Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Roselia closed her eyes and tried to think about nothing but breathing and trying to calm her mind. It was racing in a million directions. Was she safer now? It was hard to imagine. Had her Master woken up to the noises they'd made downstairs? What would he do when he found her missing?

When the car stopped, Roselia lifted her gaze and then stiffened with surprise. "We're at my apartment building?"

"Yes. I hate the thought of leaving you in this car for even a moment, but I want to run inside and grab some of your clothes and your purse. Will you be okay while I'm gone?" As he spoke, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

She stared at him. "Surely, the landlord threw away my stuff and got a new tenant by now. And I don't have a key."

"Lift your arms, sweetheart."

When she realized his intention, she let go of the sheet, lifted her arms, and let him pull his giant hoodie over her head. It was warm and smelled like him. She was able to lift her hips and tug it under her butt, though she couldn't do so without wincing.

His brow was furrowed. "I'll take a look at those welts as soon as we get home." He held her chin. "Rose, I've been paying your rent. I fixed the lock. I have the keys."

She blinked. "You paid my rent?" Why?

"While you were gone, half the nights, I also stayed here, hoping you'd show up."

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears. She couldn't wrap her head around this fact. She hadn't even been certain he would remember who she was, and all this time, he'd been waiting for her?

She wanted to thank him, but she was in shock and trembling.

"Will you be okay for ten minutes?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to leave the SUV running and the heat on. Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone."

She nodded.

"I'll be back as fast as possible, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead, opened the door, and jumped down. "Lock it, Rose."

As soon as he shut the door, she reached over and locked the car. He didn't move until she did so. She watched him run toward her building, but as soon as he disappeared inside, she panicked.

Looking around, horrible thoughts filled her head. Had they been followed? Would someone approach the car? What about a carjacker? Shaking like crazy, she slid down onto the floor under the glove compartment and curled into a tight ball, holding her knees to her chest. She was chattering even with the sweatshirt and the heat on. She didn't think she'd ever be warm again in her life.

She started counting to distract herself. One, two, three, four … She focused on the numbers as she whispered them. It was impossible not to wonder about Marco, though. She was totally stunned by the fact that he'd paid her rent and rescued her. The man had a lot of talents. He'd picked the lock. He'd known how to cover the prongs in her shock collar. She'd always thought he was an accountant or something.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the window, and she nearly peed herself. She tipped her head back to see Marco at the door.

After scrambling up from the floorboard, she climbed back onto the seat and leaned over to unlock the car.

Marco tossed several bags behind the seat, got in, and shut the door. He grabbed her face. "I nearly died when I didn't see you through the windshield."

"Sorry, I…"

He kissed her forehead again and pulled her close. "It's okay. I understand." He rocked her for a minute and then released her. "Can you put your seatbelt on this time, sweetheart?"

She reached for it and tugged it across her body as he pulled out of the parking lot. It felt like she was too far away from him, but the belt kept her firmly in her own bucket seat. She sat on her hands to keep from fidgeting, but every time she moved, she was aware of the welts—so she stopped moving.

"Ten minutes, Rose. Hold on for me. Then we'll be home."

It was odd how he said home as if his place was hers. She'd never even been to his place. Finally, he parallel-parked next to a row of townhouses. He turned off the engine, jumped out of the car, and jogged to her side.

She hadn't moved. She was frozen and in shock.

He opened her door, unfastened her seatbelt, and lifted her gently into his arms.

A hiss escaped her lips as he cradled her. Every welt was on fire.

"So sorry. Hold on for me, Rose." He rushed toward the door, unlocked it, and carried her inside, where he stood her on her feet. "Let me grab your stuff."

She stood there, watching as he ran back to the car, grabbed all the bags, and then kicked the door shut and returned to her. A second later, bags landed on the floor all around them, and he locked the door in three places.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "Let's work on that fucking collar first." He gently took her hand and led her through the living room and into the kitchen. She noticed his furnishings were sparse, the bare necessities. Couch, chair, television on a stand, end table. The kitchen was attached and just as bare. Table, four chairs. Not much was on the counter. There were no decorations, nor were there any personal items like pictures or knickknacks.

"Would you rather stand or sit, sweetheart?"

She licked her lips. "Stand," she whispered. Sitting hurt. Her legs were shaking and bare. She'd left the sheet in the car.

He yanked open a deep drawer. It looked like it was filled with tools. Not kitchen utensils. He immediately grabbed a black box, set it on the counter, and opened it. Seconds later, he pulled out something that looked like a pick.

