Текст книги "Return to Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

17: Refuge

Elsa’s senses were still dull from shock when she heard his dismissal. There was no way in hell it was ending. Not now. Not when she was finally breaking through. She was in control this time. She decided when and where and how much. She didn’t care about the pain settling in her jaw. She had suffered through worse. What he had done was irreprehensible, yes, but…

She bolted upright and fell to her knees in front of him, cutting him off.

“Don’t you dare fucking say that to me!” she shook him by his shoulders violently. “You don’t get to end this game! I say when this game is over! Do you hear me? I have a say in the rules, too, remember?” she yelled in his face.

Dazed, Victor’s eyes widened and a soft gasp left his parted mouth. “But I hurt you. I don’t want to do that again,” he stated even softer than before, his grief-stricken eyes roaming over her face.

Her panic dissipated and her body began to shiver at his look of genuine sincerity. “Then don’t.” Rising to her feet, she stood looking down at him intensely as he gazed back up at her, awaiting her instructions. “Say you’re sorry,” she stated firmly.

He blinked several times as if processing her statement. “I am sorry…”

“Tell me it won’t happen again,” she ordered.

With a slow shake of his head he clenched his fists and licked his lips. “I can’t…”

“Bullshit!” she barked at him when his eyes drifted to his hands again. Startled, his eyes darted back to hers. “You’re the one in charge here, Victor. You make the fucking rules. You. Not Mr. Black. Now tell me.”

Pensive silence.

Her body swayed. If he wouldn’t tell her what she needed to hear she couldn’t continue on… Perhaps he just needed some incentive. She hoped it worked because if he didn’t tell her that he would never lay another hand on her in anger, the game really was over.

“Unless you want me to leave, tell me, Victor,” she reiterated his name. “Or is that what you really want; for me to walk out that door forever and never look back?”

“No,” he croaked out, a look of sheer panic on his face.

Slowly his resolve began to resurface and his childlike look changed to that of the fierce man she knew. Pushing himself off the floor, he stood in front of her. His warm, gentle fingers swept her mussed hair away from her eyes and glided down the cheek he had savagely assaulted. When he spoke again, it was with certainty. “It won’t happen again, Elsa.”

Her brows knit together and her lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat. She needed more from him than just those words…

Without prompting, he gave her what she needed as he pulled her against his chest. “I promise.”

*

She led Victor into the kitchen to make him something to eat. It was the only thing she could think to do.

Victor slumped into a chair. “You’re beautiful,” his statement came out whispered several minutes later.

She paused just as she sliced into a bell pepper, stunned by the sheer emotion and sincerity of his declaration. “I never should’ve pointed Nathan in your direction.”

Elsa froze but was unable to meet his gaze. It was one of the rare times he had spoken Nathan’s name, and the hurt masked by bitterness was easily detectable.

“I never should have…” he gulped loudly. “He’s a lucky man,” a disgusted sigh, “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Elsa set the paring knife down, unsure of how to respond. Slowly, her eyes found his. She wanted to run to him and hold him, and make whatever pain he was feeling, go away. He wasn’t himself, but she liked this man. The one staring at her, waiting for either approval or denial. The real Victor. But Mr. Black was there, too; hiding within the depths of his amazingly beautiful eyes, waiting for the moment he could tear her heart to shreds and brutalize her in some twisted form or another. She licked her lips and picked the knife back up to finish preparing dinner for him, leaving his statement to linger in the air.

Lucky? Hell no. Nathan wasn’t lucky. No one in this make-believe triangle was anything but fucked-over. They all simply existed in a state of self loathing, denial or oblivion. For her, she weaved in and out of all three at any given moment. Right now, she felt nothing but self-loathing for having made Victor confess his worst memory. And for what? What was making him recall all of those horrible details accomplishing? Not a damned thing except to satisfy her own sick curiosity about him and exact revenge on him for having rejected her love and then abandoned her to seek out other chapters.

