Captive (The Phantom Series Book 1) Read online

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Epilogue

  Captive

  Jenny Lynn

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Jenny Lynn

  It is often in the darkest skies

  that we see the brightest stars.

  - Richard Evans

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  Prologue

  Beckett

  It’s late, well past midnight, but still loud and garishly bright. It’s always too bright here, neon lights and colors screaming for attention. Harsh noises swirling together so strong you can’t hear your own thoughts. The people are no more real to me than the artificial wasteland that is Las Vegas. I slip past groups who are laughing, tumbling against each other in their intoxicated states on the sidewalks or spilling out of bars. They’re clearly celebrating and they disgust me. Their happiness makes something thick and dark rise up inside me, but I can’t let it take over. Not now. Not when I’m supposed to be passing for normal.

  I’m only two blocks away when a drunken idiot slams into my shoulder while he’s passing with his pack of friends. He spins on his feet and shouts at me, some kind of warning. I keep walking. I’m not looking for a fight, not tonight at least. But he is drunk on cheap liquor and testosterone, a dangerous combination. As his friends shout words of encouragement he comes after me and grabs my arm.

  I turn, slowly, and glance at his hand where he dared to touch me. He looks like he’s in his mid-thirties, old enough to know better than to pick a fight with a stranger. He’s overconfident, cocky, with his friends behind him egging him on. He doesn’t know that he made a big mistake yet, but when I swiftly grab and twist his arm in its socket until his face turns white and he drops to his knees, mouth falling open in a scream, then he realizes I’m not a man to be fucked with. His friends run forward to intervene but the look I give them they freeze in their tracks. People can sense it in each other, just like animals. Their instincts warn them that I’m dangerous.

  My point made, I let go of their friend’s arm and kick him away from me where he cradles his injured limb, then continue on to my destination at an unhurried pace while they circle and help him to his feet. They go their way, I go mine. A group of three women saw the entire thing unfold, then watch me and smile, whispering together. One of them, a redhead in a short dress, pushes her hair to the side and winks at me. I give her voluptuous body a sideways glance then keep walking. Any other night I might have taken her back to my sprawling penthouse, ripped that flimsy excuse of a dress from her body then fucked her brains out before showing her the door. But not tonight. I’m not even remotely in the mood.

  It’s just around the corner now. This is my tradition. Every year, without fail, on this date I come to Woodlawn Cemetery. Through the gates I walk down the path I know by heart, the path I could walk with my eyes closed. The path I’ve walked every year for twenty years now. This place is so still and quiet, as if the cloak of death is so heavy it pushes out any sign of life. An anomaly in this wild city. I make my way past the cold stone tombstones in varying sizes and shapes; some are neglected and ignored, others have bouquets of fresh flowers and framed pictures against them. I always come empty-handed. Nothing I could give them would matter now, they’re dead.

  I stop and stand in front of the towering structure; the Carter family crypt. Tall white stone with an arched roof, two tall columns and a couple of carved urns outside the wrought iron door. My grandparents are buried here, my parents are buried here. There’s a space for me too, when my time comes. I’m the last of our family, and I have no intention of continuing our cursed bloodline. Taking my key I open the door and walk inside the small space, walk to the wall where their names are carved. Where their bones lay, just on the other side. I place my hand against the stone, running my fingers along the smooth marble. Visiting each year on this day reminds me that I once had people who loved me. It reminds me what was stolen from me, and why I do what I do now.

  After I’ve stayed for a while I walk out of the cemetery leaving the dead behind, rejoining the living. There is always a second part to this yearly walk that I take, to the place that changed everything in an instant. I head down busy streets, past bars and casinos, until I find the alley. It looks like any other dank alley, with a scuffed up metal side door past a rusted dumpster. There’s no plaque, no flowers. Most people would never know what happened here, but I do. Sometimes I wish I could forget, but I still wake up screaming from nightmares and know I probably always will.

  I kneel and touch the gritty pavement beneath me, remembering that night. I was so confused, so scared. Dad was telling them to stop, pleading with those men not to hurt his family. Mom was telling me through tears to close my eyes. I did, I shut them tight, a sobbing and trembling eight year old unaware that his entire life was about to change. Two gunshots, so loud my ears were ringing for hours afterwards. When I opened my eyes, the men glared at me, then ran away. My parents were lying on the ground, their blood pooling around them looking black in the night. There was nothing anyone could do, they were gone long before the paramedics arrived. Long before they took me away from their bodies crying hysterically.

  I don’t cry tonight. I’m far past that now, but the pain is still there like a dull ache. And beneath that, the simmering coals of my anger. Vengeance. Hatred. I place my hand against the ground on the spot their hearts stopped beating, shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath. Another year, yet this city is still oozing with filth and criminals. I still have work to do. Mother, father, I promised you I would clean up this city. I promised I would punish those responsible for taking you from me. Every night, I patrol these streets in the shadows. Every night I remove criminal garbage from the city. Some people call me a hero. The police call me a dangerous vigilante. Criminals call me the Phantom, and they know I’m coming for them.

