Closer to the Edge

Physically, Paul was not the strongest guy in the world. Well, he could’ve been a lot weaker, but he could’ve been a whole hell of a lot stronger. That much was evident from the struggle it was to carry Rowan down the side of the lattice while she was thrown over his shoulder. Of course, it didn’t help that she fought every step of the way. And, well, he kind of expected it. But he wasn’t really prepared for it.

By the time his feet touched the ground, he had pushed her towards Martin.

“You get the bitch to the car,” he mumbled, rubbing his lower back. Yeah, there was no way he was pulling another kidnapping. Mainly because it wasn’t worth it and also because he was pretty sure he was going to have permanent bruises on his back where her bound fists kept hitting him. Yeah, he was gonna ache for the rest of the week.

Martin grabbed her hands and kept them pinned before pressing his gun to the small of her back. “You might want to just go ahead and walk because, trust me, you don’t want me to carry you,” he said, his voice low, as he kicked the back of her leg. “Walk, now.”

Rowan sucked in a deep breath before walking, even though she didn’t have any idea where she was going.

“Is Ash meeting us there?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “She’s gonna wipe down the room and say her goodbyes and meet us.”

Rowan rolled her eyes behind the bandana. And really, she was mad at herself. She really should’ve known something was up when Claire didn’t show. Claire was never overbooked; Claire always made time for the Delvecchio’s.

When they reached the car, Paul got behind the wheel as Martin forced Rowan into the back. And Paul might have thought that Martin was being a little rough—Rowan must’ve hit her head at least three times when he shoved her across the back seat—but maybe that was needed so she wouldn’t fight back. Besides, both of them had been nice enough to leave her conscious. She should’ve at least appreciated that. Paul started the car and waited for Ash, hoping she wouldn’t take too much longer, and he heard Martin let out a grunt in the back seat. He turned around, his eyes wide, to see Martin rubbing his side.

“You alright, bro?” he asked.

Martin frowned. “Stupid bitch elbowed me in the side again,” he muttered.

Paul rolled his eyes. “Just punch her the next time she does. I bet you she won’t do it again.” He really didn’t approve of hitting women but he couldn’t help but smile when Rowan stopped moving completely, most likely out of fear.

“I see Ash.”

Paul looked forward and unlocked the doors, motioning her to get into the back seat behind him so someone would be on both sides of Rowan. Once Ash was safely inside the car, he locked the doors, started the engine, and gunned it. He wanted to get as far away from the Delvecchio house as he could. That was the first goal. The second goal was getting to the safe house before anyone realized Rowan was missing. That was the most important part.

He kept silent; there was really no point in talking, even though he was moderately distracted by the hushed whispering in the back. He heard another grunt and prayed to whoever he prayed to that Martin and Ash were behaving. He stopped at the edge of the woods and turned around to see that Rowan was more scrappy that he thought—she was hitting Martin however she could. And while that might have been slightly amusing, it just would not do. He reached back and grabbed her arm tightly, pulling her forward, dragging her between the seats. It wasn’t easy, especially as she kicked and fought the whole way, and when her whole body was finally in the front half of the car, he shoved her back into the seat, causing her head to smack against the window.

Paul rolled his eyes—of course he would feel bad about that. He grabbed the front of her dress and brought her face to face with him, even though she couldn’t see him. “Listen to me, you little bitch. You fucking try to hit one of us one more time and I’ll make sure you’re unable to do so ever again, got it? I’m not playin around. You don’t call the shots here. I do.”

And even though her eyes were covered, he could feel the glare. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew she was pissed off. Hell, he would’ve been too. He glanced back at Martin, who was looking at him in awe, and Ash who was looking at him as if he had grown a second head, and he let out a quiet laugh before looking back towards the road. He turned his lights on and pulled out into traffic, hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

The safe house wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes away. At first that freaked Paul out—what if it was too close? But he didn’t question his father, it just wasn’t worth it. And the safe house wasn’t so much a house as it was a private penthouse in one of the most upscale apartment buildings in the Boston area. Of course his father, being the businessman that he was, could afford it. He could also afford to keep twenty guards around its perimeter at all times; a number that more than doubled as of that morning with news of a new guest.