She willed herself not to look at him, but she couldn’t resist and her eyes once again fixed on him. His gaze had drifted to something that didn’t exist in the physical realm, his expression sullen and withdrawn. What he had confessed was too much for him to bear.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that attack,” he gulped noisily.

She left what she was doing and went to him, seating herself in his lap and hugging him close, not caring if Mr. Black lashed out.

“I know... I know,” she reassured him.

After each harsh thing he had put her through, he had always taken care of her, physically and emotionally, drawing her close and warming her with his body. Now it was her turn to care for him in the aftermath of his admission. She rocked him and barely fought the urge to weep at his feet for having made him speak of the dreadful atrocities of his past.

“My sweet, brave Victor,” she whispered in his ear. “Life is cruel… too cruel sometimes. There’s so much darkness, but it gets better… brighter…” she lied to him and herself.

Things had been dark since that dreadful last day with him. That day, her light had nearly been extinguished. Nearly, but not completely, though it might as well have been snuffed out. Hell, not even Nate could rekindle it. Since that day, her life had become flat – the sex, her emotions, and even the job she once loved. All of her senses which had previously been razor sharp now bore the dullness of a rusty butter knife. No more passion; no more heat. Everything luke. Fucking. Warm.

Victor’s rejection and Mr. Black’s brutalization had condemned her to an emotional death sentence, though she would never give either of them the satisfaction of knowing that. Gazing down at the man in her arms, she realized they both wore their masks of contentment well. To the outside world, they both appeared normal, even well-adjusted. All of it – a lie they both told to the people around them and themselves.

And here she sat, holding onto him trying to ease his pain as she struggled with her own. She hated herself for still feeling compassion and empathy for him after all the pain he caused her and was still causing. But, she couldn’t deny Victor what he so desperately needed. It would be unbearably cruel to do so and she would only end up hating herself if she did. She’d be lying to herself, too, if she didn’t admit that while sitting there, holding him, she felt emotionally alive again and so much warmer than tepid.

“No it doesn’t. The darkness just goes on and on…” he whispered back, his arms hanging by his side as he sat motionless in her embrace. “If only I could experience your light just once,” he choked out.

Victor’s smothered words tore at her resolve. Holding his face in her small hands, she gently pulled away to look into his dejected eyes and lied again. “I have enough for the both of us…” God, she hoped…prayed… she had enough for the both of them.

“Even after everything I’ve done to you?” his brows pinched together.

“I don’t want to think about that,” she swallowed hard, finally speaking truthfully.

“And I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s there. Between us. Like a wall too high to climb. It always will be.”

She shook her head in denial though she knew he was right. In the blink of an eye, he was there in Victor’s eyes, Mr. Black, clawing his way back through his clouded and weakened emotional state. “No, Victor, don’t give in. You’re so much stronger than Mr. Black,” her tears began to fall unbidden.

“I’m not,” he traced the line of her tears, “I wish I was…” and kissed them away before he blinked long and hard.

When his eyes reopened, Victor was gone, his sad, bright-green eyes now a dull shade of jade. “You’re free to leave,” his mouth twitched with agitation as he pushed her off his lap.

And just like that, their moment was over and there was nothing more she could say or do.

“I can’t drive in this weather. The snow…”

Victor rose slowly. “Fine, but leave me the hell alone.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the door to his office quietly shut.

She placed what she had made in the microwave and set the timer. When it was finished, she set the plate on the floor in front of his office and knocked once before withdrawing to his bedroom. She hoped the roads would be clear soon.

Half the day passed in silence and the plate of food sat untouched. Her thoughts kept returning to what had happened with the man in the alley. She was damned lucky to be alive. Facing her own possible demise was a slap across the face and a harsh reminder that life is short. Too short to spend time with people who aren’t genuine. Too short to surround herself with negativity when there was nothing to be gained. And too damned short to waste her time in a loveless relationship. Yes, she had made the right decision.

Late in the afternoon after the roads had cleared, the police department had been kind enough to have her car towed to Victor’s house. With the light of day diminishing, she knew it was time to leave.

