Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Amber
Minutes tick by while I sit in the corner of the bathroom with my knees pulled up to my chin. My arms are wrapped around my shins, and I’m rocking myself forward and backward.
My heart is racing. I can’t believe any of that just happened. Maybe I’m still asleep in the back of my closet, and I dreamed it. Surely, my bodyguard—the one I have treated like dog dung for two years—did not just call me baby and tell me I’m his girl.
I squeeze my eyes closed. I’m in a strange headspace. I think I’m Little. I’ve never done this before, so I’m not sure. I’ve also never grabbed my childhood teddy bear and crawled into my closet to hide. I’ve seen Cassandra do this. I think that’s where I got the idea. And it felt good. It calmed me.
The drive home was tense, so when we got here, I needed to escape. I didn’t think. I grabbed my phone, my book, and my teddy and climbed into the corner of the closet. It was comforting. I could finally breathe easier than I had in over an hour. My brain was racing in ten directions, and I shut it all down by reading.
Apparently, I fell asleep. I nearly died when I woke up to find Isaac standing over me. How mortifying. He must have thought I was the biggest baby on Earth.
Everything about me just went up in smoke, and I don’t know how to rein it in and go back to the way things were. I’m not going to share my Little with him. That’s madness.
He has to leave. I don’t want to see him again. I’m too embarrassed. I will call my brother and tell him to fire him. Now. Tonight. I’ll tell Spence I’m not coming out of my bathroom until Isaac is gone, so I never have to face him again.
I look around. Shoot. My phone is still in the closet. I stare at the bathroom door. Isaac promised me he would not set up a trap and stand outside the bathroom waiting for me. Would he break that promise?
I unroll myself and slowly stand on shaky legs. I’m exhausted. Emotionally drained. I’m also hungry. I didn’t eat much for lunch. I slowly open the bathroom door, just a crack, to make sure Isaac isn’t a liar. When I don’t see him, I push it the rest of the way open.
My mouth waters when I see the plate of food. He wasn’t lying about that, either. When I squat down to pick it up, I find the plate still warm. He made my favorite meal and even heated it.
I turn around and set it on the bathroom counter before rushing through my bedroom and into my closet to grab my phone. For a moment, I stare at my other things, but then I grab them, too. My pillow, my teddy bear, and my book.
I hurry back to the bathroom, barricade myself inside by locking the door, and drop down onto my bottom with my plate of food. First, I need to eat, and then I’ll think about what to do next.
I’m ridiculously ravenous. I should probably be too stressed to eat, but the first bite of Isaac’s special homemade mac and cheese makes me moan. He’s such a good cook, and I’m so blessed that he does most of the cooking.
Granted, he also does most of the eating. If he weren’t living with me, I would be more of a nibbler. I don’t like to take the time to cook good meals. I’ve eaten much better since he moved in.
I think about what Millie said. Amber, nobody works twenty-four-seven for any amount of money. Not unless they’re getting something else out of it.
At the time, I was taken aback, thinking she’d meant to imply that I was sleeping with him. That’s not what she’d meant at all. She was trying to point out that he wouldn’t stay with me like this if he didn’t care.
Maybe she’s right. He did just tell me he cares. He also said a lot of other things. Most of it was confusing, and my head is still spinning. My world really did flip upside down, and I’m freaking the fuck out. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I take a bite of chicken and then broccoli. He seasons them so perfectly. I wouldn’t eat this well if I fired him. That’s not a good reason to keep him, though. Good grief.
After I finish everything on my plate and down one of the cans of sparkling water, I stare at my phone. I should call Spence. No. That’s a horrible idea. I don’t want my brother to think I’m weak. I’m not weak. In ten years, I’ve never once let him see me as anything other than badass. I refuse to be a victim—at least not on the outside.
On the inside…? That’s another story. I have a therapist for a reason. Spence, Ben, and Isaac know I’ve been seeing a therapist for the last ten years. I always shrug it off and tell them everyone should go to therapy. It’s good for everyone. That’s not a lie, but I also have bigger issues than I let anyone believe.