He stepped closer to her. "Can you tip your head to the side?"

She did as he requested, praying he could get this fucking thing off her neck. He'd managed to pick the lock on the back door of the house. Could he also pick this kind of lock?

"Good. It's a simple padlock," he commented. "I could pick this blindfolded." He stuck his tool in it, tinkered for a few seconds, and the damn thing popped free. Marco wasted no time unfastening the collar and lifting it away from her neck.

Roselia gasped as she reached up and rubbed her neck with both hands. She'd never been so relieved in her life. She started sobbing and couldn't stop. It had been so long since she'd been able to truly cry freely without being punished for her weakness.

A fleeting embarrassment consumed her at her burst of emotion in front of this man she barely knew, but she didn't have the energy to stop the tears. Besides, Marco gently pulled her into his arms and held her close. He buried his face in her hair. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're safe. Let it out."

She sobbed for so long, and her legs wouldn't hold her up. Marco carefully lifted her into his arms again, rocked her against his chest, and carried her out of the room.

She was vaguely aware of him climbing stairs, but the tears kept falling. Months of pain and fear and anguish. Months of sorrow and torture. Hopelessness.

She clung to him.

And he held her.

He whispered kind words over and over. Most of them she didn't catch between the sobs, but it didn't matter. She heard the tone. Someone cared.

He held her like a baby, rocking her as he paced around the dimly lit space in what she assumed was his bedroom. The only light came from a lamp on the nightstand.

When she finally managed to control her sobs and bring them down to sniffles, she was limp with exhaustion. Months of stress and tension had taken a toll on her body.

Marco carried her into the attached bath and flipped on the lights. "Can I stand you up, sweetheart?"

She sniffled and nodded.

He sat on the toilet seat, stood her in front of him, held her hip with one hand, and reached over to turn the water on in the tub with the other. He met her gaze next. With him sitting and her standing, they were eye to eye. "How about you soak in the tub for a bit? It will warm you up, and then I want to look at those welts and put medicine on them."

She glanced at the tub. She hadn't had a bath in eight months. "Okay," she murmured. "It might hurt."

"I won't make it too hot. It'll be warm enough to stop your shivering but not so hot that it hurts." He grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt. "Can I take this off, sweetheart?"

She drew in a breath and nodded. Her ability to remain modest was out of whack. Who cared if he saw her naked? Half the planet had. She lifted her arms and winced as he carefully lifted the hoodie over her head.

She watched his face. His jaw was tight as he looked closely at her breasts and then turned her to look at her back. "It doesn't look like the skin was broken."

"He didn't like blood," she murmured.

He drew in a breath. Could breathing be angry? His was.

Holding her hip, he trailed a finger along what she assumed was the faint line from the last time he'd caned her a week ago. "When was this one?"

"Last week, Sir." The respectful address slid out of her mouth by habit.

Marco turned her around to face him again. He held her biceps and set his forehead against hers. He looked like he wanted to say something or punch something, but he simply held her gaze.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "It's been pounded into me."

"I know, sweetheart. I'm trying to control my anger. You don't need that from me. Please know that you will see me frustrated, cussing, furious, and possibly breaking things. It will never be directed at you. I'm pissed with the situation. I'm so angry I can't see straight. It is not your fault."

She gave a slight nod.

"Just so we're clear. I'm familiar with BDSM and fetish practices. Many moons ago, I used to belong to a club. In another life, maybe I could have been someone's Sir. But I will never be your Sir." He slid his hands to cup her cheeks. "My name is also not Marco. It's Stefano."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

He nodded. "I'll explain it to you someday, but I'd love it if you thought of me as Stefano."

"Stefano…" She rolled that around in her mind. She'd known him for nearly four years. He was Marco to her.

He smiled. "That sounds so damn nice." He shifted his attention to the tub and turned off the water. "Step in, sweetheart. I don't like how cold you are."

She took his offered hand and climbed into the tub before remembering her hair was hanging long all around her. "Can you pin my hair up somehow?"

He had a hand on her hip. "I grabbed a bunch of stuff from your bathroom. How about a scrunchie?"

"Perfect."

"Will you be okay for a minute?" He looked concerned.

She shook her head. "No. I'll hold it up and sit down." Her legs could barely support her weight as she lowered to sit in the water, holding her hair up.

"I'll be right back." He rushed from the room and returned a few seconds later with one of the bags he'd brought from her apartment. She recognized the duffle and nearly cried again. The thought that her belongings still existed in the world overwhelmed her. She hadn't owned much, but some of her things were special. The idea that she might have lost all the pictures of her mother had bothered her tremendously.