After gathering her belongings and a quick text message to Nick, she descended the stairs and waited by the door for Victor to see her out as he had always done. She stood alone for nearly five minutes before accepting that he wasn’t coming. He had retreated, too beaten down by his recollection of ghastly memories, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Her body began to shake when she realized that Mr. Black would never forgive her for having instated her own rules and demanding that Victor reveal his secrets.

Tomorrow or the next, she would pay for having put them both through hell.

***

The sound of Elsa’s footsteps on the stairs and the front door closing brought Victor out of his haze. He heard the rev of her engine and bolted, barefoot, out the front door, to her car. When she saw him, she rolled down her window.

“Don’t leave. The roads are still shitty and…”

The roads and weather had nothing to do with the reason he wanted her to stay, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit he needed her. Not after what had happened.

She wavered and he could see the indecision written on her sullen face. He reached into her window and across her body, turning the ignition off. Reaching into her back seat, he retrieved her bag and led her back inside.

The silence between them should’ve been awkward, but too much had transpired between the two of them for anything to be uncomfortable anymore. She knew everything about him. Absolutely. Everything. And she had stayed. For hours. Listening and waiting for him to come out of his office. He had watched her during that time, unable to face her out of shame for what he had done to her.

Once inside, all he wanted was to bind her and remove the burdens of everyday life. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even want to try and figure it out. She had tried to do the same for him, but Mr. Black didn’t allow it. It spoke to the depth of her compassion when she held him and said the things she did.

Guiding her to the chaise, he brought down the treasure chest from the mantel.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, Victor,” she put her hands up in protest.

“Shhh,” he whispered and pulled her close. “It’s not what you think.”

Her eyes shined with distrust. Could he blame her?

“I know it’s hard to trust me, but I’m asking you, Elsa, begging you, to believe me when I say I will never, ever, do to you what my mother did to me. That’s not the man I ever want to be.”

“What does Mr. Black want?”

Her question lacerated his heart. “Mr. Black isn’t here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

All he could do was shake his head. He knew what Mr. Black wanted. To see her in pain. To hurt her physically under the guise of helping her, and to injure her heart for being so Goddamn resilient.

Trust. Such a powerful thing and something he had taken for granted with her.

It would take a lot for her to trust him fully again. It would take baby steps. Small moments and kind acts. Repeated over and over. And time. Something he hoped she would invest in him.

She watched him as his thoughts ran wild in his head with ways to prove himself.

“Mr. Black isn’t here,” he repeated.

He didn’t know what else to say. Her eyes shimmered knowingly and the brightest he had ever seen. There was no way around what was happening between them, despite both of their denials. Why else would she stay? But for how long would she stay? Another day? If he was lucky, maybe just a little longer. He hoped at least long enough for him to make up for what he had done.

A crackle of energy passed between them, hot and raw, as he undressed her and placed her back into her shackles. This time, he left the gag out. He lifted her off her feet and placed her down onto the floor at the foot of the dining room table, and went to warm up the food she had prepared for him.

When he returned to her, he began feeding her. He planned to not only appease her sexual hunger for domination, but her physical hunger as well. He gently touched the fork of vegetable and pasta to her lips. When she opened her mouth to accept his gift, a spike of heat caught him low in the gut.

Trust.

It continued this way, bite after bite, sip of wine after sip of wine, with no protest from her. She rested at his feet and allowed him to provide for her needs, satiating that primitive desire within him to be her one and only source of nourishment.

When a drop of wine would dribble down her chest, he was there to lick it and clean it for her. When a crumb of food would escape her lips, he was there to catch it. They fell into a comfortable routine within a short time, but there was still the smallest bit of apprehension in her, as if she was waiting for Mr. Black to make an appearance.

He would just have to try harder and keep trying.

When he dipped his pasta sauce covered thumb into her mouth, a low moan slipped past her lips. The husky helpless sound of want made the blood in his veins hot and molten.

