Cruel Captivation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 5) Read online

  Cruel Captivation

  Kelli Callahan

  Copyright © 2020 by Kelli Callahan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Cruel Temptations

  Join My Mailing List

  Kelli’s Voracious Vixens

  About the Author

  Also by Kelli Callahan

  Prologue

  Heaven

  Seventeen years old

  Being a part of the rich and elite isn’t so bad.

  Dad is a Senator. Mom is the-every-day-wife wearing her expensive pearls and dresses. She and dad put on a good show, but I know better. They have been having affairs for years. They make appearances at parties, smile, shake hands, laugh, kiss each other on the cheek, but at the end of the night? They go to separate bedrooms.

  It’s like it is contracted love, and the only way for them to tolerate being around each other is for events. It’s all for show.

  It’s fine; growing up in a wicked ice storm does leave you cold, but it leaves you strong too. I never want to be anything like them when I’m older and have a family of my own. I hate being around my parents. Everything is so formal, so concise, so boring. When we eat dinner, all that can be heard is the clank of silverware against the plate.

  If love is meant to be so quiet, I want nothing to do with it when I want to live my life in a roar.

  Right now, we are on our way to the Governor’s ball. It’s the event of the year. If you don’t go, you aren’t a part of the rich and famous.

  I’d rather not go, but being the son of the Senator of California, I don’t really have a choice. He is trying to pull me into politics, to follow in his footsteps, but there is nothing I hate more than these fancy parties and the corruption and lies. There is so much corruption, and I want nothing to do with it.

  In order to win or get ahead in this line of work, lies have to be told, and personal beliefs have to be thrown out the window to give the people what they want. It’s like having a cup of hot, scolding selfishness in the morning before walking out the door for the day.

  If politicians aren’t selfish, are they even doing their job? It’s the most biased profession I can think of.

  Why the hell would I want to be a part of something like that? I’ll figure out what I want to do when I turn eighteen. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the buffet or the beautiful rich daughters of other senators at these parties like I always do. I’m going to live life to the damn fullest, drink when I’m not supposed to, buy condoms in bulk, and take advantage of the prestige this life has to offer me.

  I’m young, I’m fucking good looking, and I have no responsibilities. What else is a man like me supposed to do with my time?

  “Okay, do you know the drill for the night?” my dad asks, texting on his phone as my mom sits across from him, staring out the tinted window.

  They hate each other.

  “Me?” I point at my chest, wondering if he is talking to me or mom. There are so many rules and regulations for events. We go over the rules every single time.

  “Yes, you. Your mother is a grown woman who doesn’t make stupid choices—”

  “—I married you, didn’t I?” mom says, monotone and unimpressed as she lifts the glass of champagne to her lips.

  “Good thing I wasn’t talking to you, then. I was talking to our son that can’t seem to keep his cock in his pants.”

  “Like father like son, I suppose,” she says, never taking her eyes off the window.

  I stare down at my lap, cheeks heating with embarrassment that mom called me out. If she doesn’t like dad, then she is saying she doesn’t like me.

  “Because the only time you’re on your knees is to pray, right?” my dad replies in a casual manner while pouring himself a glass of scotch. He crosses his right ankle over his left knee and smirks at my mom. “Who was that man I had to pay to not run to the news outlets with the information that you are a dirty whore?”

  My mom doesn’t flinch. Her face is stone-cold, her skin doesn’t wrinkle, and there is no emotion in her face. “Probably the same man whose wife you fucked in our bed a few months ago, darling.” Mom runs her palms down the pristine, tailored emerald gown hugging her body, unbothered by dad’s insults. How can they speak to each other like that? Did they love each other at all at any point in time? Mom turns to me, folding her hands across her lap, and prompts, “Well, Asher. Answer your father. He needs to make sure you aren’t completely incompetent and understand that you are not to run off with the tramp he wants.”

  I roll my eyes, wondering how the hell I ended up with two parents that dislike me because they hate each other so much. “I know to keep my mouth shut, to clap when I need to clap, and not chase tail, or get anyone pregnant until you get the donations you need.”

  “If you can flirt with a few of the wives and milk them for a few thousand, I’d appreciate it,” dad winks at me, and my stomach turns when I know he thinks of me as his way of making millions because he thinks I’ll sleep with whoever for him.

  I sleep with women for me and it isn’t because I’m using them or think they are objects. I know when women want me, and I obviously want a beautiful woman, but it’s deeper than that. I’m not wanted anywhere else in my life. My parents hate me. The rich fucks I got to school with are assholes and don’t want to be friends with me. They just love that I have money.

  Granted, most women probably only sleep with me because I am Asher Haven, but I don’t sleep with them to get off.

  I sleep with them to get lost and to feel something other than the fucking hate I have for my life. The moment I’m eighteen, I’m out of here. My parents are going to wake up one day and realize I am gone. I’m not going to leave a note. I’m not going to call. I’m not sending a fucking postcard.

