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  Captured: Black Onyx Book 1

  by Linnea May

  BLURB

  Obey. Submit.

  Don’t fail me–or you’ll die.

  I wake up to these words, kidnapped, bound and at the mercy of a man who is as gorgeous as he is cruel.

  How did I get here? Why is this happening to me?

  I left my calm small-town home to celebrate with my best friend, and now I’m the captive of a criminal—a man who wants to trade me as part of a deal with the Mafia.

  He says he’ll train me.

  He tells me to trust him, to obey his command and to bend at his will.

  He is prepping me for a war that I’m not ready to fight.

  He is my only chance to survive.

  My captor—and my only solace.

  Chapter 1

  Malia

  I’m in agony.

  This headache is the worst I’ve ever had. The pain is throbbing through my skull and feels as if a small but vicious hammer is slowly splitting my head into parts.

  I hide in the blackness, seeking comfort as I wait for the piercing pulsations to stop.

  The torment of it weighs me down, forcing me to keep my eyes shut after I wake up from a slumber that was induced by force, leaving me confused.

  What happened?

  And where am I?

  Just a moment ago, I was still in my hotel room. I was happy—and drunk. I never drink, but it was a special night—my best friend's wedding, and a crazy one at that. They had decided to elope, calling me on short notice to come with them as their only witness.

  We were having so much fun. We partied. A lot. Too much. My head was spinning when they guided me up to my room. Even though I repeatedly insisted that I was able to walk on my own, they supported me as I tripped and stumbled through the casino.

  They helped me to my room, and put me to bed. And then they left.

  Even with my eyes closed I can tell that I’m no longer in that hotel room. The smell is different, the mattress I’m lying on feels different—and the sounds coming from outside the room are different.

  An abrupt noise like a heavy door slamming shut reverberates in the distance, seemingly coming from far away, like it is being muffled by walls or doors. I'm inside a closed room and lying on a saggy mattress with sheets that smell like citrus, but not in a good way. The smell is pungent and doesn’t go well with the atmosphere of the room.

  And there's one thing that really unnerves me.

  My hands are tied. And so are my ankles.

  I'm lying on my back and my hands are tied together at the front, resting on my belly. I try to calm my breathing as the panic settles in.

  My ankles are not tied together, though, but tied to something instead. Is it the bed frame? Am I even on a bed? The only way I can know for sure is if I open my eyes.

  But I'm too scared.

  I'm too scared of what I might see. Too scared to make all of this real. Once I open my eyes, I can no longer pretend that this is just a bad dream, or that it’s my imagination after drunkenly passing out in my hotel room back in Atlantic City.

  That’s where I’m supposed to be. That’s where I was before everything went black.

  My best friend, Liliane and her new husband Jayson had left the room. I can still see the concerned expression on her face as she cast me one last look.

  "I'm fine," I slurred, adding a weak but honest smile. I was tired, oh so tired. All I wanted to do was to fall asleep and stop the room from spinning.

  So that's what I did. I passed out just moments after the door closed behind them, and I tumbled into a dreamless sleep.

  But something happened after that.

  There was a noise coming from outside. A knocking that started out gentle at first, but it kept growing louder and more aggressive the longer I didn't react to it. The door was shaking on its hinges, causing a ruckus that was impossible to ignore, even in my pathetic state.

  I forced myself to open my heavy eyelids and get up off the bed.

  I dragged myself toward the door, stumbling and silently cursing my best friend. I thought it must be Liliane who was pounding on the door with such vicious force, returning to check on me, driven by misplaced worry instead of enjoying her first night as a newlywed.

  I was so sure it was her.

  But it wasn't.

  Oh, my God, I think I’m panicking.

  My heart is racing, thumping against my rib cage with such ferocity that it's almost painful. I shift my tied hands to my chest, pressing them against my left boob as if to keep my heart from escaping.

  I'm scared.

  I'm fucking terrified.

  Eyes closed or not, I know that something terrible must have happened to me. I know that I'm in danger.

  My eyes fly open in a sudden rush, as if waking myself up from a terrible nightmare.

  But this isn’t what happens. I don't wake up because I’m already awake. And I am no longer where I should be, in a luxury hotel suite that my best friend's generous husband reserved for me. There's no canopy bed lulling me into a sense of security, no thick, expensive curtains framing floor-length windows, or French doors leading out to a balcony with a view out to sea that was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen.

  There is none of that.

  Because I'm no longer there. The room I find myself in now is so different that I can't fool myself for even a second into thinking that I might still be at the hotel in Atlantic City.

