Dark Romance Books | Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

Book 2 of the dark bad boy romance series BWWM Captive Series, makes an impact on interracial romance readers who love romantic stories and couldn't wait for the launch of one of our best contemporary romance novels. Ex Con's Captive is everything we have been waiting for after Book 1, SEAL's Captive... 

This book follows the story of the second Jackson sister, Tyra Jackson. Unlike her sister, Gigi, Tyra has had a tougher life than most. She's used her loud-mouth and her spitfire temper to shield her from all the hurt she's been exposed to in life. Her father's death leaves her an heiress but it's not a status she's comfortable with at all.

Tyra can be impulsive, which makes for an explosive dynamic between her and her captor, Leon Wilkins. The chemistry between the two is instant and volatile, with the contrast between Tyra's outspoken ways and Leon's reserved stoicism. Set far away from life in America, Ex Con's Captive will take this African American beauty all over Eastern Africa, from Nairobi to Kampala, and even through Tanzania. Get relaxed to read the FREE sample of this steamy hot August 2018 interracial romance release from bestselling Author, Jamila Jasper.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

TYRA JACKSON

Goodbye to Gigi wasn’t easy. I’d only just grown accustomed to having a sister and saying goodbye so soon had never been a part of my plan. She zoomed off in a taxi and left me standing next to Dinah.

“Think she’ll be okay?” I asked.

“Of course,” Dinah smiled, “Of course she’ll be okay. “

“I dunno. She’s taking it hard…”

Dinah smirked, “Listen, I’ve got people looking after her.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“People? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t have to worry.”

I didn’t get along with Dinah as well as I got along with Gigi. I found her standoffish and she spoke as if she knew everything. If she knew so damn much, why didn’t she just tell us instead of being so cryptic and speaking in code?

“C’mon,” Dinah said, “Let’s head inside. We still have guests.”

“Right…”

We walked back inside when one of Dinah’s staff approached her with a worried look on her face. She touched Dinah’s arm and whispered into her ear. Dinah’s expression twisted with worry and she thanked her housekeeper before returning to my side.

“Bad news.”

“How bad?”

I worried about my mama back in California. She’d never been without me for this long and with my younger brothers (half-brothers) off on their tour of duty, she needed me now more than ever.

Yup, my mama had more kids when I was sixteen years old and my brothers were just old enough to pick up guns and serve their country. 

“There’s a storm. We’ve just had word a hurricane is going to hit tomorrow.” 

“In Costa Rica?”

“Off the coast. It’s unusual but… not impossible.”

“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow morning!”

“Sorry Tyra. You’re welcome to stay here the night.”

I had no desire to stay in Dinah’s cold, Costa Rican mansion any longer than I had to. I was never close to my father and if I had to be honest, I came to collect my inheritance and meet my sisters, who I’d met only a handful of times during my life. The mansion had no life to it. The large beams and open spaces with their operatic acoustics only felt empty to me. 

Despite the tropical heat, the humid atmosphere within the concrete megalith chilled me to the bone. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and returned past the manicured palm trees and bougainvillea gardens to the guests. My father’s associates all imbued me with a sense of deep discomfort. When one man grabbed my hand, my palm shivered with the panic a woodland creature feels before being squeezed by an anaconda.

I stuck to Dinah’s side the rest of the evening. I could sense her growing frustration with me, but I couldn’t bear to mill about with the black-suited dementors whose soul-sucking interest in wealth alone was practically palpable to me. I reached for my phone, hoping to steal away for a few minutes to call my mother. No bars. Right — the hurricane.

Dinah had attempted an escape, but I spotted her across the room talking to a short, latino man, one of the ones who had spoken at the funeral. He had a scar across his eye and chilling anthracite eyes. 

“Tyra, have you met Luciano?”

The name rang a bell. He’d spoken and given one of my father Jerome’s eulogies.

“Ah, I don’t believe so.”

He reached out his hand, licking his lips before greeting me.

“Beautiful Tyra. I remember your mother.”

He winked. 

“Oh, thanks. Hi.”