Everything she did in those few precious moments made him feel alive and made him forget about the ugly memories of what he had recalled. The sway of her body… The tilt of her head to silently request another bite… The tip of her tongue moistening her lips…

Once finished with her meal, he carried her to the chaise lounge and stroked her hair while music filled the air with sensual and erotic melodies. Hours passed with no words spoken between them. None were needed.

That night, he did the only thing he knew how to do: tend to her physical needs. Ironically, he learned those skills by taking care of the woman who had destroyed his life – his mother.

And so, he bathed her. Washed her hair. Dried her. Brushed her hair. Washed the clothes that she had worn. Placed the jewelry he had bought for her onto her nipples and labia. Dressed her, only to undress her slowly and watch her pose for him. A giggle. A smile. She slowly revealed her vulnerability. He read out loud the details of his current case, her gasps of disgust and horror escaping her perfectly shaped mouth.

When he finally removed the blindfold, he reveled at the joy in her eyes and watched with adoration, the expression on her face when her fingertips stroked his lips.

The words he had written on her birthday gift note were true. She was more than a chapter to him. She always would be. And he was grateful for having been allowed to make up, in the tiniest way, for having struck her.

With Elsa as his safe haven, it could’ve gone on like this forever and he would have been content. But he knew it was only temporary because nothing good in his life ever lasted. It was always fleeting. There was still more darkness to come. He could feel it just below the surface of his false security, threatening to tear down the refuge that his Peach had provided for him.

With Elsa finally sleeping, he grabbed his personal journal. He had been avoiding writing his thoughts all day. But it was time to have a come to Jesus meeting with Mr. Black for having harmed Elsa.

There have been too many fucked up days in my life to count.

My insides are twisted in knots and my brain overflowing with the whos, whens, whys and what ifs. What if I hadn’t gotten to Elsa in time? What if she had been killed? I’m surrounded by death, yet to lose one of my own, someone who means something to me… Where would I be without her? What would I be without her? How would I tell her family that I didn’t protect her? That it was my fault that she was dead? Ceaseless questions. Questions that have no answers. Questions that need no answers because I was there in time.

The man who tried to kill Elsa. Who the hell is he? Nothing in my life happens without reasoning behind it. His smile. Jesus, that smile. Something isn’t right. I can feel it crawling under my skin like an insect trying to burrow its way out of a corpse. I need answers. Why Elsa? Why now? I will demand answers. Tomorrow. And the next and the next until I get the answers I want.

It turns out our night from hell was only a prelude to the horror of facing my past and memories long since forgotten. I made leaps and bounds today, only to backtrack and sidestep. That always seems to be the way with me. Never facing my past while lying to myself that it makes no difference what happened to me. It does matter. I see that now.

Nature vs. nurture.

I’ve read the books about it. I’ve studied them and written endless reports on the subject. It’s neither one nor the other in my case. It’s both. I am what I am not only because of the tainted DNA coursing through my veins, but because of the environment I was raised in.

I thought I could handle answering Elsa’s questions. They’re just memories, after all. The past is the past and the woman who gave birth to me and who made my life hell, is long dead. As for my father, he’s merely an insignificant distraction.

But I was wrong to think facing my demons could be easily brushed off. It’s difficult to be logical and unbiased when looking inward. Mr. Black is clouding my judgment. He’s always clouded my judgment and I’m growing to hate him. What he did today, what I allowed him to do today, was deplorable. What I’ve put those people through… all those women, Jordan… unforgivable .

But I take pleasure in the game. I can’t deny it. I love the smell of apprehension and the dilating of pupils from fear. And my enjoyment of it has nothing to do with Mr. Black, that’s all me, Victor. It’s the sadist in me. However, it’s not the deliverance of pain that I crave, it’s the feeling of authority and power that surges through me when I have complete control over another human being. It’s the gift of submission given willingly that I can’t live without.

I can’t give that up. I won’t. I couldn’t even if I tried. There has to be some way to find a middle ground for what my mind craves and my body needs; some way to accept that part of me that I find objectionable and make it acceptable.

