Nine

"I can't do that, Mark. It's not a good idea for either of us, and you know it. If Brock finds out..."

"He won't find out, Celeste. Don't worry," he assured her. It took everything he had not to grimace at her bruised and swollen face. Brock had been so paranoid about her taking off while he was gone with Paul for the day that he had handcuffed Celeste to the bed. She didn't feel it happen; she had fallen into a deep sleep after the events of the night before. Celeste assumed that he had cuffed her sometime in the middle of the night. He had been incredibly rough with her; it hurt for her to move around.

It had been a rough morning. She had spent most of it using her feet to get the phone onto the bed. She had been forced to dial the numbers with her toes, messing up a bunch of times before she finally got Mark's room number. She had called for him to help her, and he had sprung into action.

When Mark had gotten the call from Celeste, he had no idea what to do. He rushed to Stephanie and begged for her to help. Using her authoritative position, Stephanie managed to get a copy of Brock's key-card. The two of them hit the elevator, armed with a few steak knives and bobby pins to get the cuffs off. They had burst into the room and grimaced at the sight of Celeste, battered and cuffed to the bed. She had burst into tears the second she saw them through her swollen eyes. Mark and Stephanie had managed to get the cuffs off Celeste. Stephanie left them to put tabs on Brock and Paul while Mark and Celeste packed up the last of her things.

"Here." He handed her the piece of paper with his home address on it. "This is the address. There's a lockbox with a key just under the mailbox by the front door. I'll be home in a few days. You go, get rested and put some ice on those bruises." She nodded. One of her eyes was blackened, accompanying the red mark on her cheek. Mark took his sunglasses off his head and handed them to her. "Hopefully this helps make you look a little inconspicuous." She nodded. He saw the tears welling up. He hoped they wouldn't spill over; he hated it when women cried in front of him. "Hey - what's the matter?"

"I just...I didn't ever think things would get like this," she said, her voice almost a whisper. He gathered her into his arms for a hug.

"I know honey. Just follow my lead here, okay? Stay at my place - if anything else, at least we know that they won't find you there. Don't tell anybody where you are. I'll be home on Thursday, and depending on how you're feeling, we'll go do something, all right?" She shook her head. She didn't even want to leave the hotel looking as beat up as she did. Mark sighed. "Come on, Celeste - keep your head up - we'll sort something out. Now come on. I'll walk you to the cab." He picked up her suitcase. She followed him solemnly out the door, throwing her key card on the floor on her way out.

The plane ride itself was peaceful. She couldn't believe how nice Mark was being, opening his home to her when he barely knew her. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, a fear that Brock would stalk and harass her family in hopes of finding her. She was scared that Brock would get as violent with them as he had with her. She exhaled, and stared out the window, trying to get her mind off her dark train of thought. For now, she knew it was for the best that she lay low until things between Mark and Brock blew over, or at the very least, until Brock stopped thinking about her. She didn't know how long that could take.

Celeste wanted to blame Mark for everything that had gone wrong between her and Brock, but she knew that her anger was misdirected. Things were wrong long before Mark decided he wanted to befriend her. Talking to Mark had only brought things to a head. She valued everything he had done for her since the first night they had met, but she still wished that things hadn't taken the turn that it did.

The plane was set to land in Houston in forty-five minutes. Beside her sat an elderly woman who was constantly gazing at the visible bruising on her face. She had asked Celeste what happened. Thinking quickly, Celeste had said it was a bad sports injury. It wasn't a complete lie; she'd been manhandled by an athlete. The woman had nodded and gone back to her romance novel; however, Celeste could still feel the woman's eyes on her. With a deep sigh, and a small twitch of pain in her left eye, Celeste kept looking out the window. Things had gotten so messed up so fast, and she knew that things would get worse if Brock ever found her.

"How in the fuck did she manage to get out of here?" Brock raged, kicking his duffel bag across the room. "I had the fucking bitch handcuffed to the bed!"