  Chapter One

  Ella

  It’s not that bad. Really, barely noticeable. I kept saying it over and over in my head, trying to convince myself. If I believed it, maybe it would be true. Standing in front of the mirror, fluorescent lights washing out my skin, I layered the concealer on thick from the tube. Next I dabbed on foundation that was a shade lighter than my skin color, finally setting everything with a bit of powder. Each time I pressed against the bruise I flinched, it was still tender. When I stood back and looked at my reflection in the mirror to check my work, I felt deflated. It was no use. I could still see the dark outline of my black eye, and if I could see it that meant he was definitely going to notice. Glancing at the clock, I had no more time to stall. I had to get to work or I was going to be late.

  “Shit.”

  I threw my makeup bag into my purse, then zipped it shut.
I took my hair out of the ponytail, running my fingers through then pulling it around my face to hopefully distract from my bruised skin. In the next room I picked up my laptop and notebook and shoved them into my bag.

  Where was my blouse? I looked around my bed and found it hanging by the open window where a draft was making the fabric dance around. I slipped it on over my camisole, smoothing the fabric. I opened my fridge, scanning the mainly empty shelves with a few condiments and takeout containers. I didn’t have the healthiest eating habits. I reached towards the back and grabbed a lonely apple hiding behind a jar of mustard. I gripped it between my teeth, slipped my purse over my shoulder, then locked the door behind me. Not that there was anything worth stealing in my crappy one room rental other than my laptop. That and my dignity, but who was I kidding. I gave that up a long time ago.

  I walked quickly to my stop, biting into my apple, and waited with the other residents of sin city; a few casino employees in uniform, a big man in a suit I figured must be security of some kind and three housekeepers chatting amongst themselves in Spanish. It’s easy with so many tourists passing through to forget that many of us call this place home. We were all in this together, making a life for ourselves in this desert. The sun was rising higher in the sky, beating down and baking everything below. In a few hours it would be scorching hot.

  I stepped onto transit, paid my fare, then squeezed towards the back where I was lucky enough to find a seat. I pulled out my notepad, going over my notes and mentally preparing myself for the morning meeting with my editor. I covered the crime beat, and in a city like Vegas I was kept consistently busy. I went farther than any other reporter, getting as close as I could to uncover secrets from the seedy underside of the city’s criminals. My name was known, and if you made a profit off illegal activity, chances were you didn’t like me very much.

  I finished my apple, wrapped the core in a tissue from my bag and as I hopped off at my stop I tossed it into the trash. I shook my head at the litter on the street, left for someone else to pick up. Some people treated this world like theirs to use and abuse, no consequences. It really bothered me, but I believed in karma and a part of me thinks we all get what we have coming in the end. Checking my watch I jogged up the steps and into the building where the Las Vegas Review-Journal was located, breezing past security and walking down the halls to the main boardroom. I cracked the door open as quietly as I could and took a seat, the morning meeting had already started. Pulling out my notepad and pen I faced forward, showing that I was ready and eager to listen.

  “You made it,” Seth leaned over and whispered.

  “Just barely,” I replied under my breath. “How’s the mood today?”

  “Harry is being, well, Harry,” Seth smiled.

  Seth covered sports, which in Vegas was a big deal. A lot of money was made and lost betting on the performances of professional athletes. We both had a dark sense of humor, had both moved here from small midwest towns. I was a loner by nature, but Seth was one of my few friends. One of the few people I could confide in. Lately, I was starting to get the impression he wanted more but I tried to convince myself I was overthinking it.

  “Who did you piss off?” Seth said quietly, glancing at me then back at Harry who was pacing the front of the room writing notes on the whiteboard. When Harry went off on a rant, he barely noticed anything else. Numbers were down at the paper and he was feeling the pressure, jotting down assignments. Every time he turned to write on the board, lifting his arm to screech the marker across the surface, I noticed the start of a wet stain spreading from his armpit. Seth continued to watch me, waiting for an answer.

  “Oh this? It’s nothing,” I brushed him off. “I’m just clumsy.”

  “You’re a shitty liar Ella. You better think of a better excuse if Harry asks you, which he probably will.”

  My stomach dropped. My makeup job hadn’t been good enough to hide it. Damn.

  “You’ve all got your assignments,” Harry finally barked from the front of the room. “That’s all for now.”

  The room full of reporters gathered their things and stood up, moving together for the door like a school of fish. I was joining them, walking beside Seth when Harry called after me.

  “Ella, stay back a minute. I need to talk to you.”

  Seth mouthed good luck to me then left with the crowd. I took a deep breath, plastered on a smile and turned to face Harry.

  “What’s up Harry?”

  He moved his bulky body closer to me and squinted, then pointed.