  First of all, this space is a lot smaller. I am lying on a bed, a queen size bed with dark sheets. My ankles are tied to the bed frame, my legs slightly spread, stretching the fabric of my dress. And even fueled with this ice cold fear for my life, I cannot help but wonder why anyone would tie up a person in this manner. I’ve seen it before in movies, the helpless kidnapping victim with their hands and ankles tied and fastened behind their back, or a person sitting on a chair with their hands tied behind their back and feet strapped to the chair's legs.

  But like this? The closest I can think of is the way a deranged sadist would tie his prey to the bed before sexually assaulting or torturing them. Spread out like a star with all four limbs stretched out and tied to the four corners of the bed frame.

  I’m thankful that this is not the position I find myself in. I am less exposed, because I can still move my arms, to some degree, and I can sit up. I can move, but for some reason, I don’t.

  The room is dark, barely lit by a single light bulb right above me. It's only bright enough to illuminate the area right around the bed, and the rest of the room remains obscured in shadows. As far as I can tell, there’s not much to see to begin with. Four walls, no windows, and a door to my left. There’s no other furniture, no wall hangings or decor, nothing. It’s just a large cell with a wooden floor, four bare walls, and a simple bed in the middle.

  It has nothing in common with the room I was supposed to wake up in this morning.

  Before I was kidnapped. Taken. Whatever you want to call it.

  What happened to me? Who was knocking at my door last night?

  I opened the door expecting to see Liliane, but it wasn’t her face there. That’s pretty much all I remember.

  No. I remember that there was a man standing there. A tall man.

  Not even a second passed before he charged at me.

  And then my world went dark.

  Until now.

  I’m beginning to think that someone’s trying to fuck with my head.

  The noises outside the room don't stop. Again and again, I hear doors being slammed, footsteps shifting back and forth, the shadows breaking the light that finds its way inside the room underneath the door.

  This seems to go on forever, and my heart jolts every time I sense a motion or hear a sound from outside the room. Fear washes through me in waves, receding and rising in turns, depending on how imminent the danger from the outside world seems. My heart calms as the activity quiets down outside the room, returning to its frenetic pace as soon as there's even the slightest sign of another human close to me. I'm all alone, lonely in the dark, but whoever is out there, cannot possibly be my friend, can they?

  That's why I don't call out. That's why I remain silent, even when I hear another set of footsteps approaching, accompanied by voices for the very first time. Deep voices, male voices.

  My heart races, so fast that it makes me feel dizzy and sick with terror. Once again, I see shadows lurking in front of the door, but this time, they don't just pass on their way somewhere else.

  This time they come to a halt.

  And so does my breath.

  End of Preview

  Click here to continue with Malia’s story – always FREE in Kindle Unlimited.

  Not quite your thing? If you’re more interested in a dark billionaire romance with elements of captivity and mystery, The Puppetmaster might be something for you - just click here or skip the page for an exclusive and free sneak preview!

  Also by Linnea May

  FREEBIES

  A hot & steamy Billionaire Romance about a mysterious thriller and suspense writer and his muse.

  His Secret Muse

  Prequel to The Velvet Rooms Series

  The Velvet Rooms

  Dark Billionaire Romances

  Stories of dark seduction, twisted desires and fateful encounters.

  Petal

  The VIOLENT Series

  Silent Daughter

  The Velvet Rooms Series

  Romantic Suspense

  Fast paced stories spiced with crime and mystery

  Onyx: A Dark Romance Duet

  Tied: A Dark Possession Novel

  Billionaires & Bohemians

  Bad Boy Billionaires and their artistic counterparts.

  TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  New Adult Billionaires

  New Adult Billionaire Romances with a college twist.

  MASTER CLASS

  For my Master

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  THE PUPPETMASTER

  By Linnea May

  BLURB

  I don't just own. I make them dance.

  My name makes their hearts beat with desire and their skin tickle with sweet fear.

  They call me The Puppetmaster.

  And when I’m on the hunt, they come running—willing to serve at my feet, because no one makes my puppets dance like I do.

  But my heart almost stops when I see her name on the list.

  Alena Prey, you wreak havoc with a plan I’ve had for years, but it won’t stop me from reaching my goal — a goal that you’re destined to be a part of.

  But this is not how it was supposed to happen.

  Not now. Not like this.

  And yet it will...

  Prolog

  Raad

  She cowers on her knees in front of me like many have before—her ocean-colored eyes drenched in tears, her cheeks flushed with desire, and her body trembling with anticipation.

  I’ll never get tired of this sight.

  No one makes my puppets dance as beautifully as I do.

  No one earns their committed faith like I do.

  No one gets to see that dazzling spark in their eyes, that hot little flare that tells me more than they will ever know.

  It’s evidence of my victory—and their ruin.

  I have yet to see that fateful flicker in her eyes.

  Alena heard the rumors about me. She came here to change her life.

  A life that was marked by struggle, resistance, and frustration—a constant fight.