I wonder if Isaac knows I’ve started waking up at night. I have no idea if I make any noise or not. By the time I’m jerked awake, I’m sitting up, heart pounding, sweating. Do I cry out? If so, he hasn’t ever come in to check on me.
I’ll look like a big baby if I call my brother and ask him to fire my bodyguard. Maybe I should call Cassandra. She’s super sweet. She would listen to me. Would she tell my brother and Ben, though? Probably. Their relationship is kind of new. Her alliance is definitely to them, as it should be. If she thought I had a problem, she would run to them for help.
What about Ben? I adore Ben. I have from the moment I met him. Technically, I’ve known Ben longer than Spence has. It was Ben who busted into my basement cell and carried me out. Less than an hour later, my brother hired him as his personal bodyguard, and they have been inseparable ever since.
For a few years, I wondered if they were in a relationship. I never saw any evidence, but that didn’t mean they weren’t discrete. They were never apart. Ben takes his job as my brother’s personal security detail very seriously.
I eventually gave up trying to figure that out. It wasn’t really my business. As soon as Cassandra came into the picture, it all became clear. Ben and Spence share her. They adore her. They both Daddy her. She is the center of their world. They weren’t together with each other. They were waiting for the perfect Little to fill the space between them.
I’ve been secretly envious of Cassandra since I met her. Not in a mean way. I just wish I could have what she has, but I’m not willing to take the risk. People…die. My parents did. I was only fifteen. They left me. Thank God I had Spence, or who knows what might have happened to me. He saved my life, and I’m so very grateful, but he also smothers me.
Spence has his own emotional problems, primarily that he is overly fearful that I will get kidnapped again or that Cassandra will. He smothers her worse than me. She’s been a good sport about it so far. If I were her, I would sneak out of a window and spend a few hours doing just about anything to feel free.
That is what I do. I give Isaac the slip as often as possible. Until now, I have not truly been as fearful as my brother about my safety. I think he’s way too overprotective. Yes, we have money. A lot of it. We inherited it. Yes, some people know, even though we both live under the radar to keep it as hushed as possible.
Hell, I live in an apartment. It’s a lavish apartment bigger than many houses, but it’s still an apartment. It’s not the penthouse. Also, I make good money from my art. I pay for this apartment without dipping into my inheritance.
It’s been ten years. Of the four men who played a role in my abduction, only one of them has been released from prison. Jacob Marone. He was underage at the time, and even though he was tried as an adult, his sentence was more lenient.
I don’t really believe Jacob is a threat to me. He was kind to me while I was in that basement. He brought me water and food. He changed my bucket when I used it. He also brought me sweatpants, so I didn’t have to sit there in my skirt indefinitely. It was cold in that basement. He didn’t talk a lot because his brother kept yelling and telling him to guard me silently, but I saw in his eyes that he didn’t think any part of their hair-brained plan was a good idea.
Jacob got swept up in his brother’s shit, and he paid a huge price, but I don’t think he will come after me. At least, the rational side of me doesn’t think so. My subconscious is at war, though. I can’t control my dreams.
For the first few years after my abduction, I had nightmares nearly every night. Therapy helped, and I almost stopped going entirely. I only had one every few months, but lately, I’ve been slipping back into that pattern again. I’m certain it’s because of Jacob’s release.
It’s dumb. I’m annoyed by what my brain thinks is a threat when I’m asleep. I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. I’m losing sleep, and I’m angry with the universe because it’s out of my control.
I flinch when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. I wonder for a moment if Isaac called Spence, who is now checking up on me. Isaac never rats me out to Spence. It’s one of the oddest things about him. He doesn’t even tell my brother when I sneak away. My brother usually finds out because he fucking asks me directly, but he’s always shocked, which indicates that Isaac doesn’t tell him.
Spence also doesn’t seem to get frustrated with Isaac. I think he respects Isaac for the way he handles me. It’s kind of infuriating that these men feel the need to handle me at all. But that’s my doing.
