Kidnapped by the Billionaire Page 5

  She was also very pretty, so what the hell was she doing in that getup? What the hell kind of point was she trying to prove? And she was trying to prove a point, of that he had no doubt. He’d always gotten the impression that the face Violet Fitzgerald showed to the world wasn’t her real one—and he should know, he’d hadn’t shown the world his real face for years.

  Perhaps she didn’t know that if you wore a mask long enough it became part of you.

  Violet shifted in her sleep, and he noticed the tear tracks under her eyes where her eyeliner had run, leaving black streaks on her cheeks.

  The weird feeling inside him lurched. Shit, that was starting to irritate him. And anyway, what the fuck was she doing on this bed? He hadn’t had another woman in it since Marie, and he never would. Violet needed to get the fuck off it.

  He was just about to shake her awake when her eyes opened and she looked straight at him.

  And for a moment, all he could see was deep blue green, his stomach dropping away.

  Then she said dully. “Oh. I thought I’d dreamed you.”

  The simmering irritation morphed into anger for reasons he couldn’t quite identify and he had to concentrate to force it down. “Unfortunately, you didn’t. Now get the fuck off the bed. If you want to sleep, there’s a perfectly good couch in the living room.”

  She ignored him, closing her eyes again and nestling against the black velvet. “No thanks. I’m quite happy here.”

  His anger spiked. This wasn’t her bed. It was Marie’s. And she was fucking trespassing.

  Reaching down, Elijah grabbed her upper arm and hauled her bodily off the bed.

  Violet cursed. “What the hell are you doing?” She’d lifted her handcuffed hands in an instinctive attempt to grab at something to stop herself from falling, and had gotten a fistful of his T-shirt. The cotton pulled against the wound on his shoulder and he swore, grabbing her by her upper arms to keep her from tearing the material and to keep her hands away from the wound.

  Her skin felt soft and very warm, and he was suddenly excruciatingly aware of her fingers gripping his shirt.

  She was looking furiously up at him, little blue sparks in her eyes. “What the hell was that for?”

  A shock of heat arrowed through him. A heat he hadn’t felt for seven years.

  Fuck.

  Elijah released her, tore her clinging hands from his shirt, and took a couple of steps back, his heart beating strangely fast. Christ, what had gotten into him?

  “If I catch you on that bed again,” he said roughly, “I’ll put a bullet through you.”

  She frowned, brushing her dreadlocks away from her face. “Okay, okay. What’s the big deal? It’s just a bed.”

  “None of your fucking business.” He gritted his teeth, forcing away the feelings that should never have been there in the first place. “Get into the living area. You need to eat something.”

  The crease between her fair eyebrows deepened. “But I—”

  “Do as you’re told. I’m not in the mood to be screwed with.”

  Slowly, she lowered her hands from her hair, bracelets chiming against the handcuffs as they slid down her wrist. Her gaze narrowed. “Why? Where did you go?”

  Did she not see his don’t-fuck-with-me look? “Again, none of your fucking business.”

  “Yeah? Well, I guess I don’t have to eat.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I thought you wanted me alive.”

  “Somehow, princess, I can’t see you starving yourself to death.”

  Something steely entered her eyes. “You don’t know a thing about me, Eli.”

  Eli. She’d always called him that the few times she’d addressed him directly, probably in an attempt to piss her mother off, who always insisted on the right form of address for people. Maybe she said it to annoy him too, because if there was one thing he’d seen of Violet, it was that she liked poking at people, liked getting a reaction.

  The only person she never poked at though, was her father.

  Maybe because some part of her knew who he was?

  Well, whatever the hell the reason was, it didn’t make him like her any better and he didn’t give two fucks what she called him. Elijah wasn’t his real name anyway.

  “All I need to know is that you’re my goddamn prisoner and that you’d better do what I tell you.”

  She looked him up and down, the delicate curve of her upper lip curling. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? Go ahead, I could use something to relieve the boredom.”

  Did she really have no idea what he was capable of? There was a reason he’d been Fitzgerald’s right-hand man for five years and it wasn’t because he was good with people.

  It was because he’d single-mindedly descended into the darkness right along with his boss.

  Because the best way to get to know your prey was to become it.

  Elijah put his hands in his pockets, held her furious gaze. Since she knew he wanted her alive, he was going to have to give her something else to be afraid of to keep her biddable. “Did you know I have a basement downstairs?” he said softly. “It’s dark, but then you won’t need any light because you won’t need to see anything.”

  She paled a little. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

  Bravado. He could see the small flash of fear that sparked in her eyes. “I’ll keep you down there, Violet. And I’ll lock the door.” He kept his voice flat and uninflected. “If you don’t want to eat, I’m sure you won’t mind a couple of days without food.”

  Her gaze flickered, all the remaining color in her cheeks draining away. Then that steely determination flashed. “Someone’s going to come for me,” she said suddenly, fiercely. “They’ll know you took me. They’ll find you.”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “And how are they going to do that? No one knows this place even exists. I know how to cover my tracks, believe me.” He let her see the darkness inside him, gave her a little taste of the fear she should be feeling. “And anyway, who’s going to come for you?”