“I’m Luciano. I’m leaving. I must get out of here before the storm hits.”

His thick accent belied his perfect diction.

“Safe drive,” I replied.

He chuckled, “I doubt it.”

He hugged Dinah and we watched him leave together. 

“Scary, isn’t he?” Dinah whispered.

“You could say so.”

“Harmless. I’ve known him since I was a child.”

I didn’t think growing up in this environment, Dinah had any clue what safety meant, but I didn’t question her. Drinking and partying continued until the wee hours of the morning. Dinah and I were the last to retire, except for the wait staff who now had the funeral of a century to clean up after. 

Dinah yawned as we ascended the marble staircase.

“Daddy would have hated this,” she mused.

“I guess.”

I didn’t know our father well enough to say otherwise.

“I’ve arranged a private company to take you to the airport tomorrow. You won’t miss your flight.”

“What about the storm?”

“They say it’s swung north. We’re safe.”

“Thank goodness.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief and caught another yawn from Dinah.

“Sleep tight. I’ll send Ana up in the morning to take your breakfast order.”

“Thanks, Sis.”

“Sorry, we didn’t get to hang out much this time.”

“Next time.”

I doubted there would be a "next time". Since we’d grown, “next time” never materialized the way it had when we were younger. 

Dinah went to bed, leaving me in my suite. I wandered around with my phone for a while, flipping my braids out of my face as I pressed it against the window.

Nothing. Nothing. I shuffled to the left. Nothing. I shuffled to the right. Ah! Yes!

One bar.

I called my mama’s number, feasting on the melody of the warbled dial tone.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Mama, it’s me? Can’t you see the number?”

“Ain’t it late?”

“Sort of.”

“Girl you done woke me up.”

“Sorry. There was a storm…”

“Hope…y-….safe…”

The line crackled.

“Mama what?”

“I hope you’re staying safe.”

“Yes. I’m gonna make my flight tomorrow. Signal’s really bad so I won’t call most likely.”

“Okay. I’ll be at the airport with Steven.”

My mama had been trying to force her new boyfriend Steven down my throat for the past eight months and it wasn’t going well.

“Steven? Why?” I huffed.

“He’s my man. Maybe if you had a man, you wouldn’t be worried about my man,” my mom started.

I rolled my eyes and ignored her as she trailed off into a rant about how I needed to get laid more so I would stop getting all “up in her business”. 

“I just don’t like Steven!” I interrupted.

“Uh huh? You just have a problem with an old lady like me getting busy six nights a week.”

“Mama gross!” I yelled.

“Well it’s true,” she mumbled.

Hoping to spare myself any more disturbing details about my mother’s sex life, I made an excuse and hung up the phone. My mama had been a famous super-model in London, parlaying her olive green eyes and tanned skin into an international career. She’d been in magazines, met the Versace siblings and partied until addiction yanked everything underneath her and sent her spiraling towards rock bottom.

Money corrupts. She’d ended up with a baby — me — a few leaked porn tapes that had excluded her from high society in Los Angeles, and a ten year battle with cocaine and heroin that had only ended once she got pregnant with me. She’d raised me well, but there were times she couldn’t shake the wild child inside of her off. Without me to look after her, I didn’t think she’d make it.

I needed to get back. Steven, her new man, was a former pimp. I suspected he hadn’t left the pimping behind and I needed to get back to her so I could use my inheritance to find proof of who Steven was and chase him away from my mama. She deserved better.

I stayed awake all night thinking about my mama, Steven, and my now deceased father. Jerome had never been a good man to her. My sisters didn’t know it, but he’d paid good money for the night he spent with my mother. He’d only cared about her once the baby was born. Up until he got a paternity test to prove I was his, he’d spent every moment denying me and calling my mama a dirty hooker when he was the one who had paid for her.

You could see why I didn’t tell my sisters… 

My mama got on my case for not getting laid but I would have stayed celibate for my whole life if it meant not ending up with a man like my daddy. 