I pick up my phone, and I’m surprised to see the incoming text is from Isaac. He rarely texts me. For one thing, he’s not often far enough away from me to warrant texting me. He only does so if I take too long in a dressing room or bathroom when we’re out. I’ve learned that if I don’t respond immediately, he will not hesitate to barge right in to look for me. Luckily, he has not caught me naked. Is that even lucky? Maybe I should consider intentionally not responding next time I’m in a store and waiting for him to open a fitting room door to find me stark naked. I manage to snicker.
I finally open the text.
Do you need anything else? I made cookies.
Damn him. He’s trying to lure me out. Cookies. Shit. If I were in my bedroom, I would be able to smell them under the door. The scent isn’t quite reaching the bathroom.
This would be one of those times when I better respond or risk him busting the door down. He’s worried about me. His text has nothing to do with cookies. He wants to make sure I’m still in here. Does he fear I could be suicidal?
No .
That’s all I give him. I humph while I do so. I’m nursing my mad. I don’t want to face him. He knows too much. He changed the game, and I don’t like it. I’m going to hide in here like a toddler for a while.
I stand, use the toilet, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. I wish I had my PJs in here. I would change into them and be more comfortable. Maybe it’s safe to go into my bedroom. He said he won’t come in. I’m confident he won’t. He’s never gone back on his word.
I need distance from Isaac. If I face him, I’m afraid I will start crying. I’m feeling more vulnerable than usual. He might hug me. Isaac has never touched me unnecessarily. We sometimes brush against each other when we’re in a tight space, but he’s never grabbed my hand or any other part of me. He’s very professional and careful.
Until tonight. Until he told me I’m his girl. What the hell does that mean? His Little girl? I’m not anyone’s anything. I’m certainly not anyone’s Little. The idea makes me shudder. After the humiliation I endured tonight, I’ll never consider hiding in my closet again.
Can I convince him to forget everything that happened so we can go back to how things were? The alternative is him leaving, and the thought of that makes me feel sick to my stomach. I need Isaac. He’s the glue keeping me from falling apart. I won’t admit it, but that’s the truth.
After pacing my bathroom for a while, I stare at the door for a bit longer, and finally, I open it and quietly step into my bedroom. It’s dark. The apartment is quiet. Sometimes, Isaac watches TV in the living room when I’m in my room, but he always keeps the volume very low. He doesn’t want to disturb me.
Tonight, I don’t hear the television. If it’s on, it’s muted. I glance at the time on my phone. It’s only nine. He wouldn’t be in bed yet. I’m so lame that I drop onto my stomach on the floor and look under the door to see if I can tell if he’s standing or sitting in the hallway outside my room. He’s not.
The hall lights aren’t on, but I think the lights in his room are. It’s just enough illumination to let me see he’s not waiting for me. He never closes the door to his room.
I’ve often wondered if the man is actually a robot. Does he not masturbate? I don’t see how he could. He doesn’t have enough privacy to do so. Maybe he does it in the shower in the morning after working out before I even get up.
I’m just as cockblocked as he is. I haven’t dared touch myself in my bed since he moved in. He’s never once opened my door when it was closed—except for tonight when I was sleeping in my closet. He is too respectful to barge into my private space. But I would never take the risk. With my luck, the one time I slid my hand into my panties, the apartment would catch on fire or some shit, and he’d bust in and catch me.
I’ve occasionally locked myself in my bathroom and masturbated in my bathtub. But I worry I might be too loud, and there’s no way I can ever relax enough standing in my shower to reach orgasm. I’d probably fall and break my neck.
Dating? Ha. I haven’t been on a date in over four years. The last time I went out with a guy, my bodyguard sat at a table near us. He tried to be inconspicuous, but I couldn’t relax, and there was no way for my date to remain ignorant of his presence. I never saw him again.
To say I’ve been cockblocked is an understatement. And why the hell am I thinking about masturbating right now anyway? Jeez. I toss my phone on my nightstand and pace. At least there’s more space in my bedroom than in my bathroom.
What a fuckup. I’ll never be able to relax until I confront Isaac and give him a piece of my mind. That’s what I have to do. He can take it or leave it.
I take several deep breaths and turn toward the door. Yep. I’m going to talk to him. I’m a grown woman. I can talk to my bodyguard and convince him to back the fuck down.