Marco…Stefano—that would take some getting used to—dug around in the bag and held up a pink scrunchie victoriously. He stepped closer to her back, took the hair from her, gathered it up, and secured it.

The way he took care not to pull her hair was so intimate. Plus, she was naked. He'd never seen her naked. She couldn't find the will to care. When he was done, she leaned back. The water was full enough to cover her up to her neck, and it felt like heaven. She rested her head on the back of the tub and moaned.

She glanced down at her nipples where the water lapped over them. "I used to be so modest," she murmured.

He sat on the edge of the tub, took one of her hands, and held it, stroking her knuckles. "It's okay, sweetheart."

She chuckled, the sound foreign to her. "It's super weird. I hardly know you, and yet you remembered who I was, and you risked your life to come get me, and now, I'm lying here naked. And all I can think of to do is to thank you."

He leaned closer, lifted her knuckles to his lips, and kissed them. "I've looked for you every single day since you disappeared. I went to your apartment and sat outside waiting for you to come home for two nights when you didn't show up for work. On the third night, I broke in. That's when I knew you'd been taken against your will."

"I barely remember that night. I was sound asleep when something was pressed against my face. I panicked, thinking I would be suffocated. I never saw who did it. I grabbed at anything I could get hold of, but it was no use. When I woke up, I was in hell."

His jaw was tight. She couldn't blame him. "You'll tell me all of it when you're ready, Rose. I won't pressure you."

She chuckled again, but this time, the sound was off, and it made him flinch. "Trust me, you don't want to know what I've been through. I'll forever be grateful for your help tonight. You saved my life. I don't think I could've gone on much longer. I promise not to be a burden, but if I could stay here a few days… I don't want to be alone."

Stefano dropped to his knees and held her gaze and her cheek. "Look at me, sweetheart."

She swallowed.

"I know we didn't acknowledge there was anything between us beyond friendship before you were abducted. That was mostly my fault. I had my head up my ass. I kept telling myself I was too old for you. You were too innocent for someone like me. I was so deeply involved in my work that I forced myself to ignore you and my feelings. But they were never buried very deep. You were on my mind all the time.

"Unless I'm way off the mark, I think you felt something for me, too. You got so flustered when I talked to you. Your cheeks turned pink with heat. You got tongue-tied. And now, I know you memorized my number and used it to call for help. Me . You called me . Not the police. Me ." He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I knew the police were not an option. If I had called them, my Master would've put me in his silent safe room until he got rid of them, and then he would have…" She shuddered. She couldn't imagine what he would have done.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "So you're saying you only called me as a last resort, and you don't have any feelings for me?" Was he teasing her?

She lowered her gaze. "You were all I thought about every hour of every day," she whispered, her cheeks heating at the admission.

"I'm glad because the feeling is mutual. Now, I can't predict the future. There are a lot of things you don't know about me. I'm not a good person. I've done…things. I can't erase the past. I'm not sure when all the chips fall that you'll even like me. I'm not sure I'll even be a free man."

His admission made her breath hitch. She'd ignored the writing on the walls, but she'd always assumed Mr. Santo was not a good person. Since Stefano had worked for him for many years, perhaps he knew things that might get him in trouble.

Roselia didn't care. "I know you're a good man," she countered.

"I'm going to try to be for you, sweetheart. You've softened my heart, burrowed into it, and forced me to love. I couldn't stop it then, and I'm done trying. I'm still too old for you. I'm still not worthy of your innocence and kind heart. But I'm not letting you go until you tell me to walk away."

Her eyes widened.

"I'm stuck to you like glue. I'm not letting you out of my sight. It nearly killed me to leave you in the car to go get your things. It's not happening again."

She bit her lower lip. He was serious. She couldn't believe what he was saying. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Stefano wiped at the salty lines with his thumb. "I'm going to protect you. I'm going to get you to a safe location and ensure no one can find you."

"Do I have to call the police?" she asked, her voice wobbling. She didn't feel up to facing something like that.

"No. This may sound strange to you, but I don't think it's a good idea. At least, not right now. If you want me to drive you to the police station so you can file a report, I will, but I'm afraid all it will do is bring attention to you. I'd hate for the press to flash your face all over the news. I think it would be best if no one knows you've escaped."

She blew out a breath. "Thank you. I'm so tired. I don't want to face the police. What could they possibly do, anyway? Besides perhaps arrest Master—" She needed to stop calling him that. "Mr. Vanderbilt. How could they even help? I don't know where I was before that."