  Finally, a look of genuine fear crossed her face. “My mother. She’ll—”

  With the instinct of a hunter who knew he’d dealt a killing blow, Elijah took a slow step toward her. “Your mother?” he echoed. “Because she cares so much about you? No, princess. No one is coming for you. And that’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?

  She backed away from him, her face white, the dark circles beneath her eyes stark against her skin. “I have my friend. I have Honor. She’ll know I’m missing soon enough. She cares.”

  He knew about Honor. Knew the dangerous man she was with too. But neither Honor nor Gabriel Woolf was a threat because they wouldn’t find him. No one would.

  “But how long will it take before she knows you’re missing? Perhaps she’s too busy with other things. Perhaps she’ll think you’ve left the country.” He kept walking toward her, backing her up until she was against the exposed brick of the bedroom wall. “Perhaps she’s too distracted with her new friends to notice that you’re no longer around.”

  A spark of pain flared in Violet’s eyes as she flattened herself against the wall and his hunting instincts sharpened. Yes, this was where she was weak, this was her vulnerability. It was a purely logical observation, that weird sensation in his gut entirely gone now, thank Christ.

  “There’s only one person coming for you, Violet,” he went on, coldly, implacably. “And when he gets here, I’m going to give you to him.” Elijah didn’t come any closer, but then he didn’t need to. He’d proved his point, shown her who was boss. “And then I’m going to kill him.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Violet hated him. She honest to God hated him. And if she’d had a gun on hand and the chance of a free shot, she’d have put a bullet through that hard, scarred face of his without a second’s hesitation.

  Unfortunately she did not have either a gun or a free shot.

  What she had was a crap night’s sleep spent on the
couch in a pair of handcuffs, nightmares about being thrown down a dark hole into a cave of tunnels and being forced to run through them with something horrible chasing her, and a clawing sense of panic sitting in her stomach.

  On the coffee table in front of her was the breakfast of eggs and bacon and toast he’d cooked for her, that she’d only picked at since her appetite appeared to have vanished utterly, while Elijah himself sat at the glass-topped dining table not far away, all his attention bent on the laptop he had open on it.

  He looked like he’d had a great night’s sleep, the prick, the shadows gone from beneath his eyes, the drawn look from his face. Which made her hate him even more.

  He’d scared her the day before, no question, and she hated being scared. But then when you were kidnapped at gunpoint and casually told that not only was your father a murdering sex trafficker and drug dealer, but also that he’d been killed, fear was a pretty natural response.

  Still didn’t mean she liked it.

  He’d made her feel helpless as he’d towered over her, talking about shutting her up in the darkness in his basement, his black eyes cold, merciless. He was a psycho, that was all there was to it. And all because she’d dared to have a nap on his stupid. goddamn bed.

  Not forgetting the part where he told you no one was coming for you. Remember that?

  Violet stared down at the congealing eggs on the plate, any remaining appetite well and truly gone.

  Yeah, not forgetting that part, or ignoring the sneaky doubt that threaded through her. The wondering about her mother and what she’d do now that her father was dead. Sure, she and her mother had had their run-ins, it was true. Like her husband, Hilary Fitzgerald wasn’t exactly the world’s warmest person—she held everyone at a distance, her children included. But still … she’d want to make sure her daughter was okay, wouldn’t she?

  A sudden thought struck Violet. Had her mother known what her father was? Had she known what he did? The secret life he’d had?

  Oh God. What if she’d even been involved?

  Violet shivered, staring around the apartment, a surge of desperation going through her. Jesus, she had to get out of here. Had to get away from Elijah and find out just what the hell was going on with her family. First her brother, then her father. Now her mother might be involved too. It was too much. Way, way too much.

  Yeah, sure. Just get up and walk through the front door. That’ll work.

  She cursed silently and viciously in her head. Okay, so she didn’t have a gun and didn’t have the physical strength that would enable her to overpower Elijah. But she wasn’t stupid. Clearly he wasn’t going to hurt her or else he’d have done so already, plus he needed her alive. That gave her a few parameters to work with.

  Pity she had no idea what was happening outside the apartment, but since there was no TV and he kept her away from the laptop, that couldn’t be helped.

  She got up from the couch and paced over to the bookshelf, looking at the books and pretending she was finding one to read.

  “Stop.” His hard tone came from behind her.

  Violet didn’t look at him, studying the spines on the books and trying not to shiver again at the rough sound of his voice. “What?”

  “Get away from the bookshelf.”

  She threw a glance at him over her shoulder. He was still sitting at the table, but the black ice of his gaze was settled firmly on her over the top of the laptop screen. And there was no mistaking the anger and hostility radiating from him.

  “Why?” It was probably stupid to be so demanding, especially given what he’d threatened her with the day before. But shit, she couldn’t even read a book now?

  “The books are not yours. Don’t touch them.”

  “What the hell else am I supposed to do then? Just sit around with a pair of handcuffs on?”

  The menacing expression on his face didn’t soften one iota. “I don’t care what you do as long as you sit down on the couch and shut the hell up.”