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “Oh, this?” I shrugged. “It’s nothing. I tripped on the stairs at my building, hit my eye on the way down.”

  He crossed his arms and looked unconvinced. The tip of the red marker was dangerously close to his sleeve, millimeters from staining the cream colored fabric.

  “Really, Ella? This didn’t happen instead when you were investigating the prostitution ring story you wanted to work on? The one I’m betting your notepad is full of details on?”

  I bit my lip and looked at my feet. I had a terrible poker face, one of the many reasons I didn’t gamble. Harry sighed, the way he always did when I did something he disagreed with.

  “Ella, you can’t keep putting yourself in dangerous situations like this. Today it’s a black eye, tomorrow? It could be worse. I don’t want to turn on the news one day and hear that my best crime reporter has been found murdered.”

  “If I didn’t take these risks, I wouldn’t be your best crime reporter now would I?” I smiled, tapping my notebook. “And it was worth it. I got something good.”

  “You want to get me something good? Get me that interview about the big Carter Foundation donation to the LVPD I assigned you. I want to file that story today. Or better yet, get me an article about the Phantom. Did you hear he busted a drug dealer, broke his arm, then left him handcuffed outside the police station? The public loves him. He’s mysterious and he’s getting the bad guys.”

  “He’s breaking the law,” I corrected. “An eye for an eye isn’t the kind of justice we should be celebrating.”

  Harry sighed. “I worry about you Ella, you work too hard. You should go out, see a show or something. You’re young, go have some fun.”

  “Working is fun for me.”

  Harry raised his finger. “Be more careful next time Ella, I mean it. You get hurt again and I’m pulling you off crime. I’ll stick you in fashion or events, somewhere you can’t get yourself in trouble.”

  “I’ll be careful, I promise.” I crossed my heart for emphasis. Harry nodded, unconvinced, gave a grunt and turned back to the whiteboard looking over his notes. It was my signal to leave. I walked out of the boardroom, Seth was waiting for me outside leaning against the wall.

  “On a scale of one to fired, how much trouble are you in?”

  I kept walking towards the kitchen to make coffee, I had a late night and really needed a jolt of caffeine. Seth followed. “He let me off with a warning, again.”

  “You’re really collecting those at this point. So,” he pointed at my eye. “What really happened?”

  I waited for my colleague Jackie from the news section to leave the kitchen and when we were alone I poured myself a mug of coffee, adding in lots of cream and sugar to hide the bitter taste. I drank coffee for its effects, not for its flavor. I stirred, not looking Seth in the eyes. I always told him the truth eventually.

  “I was investigating that prostitution ring story, undercover. I was posing as a working girl looking to join them, they brought me in to meet with me. I was getting the access I needed for my story, but then one of the security guys recognized me as a reporter. They weren’t happy. I was thrown out with a warning - this,” I pointed to my eye. “Was my warning.”

  “Jesus,” Seth ran his hands over his face. “You’re lucky that was all they did. Why can’t you just cover stories based on police reports, like a normal reporter?”

  “Because that’s not a story,
that’s just repeating information we already have. I wouldn’t be uncovering anything new. I can do this, I should have worn a disguise. They won’t recognize me next time I-”

  Seth’s expression grew serious, his eyebrows pulling together and his eyes narrowing at me. I snapped my mouth shut.

  “You’re going back?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed. “I have to, I’m so close. This is connected to the Venetti family, they have branched into prostitution and not all of those girls are there by choice. I saw one with a full cast on her leg before I was thrown out. If I can expose this, I can help them.”

  Seth reached forward and squeezed my arm. He pulled me to the side, out of view of the newsroom, and kept his voice low.

  “Ella, she’s gone. You’re not going to find your sister this way, I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged out of his grip.

  “That’s not what this is about. Anyways, I need to get back to work.”

  I left him in the kitchen, not giving him time to say another word, and made my way to my cluttered desk covered in articles and police reports. Yellow post-its dotted every surface with my notes, clues and connections. Pieces of a puzzle that made crime in this city tick. Everything was connected by a thin thread, I was positive that I would see it if I looked closely enough.

  Seth wasn’t wrong. The truth was, this was about Dana. Every crime scene, every interview, every source I spoke with. Maybe I would uncover a piece of the puzzle and find my missing sister. It’s been five years, but she could still be out there waiting. Hoping that someone would find her. And if I had to put myself in danger to uncover the trail that might lead to the only family I had left in the world, it was worth the risk.

  Chapter Two

  Beckett

  I hit the bag again and again, my fists connecting against the firm leather with force and determination. Sweat was dripping off my body, I swung my leg up in an arch then hit the target. The bag swung heavily on its chain. My blood was surging through my veins, my heart pumping rapidly, my muscles pulled tight. I always started my day in the gym, moving right from sleep to physical exertion. It made me feel awake, alive, while also keeping my body fit for all the things I needed it to be able to do.