His Captive Bride Read online

  His Captive Bride:

  ©2014 Copyright by:

  Suzanne Steele

  Dark Romance Series:

  ©2014 Copyright by:

  Suzanne Steele

  KDP EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Suzanne Steele on kindle direct publishing

  His Captive Bride:

  Copyright © 2013 by Suzanne Steele

  This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.

  Thank you for downloading this e-book.

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  All content herein is protected under copyright law.

  This e-book is Rated 17+

  Stalk Me…

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  Table of Contents:

  Prologue:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue:

  Prologue:

  Prologue:

  I remember the memory as though it were yesterday. I know that it is forever seared in my consciousness. I awoke to a darkened room and immediately knew that something was wrong.

  “Where is Mommy?” I asked the man who stood in front of me, the latest step father in a long line of men who would come and go throughout my lifetime.

  “Go back to sleep,” he answered.

  “I’m thirsty” I lied, knowing instinctively that Mommy was gone and would not be returning.

  I needed to see for myself to confirm the worst of my fears.

  My little feet padded behind the large man that I had to strain my neck to look up at.

  What happened next was also something that would be etched in my psyche for the rest of my life.

  The large man reached over and turned the light on and I watched horrified as the roaches scattered.

  They had been so numerous that the oven that was supposed to have the appearance of white, had the appearance of roaches and the color could not be seen.

  I am still to this day horrified of roaches, for to me—they signify the brutality of abandonment…

  Chapter One

  There he is again. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he watches me. He stares through me as if he knows all of my dirty little secrets. He looks at me as if he can read all of my emotions, but yet for some reason, I can’t seem to get ‘a read’ on him.

  “Come on, there is that weird kid again,” my volunteer for the day states, not even trying to speak low enough for the ‘weirdo’ that watches me to not hear him.

  I wouldn’t call him a kid. I would gauge him at thirty years old which far exceeds being a kid… I think to myself. I steal a glance at the young man leaned against the building in the black leather jacket, I try to size him up. His face is granite. There really is no other way to describe the bone structure of it. His skin is white—not pale—but white, and yet he appears to be of Latin descent. Suddenly it hits me, he is Spaniard. His tousled black wavy hair and black eyes, along with his stance against the building exude an attitude of not giving a shit. He simply couldn’t care less. He couldn’t care less that I’m fully aware of him. I am also aware of the fact that he stalks me. I don’t know what to feel, all that I do know: is that when he is near……..I feel……………

  I balance the box of food on my knee as I knock on the door. I never know what to expect when the door opens, but today my heart wrenches as I view a young woman who has clearly been up all night tweaking. My eyes glance over at the small child seated on the bed and a smile crosses over my whole being. I reach into the box setting it on the floor and hide the doll behind my back, making my way towards her lit up eyes.

  “I have something for you Preciosa. Now close your eyes and hold out your hands.”She giggles as I place the doll in her hand. I silently wish that I could scoop her up and take her home with me; home to my clean, modern apartment, in my upper echelon, historical district neighborhood. What did the social worker call it? Functioning drug addict? Yes, that was it. Preciosa’s Mother is not unfit because she is a functioning drug addict. Seriously? Bullshit! It was just a way of saying that they have nowhere to place Preciosa. It was just another way to say—that she was just another kid who has fallen through the cracks.

  “Has she eaten today?” I ask, as I turn towards her Mother who is busy scratching her arms and eyeing the box on the floor. I try to keep the edge of disdain that I feel towards this situation from my voice. After all, I’m not here to judge.

  “Oh yes, she had a toaster treat.”

  My mind immediately begins to assess the vitamin contents and even though it isn’t the hot meal that I would prefer, there is a standard of nutrition within ‘toaster treats.’

  “Ok, well, I think that we are done here.” I state, as I rise. I don’t make it to my feet before Preciosa jumps up grabbing me. She is telling me how much that she loves her doll and that she is going to name it Mandissa—just like me. “Mandissa’s Midway, after your TV show,” she proudly hugs me. It’s a ‘stage name’ but it’s what everyone knows me by, so it’s my name.

  I’m hearing her, but I’m really trying to keep tears from streaming down my face. I make my way towards the door just wanting to escape and her Mother brings me back to reality when she whispers, “We ain’t got rent; maybe you could help?”

  I cut my eyes at her causing her to look down. She knows—that I know—that she is lying to me. I don’t even answer her. I just make my way out the door, almost cringing as I watch a cockroach make its way up the baseboard.

  Rosa’s demeanor totally changes as she shuts the door and glares at her three year old daughter. “Yeah, you just keep hugging her and being nice, so that we got groceries coming in. I ain’t got time, or money, to be buying you all of the fancy stuff that she brings. Bitch ain’t no better than nobody else! Miss high and mighty ain’t no better than me, or nobody else living up in here.”