Where there’s a will there’s a way. Elsa has taught me that. And I will find a way to come to terms with my inner darkness. What other choice do I have? None if I want to keep my sanity. But what good is my sanity if Elsa isn’t there to catch me when I fall? And I will fall. I’m already falling. Slowly at times, uncontrollably at others, but always, steadily I’m descending downward in an endless spiral... I pray she catches me. 

18: Consistent

Two days had passed since Victor’s horrific revelation and the day that would go down in history as Elsa’s worst and most cherished time with him. The way he took care of her, his kindness, his attention… Those moments would forever be etched into her memory. The rest of that day, she just wanted to forget.

As nice as her recollections of his gentleness were, she was still on edge after being attacked, and found it hard to concentrate at work. Mr. Black’s rules were still running in the background, adding to her anxiety. The game wasn’t over yet; she knew that much. If there was anything she could count on, it was Victor’s consistency to always keep her guessing and Mr. Black’s ability to find new ways to torment her.

When she received a mysterious text message to meet him at a historic hotel downtown, she knew it was time to repay him. After what he had shared with her, it was the least she could do for him. The very least.

The message read very similar to the one on the night of her birthday, but she doubted there would be any male-on-male action again in her near future after her hissy fit. Too bad for her. Thinking back, she had been an asshole for having interrupted what could’ve been the hottest thing she ever witnessed.

She set aside her work project early and texted her brother. She didn’t have the courage yet to tell either her mother or brother about the attack, especially after Nick found out about Victor.

In her message folder, three more texts popped up from Nate. She stared at her phone for a long moment before deciding not to open them or respond. His visit to her house the previous night hadn’t gone well. After reading her name in the paper about the assault, they ended up in a heated argument when he demanded answers. What did he want to hear? Sure as hell not the truth.

What was the truth, anyway? She had lost track of what she had made up in her head and what was reality. Victor always had that effect on her – blurring her mental ability to make sense of things and wrecking her ability to see logic. He had done it before and this time was no different. Even though she had tried, her time with him was turning out exactly the way it had before – with her falling for Victor and their inevitable demise looming in the background. All it would take for the game to end would be for Mr. Black to rear his nasty head and do something irreversibly fucked up.

Like threatening to burn her with a cigarette or hitting her again.

The memory still lingered like an unwanted lover. Like Nate. And like Victor. Both of them wanting what she couldn’t give them… her heart. Both of them not giving her what she needed… their love.

“Fuck my life,” she grumbled under her breath.

It really was fucked and so was she, both literally and figuratively speaking.

*

An hour and a half later, Elsa arrived at the hotel.

Her instructions were to shower at the Washington Hotel and dress in the attire Victor had provided for her. The front desk had a key waiting for her, but she was too taken aback at the beauty of the lobby to pay attention to what the clerk was telling her. The many times she had driven past the hotel, it reminded her of a castle she had seen in pictures when she was a child. Taking in her lush surroundings, she tried to imagine what her fate for the evening was. The elevator ride to her top floor suite had her nerves on edge as she tried to mentally prepare herself for repayment. She hoped it was Victor coming out to play and not Mr. Black.

When she entered the room, she was staggered at the opulence and elegance within the suite. With surroundings like this, she would rather spend the night in than go anywhere. That feeling became even more prevalent when she saw the attire that he had laid out on the bed. With each garment she picked up, a sinking feeling came over her.

The red, leather skirt was too short, and the black mesh top and silk tank underneath too revealing. A small package and two boxes lay next to the outfit. Inside the package was a pair of black fishnet hose and within the largest box, a platinum blonde wig. The smaller box contained every kind of make-up fathomable. Under the wig were specific instructions on how he wanted it styled and how he wanted her make-up to be applied.

The next note, hidden inside the pantyhose, delivered the bad news.

Wait for me in the hotel lounge in exactly one hour.

-V.

