Bound To The Ruthless Billionaire Captor

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Jocelyn curled into a tight ball beneath the thin blanket. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her eyebrows twitched in the grip of a violent nightmare.

The dream dragged her back to the pouring rain of a funeral years ago.

A teenage Elam stood in a black suit. His eyes sliced through the rain, pinning her to the muddy ground.

"Your father is dead," the dream-Elam announced to the whispering crowd of the Turner family. He pointed directly at her face. "His sins, you will atone for." In her nightmare, his words twisted into something sharper, a life sentence she could never escape.

Camera flashes blinded her. The whispers turned into a deafening roar. Jocelyn opened her mouth to scream that her father was innocent, but her throat was sewn shut.

A massive crack of thunder shattered the sky.

Jocelyn's eyes snapped open. She bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as if she had been drowning.

She pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her pajamas clung to her skin, soaked in cold sweat. Her throat burned with a severe, scratching thirst.

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand.

2:00 AM.

She stared at the locked door. Elam had forbidden her from leaving. But the thirst was a physical pain in her throat.

Jocelyn threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the freezing hardwood floor. She turned the lock as quietly as possible and slipped into the hallway.

Dim wall sconces cast long, distorted shadows. She pressed her back against the wallpaper, creeping toward the open-concept kitchen at the end of the first floor.

The main lights were off. Only a warm, yellow pendant light hung over the massive marble kitchen island.

Jocelyn hurried to the stainless-steel refrigerator. She pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off with shaking hands, and chugged it.

The cool liquid slid down her esophagus, soothing the burn. She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

She turned around.

A tall, dark figure sat on a barstool in the shadows of the island.

Jocelyn gasped. The plastic water bottle slipped from her wet fingers.

It hit the floor with a heavy thud. Water splashed across her bare feet.

A glowing red ember illuminated the dark. The man held a half-smoked cigar between his fingers. The brief flash of orange light revealed Elam's sharp, unforgiving jawline.

He wore a dark grey silk robe. The collar hung open, exposing his chest. He took a slow drag of the cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and locked his predatory gaze on her.

Jocelyn's blood turned to ice.

"I... I was just thirsty," she stammered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to disobey..."

Elam didn't say a word. He leaned forward and crushed the cigar into a crystal ashtray.

He stood up. His massive frame moved out of the shadows, stepping slowly toward her.

Jocelyn's survival instinct kicked in. She stepped back. Her spine hit the cold metal of the refrigerator door. She was trapped.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Elam stopped inches from her. He placed both hands flat against the refrigerator door, caging her completely between his body and the cold metal.

He lowered his head. His breath, heavy with the scent of tobacco and expensive whiskey, fanned across her neck. His eyes dragged down her trembling chest and the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of her pajamas.

"You can't even follow a simple rule," Elam growled. His voice was a low, dangerous vibration in the quiet kitchen.

Jocelyn bit down on her bottom lip. She bit hard enough to taste the sharp, metallic tang of blood. She refused to let the tears fall.

Elam saw her stubborn resistance. His eyes darkened to pitch black.

His hand shot out. He gripped the back of her neck, his large fingers wrapping around her nape. He forced her forward until her chest almost brushed his.

"In this house," he stated, enunciating every word, "you are a sinner. You do not negotiate. You do not play games."

The pain in her neck flared. The tears she fought so hard to hold back broke free.

A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the back of Elam's hand.

The scalding heat of her tear hit his skin. Elam's fingers flinched.

He dropped his hand as if he had been burned. He masked the sudden panic in his chest with a sneer.

"Get out of my sight," he snapped, his voice harsher than before. "Go back to your room."

Jocelyn didn't wait. She ducked under his arm, leaving the spilled water on the floor, and ran blindly down the hall.

Elam stood frozen by the refrigerator. He stared at the wet spot on the back of his hand. It was already turning cold.

He cursed under his breath, yanking at the collar of his silk robe.

He walked to the island, poured a glass full of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow. The alcohol burned his throat, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire her proximity had ignited in his gut.

Jocelyn slammed her bedroom door and dove under the covers. She shivered violently until the sky outside turned a pale, bruised purple.

She packed her canvas bag. She had to get to campus. She had to escape.