’t going to kill her and he clearly wasn’t going to hurt her either. But he wanted this Jericho guy, and she was apparently the key to drawing Jericho out. Maybe if she told Elijah that she was willing to help him get Jericho, he’d help her follow up her Theo lead?

  There was, of course, no reason for him to do so. Then again, she could make life difficult for him.

  Not forgetting the fact that now you know he has a weakness.

  Her.

  Violet smiled at herself, trying to ignore the stupid leap of excitement inside her at the thought of tangling again with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scarred. She’d have to be careful, obviously, if she was going to exploit that particular vulnerability, especially when it was likely to get her caught up in it too. But if she knew the danger, she’d keep her head. Make sure she stayed in charge of anything that went down. It was certainly worth a try, wasn’t it?

  The sound of the apartment door slamming shut echoed down the hallway, sending a shiver of ridiculous anticipation rolling through her.

  She dismissed the feeling, lifting her hands to her short damp hair and running her fingers through it. It had started to curl, which was annoying, but there was nothing to be done about that. She was going to have to live with it.

  Bracing herself with a deep breath, Violet was just about to go out into the main apartment living area, when Elijah strode past her down the hallway without a second glance. He disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door after him.

  She blinked at the closed door. Okay then. So he clearly wasn’t in any mood to talk.

  For a second she debated following him, but then dismissed the idea. She wasn’t going to go running after him and begging him to listen to her idea. She had to start off strong and confident, as if she had power in this, because anything else would only end up ceding it to him, and he really didn’t need any more power.

  So she went back down the hallway and out into the apartment living area, automatically heading for the bookshelves again, if only because they gave her something interesting to look at while she waited.

  But she didn’t end up having to wait long.

  She’d just bent to try to read the spine of a particularly old-looking book, when Elijah’s footsteps came from behind her. She turned. And her mouth dried.

  He’d changed from his jeans into a pair of loose black shorts that sat low on his hips and a fitted gray tank top. The tank left a lot of bronzed skin on show, revealing the hard-packed muscle of his shoulders, upper arms, and biceps. His legs were powerful and strong, with long, lean calves, and really, it wasn’t any wonder he’d run her down earlier. Against a man with so much physical strength at his command, she hadn’t a chance.

  He went straight over to the gym area of the apartment and picked up the pair of boxing gloves that were on the floor by the punching bag. With a series of sharp, practiced movements, he pulled them on and tied them. Then, without glancing in her direction once, he began to attack the punching bag like it was his own personal enemy.

  Violet could only stare, watching as his fists came out with frightening speed, the sounds of impact echoing through the apartment like pistol shots. And her breath caught because although she’d known how dangerous he was, the danger had always come from the gun he’d held pointed at her. She’d never seen him actually fight. But now he was definitely fighting, without qualm and without holding back, and quite frankly it was a little terrifying.

  The power in those fists as they hit the bag was lethal, the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms flexing and releasing as he rained a hail of blows onto the bag. But even more frightening was the fury in his coal-black eyes, as if he wanted to tear something, or someone, apart.

  Held motionless partly through fear and partly through that humming, tingling excitement she was beginning to recognize, Violet let herself watch him. He was like a machine, the bag swinging as he struck it again and again, the hard thumping sounds filling the apartment like blows from a jackhammer. Then he stopped for a moment, his attention on the bag as if he was checking to make sure it was still whole. He wasn’t breathing hard, but a fine sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin.

  Desire gripped her, because really, he was mesmerizing. Hard and raw and primal. Brutal too, yet beautiful for all of that. There was something about his strength, about his power, that attracted her on the most basic level. A cavewoman response no doubt, but there was no denying it.

  She’d never thought she’d be the type to be attracted to that kind of masculinity, and yet here she was, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

  Bastard. He’d screwed her up against a wall and then left. And now he was back, he was swinging at that bag like she wasn’t even here. What the hell was his problem?

  She wandered over to where he continued to rain punches down onto the bag, stopping a little distance away. He clearly wasn’t going to talk, which meant she was going to have to.

  “What happened?” she asked after a moment.

  He didn’t look at her. “None of your fucking business.”

  “So you’re sulking?”

  That got her a blazing glance from those dark eyes, sweeping over her like a flame from a blowtorch. But only for a moment, before he directed his attention back to the punching bag.