  I am out of here in four months.

  The limo comes to a stop outside of the event center, and the driver runs around the back to open up the door. My mom reaches her hand out for the driver to help her out. The cool night’s air whirls into the car, adding to the ice that’s already frozen tundra in the cab.

  I follow behind her, and the flashes from cameras come quickly, blinding me. I’m a professional, and I don’t let it get to me. I lift my hand and wave, buttoning the blazer of the tuxedo I’m wearing, and smile, making sure my dimples show.

  Everyone loves the handsome son of Senator Mike Haven. I’m the golden boy.

  The flashes multiply when Dad steps out of the car and takes my mother’s hand. We all smile, pretending to be the cookie-cutter family that’s nothing but happy.

  We start our way to the front doors, and security is blocking the reporters from getting too close. Microphones are being shoved in my face, and the journalists throw questions at me.

  “Asher
, do you plan to go into politics like your father?”

  “It’s been said you were accepted into Stanford; is that true? Are you going? What about your legacy to your Dad’s school? Yale? Have you given that any thought?”

  “Is it true you’re engaged?”

  My god, I’m seventeen. Why the fuck would I be engaged? Unless my parents have set up a marriage I have no clue about. I probably am engaged and I don’t even know it. I keep my mouth shut when it comes to the reporters. It’s another rule I have to follow. I nod, then slip inside the doors just as security opens them.

  I let out a breath when I’m inside and survey my surroundings, wishing I could be anywhere other than here. I thought I was excited to be here, but this gala is just like every other one. Expensive, tasteless food, great booze, fake people, and I’m too tired to care about any of it after what happened in the car.

  Tucking my left hand in my pocket, I reach and snag a glass of champagne off the caterer’s tray as he walks by. No one cares that I’m seventeen and drinking. I do what I want. Sipping the bubbly, I see the one woman that never gives me the time of day.

  Heather Thomas.

  She has beautiful brown hair that is cascading down in luscious waves but clipped all to one side, sliding down her shoulder. She has long legs and a dress that doesn’t do her figure justice. She has an hourglass shape and tits I want to lose myself in, but that isn’t the main thing that draws me in. It’s her smile, her grit, her take-no-shit attitude.

  Every time she sees me, she hates me, and I think she hates me because I made out with her sister a year ago. Grace and I decided to remain friends instead because we agreed kissing each other was like kissing a brother or a sister. Might be because while I kissed her, I thought of Heather.

  I always think about Heather, with every woman I’ve ever been with, and she’s smart enough to stay away from me.

  I have dirty whore blood in my veins, after all. I’m not good enough for a woman like Heather. She tosses her head back at Jake, the son of David Lossareu, a billionaire who invented some app I don’t give a shit about.

  He stares at her like he wants to eat her, and it pisses me off. He reaches up and slides his hand down her toned, tan arm, and I grit my teeth, toss my drink back, and begin to look for Grace. She has to be here somewhere, and I haven’t seen her in a few months since Dad tossed me in a different private school.

  I am not meant for this life.

  Being a part of the rich and famous isn’t so bad, but being a part of an emotionless life sucks.

  There is a string quartet playing in the corner, playing a beautiful song that no one is dancing to. I make my way around the room, starting near the wall, smiling at who I need to smile at as I look for Grace. Heather and I lock eyes, and the look of pure hate she gives me has my stomach turning. She’s the only one I wish saw through the mask I wear for everyone else. I’m not a bad guy. I don’t treat women poorly even though with my parents' track record, I should be just like them, but I’m not.

  Her eyes roam my body, and I puff out my chest, then run my fingers through my dirty blonde hair. She watches me as I work my way around the room and her stare almost has my foot catching behind the other. She’s the only woman that I know of that can take my confidence and flip it upside down.

  And I have barely spoken five words to her since I’ve known her.

  The marble swirling staircase comes to view, and I glance down to make sure I don’t miss a step. As I ascend, everyone on the lower floor reminds me of a heard of sheep doing what money tells them to do. Heather’s eyes meet mine again, and I pause on the staircase, locked in the beautiful gaze of a woman I know I’ll never have the pleasure of knowing. At least, not in the way I want. I pretend the smooth banister is the silk flesh of her leg. I take my time climbing the steps as my teenage imagination holds on tight and has blood rushing south.

  When I get to the top of the stairs, the hairs on my arms fall, and I know her attention is on someone else. Before I can get too involved in my feelings, I see Grace’s friend, Jennifer, talking to Zach, the star quarterback, who isn’t really talented because daddy pays for everything.

  When she sees me, she smiles, and I lift my chin as I make my way to her. “Hey, Jenn, have you seen Grace?”

