Page 68 of The Captive
"This isn't over," he warned, but there was heat in his voice that had nothing to do with anger.
We descended the stairs together, and I found myself hyperaware of his presence beside me—the controlled power in his movements, the way he positioned himself slightly ahead, always ready to shield me. The protectiveness should have angered me, but instead it awakened something primitive and feminine I found entirely alien. Not even my father had ever treated me this way. How to deal with that?
The idea of a confrontation with Patrick felt surreal after the intimacy we'd just shared. Standing behind Alexander as he faced down him and his men, I felt claimed in a way that went beyond all reason. This was his territory, his authority, and somehow I'd become part of his world.
When Patrick's gaze found me, something vicious flickered across his features. "Miss O'Malley. I trust my wife didn't cause you any permanent harm?"
I kept my expression neutral despite the rage simmering within. "Nothing that won't heal."
His gaze travelled to Alexander. “If I’d known her plans before, I’d have ensured this wouldn’t happen.”
Alexander nodded and inched between us, the gesture subtle but unmistakable. “Follow me,” he told them, and turned back inside the mansion.
Climbing down to the basement, I felt the weight of what we were walking into. Seeing Beatrice again, facing the woman who'd tried to kill me just hours before shook me a little, mostly because she was the kind of unhinged I’d never truly encountered in the past.
When the cell door opened and Beatrice's eyes found me, the transformation was immediate and terrifying—blank look morphing into pure, incandescent hatred.
"YOU," she snarled. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!"
She lunged with shocking speed, and Alexander's body slammed into hers without hesitation.
"I can take care of myself," I muttered, frustrated once more by my own reaction to his protectiveness.
"I know you can," he replied without turning around. "Doesn't mean I'm going to let you prove it unless absolutely necessary."
The quiet confidence in his voice, the absolute certainty in the tone, made my throat tight with unexpected emotion. When had anyone ever gone out on a limb for me without it being in the job description?
Watching Beatrice transform from screaming harridan to submissive wife was deeply unsettling. The sudden way with which she melted against Patrick, oozing practiced vulnerability, reminded me uncomfortably of masks I'd worn myself around people, just to get them off my back.
That's when she struck.
The knife appeared as if by magic, punching into Patrick's stomach with vicious efficiency. The sight of blood, the sound of Beatrice's anguished screams, the chaos of men trying to restrain a woman lost to madness—it all blurred together in a kaleidoscope of violence.
"THIS IS FOR EVERY TIME YOU HURT ME!" she shrieked. "FOR EVERY PILL YOU FORCED DOWN MY THROAT!"
Her voice brimmed with raw agony as she railed about the abuse she’d been subjected to, all condensed into a moment of brutal revenge. And then I found myself empathising with her, despite the fact that she’d likely always been this way. Unbalanced. Disturbed. Mad.
Patrick and Beatrice were quickly carried to separate vehicles and rushed off the property. I stood beside Alexander feeling emotionally wrung out. The night had been a roller coaster from the heights of sexual bliss to the depths of lunacy playing out before us.
"Well," I said finally, breaking the silence. "That was interesting. Will he survive?"
“I don’t know…”
I’d seen the man, unconscious, his shirt bloodied. I had my doubts. Alexander turned to look at me. In his gaze I discerned concern, relief … affection?
"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching out to touch my cheek.
I caught his hand, pressing it against my skin. The simple contact sent warmth flooding through me, chasing away the lingering chill of anxiety. "I'm fine. Better than fine."
"Good," he said, his thumb tracing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "Because we need to talk about what happens next."
A conversation perhaps long overdue. I raised an eyebrow, my pulse quickening at the intensity in his dark eyes. "What happens next?"
His face beamed. "Now that we're not being hunted by a madwoman, we can focus on more ... pleasant pursuits."
Heat pooled low in my belly at his words, at the hunger in his gaze. The night had stripped away all pretences, left us raw and honest in a way I'd never experienced before. Whatever this was between us—alliance, obsession, something ever deeper—it was no longer something we could deny or ignore.
"Lead the way, Alexander Moore." He smiled at me using his full name, and so did I.
