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“Rowan, baby,” he said in the recording. “I’m not angry with you. I blame those idiots at that facility for putting stupid ideas in your head. Come home right now. Or call me and I’ll come get you, wherever you are. You belong with me. You were born to be my slave girl, and I will always be your Master. Come home and I’ll punish you as you know you both need and deserve, and then we’ll move forward together, just you and me. No sister slave—not yet. We have time, baby. All the time in the world.”
He’d spoken softly, the words almost a purr, but she could hear the steel beneath them.
“No,” Rowan muttered as she deleted the voice mail. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
She opened the text messages again and hit reply to his last message. She held her thumbs poised over the screen for several seconds as she thought about what she would say.
A part of her wanted to rant and rave, berating him for brainwashing her, screaming at him for pushing her from what had once been a consensual relationship into something much darker. Yet, even as these thoughts raced through her mind, she had to admit some complicity. She’d never said no. She’d never stood up to him, even when her gut told her things weren’t right.
She didn’t want to alienate him completely. She needed to get her canvases and art supplies back. No point in burning bridges just yet. She was safely away from him. Whatever spell he’d cast over her had been broken.
She stared at the blank screen another several seconds. The thought of crossing Master John was still frightening, in spite of her newfound resolve.
It’s okay, she told herself. You may not be there yet, but you can ‘act as if’ until you get there.
Finally, with fingers trembling so hard she could barely press the keys, she replied.
I’m not coming back. It’s over.
Chapter 14
When Eric came out of the kitchen, he saw Rowan standing by the sideboard. Her head was bent over her phone, her face obscured by the thick tumble of dark curls. She was shaking.
Alarmed, Eric reached her in three strides. “Rowan. What is it?” He touched her shoulder.
She flinched, her head jerking up. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She dashed at them with the back of her hand as she vehemently shook her head.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” She sounded defiant, even angry.
Confused, Eric dropped his hand and stepped back.
Her face softened. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m just…feeling a little emotional, I guess. I told him. I told him I’m not coming back.”
Eric resisted the sudden, strong impulse to do a fist pump. He wanted to grab her and swing her into a hug.
Instead, he said, “Good for you, Rowan. You’ve made the decision to move forward. The hardest part is done. Now we need to see about getting your stuff out of there and figuring out what’s next. I have a friend with a van we can bor—”
“No,” Rowan interrupted in a forceful voice he’d never heard her use. On seeing his startled expression, she looked suddenly abashed. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just… Thanks. But no thank you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Eric replied, confused.
“I really appreciate your coming to get me, Eric. And I appreciate your support back at the Masters Club. You helped me to understand some things. You gave me the courage to make the break.”
She wrapped her arms around her torso. “But right now I just need a little time to figure things out on my own, okay?”
“Oh,” Eric replied, taken aback. The incendiary fantasies that had been building in his head since the moment he’d received her panicked texts crumbled into ash. He was silent a moment as he struggled to curb his desires and recalibrate his expectations.
It was good that she was reasserting her independence. Of course it was. The last thing she needed was another domineering guy controlling her life and dictating her every move. The fact she was rallying so quickly after what that bastard had put her through was an excellent sign.
The terrified, uncertain girl he’d met at the Masters Club was nowhere in evidence. The kickass, strong woman she must have subjugated in order to fit into someone else’s expectations was revealing herself, and that was all to the good.
He felt a little sheepish as he was forced to admit he had visualized himself as the hero. He would be the savior—the caring, loving Dom who swooped in to save the submissive damsel in distress. But life wasn’t a fairy tale, and Rowan didn’t need saving—not anymore.
Yet this new side of Rowan was both intriguing and attractive. He wanted to know her better—much better. But just because she was asserting herself now, things might feel different for her in a day or two, when she’d had more time to think things through. She’d left on an impulse, but was she really through with Garfield?