  It was annoying in the extreme to have to give in, but she wasn’t stupid enough to push him. Not after yesterday.

  Stepping back from the bookshelf, she nevertheless made herself hold his gaze. “Can I walk around at least. Is that okay with you?”

  One massive shoulder lifted. “Just don’t touch anything.”

  “Why not? You think I’m going to break something? I’m not a child, Elijah.”

  His scarred mouth twisted. “Of course you’re a child, princess. You’re a fucking babe in the woods. Now stop whining and don’t disturb me again.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “One more word and I’ll put you downstairs, I swear.”

  Violet bit her lip. Hard. Asshole.

  He looked away, back down at his screen, and she had the impression she’d almost ceased to exist for him.

  Oh yeah, she hated him all right. God, she had to find a way out of here.

  She paced around the coffee table for a bit, then went over to the little island of gym equipment, then back again, turning over ideas in her head one by one before discarding them.

  After a while, Elijah pushed the laptop shut with an abrupt movement and rose from the table. He picked up the computer and disappeared down the hallway with it, then five minutes later, he was back again, tucking something into the pocket of his worn jeans.

  “I’m going out,” he said shortly, putting on the leather biker jacket he held in one hand. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Violet stopped in the middle of the room, the heavy slide of the handcuffs on her wrists reminding her for the fifty millionth time she was a prisoner. They were starting to hurt now, not helped by her bracelets, and there were red welts circling her skin.

  “Like what?” she said sarcastically. “Accidentally try to escape? Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

  He stared at her. “Remember what I said about the basement.”

  “You’re a fucking psycho.”

  He didn’t even blink. “No, what I am is fucking determined.”

  “Why? What is it about this Jericho guy?”

  “None of your goddamn business. Now…” The look he leveled at her froze her to the spot. “Don’t touch my books. And stay the fuck away from my bedroom. If I find you’ve been a bad girl, the next meal you’ll be having will be in the basement. In the dark.”

  Her heart gave a wild burst of fear at that, but she fought it down. Refused to let it show on her face. “Thank you, but I’d rather starve.”

  “That can be arranged.” Without another word, he strode to the door and went out, the sound of it closing behind him as final and heavy as that of a bank vault.

  Violet turned and began pacing again.

  She had to get out and there was only one way that was going to happen: with him. But how to get him to take her? Obviously asking him wasn’t going to work, and she had a feeling pleading and playing the female tears card wouldn’t either. He was as hard as obsidian and twice as sharp. He’d probably put her in the basement for even suggesting it.

  No, the only way she was going to get him to take her out was an emergency of some kind. Like … if she was hurt and needed medical attention.

  Violet stopped pacing near the entrance to the kitchen, staring sightlessly into space, trying to ignore the cold clutch of fear.

  If she managed to hurt herself badly enough, he’d have to take her to the doctor, even a hospital. And she had no doubts he’d do it since he seemed pretty keen on keeping her alive. The only question was whether she had the guts to do something like that.

  But then again, what other choice did she have? She had to make a move and soon, take advantage of the fact people would be looking for her, because no matter what he said, people had to be looking for her. They had to.

  The only other option was to stay here and wait for the right moment, whenever that was. But then that would risk her being all laid out for Jericho when he decided to come. And who knew what would happen then?

  No, she
couldn’t wait. She needed to make a move and she needed to make it now. With her father dead it was even more important for her to find out what had happened to Theo.

  She took a deep, steadying breath.

  So. What to do? If she was going to hurt herself, she needed to do it badly enough that Elijah couldn’t fix it himself, yet not so badly that she’d die if she didn’t get treatment immediately. Tricky.

  Turning she went into the kitchen and began looking through the cupboards. There were various different cleaning solutions but downing a bucket of bleach would only end up corroding her insides and she definitely didn’t want that, especially not if she wanted to get away from the hospital or medical center quickly.

  No, it had to be something like a wound. Painful but if it was stitched up she could still move around.

  For a moment she paused, looking down at herself, thinking. Then her gaze went to her reddened wrists. A cut there, yes. If she did it right and timed it correctly, she’d bleed a lot and he’d have to get her to the hospital quickly, but if they stitched her up, she’d probably be okay sooner than if she’d poisoned herself.

  What are you? A fucking idiot?

  Yes, she probably was. A desperate fucking idiot.

  Without letting herself think too deeply about it again, Violet started going through the kitchen drawers. He’d already told her there wasn’t anything sharp there, but she searched anyway and sure enough, she turned up nothing.

  Undeterred, she started searching the rest of the apartment. If there wasn’t a handy knife, she’d find something else to cut herself with. There had to be something, for God’s sake. Weren’t people always being taken to the hospital for getting injured by seemingly innocuous things? Like tea cozies or chairs or stuff like that?

  Yet half an hour later, she still hadn’t turned up anything.

  Cursing, she went back into the bathroom she’d already searched at least twice, upending the box of medical supplies Elijah had used the day before, and going through them once again. God, she’d even be happy with some nail clippers at this rate.

  After pawing awkwardly through a whole lot of bandages and getting a whole lot of nothing, she eventually threw them at the wall in frustration.