As he pulled into the parking garage, he knew the next part would be one of the hardest (as if there were ever any easy parts in a kidnapping). He cut the engine, shoving the keys in his pocket again, and he walked to the other side of the car, dragging Rowan out. He shut the door behind her and pressed her against it. He untied her wrists, watching as she rubbed them tenderly, and he reached behind her to untie the blindfold. He kept the gag in place.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Martin asked, climbing out of the back of the car, Ash following right behind him, her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Is our shit inside?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Paul said, before turning back to Rowan, meeting her eyes. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to leave you untied and ungagged. And we’re going to walk through the lobby and to the elevator. And if you can do that like a good girl, I might keep the gag off for the rest of the night. But you make one mistake, or try to escape, and that’ll be the last thing you do. Got it?”

Rowan’s eyes were blazing, but with fear or rebellion he wasn’t sure. She clenched her jaw; maybe if she found out where she was, it would be easier to escape. And unfortunately, compliance was the easiest way. She nodded slowly. She didn’t know why; maybe it was because she actually believed she could escape. Or maybe it was because of the way his brown eyes sparkled and how she honestly felt he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Paul reached around and untied the gag, shoving all of them into his back pocket. “Good girl. Now. Be a good actress and pretend that you like me,” he said with an overly sweet smile before slipping an arm around her waist.

Rowan pushed his hand away and glared up at him. “Touch me again and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do,” she said; her tone was deadly but the message was sarcastic, mocking.

Paul laughed and ignored her, sliding his hand back around her waist, fingers digging into her hipbone as he held her close. “Don’t try to threaten me, babe. It won’t work,” he told her, kissing her cheek, before turning to Martin and Ash. “Ready?”

+

Cristina knocked on the door to her daughter’s room, ready to wait for the customary greeting of Rowan throwing open the door and demanding to know what she wanted. And when it never came, she opened the door slowly, looking around the room. Her daughter was nowhere in sight. The boxes that had been delivered that morning containing her dress and shoes were open on the bed, the ribbon flung carelessly to the side, the lids discarded on the floor, but the contents were nowhere in sight.

And though she couldn’t explain it, a sense of panic fluttered inside of her. She was out of the room in an instant, walking down the hallway to the bedroom she shared with her husband, Nicolo. She knocked once before entering and found him peering into the vanity, double and triple checking his tie. Their eyes met in the mirror and he turned around slowly.

“Cristina, what’s wrong?”

Cristina leaned against the door; afraid her knees would betray her and give out. And she couldn’t explain why she was overcome with worry—call it mother’s instinct, whatever. But it was there. “Rowan’s not in her room.”

Nicolo frowned. “She’s not due to present herself for thirty more minutes. Where did she go?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Cristina—“

“I have a bad feeling about this, Nicolo,” she said softly.

Nicolo ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it down. “You check downstairs. I’ll check upstairs. Don’t alert anyone until we know what’s wrong.”

With a nod, Cristina exited the room and made her way downstairs while her husband walked towards their daughter’s room. Nicolo paused outside the door and he felt it; what his wife must’ve felt. It wasn’t any sort of feeling in particular, nothing he could have explained anyway, but it was there. He opened the door and stepped in, shutting it behind him.

Rowan was nowhere in sight.

Of course she wasn’t, he thought to himself. If she had been, his wife wouldn’t have been worried. He walked around the room slowly, though nothing seemed out of place. Granted, it wasn’t often that he was in his daughter’s room without cause. Rowan had always been a girl who liked her solitude. But even then, nothing had stopped her from wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps. No matter how much he really didn’t want her to, no matter how hard he had tried to hide that part of his life from her, he knew that she would be the perfect one to run the family business.

“Dammit, Rowan, where are you?” he muttered. He was never particularly close with his daughter, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about her.

He inspected the room closely, knowing exactly what he was looking for; if anything was out of the place, out of the ordinary. But he wasn’t sure. Everything seemed right in order; Rowan had always been a girl who loved organization. She couldn’t stand to have anything out of place. His eyes scanned the windows, the doors, the bed, the closet, but everything was in order.