  The sting of Preciosa’s Mother’s words hurt less, as she grips the doll that has quickly become her new friend…

  “The guy is weird! I mean seriously, you need to report him.”

  That got my attention! “Back off Gus, I’m a big girl!”

  I mean seriously, how do I condone the fact that this ’stalker’ is getting to me? I can’t help but wonder who would protect a man that was stalking them? I can’t shake the way that he makes me feel. Just the way that he looks at me as if he knows something about me; something that even I don’t know. Maybe he does, maybe he sees something deep inside of me. Something that is so deep within the core of my being that I can’t even see it. Maybe it’s something that hasn’t risen to the surface yet. Maybe I’m just letting my imagination get the best of me.

  Gus sighed as he watched Mandissa go back to going through e-mai
ls on her tablet. Most of his colleagues did that on their cell phones but Mandissa, was all about the tablet. The rest of the ride back to the station would be carried on in silence.

  Chapter Two

  Drake plopped his biker boots up on his coffee table. He liked his mahogany antique coffee table. He had purchased it in a thrift store and re-furbished it. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to. He was a freelance photographer and he was in high demand. He lived quite well in his chosen profession. He had opted for a high rise one bedroom apt in the yuppy end of downtown. He had only rented it to stalk his prey—stalk—until he was successful with the plans that he had. And Drake was always successful with his plans. To put it simply, Drake always got what he wanted.

  He wasn’t the least bit concerned about what people’s opinions were and the fact that he was underestimated by those who did not know him didn’t bother him a bit. If the truth were known, he used it to his advantage. He was able to fit right in with all of those neighborhoods that his bleeding heart obsession liked to go to.

  It’s a good thing that I am stalking you girl. God knows the volunteers that you bring are useless as far as protection is concerned.

  She probably thinks that I’m some juvenile delinquent, but she wouldn’t even care. She sure isn’t like the rest of these stuck-up bitches that I deal with. Models and celebrities with unattainable demands that they make up as they go along; demands that feed into their lofty egos. Mandissa would probably try to feed me. Mm, that’s a thought; I would love to eat her up from the top of her head, right down to the bottom of those perfectly manicured toes of hers that wiggle around in those four inch heels she wears.

  “Oh yes, little lady, now that pic came out nice.” Drake eyed the computer screen as he spoke aloud to himself. “I do love those unsuspecting shots that I get of you. You have no idea that I’m taking your photo, do you? But then again………. there are times that I know that you sense my presence.”

  Drake pushed down on the ever growing need in his pants. For some reason this woman brought out his very primal need to ‘stalk.’ Mandissa brought the primal hunter in Drake out and he couldn’t put his finger on why. All he knew was that Mandissa was becoming an obsession; an obsession that was growing stronger by the day.

  Chapter Three

  And three—two—one—the producer mouthed as he pointed towards Mandissa. She had taken a grass roots TV show that she had started; a show that was based on helping those less fortunate in the community and she had turned it into a top rated local show. She operated on gut instinct—as far as what topics that she covered and how she hosted the shows. To put it simply, the people couldn’t get enough of her. She had the ability of making the viewers feel that they were her personal friends and in a way, that was true.

  If you saw Mandissa out in public, you felt as if she was a personal friend. Really, what you saw—was what you got with Mandissa. That connection that she was able to form with her viewing audience was exactly the trait that had pulled Drake right into her web. The truth about just how dangerous that he was remained to be seen.

  Mandissa eyed the ‘suit’ from across the desk with contempt. She viewed him as a ‘suit’ and not in a good way. He had all of the attributes of being an arrogant, egotistical bastard. He was nothing more than a suited pompous jerk who reveled in the power that his career brought him. Having a TV station had been quite lucrative to him in more ways than one. In other words: people kissed his ass to be on his TV station. Mandissa didn’t!

  Part of him didn’t like the fact that he could not control Mandissa and he wanted to ‘force’ the issue of control. Any opportunity that Richard had to operate control over Mandissa he did, but it always left him unfulfilled, because Mandissa was one of the few who was aware that TV brought fame, and fame is a double edged sword. The same way that fame could make a career, it could also destroy one. Overnight, a beloved TV celebrity could go from famous, to infamous. Mandissa made up her mind a long time ago that what she did, and who she was, were two different things.

  “Well Mandissa, I believe that you could be using the people that you help to better promote the TV station. Let’s just say, that people eat up this bleeding heart shit that you do.” His words brought me out of my thoughts.

  I eyed the pristine, polished subject who sat on the other side of the desk toying with the platinum pen; a pen that I knew very well was a seven, or eight hundred dollar pen.

