Free His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance by Meg Watson

sore throat.
    I know him.
    I knew that voice. Despite the hard edge it had taken on, the anger that boiled just beneath the surface, I knew that it was Rafe's voice. That uncanny smoothness, the haughtiness and superiority that dripped like honey from every word he spoke.
    Another shadow. I held my eyes open and waited, needing to see more. The first thing I managed to focus my eyes on was the last thing I wanted to see. Bronson's wiry copper hair stood out against the white ceiling far above me.
    Panic rose again in a swarm, my chest rising and falling quickly as more and more of the world cleared around me.
    “Stupid bitch.”
    Bronson leaned in, his eyes narrow, his brow twisted in anger. The receding fog around his face brought it into unnerving sharpness and clarity. His eyes bored into mine. His upper lip curled back over his stained, crowded teeth.
    “This ain't my fault,” he hissed, close to my face. I could feel drops of his spit pocking my cheeks. “It's yours. I can't fucking stand liars.”
    He straightened up again, leaving my vision.
    “How was I supposed to know who she was? I wasn’t about to go for her ID, Rafe. She said her name was Rachel… She sold me the goods… What was I supposed to think?”
    I felt Bronson's rough hand at my face, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. The sudden pain of the pressure dragged me toward full consciousness and the room snapped into sharp, searing focus. Bronson stared at me, but spoke to Rafe. A stripe of milky spittle trailed from his tongue to his upper gums.
    “So… What are we going to do with her?”
    “I don’t know,” came the answer, a menacing growl. “She’s… not supposed to be here.”
    Bronson shrugged, his mouth twisting in a sneer. I could see a birdshot scatter of oversized blackheads on his chin.
    “I could take her off your hands,” he said in a low, oily voice. “Take care of her. Oh, that'd be great fun.”
    My mind began to churn. Was it the pills? Was there something wrong with them, or did he just want more? I moaned through the ties over my mouth. If they would just let me explain… If Rafe would just come closer…
    Rafe! Please!
    Bronson’s beady eyes scanned mine, flickering over and over from left to right as he leaned closer and closer. Then he glanced away toward Rafe’s voice.
    “You'll do no such thing, Bronson. This is your mess, but you won't be cleaning it up. Not like that.”
    Bronson scoffed, releasing my face with a little push as he stood straight again.
    “So, what? You like this girl, now? She’s useless.”
    Please talk to me!
    Rafe’s face finally entered the swath of light that I could see. Relief felt like a cool surge in my belly. I wanted to cry. He knew me. He would do something, I was sure. I tried desperately to communicate to him, but his inky black eyes only stared down, hard and cold as onyx.
    “No. I don't like her,” he growled, nostrils flaring. “What kind of question is that?”
    “Tch. Then what's the problem? I take her off your hands, we get our girl, and this whole thing gets wrapped up properly.”
    Rafe held my gaze. My eyes burned as I fought the urge to look away. He seemed to be leaning on the table, deep in thought as his stare bored holes in my soul. I didn’t even blink. I needed him to connect with me, to feel I was there. How could he let Bronson keep me like that?
    Rafe, please!
    His small smile spread slowly.
    “You know what? Maybe I do like her—in any case, more than I like you. At least she follows orders properly, isn't that right?” He leaned closer to me. I could smell his spicy cologne in my sinuses, salving the raw tissues.
    He looked back to Bronson, jabbing a finger at him. “We're putting her in Gretchen's room, and that's it. We'll figure out what to do with her later.”
    Bronson immediately shook his head. “No fucking way. We can't put her there.”
    Rafe gave a shrug, but his eyes were a silent challenge. “What choice have you left me?” He