"Let's take it off the table for now. Focus on getting you well and rested. Okay?"

"What about your job?"

"As of this moment, I officially quit."

She flinched. "Can you do that?"

"Absolutely. I'm done. You're more important to me than my job. Santo can bite my ass."

"Don't you at least want to give him notice?" she asked, shocked. Hadn't he worked there for fifteen years?

"I'm not even going to tell him I quit. By the time I don't show up, we'll be long gone."

"Where will we go?" She couldn't believe this was happening—any of it. This man she'd known for years as Marco was really named Stefano? And he had feelings for her? And he was going to quit his job and take her somewhere safe?

"I'll rent us a cabin outside of Denver. We'll pay cash and give them fake names."

She stared at him. He was serious. She finally nodded. "Okay. I… Do you think I still have access to my bank? I have money."

"I'm sure your bank is fine, but we're not touching it. Don't worry about money, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured. She needed to trust him. She had no other choices, and he'd always treated her like spun gold.

"Do you want me to leave you so you can wash?"

She shook her head. "I took a shower a few hours ago. The soak was nice, though. I can get out now."

Stefano stuck a hand down into the water and pulled the stopper before standing and helping her to her feet. He opened the cabinet under the sink, grabbed a towel, and patted her body with so much care. "I don't want to hurt you. I know these welts must burn."

She grabbed his wrist when he came around to her front, tipped her head back, and looked at him. "Worse things have happened to me, Stefano. These will fade in a few days. They are only going to be annoying because they are on the front and the back. It's difficult to get comfortable. I have to lie on my side. But by tomorrow night, they won't hurt as much."

He drew in breath. "My brave, brave girl." He opened the linen closet, took out a first aid kit, and rummaged in it until he found what he wanted. "This will help."

After sitting on the toilet seat again, he opened the tube of ointment and squeezed a generous amount on his finger. With furrowed brows, he guided her closer. "Do you mind me touching you, sweetheart?"

She shook her head. Her cheeks heated again. She found herself craving his touch. It would be kind and gentle. She hadn't known kind and gentle for a long time.

He lifted her left arm and dabbed the ointment on the welt above her breasts, starting almost under her armpit. "Your arms were lifted when he struck you, weren't they?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He pursed his lips as he carefully applied the ointment along the tops of her breasts and around to under the other arm. Next, he squeezed more onto his finger and bent to do the welt that had landed on the underside of her breasts.

She held her breath. His face was so close to her nipples, and yet he made no comment about how odd this was.

"Thank you. That feels better already," she said when he finished.

"Good. Turn around for me."

She faced away from him, swaying a bit. Her adrenaline was crashing.

"I'll be quick, sweetheart." He started with the welt above her knees and worked his way up to the one on the top of her ass. He was so clinical that it didn't seem weird.

"Thank you," she repeated softly.

He rose, took her hand, and guided her out of the bathroom. "Do you need anything to eat or drink, sweetheart?"

"No."

He led her to the bed, pulled back the sheets, and patted the mattress. "Climb in."

"I'll get this ointment on your sheets."

He cupped her face again. "Sweetheart, I don't give a fuck if you get ointment or nail polish on my sheets. Would you like me to get you a T-shirt?"

She shook her head. "Only if you want to protect your sheets."

He chuckled. "Get in."

She carefully climbed up onto his bed. The mattress was softer than any she'd ever slept on. So were the sheets. "I'm so tired, but I'm not sure I can sleep. I'm scared. What if this was all a dream?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully lifted the top sheet and blanket over her. "It's real. I've got you."

She grabbed his hand. "Don't leave me."

"Never."

"Will you lie down with me?"

"For a while." He extended himself on top of the blanket, faced her, and stroked the back of her head. "I want you to rest as much as you can. I'm going to pack some things, make arrangements, and find a cabin. I'd like to leave here before dawn."

When he slid his hand around to her cheek, she set hers on top of his. "I can't stop shaking."

He scooted closer. "Deep breaths."

"Do you have another blanket?"

"Of course." He sat up, reached for the end of the bed, and pulled another cover over her. "Better?"

She nodded. "Maybe." She bit her lip, trying not to cry. The waterworks were starting again.

"It's okay to cry, sweetheart. Go ahead. I know you're stressed to the point of snapping. Let it out."

Silent tears fell down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and let them. "So tired."

"Sleep, sweetheart." He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "If you get scared and I'm not here, call out. I'll be close by."

She let out a long sigh. She felt safe for the first time in eight months. Even if it wasn't real and she was dreaming, she still felt safe enough to rest.