My eyes burned in the morning. A knock slammed against my door. I slid out of bed and ordered a simple breakfast — local Costa Rican bread, avocado, scrambled eggs, fresh mango slices and sparkling water. While Dinah’s housekeeper prepared breakfast, I showered and prepared for my flight.

The tropical weather messed up my braids and I knew my mama would comment on my hair the moment I landed in Los Angeles. I took a quick shower, tied my braids up into a tight high bun and wrapped a silk scarf around my forehead to hide my less than perfect edges.

I couldn’t wait to get back to LA where I could wear makeup every day without melting it off. Not even my acrylics survived the weather and the French manicure on my toes were my only ties to good looks that remained. 

Breakfast came to me on white platters and I ate in bed. After thirty minutes, the housekeeper entered my room and informed me that Dinah hadn’t slept well and she wouldn’t be getting out of bed to say goodbye.

“Are you sure I can’t sneak in there?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “Dinah is sleeping.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Your driver is downstairs,” she said.

“So soon?”

“Yes. You leave early.”

“Oh… Okay.”

Discomfort knotted my stomach. 

“Can I at least leave her a note?” I asked.

“No,” the housekeeper replied firmly.

“Oh…”

“Come on,” she smiled, sensing my discomfort, “Let’s go.”

I followed her, tugging my suitcase behind me and deciding whether or not I should make a break for it and say goodbye to Dinah anyway. I decided against bothering her. I didn’t feel we were close enough to justify it. 

I followed Dinah’s dark-haired housekeeper outside to the black car with tinted windows that awaited.

“This is it?”

“Sí.”

The driver got out of the car and approached the housekeeper with an envelope. She took it and scurried off. I squinted in the sunlight trying to get a good look at him. The rays blinded me enough that I couldn’t quite see his face. He was pale, freckled and wore thick sunglasses that obscured much of his face.

He didn’t smile.

He opened the front door for me rather than the back. This wasn’t the custom in America, but figuring it was just cultural, I entered the car. He sternly got into the front seat and I tried to work my best Spanish on him.

“Buenos días.”

It’s impossible to live in LA without picking up a little bit of Spanish. 

“Buenos días,” he replied in a thick Costa Rican accent.

His voice surprised me as his skin tone was one usually found amongst foreigners or expatriates. However, his accent sounded natural, like he’d been raised in the jungle.

As we drove out of the driveway, a thicket of trees clamored together overhead. He reached for a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth, gripping the steering wheel loosely as we drove.

“Where are we headed?”

He didn’t reply.

“Hablas inglés?”

“No.”

“Cómo te llamas?” 

“Leon.”

“Eso es francés, no?”

“Si.”

Not much of a talker, I presumed. Too bad. I had been nervous among my father’s contemporaries but I usually charmed the pants off most people in the real world (not the wealthy world). I’d talk to cab drivers, janitors, and I knew the homeless people on my block like we were family. 

Maybe now, I could do something for them, I thought to myself.

I leaned back in the seat, resigning myself to a three-hour early morning drive without a lick of conversation. When we hit the highway, Leon started to speed. The roads wound around and after a few minutes, when I caught hold of my stomach again, I noticed we weren’t getting deeper into the city, but further away from it.

My heart sank. I hadn’t thought much about the envelope exchanged between Leon and Dinah’s housekeeper. The incident flashed into my mind with worry. Oh hell no… 

I’d watched hundreds of hours of newsreels about women being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. In that instant, that was all that flashed into my mind: being sold as a piece of meat for some sicko who would make me regret the rest of my living days.

I went ballistic.

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!” I shrieked.

“Señora, en español?”

“En fuckin’ español? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME. DONDE?”

“Señora, calmate!”

“CALM DOWN, ANSWER THE QUESTION NOW! DONDE?”

“Señora, cálmate!” He growled.

Oh, he wanted to get angry? I did what any rational person wouldn’t do. I reached over, grabbing the steering wheel and swerved the car off the road, dragging the wheel to the left and screaming as the car went flying off the edge of the road.

Phew! This story is already getting crazy. Are you ready to continue reading it right away? I won't hold you up. 

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