  Jennifer’s red hair is up in a pretty twist, and her lipstick matches the flame of the perfectly placed strands. There’s a silver clip laced with real diamonds and sapphires in her hair, and she is wearing a diamond neckless with a huge sapphire that reminds me of the gem the lady wore in the Titanic. Her father owns a chain of fancy restaurants along the West Coast and is a major contributor to my dad’s campaign. They have been friends since high school, and I think they expect me and Jennifer to get married, but I’d rather cut off my own foot than be with a hyena like Jennifer.

  She’s pretty, but she’s fucking vicious.

  “She went to powder her nose a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen her come out of the restroom,” Jennifer says.

  “Asher,” Zach greets me with repulsion.

  “Zach,” I say with the same apprehension. He has his hand lying against the wall above Jennifer’s head, and she is leaning her back against it, clearly enjoying his presence.

  I don’t know why. He has nothing to offer her.

  I place a kiss on her temple, smelling the ungodly amount of hairspray and try no sneeze. “Thanks, Jenn. Have fun tonight.” I lower my voice to a whisper, “You can do better than this guy.”

  “I know,” she giggles. “But he is fun.”

  I roll my eyes and walk down the corridor, passing paintings and self-portraits of snooty rich people. My parents and I have one over our fireplace, and it is the most pretentious thing I’ve ever seen.

  Walking under a chandelier, my Italian leather shoes echo with every step I take. I lift my fist and knock on the door to the restroom. “Grace? You there?” I wait for her to answer, but it’s quiet. I try the knob and it’s unlocked; risking seeing her with her panties down, I open the door but find the space empty. “Huh,” I say just as a door closes behind me in the background. I turn around, but all I see is a guy I don’t recognize from behind. He has brown hair, but I can’t see his face since he is walking away from me.

  More like running away.

  Curious, I stroll to the door he just ran out of, and when I get to the room, my instincts scream at me that something bad happened because there is a smear of red on the door. It could be many things. Maybe it’s red wine.

  My gut says it isn’t.

  I open the door, and the room is encased in darkness. “Hello? Is someone in here? Are you okay?” I enter, allowing the light to illuminate the bedroom. There is a four-post bed in the middle and a fireplace off to the side. I hear a moan coming from the bed, but it’s neatly made, and no one laying on it. “Hello?” I call out again.

  Another groan sounds from the corner, and with trepidation, I grab the post of the bed and inch my way around, pausing when I see a lone figure on the floor, wheezing, bloody, and scratched to hell. Her dress is ripped, and one of her shoes is off, lying next to her head. The heel of her stiletto is covered in blood, and it’s obvious the guy that left like hell was nipping at his heels was the guy who did this.

  I flip on the light and gasp when I recognize the woman. “Grace!” I squat and reach out for her, afraid to touch because she seems to be bleeding everywhere. “Oh my god, Grace, can you hear me?” I unbutton my blazer and shrug it off, then blanket it over her to cover her up. “Who did this? Grace, can you hear me?”

  She shakes, turning her head slowly to me as if it is the most painful thing in the world for her to do. “Ash…Asher?” her teeth chatter, and a sob hunches her shoulders as she closes in on herself. “It hurts.”

  “Who did this to you? Who was it? What was his name? I’m going to call 911, okay? Just stay awake. Please, stay awake,” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear to comfort her, but the chunk of hair falls off along with a piece of scalp.
Shit, the guy bashed her head in. I hurry to pull out my phone from my pocket and dial 911. “Just stay awake, okay? Talk to me.”

  “Asher, I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

  “You can. You’re doing so good, Grace. Please, don’t die,” I start to get choked up because out of all the people in my life that are assholes, she’s the one person I consider a friend. Police sirens sound outside, but I haven’t even put the phone up to my ear yet.

  How the hell are the police here already?

  I lay my phone on the ground, then sit down next to her. I take the hand that doesn’t have crooked and broken fingers and gently hold it. I lean down as her chest rattles and whisper in her ear. “You have to be okay. You have to. You can’t leave me here. You live. You tell me who did this to you, and I’ll bring you justice. I swear.”

  She doesn’t answer back. Her eyes are closed, and her chest isn’t moving. “Grace? Hey, Gracie, answer me.”

  I wait for her to moan, to breathe, but nothing is happening. “No! No, no, no!” I push her onto her back, and I place my ear against her chest, listening for a heartbeat. I sit up, inhale a sharp breath, and my mind goes blank on what to do. Her heart isn’t beating. She isn’t breathing. My hands have blood on them. I’ve never seen so much blood.

  I’m going to be sick.

  I lay my hands on her chest and think about what I’ve seen in the movies. I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck! I brush my forehead on the back of my arm and press her chest. “Please, breathe. Please.” Tilting her chin back, I part her lips and immediately taste blood while I breathe into her mouth. “Come on Grace, don’t let who did this to you win.”