Captured By A Sinner: Chapter 4

While Rosalie weeps in the bathroom, I take a seat on the bed and look at the documents Sacha brought.

The first thing I notice is that Rosalie’s birthday is much sooner than I thought.

There’s no way she’ll be ready to head out on her own by next week. She’ll need weeks, if not months, to process her grief.

I let out a sigh because that’s only half the truth.

Blyadʹ, I’ve grown a conscience when it comes to the girl.

I shake my head and try to focus my attention on the documents.

I’ll keep her until she’s twenty-one.

Three years.

A frown forms on my forehead as I lift my head to stare at the shut bathroom door. Just then, the sound of Rosalie’s cries change until it sounds like she’s struggling to breathe.

“Christ,” I mutter as I drop the documents and climb to my feet. The door only opens halfway before it knocks into something.

I step inside to see Rosalie lying on the floor, her tears forming a pool on the tiles. Red blotches cover her face and neck, a broken expression making her eyes look bruised and more vulnerable than my heart can handle.

Crouching, I take hold of her shoulders and pull her into a sitting position before I slip my arms under her knees and back. Lifting her to my chest, I straighten to my full height and carry her back to the bed.

I should tuck her in and give her a sedative, but instead, I find myself sitting down on the covers. I wrap my arms around her shuddering body and hold her tightly.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I try to reassure her.

She shakes her head, lost sobs drifting over her lips. “N-nothing will ever b-be okay again.” Her body is limp as if all the energy has been drained from it. “You’ll keep me c-captive. I’ll turn eighteen, and you’ll rape me until you g-grow b-bored of me. Then you’ll hopefully k-k-kill me.”

Hearing her words makes my jaw clench, and anger seeps into my heart.

She sobs again. “Or you’ll h-hand me d-down to your m-m-men.”

Lifting my right hand to her jaw, I take hold of her chin so she’ll look at me. When our eyes lock and I see the raw fear trembling in her soft brown irises, I force my features to relax so I don’t look like the fucking grim reaper.

“None of that will ever happen.”

Her eyes search mine. “I can’t b-believe a w-word you say.”

I shift her to sit on the bed and climb to my feet. Walking to the window, I pull it shut.

“I’m only keeping you because you have nowhere to go.”

“I can go to New York,” she tries to argue.

I shake my head. “It’s not negotiable. You’ll stay here.” Turning around, my eyes settle on the distraught girl. “Until you’re twenty-one, then I’ll let you go.”

Her gaze widens on me.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at her for a moment. “I won’t force myself on you, and I sure as fuck won’t allow any of my men to touch you. You’ll be safe, Little Rose. It’s the one thing I can promise you.”

Her eyebrows draw together, and there’s a flicker of hope on her face. “What will you do with me for three years?”

Letting out a sigh, I start to walk to the door. “I’ll feed and clothe you.” I gesture at her scattered belongings. “Unpack. I like my house neat with everything in its place.”

Slowly, Rosalie stands up from the bed and glances at the window. It has me saying, “You’re free to go outside, but you can’t leave the property without my permission.”

There’s a flash of a dare in her eyes. It’s a nice change of pace from the grief-stricken look. “I’m allowed to go outside?”

A smirk curves the corner of my mouth up. “Yes, but don’t do something stupid because the freedom I’m giving you can just as easily be taken away.”

I can see her thoughts racing behind the brown of her irises, and I know neither of us will shut an eye tonight.

I don’t trust she won’t try to make a run for it, and she doesn’t trust me not to hurt her.

“When you’re done unpacking, come to the living room. I’ll make us something to eat.”

I leave the room and head back down to the kitchen. I haven’t eaten since lunch and am well past the point of starving. Taking ingredients from the fridge and cupboards, I start to make a chicken casserole.

I’ve always loved watching my parents cook and learned how to make food at an early age. It’s soothing and one of the few things that calms me.

My thoughts are inundated with Rosalie. In a matter of hours, I’ve gone from saying I’d keep her until she turns eighteen to deciding to hold onto the girl until she’s twenty-one.

Something about her has gotten under my skin.

I chop up the chicken with more force than usual.

Manno and his nephew had to die, but I hate that an innocent girl got caught in the crossfire. I might be unforgiving and ruthless when it comes to work, but I have a soft spot for kids.

She’s no fucking kid.

She’ll be eighteen in five days.

Still, she’s so fucking innocent, hurting her will be like ripping the petals of a blossoming rose.

Soon the aroma of frying onions, chicken, and mushrooms fill the air. I take a moment to pour myself a tumbler of vodka and sip on the drink while I continue preparing the meal.

When the casserole is baking in the oven, I feel the air shift. Seconds later, Rosalie slowly comes down the stairs. She moves cautiously like a deer, stopping every couple of steps. I can feel the tension coming off her in waves.

