Read Online The Vigilante's Lover: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (The Vigilantes Book 1) by Annie Winters, Tony West - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annie Winters, Tony West
Tags: thriller, romantic suspense, bondage, High Tech, spies, serial, romantic thriller, near future, fifty shades of grey, Cliffhanger, 007, JJ Knight, James Bond
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cold instantly. I spot a robe hanging on a hook and snatch it up, holding it in front of me. I’m shaky and mad and disappointed and disgusted with myself. Lolling around a hotel room naked like a common trollop, hoping some jerk pays attention to me.
I want to weep into the soft terrycloth, but I won’t. I’m not that Mia anymore. I’m going to get through this. I am strong.
Emma steps out of the bathroom. “You ready?”
I walk toward the garden tub, roiling with a million conflicting emotions. I’m not afraid of Jax. And I’ve given up on being shy. But I don’t know what I want. I try to imagine myself back in my aunt’s house, puttering around in solitude, and I can’t see it.
But this Jax. He’s so hard to understand. And I don’t know what he wants from me.
Or what I want from him.
13: Jax
Sometime in the morning hours, I jerk instantly awake. Every muscle tenses and prepares for battle, a skill drilled into me in my youth. I assess my surroundings to make sure nothing has changed, that there are no intruders.
Darkness blankets the hotel suite. No sounds. I flip my wrist and press a button on the knife holster, which scans for thermal shifts. Only the fireplace coals show as red. I’m alone in the room.
A thud from above lets me know this is what awakened me. I’m disgruntled that this suite is not on the top floor. Noises from above always bring me fully awake in seconds.
I switch on a lamp. The dim face of a clock reads five a.m. Might as well begin the day. Laid out on the easy chair is a suit bag, left by the two women last night. A quick peek inside confirms the contents: a clean undershirt, soft cotton boxers, socks. And a killer charcoal suit with impeccable tailoring.
Armond, you’re a godsend.
I cast my shirt and pants aside and go through my daily exercises in my boxers, still the rough prison variety left from my escape.
Sit-ups, push-ups, some simple yoga stretches, and a round of tai chi. It feels good to do them somewhere other than a concrete cell. Workout complete, I head into the bathroom by the outer door, stifling the urge to go into the bedroom.
I shower and dress in the clean suit, then brace myself to check on Mia. No telling what sort of mood she’ll be in today. When the two women left, they said she was clean and dressed and ready for me to approve her outfit, but I decided to let them make the choices. I left her alone.
Chicken, my gut tells me. But I prefer to think of it as careful. Something is happening with her that suggests different training than I would expect from her at age twenty.
Most Vigilante girls finish college before going into service, but other families place their daughters in the program in their teens. Only a few will put younger children in training, although cunning youth are very useful in certain situations.
The Vigilante life is a birthright, but you still have to choose it. When my parents informed me at age twelve of my position, I went straight into boot camp, excited by the possibilities. My older brother Arthur, however, being scientifically minded and desiring a career marked by test tubes and Bunsen burners, opted out.
It’s been a good life, even though my parents left the program when I turned thirty.
Or at least it was good, until this past year and my imprisonment.
I assess my scruffy face in the bathroom mirror. I’m not sure what Mia sees when she looks at me. Her kidnapper, no doubt. But she is such a case in opposites. Frightened, then brave. Angry, then cunning. Innocent, then seductively standing naked by a bed.
Who is this girl I have taken into my possession? I’m not sure if I should be protecting her or keeping up my own guard.
I have concerns about entering a high-security silo. There might be hostility. If they do finally arrange a tribunal to hear the facts surrounding my murder of another Vigilante, it could take days. I probably should leave the girl out of it.
But if I enter the facility, I will
I want to weep into the soft terrycloth, but I won’t. I’m not that Mia anymore. I’m going to get through this. I am strong.
Emma steps out of the bathroom. “You ready?”
I walk toward the garden tub, roiling with a million conflicting emotions. I’m not afraid of Jax. And I’ve given up on being shy. But I don’t know what I want. I try to imagine myself back in my aunt’s house, puttering around in solitude, and I can’t see it.
But this Jax. He’s so hard to understand. And I don’t know what he wants from me.
Or what I want from him.
13: Jax
Sometime in the morning hours, I jerk instantly awake. Every muscle tenses and prepares for battle, a skill drilled into me in my youth. I assess my surroundings to make sure nothing has changed, that there are no intruders.
Darkness blankets the hotel suite. No sounds. I flip my wrist and press a button on the knife holster, which scans for thermal shifts. Only the fireplace coals show as red. I’m alone in the room.
A thud from above lets me know this is what awakened me. I’m disgruntled that this suite is not on the top floor. Noises from above always bring me fully awake in seconds.
I switch on a lamp. The dim face of a clock reads five a.m. Might as well begin the day. Laid out on the easy chair is a suit bag, left by the two women last night. A quick peek inside confirms the contents: a clean undershirt, soft cotton boxers, socks. And a killer charcoal suit with impeccable tailoring.
Armond, you’re a godsend.
I cast my shirt and pants aside and go through my daily exercises in my boxers, still the rough prison variety left from my escape.
Sit-ups, push-ups, some simple yoga stretches, and a round of tai chi. It feels good to do them somewhere other than a concrete cell. Workout complete, I head into the bathroom by the outer door, stifling the urge to go into the bedroom.
I shower and dress in the clean suit, then brace myself to check on Mia. No telling what sort of mood she’ll be in today. When the two women left, they said she was clean and dressed and ready for me to approve her outfit, but I decided to let them make the choices. I left her alone.
Chicken, my gut tells me. But I prefer to think of it as careful. Something is happening with her that suggests different training than I would expect from her at age twenty.
Most Vigilante girls finish college before going into service, but other families place their daughters in the program in their teens. Only a few will put younger children in training, although cunning youth are very useful in certain situations.
The Vigilante life is a birthright, but you still have to choose it. When my parents informed me at age twelve of my position, I went straight into boot camp, excited by the possibilities. My older brother Arthur, however, being scientifically minded and desiring a career marked by test tubes and Bunsen burners, opted out.
It’s been a good life, even though my parents left the program when I turned thirty.
Or at least it was good, until this past year and my imprisonment.
I assess my scruffy face in the bathroom mirror. I’m not sure what Mia sees when she looks at me. Her kidnapper, no doubt. But she is such a case in opposites. Frightened, then brave. Angry, then cunning. Innocent, then seductively standing naked by a bed.
Who is this girl I have taken into my possession? I’m not sure if I should be protecting her or keeping up my own guard.
I have concerns about entering a high-security silo. There might be hostility. If they do finally arrange a tribunal to hear the facts surrounding my murder of another Vigilante, it could take days. I probably should leave the girl out of it.
But if I enter the facility, I will
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