  All right, so no talking about where he’d gone.

  “
Tell me about Jericho,” she tried again. “Tell me what’s going on with him.”

  Once again, he said nothing, his right fist snapping out and sending the bag twisting and turning on the rope it was suspended from.

  Oh, fuck this.

  Violet stepped forward and grabbed the bag, holding it steady. It was very heavy and she’d only just grasped it when he sent another punch to it, the impact vibrating through her body like she’d been hit by a bus.

  He stopped immediately, fury crossing his scarred features as he straightened. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She caught her breath, holding on tightly to the bag, meeting his dark gaze head-on. “I’m trying to get some information, asshole. But you’re too busy sulking about something to talk to me. I have to get your attention somehow.”

  He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. “Information? Why the hell would you think I’d give you information?”

  “Because I asked for it.”

  His mouth twisted. “That’s not how it works, princess.”

  “Then how does it work?” She let go of the bag and, before he could launch another punch at it, moved between him and it, the heavy canvas at her back. “I’m not going to cower at your feet or collapse in a puddle of fear. You can’t threaten or intimidate me, Elijah. Not anymore.”

  Something in his eyes burned. “I can put you in the room downstairs.”

  “Yeah, you could. But you haven’t yet, have you?”

  “There’s still time.”

  “That won’t benefit you, though.”

  “It’ll give me some fucking peace and quiet.”

  Violet straightened, squaring her shoulders, fully prepared to bluff him if need be. “Don’t you want to hear my alternative plan?”

  His dark brows drew down, the scar that ran through one of them white. “What plan?”

  She held his gaze. “A little give and take. You give me something, I give you something.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that? You haven’t got anything I want.”

  “Oh really?” She reached out, her hand shaking only a little, trailing her fingers over the damp cotton of the tank that stuck to his body, down over his chest and the hard corrugations of his abs. God, he felt so hot, so good. “I can think of something,”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he didn’t move. “I thought I told you about the dangers of playing me.”

  There was fury in his gaze, yet whether that was directed at her in particular she didn’t know. “I’m not playing you.” She made herself hold his intense dark gaze. “I’m only telling you that I want information and I’m prepared to pay for it.”

  “Pay? With what?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She spread her hand out where it rested on his flat stomach, feeling the contraction of taut muscle beneath her palm. He was as unyielding as that damn brick wall. She swallowed, her mouth dry, hoping this wasn’t as much of a gamble as she feared. “Me.”

  The look in his eyes flared, but the line of his jaw got even tighter. “You? But I don’t want you, princess.” He lifted one gloved fist and knocked her hand away. “I already had you, remember?”

  It hurt, no pretending it didn’t. Which was stupid because in order for it to hurt, she had to care and she’d thought she didn’t care. Yet his utter dismissal slid under her skin like a thin sliver of glass.

  Seriously. What did you expect? Hearts and flowers? Him getting down on his knees and declaring his undying love? You stupid little virgin.

  Violet pushed the thoughts away hard. Getting hurt over this made no sense at all, and what’s more, she couldn’t afford to. She needed information. She needed him on her side and getting all teenaged-girl about it wasn’t going to help.

  “Of course I remember.” She made no move to touch him again, keeping her hands in fists at her sides, staring up into his hard, scarred face. “I was there too, if you recall.”

  He took a breath, the cotton of his tank stretching over his broad chest, the tip of the eagle’s wing of his tattoo showing beneath the material. “And it won’t happen again.” His voice was utterly certain.

  Shit. There went that idea. What the hell did she do now?

  Frustration began to rise, bringing with it her own anger. “Look, you bastard, hasn’t it crossed your mind that telling me why you want to kill Jericho so badly might be a good thing? I mean, maybe I’ll even be able to help.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Help? You? I don’t think so, princess. All you need to do is be alive when he comes for you.”

  “And then what’ll happen? You’ll kill him? Is that before or after he kills me or whatever the hell he wants to do with me?”

  Elijah lifted his hands, ripping off the gloves. “You keep making the same mistake, Violet. You keep thinking I give a shit about what happens to you. And I don’t. All that matters, all that has ever mattered, is putting a bullet through that motherfucker’s brain.” Fury poured off him, the emotion almost palpable as he threw the gloves carelessly onto the floor.