I continue wiping down the counter as I murmur, “You done unpacking?”

“Yes.” She inches closer to the sliding doors that lead to the patio until she stops in front of them, staring at the lit landscaped garden.

Picking up the tumbler, I walk to her and pull the doors open. A breeze caresses her hair.

She looks so fucking fragile in the oversized shirt and sweatpants, but at least all the fabric covers her body.

When I nod toward the patio furniture, Rosalie takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold. Her body is tense as if she expects me to yank her back inside at any moment.

She stops by the steps leading down to a path that branches out toward the other mansions and glances over the property. “There are other houses?”

“My family. You’ll meet them soon.”

Surprise flutters over her gorgeous features, and her eyes flit to mine. “You’ll allow me near your family?” Confusion chases the shock from her face. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt one of them?”

A burst of laughter escapes me. “Good luck trying.”

“I’m talking about the women,” she mumbles.

I tilt my head. “It’s cute that you think you stand a chance against any of them.”

Rosalie glances at the other mansions and the lights shining from the windows, then wraps her arms around herself.

Her voice is nothing more than a fear-filled whisper when she asks, “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you kidnap me?”

I take a sip of my vodka and glance over the property. “Nothing I say will set you at ease, Little Rose.” I turn my gaze back to hers. “With time, you’ll learn I’m a man of my word. The Vetrovs and Koslovs don’t take pleasure in hurting women, especially fragile little things like you.”

More hope trickles into her eyes. “Is it true that Isabella Koslov takes down sex trafficking rings?”

“Yes.” A grin tugs at my mouth because my aunt is as badass as they come. Leaning back against a pillar, my gaze sweeps over the property again.

Even though I’m home where half an army is on guard, I’m always ready for an attack.

“You know a lot about my family and me,” I mention. “Were you training to take over from your grandfather?”

“No. I had nothing to do with the family business. ”

Grief tightens her features, making my hands itch to take hold of her so I can hug her until the heartache lessens.

She looks down at her feet, taking deep breaths as she rides out the wave of sorrow, then, with a trembling voice, asks, “What will happen to my grandfather and uncle’s bodies?”

I finish the last of my vodka and inhale deeply before answering, “Everything has been burned down.”

Her eyebrows draw together with intense pain. Her lips part, her arms wrapping tighter around her middle.

When I step toward her, she quickly moves back, shaking her head. She presses a hand to her heart, shakes her head again, then spins around and runs into the house.

I watch her until she disappears up the stairs to return to her bedroom before I walk to the kitchen. Setting the empty tumbler down on the counter, I open the oven and remove the casserole.

Feeling exhausted, I grab a plate and help myself to a good portion of the casserole. I sit down by the island and shovel food into my mouth, but it doesn’t taste as good as it usually does.

I’m not the most patient person on the planet, and I’m used to doing everything my way. I’m especially used to having my own space where I can unwind. With Rosalie in my house, all of that’s out the window.

She’s just lost everything that was of value to her, and she’s being held captive by you. It’s going to take a long while for the girl to heal and to learn that she can trust you.

It will take a hell of a lot of patience on my part.

There’s a banging sound from upstairs, and dropping my fork, I get up with a heavy sigh leaving my chest.

I stalk up to the first floor, and when I shove Rosalie’s bedroom door open, I’m met with an overturned table lying by my feet. Rosalie slams the chair against the wall, rage tightening her features.

I stand and watch her until she drops the chair and wildly glances around the room for something else to destroy. Her eyes land on me, and with a cry, she lunges in my direction.

I block the punch she tries to throw, wrap my arm around her waist and hoist her over my shoulder. Her fists connect with my back until I toss her onto the bed.

With a quick move, I straddle her, pinning her hands down on the mattress on either side of her head. Her chest heaves, and with a growl, she tries to buck her hips to throw me off, but it’s useless.

I restrain her without much effort and lean in close. “You think you can fight me, Little Rose?”

She lets out a frustrated cry, turning her head away from me.

“That’s what I thought.” I let go of her wrists, and she quickly crosses her arms over her chest. I grip hold of her jaw and turn her head back so she’ll look at me. Our faces are inches apart as I warn her, “Don’t fucking damage my property, or I swear to God I’ll give you the spanking your grandfather never did.”

Her eyes widen, and it looks like she’s getting the message.

“Do you fucking understand me?” I grit the words out between clenched teeth.

The fear quickly replaces the rage as she whimpers, “Y-yes.”

Letting go, I climb off her. “Clean up this fucking mess and come eat!”

Christ. I’m going to have my work cut out for me with the prickly thorns Little Rose is starting to show.