  How many people could that feed? Pompous ass!

  “Richard, while I do understand that this is your TV station, I don’t work for you.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight young lady; you do work for me. As long as that pretty little ass of yours is parked in one of my chairs, on my set, you work for me!”

  Here we go, ‘The great and terrible Oz speech.’

  I just about knocked the chair over as I pushed it out of the way making my exit. I didn’t say anything for fear of throwing the chair at him.

  Richard, the pompous ass, twirled his $800.00 pen beneath his manicured fingers, as he watched Mandissa’s fine ass, makes its way out of his office.

  Whether Richard wanted to admit it or not, he was a control freak. The fact that Mandissa had no intentions of dancing to his tune wasn’t seating well with him. Richard was used to getting his way, not only in his professional life, but his personal one too. With his good looks, prestige, and the money that Richard had, he was able to have just about anything, or anyone that he wanted. Anyone but Mandissa that is, which only proved to make him want her more. Richard lacked the one thing that it took to win a girl like Mandissa over and that was heart. Mandissa felt nothing but loathing and contempt, when it came to her ‘self proclaimed boss.’

  There were very few who were able to make Mandissa feel anything and that was especially true when it came to passion, or romance. If she were to tell the truth, she didn’t believe in love. She had no use for a man whispering sweet nothings in her ear, while he held out champagne and roses. That was for the girls who grew up in good neighborhoods and perfect homes, not women like Mandissa.

  Drake

  Drake sat running his thumb over the remote as he studied his obsession. Every week like clockwork, he was sitting in front of the TV watching, ‘Mandissa’s Midway.’ He had run across the show while channel surfing late one night and his relentless obsession with Mandissa had begun. Everything about her intrigued him. It wasn’t just the way that she looked—though that didn’t hurt. Her tailored and professional look was totally the opposite of Drake’s biker, bad boy image that he was purposely projecting right now. Not to mention that she was at least ten years his senior. You would never know it though, because at forty five, Mandissa looked better than most twenty five year old women. She had a body to match due to her strenuous workouts. That was one of Drake’s favorite times to stalk. The gym that she frequented had large picture frame windows, a stalker’s dream.

  The camera loved Mandissa and Drake’s camera simply adored her. Drake knew every detail about her. What shades of makeup that she wore, her style of clothing, hell he even knew where she had her hair done and what brand of products that she used. Details, details, details, yes Drake was all about the details. After all…..The devil is in the details.

  He had been hired in the past to get pics for private eyes on cases and even the police department had hired him due to his photography skills. Drake had a way with film, a way that caused him to be in high demand by numerous genres of professionals.

  As far as Drake was concerned, no one’s pics came out quite as well as Mandissa’s. He had basically built a shrine to the girl. Any look possible, Drake had managed to capture it and yet he always found something new to be intrigued with. Whether it was a wisp of her hair over one eye way that made him want to reach up and brush it away or the dimples in her lower back that peeked out past her yoga pants band, when she was vigorously working out at the gym. Sometimes maybe just a coy smile that crossed her face when she got an
idea for a show or an online article that she was writing, any of those things could and would capture a perfect shot in Drake’s opinion.

  It all captured Drake’s attention. Drake was learning more and more each day about his beloved Mandissa. His obsession was becoming dangerously consuming.

  But anyone knows that regardless of what we have the capability to control, obsession does not fall under that scope of things. Only time would tell if Drake’s obsession with Mandissa would prove to be dangerous. Even Drake did not know how far that he would go, if and when, he was pushed to the limit.

  Chapter Four

  Preciosa peeked around the corner at Mommy, she hadn’t moved and it was scaring her. She clung tightly to the oversized stuff doll that she held as if it were a lifeline. She couldn’t help but wish that the nice lady who had given it to her would come back. Tears streamed down her face as she quietly made her way over to her Mommy. Part of her wanted to shake her, but she feared angering Mommy

  Mommy didn’t like being woke up. Suddenly gunshots from the street could be heard and the fear of the unknown far outweighed the fear of ‘Mommy’s anger.’

  “Mommy, Mommy please, I’m scared.”

  Tiny little brown hands pulled at her Mother’s barely clothed body.

  “Go on now baby, Mommy’s trying to sleep,” Rosa replied in her drug induced state.

  “But Mommy, I’m scared.”

  “Damn it! I said go on girl!”

  Cries could be heard from the corner as the child opted for sleeping there for the night. Hopefully there would be no rat bites like there had been when she was left abandoned in her crib with soured milk. It wasn’t until a neighbor got sick of the child’s screams that the police had come to her rescue. Preciosa had been placed back into her Mother’s custody after numerous classes and visits from a social worker, after all—her Mother was a ‘functioning drug addict.’