Page 10 of Chasing Amber

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 sportabout 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? HisLittlegirl? 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.

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