  “Why?” She couldn’t stop the question from tumbling out. “What the hell did he do to you?”

  Elijah looked at her, and the fury in his black eyes hit her like a blow. “Oh, he didn’t do anything. It was your father who destroyed everything.” He took a sudden step toward her, the movement unexpected enough that she backed away, only to be brought up short by the heavy punching bag against her spine. “It was fucking Fitzgerald who took everything I cared about away.” He closed what little distance between them there was, his heat and fury pressing down on her like a blast wave from an explosion, his voice low and rough and vicious. “But he’s dead and so I have to find some other way to do what needs to be done.”

  She found she was pressing herself hard into the unsteady weight of the punching bag, staring up into his eyes. Half of her going still like prey before a relentless hunter, the other half mesmerized by the sheer intensity of him.

  Struggling to ignore the heat of his body only inches away, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying. “Dad did this? Did what? I don’t understand what—”

  His hand flashed out and she flinched, only to feel his fingers grip her jaw tight, tilting her head back. Then he bent, his midnight eyes so close and so dark. “Your father destroyed my life.” Fury roughened the edges of the words. “So I spent the past seven years working my way to destroying his. But now he’s dead and the only way to ensure all that work hasn’t been a complete fucking waste of time is to take out Jericho.” He paused, staring down into her face. “And if that means using you to do it, then that’s what I’ll do. It’ll be poetic fucking justice. “

  A shiver went down her spine, fear curling through her. Okay, so maybe her protestations that she wasn’t afraid of him were a bit premature. Because there was no mercy in his expression. No softness at all. Only a hard, burning rage like a perpetual flame inside him.

  But there was something else behind it too. Something bleak. Desolate. Lonely.

  It pierced her fear, slid through her own anger, and struck deep in her soul. Because it felt familiar. As if she too had that kind of emptiness deep inside her. An emptiness that only wanted to be filled.

  She didn’t quite know what impulse it was that had her raising her hand and cupping the side of his face. Only that she hated that bleakness, that emptiness. And she wanted to do something about it, ease it somehow. Show him that she understood, that he wasn’t alone.

  He froze, his eyes going wide at the touch.

  Rough stubble lined his jaw, scraping against her palm while the skin of his cheek was smooth and warm. And before she could stop herself, she traced the scar that twisted his mouth with her thumb, shifting her fingers to follow its path up across his cheek, narrowly missing his eye before slashing through one dark brow.

  He didn’t move and the grip on her jaw didn’t lessen. But his eyes glittered, a hurricane in them. “Don’t touch me.” There was a raw sound running throu
gh the flat command in his words, undermining them like rust through an iron bar. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”

  But he was touching her and that didn’t seem fair, so she kept her hand right where it was, stroking her thumb across his mouth again, feeling the softness there. The only thing soft about him.

  He made a sound in his throat and suddenly his grip on her jaw tightened even more. Then he closed the distance between them and took her mouth with his.

  * * *

  He hated the way she touched him. Hated how the gentleness of it contrasted so much with the rough way he was holding her. Hated how she was looking at him as if she saw something in him. Something that wasn’t there.

  Because there was nothing there. Nothing but anger and the grief he’d buried so far down he’d forgotten it still existed.

  Fuck her and the way she managed to unlock those emotions purely with the touch of her hand. Fuck the way she made him so hungry, when he’d spent so many years excising those hungers from his life completely.

  Fuck the way she’d just made him confess how his life had been destroyed, how she’d made him reveal it, because of who she was, because she was Fitzgerald’s daughter.

  That prick was dead, Elijah couldn’t hurt him anymore, but he had Violet. He could take out his rage on her.

  Monster. Marie would have gotten out that pearl-handled gun you gave her for Christmas and shot you.

  She would. But Marie was dead and so was the man who’d given her that gun.

  He was Elijah now. That was the path he’d chosen and he had to walk it to the end.

  Violet’s hand was gentle on his face, so he gripped her wrist and pulled it away, twisting her arm up behind her back, forcing her up against him. Keeping his grip on her jaw, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, into all that heat and softness, wanting her to protest, to push against him, to fight.

  To stop him.

  But she didn’t. She melted against him instead, her body pressing itself to his, her mouth opening, letting him in, kissing him back just as hot and hungry as he was.