Free Captivated (The Dragons) by Ella Elias Page A

about to begin, and I might or might not like it once it did.
    I forced a pout to my lip, but it didn't seem to affect him, to my non-surprise.
    “Has anyone laid a hand on you or denied you anything to eat?”
    I cocked my head, giving him a look that asked him to get to the point, but I didn't answer him. One minute you're partying with friends, the next you're riding on the back of a motor bike with your hand tied to the asshole chauffeuring you to a literally, cold cage of a cell with a bed that's probably been used in several amateur prison porn videos.
    The night was not supposed to end like this.
    Tall, dark, and scary took another deep drag of his cigarette, looking me over appraisingly. It wasn't a threatening look, thankfully. I could see that he was profiling me the way someone in the FBI might do to a suspect, but I felt a little naked under his gaze.
    He had eyes like that. Maybe he was a Scorpio. My first boyfriend was a Scorpio, and he had eyes like that. It seemed like they could see everything inside of you.
    “Do you know why you're here, Darla?”
    I inhaled loudly, my irritation beginning to rise again. Maybe I wasn't so intimidated by him after all.
    “You Tarzan, me Jane?” I asked bitterly, my adrenaline flowing again as I stared him down.
    He gave me that quarter-laugh again and licked his lips, taking another drag of his cigarette.
    “What can I get you to eat, sweet thing?”
    Oh the fucking nerve. Sweet thing?
    He was obviously trying to get a rise out of me.
    I didn't answer that question, either. If I hadn't known how my spirit reacted under pressure before, now I did. I didn't care how dark, eerily calm, or pretty he was. He had no right to keep me in a cage. Fuck him.
    “Not hungry?”
    His eyebrows rose.
    “You're a fiery one. I'll give you that. You're going to have to eat sometime, though.”
    My eyes met his with an unmistakable dare, and he gave me a nod. I watched, still burning imaginary holes into him with my eyes, as he reached into his vest, his Claw embroidered cuff slipping over a six-pack that should come with a “just slather with oil” tag and pulled a small bell out of his pocket.
    He turned his gaze to me, looking me over a moment longer than necessary, and set the  tiny bell at the foot of the metal mesh closing me off from him.
    “Ring it when you're ready to talk.”
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T alk about what exactly?
    Did these assholes think I knew something? I had zero ideas about why I was there, save for the fact that there was only one person who could have motivated these bike-riding danger chasers to glance my way.
    I rubbed the circulation back into my arms and slid to a crouch against the wall. I was freezing, but I wouldn't even let myself look at the bell. The thought was just ridiculous to me. Ringing the bell was the equivalent of crying “Uncle,” and I hadn't even been here overnight, yet. There was no way in hell I was doing it.
    My thoughts turned to Vinnie, and I considered that this hadn't been the first time he'd gotten me into a bind due to a sheer lack of cautionary thinking on his part.
    It was crazy to me just how thoughtless he could be, but I'd always protected him. He'd had a jacked up start in life, and my grandmother couldn't stand him. I think he reminded her of my uncle, and she saw nothing but trouble when she laid eyes on him.
    That feeling came across in her tone and the different ways she doled out punishments. I was more a nerd until I started developing, so my grades usually lived up to expectations, and my idea of fun consisted of making jointed paper dolls, their props, grand world ensembles, and kick-ass gowns. Most of the trouble I found myself in was because of Vinnie, and she knew it. I guess that's why I always wound up half-punished, while he got the belt, missed meals when she sent him to bed early, and far less affection.
    That had to be why I wasn't as enraged with him as I could've been