Page 1 of Captured Onyx

Prologue

Nate

Her eyes.

Those ebony black eyes captured my attention from the first moment I saw her. Not her hair, dark complexion, stature, or the round shape of her young face.

Her features perfectly align in unison with my needs. But none of it would matter if it weren’t for those dark gems that pulled me in from the beginning.

I can’t help it.

I don’t want to help it.

Because I need her.

Her eyes are closed now, hidden beneath a thick set of lashes and lids painted in sapphire blue and shimmering silver accents. The makeup looks comical on her, applied clumsily, obviously by a hand that lacks the skills of one who applies it daily.

It must have been a special night. Tonight must have been one of those rare occasions when she retrieved her rarely used makeup and tried to convert herself into the kind of woman she isn't usually. I bet it took her forever to achieve this look. I wonder how many times she reapplied the eye shadow until she was satisfied? How many times did she curse herself for not doing this more often so she was more skilled at it?

I wonder.

That's all I can do for now. Wonder. Ask questions that won’t be answered.

Right now there's only one thing for certain.

She'll have to learn how to become better. I can't present her looking like that, not with a face that looks like it has been made up by an amateur and wearing a dress that hangs too loosely from her petite figure.

She needs to learn.

And she will.

Her body bounces in my lap as we hit a speed bump and I throw a disgruntled scowl to the driver upfront.

"This is not a chase, Mike," I growl at him. "Slow down, would you?"

"Yes, boss," he responds through gritted teeth.

He's not a fan of this idea. Neither of them were when I first suggested it. But it's not like they have any alternative suggestions. And it's not like we have a choice.

We're fucked. And we have been for a while. This could be our only way out.

If this works. If she works.

The girl is sound asleep and her frame sinks heavily in my lap. I retain a tight hold on her to keep her steady in consideration of Mike’s reckless driving. Just the girl and I are in the backseat; my other associate Daveed is sitting up front next to Mike.

I never sit in the back, it's not where I belong. I’m the one in charge, the one leading this operation. It stirs me in an unpleasant way to be sitting back here, as if I was nothing more than a henchman—or back to a life that I’ve long left behind.

This one time is an exception. For her.

I don't trust these boys. I won't trust anyone with her. She's mine for now. My idea. My responsibility. My job.

My subject.

My gaze trails down then, latching on to the soft features of her face. Stray ringlets have escaped from her carefully pinned hairstyle, the black locks lying limply against her cheek. The red evening gown she's wearing has thin straps across her shoulders, but it ends below her knees, matching the conservative cut that hides her almost non-existent cleavage. Her uninspired outfit starkly contrasts her overdone makeup and the exorbitant jewelry adorning her neck.

I wonder who she is and what her name is. I wonder what she was doing in an Atlantic City casino and who she was there with.

Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore. Because her role is clear from here on out.

She’s our Onyx.

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