"Brock, now is not the time," Paul replied firmly, trying his best to keep his client calm. "Your big match is in a week, and you need to keep your head clear. She wants to leave? Fuck her. Let her go. She's done nothing but cause you trouble anyway."

"Shut up, Paul!" he shouted. He kicked at a chair. "I can't turn my back for a fucking second!"

"Brock..."

"I fucking know where she went. I'll bet you anything she ran off with him...I'll fucking put my life on it!"

"She couldn't have run away with him," Paul replied. "I saw him. He's downstairs with the APA, drinking."

"I'll bet she's holed up in his hotel room." Brock shook his head. So did Paul; he hoped to hell he could put Brock back into focus in time for his title match. "I can't fucking believe this shit!"

Before Paul could say anything more, Brock stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Knowing that things could get ugly in a hurry, Paul rushed after him.

"Where is she?"

Mark looked up from his spot at the table to see Brock and Paul seething. Trish, Bradshaw, Ron Simmons, Amy Dumas and Matt and Jeff Hardy all shot looks at Mark. After the initial shock that he played up had died down, Mark cocked an eyebrow. "Who?" he asked. He knew exactly who they were looking for.

"Don't play games with us, Deadman. Where the fuck is Brock's girlfriend?" Paul raged. Amy, Trish, Matt and Jeff's jaws dropped. They looked at Mark, stunned.

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "I haven't seen her since last night."

Bradshaw almost choked on his beer. Matt and Jeff chuckled. Ron murmured something under his breath. Amy and Trish were looking at Mark, wide-eyed. Brock tried to lunge, but Paul grabbed him.

"You son of a..."

"Hey...just what in the hell is going on here?"

Mark's gaze drifted from Brock to Vince McMahon. Vince's features were contorted in irritation, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Everyone fell silent. Vince's brown eyes narrowed. It became obvious after a few minutes that nobody planned to speak. "Well, don't bombard me with answers. Somebody, speak."

"He's got my fucking girlfriend, Vince!" Brock shouted, tattling like a kindergartner. Mark had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Vince looked at Mark, surprised.

"Is this true?"

"No, it's not true. I don't know where the hell she is," Mark retorted with a scowl. "He obviously hasn't been keeping his eye on her very well if he lost her. Brock's just looking to start some trouble here, Vince. It may be a wise decision to rein these two in now before they get out of hand." Paul's eyes bulged when Vince nodded in agreement.

"You two, come with me. Now." Brock shot a murderous glare at Mark, but he disappeared with Vince and Paul. Everyone turned to Mark when they were out of earshot.

"Where is she, Mark?" Trish asked gently, looking down at her plate of food.

"She's fine. She's safe," Mark remarked. He sighed. "Get your heads out of the gutter, guys. She came by my room the other night after he socked her." The girls exchanged gazes and gasped. "She spent the night with me...nothing happened...but I really couldn't let her go back to that."

"But she did, though, didn't she?" Amy asked. He nodded.

"She called me this morning from their room. He beat the hell out of her and cuffed her to the bed and just left her there. She dialed the phone with her feet. Thank God for Stephanie. She got his key-card and we went in. I got her unlocked, packed and out of here."

"Where is she?" Matt asked. Mark shook his head.

"I'm not saying fuck all about that," he replied. "For the sake of her safety, I have to stay quiet on this one. Just know she's safe, you guys." Trish sighed. "Lighten up, Trish. If you're that goddamn worried about her, I'll get her to call you, okay?"

"Could you?"

"Yes!" Mark shook his head. "I just couldn't leave her here, guys."

"It's admirable what you're doing, Deadman, but I have the feeling he's going to stop at nothing to find her. So you be careful. Because I guarantee you when a man like Brock Lesnar finds what he's looking for, it's going to get dangerous."

"Don't I know it," Mark sighed. The entire situation seemed to be spiraling out of control.