  The ongoing strain hardened my little puppet. It made her curl up inside an impenetrable shell. And now she wants me to break that shell.

  She thinks she knows what she’s asking for. She thinks my handling will set her free, regardless of the strings attached to cuffs around her wrist.

  Alena is strong, unyielding, and a captive of her own mind.

  But she’s starting to falter.

  She told me she’d never waver, never succumb to a man like me.

  Just like I told her that she should never mistake my attention for love. Never.

  Yet, here we are.

  A Master and his devoted puppet.

  Caught in a dance that neither one of us wants to end.

  Chapter 1

  Alena

  My boss's stubby fingers rest heavily on my thigh and it's hard not to shudder with disgust.

  Mr. Hammond is a thick-set man, his musty suit jacket stretched by a massive spare tire and his greasy hair combed to the side in a futile attempt to cover his balding top. He casts me a patronizing smile, revealing a row of yellow teeth as he speaks.

  “Alena, dear,” he says, humiliating me further by adding a condescending chuckle. “Let's stop here. Your ideas are all very nice and… cute. But we don't want to get ahead of ourselves, don't we?”

  I suck in a sharp breath of air, my fists clenching as my eyes trail to his fat hand on my thigh. Why does he think it's okay to touch me there?

  If you don't stop touching me right this second, I'm going to take that fucking hand and pin it to the table with a pen.

  The image is scarily clear inside my head as I imagine driving my fountain pen right through the back of his hand, watching the spotted skin break as the dark ink mixes with the blood gushing out. I imagine the blend of blood and ink soaking the conference table, while his agonizing screams resonate through the room and my horrified coworkers jump up and run around like headless chickens.

  Mr. Hammond notices my look, but doesn't withdraw his hand until I beckon him to do so by squirming myself out of his touch as gracefully as possible.

  His dull eyes wander around the large table, aimlessly searching for signs of approval among his dutiful minions. My department is small, only seventeen people and nearly all of them are gathered in here, seated around a lumbering table that could hold almost twice that number of attendees. This whole meeting room speaks of Mr. Hammond’s megalomania with its excessive size, the panoramic windows, and designer furniture that starkly contrasts the low-budget chairs and desks equipping our offices.

  The buttery leather that cradles my skin when I place my elbows on the armrest of the chair is soft and cool, but it doesn’t soothe me in the slightest as unbridled rage inflames every fiber of my being.

  “But, Mr. Hammond,” I begin, my voice trembling while I fight to keep it together. “As I said, this would drastically improve—”

  “Well, yeah, whatever. Alena, dear,” he cuts me off, once again belittling me with that goddamn pet name as he arches an eyebrow at me.

  I helplessly gesture to the screen at the front, where the last slide of my presentation is still displayed. “But I just showed how—”

  “Yes, and we all had fun listening to it, didn't we?” he interrupts me once again, nodding enthusiastically as his eyes journey around the table in search for affirmation. Some of my colleagues muster a suggested nod, while others resort to awkwardly shifting in their seats, clearly wishing for nothing other than to be excused from this unpleasant situation.

  “It was a good presentation, nicely done, pretty pictures and all that,” Mr. Hammond assures, meeting my furious gaze. “But it's getting late and I think we're all ready for lunch. Besides, I never said I would actually do what you propose.”

  “But why not? It's a small investment with the potential to bring great results. I ran the numbers with accounting,” I insist, pointing to the stack of paper in front of him. “We could use part of last year's surplus for this, and it would pay off in the long run for sure!”

  “Be that as it may,” Mr. Hammond says, arching an eyebrow at me. “And don't get me wrong, I admire your spirit, young lady. But some things are better left in the hands of professionals, don't you think?”

  A murmur travels through the group, followed by uncomfortable silence that weighs on the entire room like a dark cloud carrying a heavy thunderstorm.

  “Professionals?” I repeat in a shaky and hoarse voice. “I have been working in this position for three years, Mr. Hammond. I have done my research and I have talked to a lot of—”

  “Yes, yes,” he murmurs, waving me off as he once more refuses to let me finish my sentence. “No one's saying you're not trying hard, dear, but—”

  “Did you even read my proposal?” I want to know, glaring at the papers in front of him. “I put a lot of work into this, Mr. Hammond, and I did most of it in my free time. You said you'd only give me fifteen minutes for my presentation, so I had to cut some things short to squeeze it all in. But it's all written in there, and if you have read it all, then—”

  “Don't worry, I have read it,” he insists rather loudly, narrowing his eyes as he throws me an irritated look. “Or… scanned it rather. Trust me, I get the gist of it.”

  “You scanned it?” I repeat, my eyes wide with disbelief. “After I've been telling you about this for weeks and you encouraged me to go through with this proposal—you haven't even read it properly?”