Page 28 of The Taker

He has cameras in my bedroom. He watches me, like a fucking creepy pervert.

“I’m leaving,now.” I wriggle out of his beefy arms and almost trip vaulting myself out of his bed. I scan the room, and find my clothes in a pile on the floor near his couch.

They’re cut. I can’t wear them out.Fuck.He lays back against the headboard, a lazy, toothy grin on his face.He’s obviously happy with his handiwork.

“Do you have something I can wear out?” I begrudgingly ask.

“Who said you can leave?” he teases me.

“I do.My sisters are my responsibility, Rocco. They’re the most important people in the world to me, and I can’t leave them in the apartment alone overnight, even if they’re guarded. That’s not okay.”

Fuck, I’m the worst brother in the world. I left the girls alone in the apartment overnight and came all over an obsessive, stalkery psycho.What the fuck is wrong with me?

Don’t forget he murdered someone, because of you.

Wow, thanks anxiety. I needed the reminder that the man I came all over last night is a cold-blooded murderer.

He huffs out a disappointed sigh and points to a door across from his bed. “Pick a pair of boxer briefs and a tee shirt out of my closet. Even with a drawstring, my pajama pants won’t stay up.”

My eyes roll so far into the back of my head I almost miss the door on my walk over there. His underwear is in the top drawer of a dark oak armoire, and his t-shirts are hung neatly in a block on the casual side of his ginormous walk-in closet. It’s double the size of the excessive one I have in my apartment a few floors down.

When I reach to take the shirt off the rod, his arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back into the heat of his body. His lips skim the outer shell of my ear, his warm breath tickling the skin.

“You can stay…” he suggests. “I can have the guards check on them and report back to us.”

My fingertips just reach the shirt, and I pull it off the hanger. “No. I’m sure you won’t miss me. Just watch me through the camera in my bedroom, stalker.”

He laughs, then spins me around and puts the shirt over my head with an unexpected tenderness. “You think it’s creepy stalking, I call it protecting what’s mine. Tomato, to-mah-toe, lionheart.” He puts each arm through the sleeve before kissing the bite mark over my neck. His mark of ownership over me.

That’s my new reality. I’m not Leo Costa anymore—I’m Rocco Vettore’s whore. His slut. His toy he can play with anytime he wants. My life isn’t mine anymore…it’s in his hands.

That hard truth equally disgusts me and turns me on. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and shame. Feelings I can’t unpack right now while he’s wrapped around me, kissing up my neck.

I shove past him, grab my keycard out of my ruined pajama pants, and walk through the penthouse to get to his private elevator, trying my hardest not to have a panic attack in front of him. Rocco would use any weakness I show him as leverage to have more control over me.

I can already feel my breathing stutter. My heart is banging on my chest, screaming‘let me out of here!’like the dumb bitch that always gets slashed first in a horror movie. It may be a fickle organ, but it knows the danger I’m in every time I’m near that man.

I feel faint and drop my keycard on the floor. Rocco picks it up, keeping it right out of my reach.

He holds the back of my neck in his firm grasp, rubbing this thumb up and down the side. My traitorous body leans into the touch, letting it keep me upright.

“I’ll take you home, lionheart.” Rocco’s firm tone leaves no room for argument.

After the elevator doors close, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. He pulls me into him, keeping one hand on my neck while he wraps the other one around my back. He squeezes me hard enough that I can feel my joints pop, until long after we reach our floor. He keeps holding me, and as each second passes, I can feel myself come down from the whirlwind of emotions I felt upstairs.

My breathing events out. My tears dry. The faint, dizzy feeling I experienced recedes, resigned to come back another day. The panic that sometimes devours me fizzles out.

He pushes the button and the doors open. As we walk down the hallway, I spot the man standing at the end of the hallwearing joggers and a tee shirt, acting as if he’s entering his apartment.

“He’s one of the guards assigned to your apartment,” Rocco confirms my suspicions. “I told you, you’re always watched over.”

When we get to my door, he tips my chin up. His green eyes glow in the dim light, and no matter how badly I want to ignore them, I can’t. They suck me in every time. He’s a star, orbit and all.

“Good night, lionheart. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” He presses his lips to mine, lingering there a moment before pulling away.

“Rocco, why do you call me lionheart?” The nickname is a stark contrast from ‘toy’, and doesn’t make a ton of sense. A lion is a predator, a toy is helpless—an item maneuvered by its owner.

“Because you jumped in front of a bullet for me. You think it’s the worst decision of your life, but I think it’s a brave one.” He rubs his chin in thought before continuing. “You may be a fool for fighting this inevitable thing between us, but you’re abravefool.”

---