But he knew Rowan. He knew that she wasn’t the type of girl to just run off or sneak out. She had never shirked away from her responsibilities or from what the family demanded of her. Which was precisely why he didn’t understand why she had just…left. Though deep inside, he knew she didn’t just…leave.

Whether it was his position or his paternal instinct, he knew she didn’t leave. At least, not on her own. And not by her free will.

+

Paul knew all of the guards around the building, but that didn’t mean he liked them. And he only liked them less with the looks they were giving Rowan as they walked through the lobby. Even though his father owned the apartment building, not everyone was “in the business” with him so Paul watched his actions carefully. To everyone else, they probably looked like two couples going to their room. No one would be able to tell what was really going on.

At least, he hoped not.

Paul shot the guard outside the elevator a small smile before the four of them climbed in. Paul took his keys from his pocket and slid one into the control panel before hitting the button for room fifteen—the private penthouse.

“You know, you’ve already made one mistake,” Rowan said.

Paul nodded slowly. “Yeah, not knocking you unconscious in your bedroom,” he muttered.

Rowan laughed. “No, you idiot. I know exactly where I am.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Paul said dismissively.

“What if I escape?”

“You won’t.”

Rowan scoffed. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am pretty sure of myself,” Paul commented as the elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened before them.

“Ladies first,” Rowan snapped, running into his shoulder with her own before attempting to step out of the elevator.

Paul grabbed her arm and pulled her back, shoving her against the wall. “You two go on,” he said, directing his words to Martin and Ash, but his eyes never left Rowan’s.

“You okay, bro?” Martin asked.

“I’m fine. You two go,” he repeated.

“Yell if you need a hand,” Martin told him.

Paul waited until he heard their footsteps get softer and he reached over, pressing the emergency stop so they wouldn’t go back down to the lobby. “Here’s the deal, kid—“

“I’m not a kid. And my name is Rowan. So if you’re gonna get up in my face, at least address me by name, you pathetic piece of shit,” Rowan said, smiling sweetly.

Paul shouldn’t have done it, but he did; his hand slapped against her hard cheek before he could stop himself. He knew what was coming next so he grabbed Rowan’s knee before it could make contact with his crotch. “Don’t even fuckin try it, Rowan.”

Rowan clenched her jaw, surprised she didn’t taste blood. She wanted to reply, she really did. And normally she would’ve. She was never the girl to just let a man (or anyone) hit her, but the look in his eyes convinced her not to. It wasn’t even a mean look—it was more one of pleading than anything else. And it was then she really had no idea why he was doing it…and maybe he didn’t even want to in the first place.

“I’m not going to warn you again. You keep your mouth in check or you’ll remain gagged for the rest of your time here,” Paul said, his voice quiet. “And if you don’t think I’m serious, try me. You say you’re not afraid of me? Don’t make me instill that fear in you. Okay?”

And Rowan knew that while his words were harsh, he didn’t mean them. She couldn’t quite explain it though.

“Are you finished?” Paul asked.

Rowan nodded.

“Good,” Paul said, grabbing her shoulders and turning her around.

“Hey!” Rowan protested.

Paul pushed her shoulders against the wall. “What did I just say?”

“I fucking hate you.”

He nodded. “Good to know,” he commented, grabbing her wrists and tying them behind her back. And, okay, he probably shouldn’t have been thinking about how good she felt against him (but he did). He leaned down so his mouth was right next to her ear and he could feel how heavy she was breathing. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, okay?”

“Then let me go,” Rowan said softly.

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t do that,” he said, pulling away and pressing the button to open the doors of the elevator. He guided her out and through the living area, the kitchen, and into the large bedroom at the end of the hall. He tossed her onto the bed before calling for his best friend.

“Yeah, bro?” Martin asked, stepping into the room, drying his hands on a white towel.

“Tie her to the chair,” Paul said, running a hand through his hair. “I need a shower.”

“You okay?”

“Just deal with her, okay?”

Martin nodded. “What if she gets mouthy?”

Paul glanced back at Rowan, who was glaring daggers at him. The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. “Use your imagination.”