 

Her insides roiled with disgust and anger. A damned prostitute. That’s what he wanted her to look like. A hooker. Who the hell else would wear this get up? No respectable woman would wear an outfit like this. Not even to a night club. She should know. She had done plenty of unrespectable things in her life, including picking up men at a bar for one-night stands and engaging in less than safe behaviors. And accepting Mr. Black’s initial offer. But not once had she ever worn anything so trashy.

She would totally wear something like this for a night in, to role play or get kinky, but to be seen in public like this? What if someone she knew saw her?

She tossed the wig aside and plopped down onto the bed. Irritated, she swept the clothing aside roughly and crossed her arms over her chest. This was such BS.

Only a second later, her phone chirped.

MrBlack: Don’t be late.

 

Of course she wouldn’t be late. She hadn’t been late yet, had she? She was following his damned rules.

Quickly, she showered and stiffly, she dressed; going about the tasks as if she was watching herself from above. Emotionless. Robotic. Unfeeling.

Walking back into the bathroom to put on the wig, she was struck with how uncomfortable she was. The leather squeaked against her bottom, the fishnet on her thighs itched, and the mesh top that sat mid-navel scratched against her skin. She tugged the skirt down, but it was pointless. This was as good as it was going to get.

Following the directions that were included with the wig, she placed the thin hairnet on her head first, and then the wig. She poked and stabbed at it with a comb, ratting the ends as per Victor’s instructions. When she stepped back, something on the floor caught her eye.

A price tag from the wig had fallen out that read $2,432.00. She gasped. Who the hell paid that kind of money for something that would only be worn once? How much disposable income did Victor have? She knew he owned a lot of property, but she had no idea he was that wealthy. With that kind of money, he could have any woman he wanted so why was he bothering with her?

Because she was pliable. And she was playing right into his hands again by doing as she was told. As she stood, staring at the strange, blonde version of herself in the mirror, sadness filled her gut. All the promises she had made to herself had been broken. Not just the one about never allowing Victor back into her life, but the promises she had made as a young girl and young adult. The one about never allowing anyone to change who she was. The one about never settling for anything less than true love. She had done those things with Patrick and with Nate, and now she was doing it again with Victor. Over and over, she kept repeating the same mistakes. When would she learn? Would she ever learn?

She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t resilient. She was Chapter Eight.

Blinking back the tears that had gathered on her lashes, she slammed her hand onto the counter and cursed herself.

Fuck that.

She was strong. She was resilient. And yes, she was Chapter Eight, but Chapter Eight was the very one who was making Mr. Black play by a whole new set of rules. She was the Chapter who he had come back to because she had walked away.

Mr. Black was not going to break her. Maybe she would feel differently later, but for right now, she wasn’t going to give into that sinking feeling.

She reached for the make-up and applied it liberally. Her foundation was smeared on heavier than she would normally wear it, her cheeks pinker, her lips redder, her lids caked in glittering blue eye shadow, and her lashes covered with gobs of mascara. If Mr. Black wanted trashy, then she would give it to him.

She slipped on the only thing in the ensemble worth keeping – a pair of Louboutin gold studded, python, peep toe platforms. They too carried a hefty price tag. It seemed Mr. Black had not only a taste for the sleazy, but for the extravagant.

She rode the elevator down to the lobby with a lump in her throat. The quick up and down looks and the pucker of women’s mouths didn’t go unnoticed. Like a good pliable girl, she swallowed the pill of degradation Mr. Black had handed her and walked to the lounge, ignoring the judgmental stares she was attracting.

Seated at the bar, she ordered a strong drink. She would need one if she was going to sit there any longer than a few minutes.

Thirty minutes passed, every second ticking by slowly. She kept her eyes trained on her second drink the entire time and pretended the men’s whispers next to her weren’t about what they thought her profession was.

“Can I get you another drink?” The unfamiliar voice next to her was rich with a thick lilting accent.

She kept her eyes forward. “I’m good.”

“Are you now?” He moistened his lips. “How good are you?”

The man’s voice oozed sexual overtones and made her want to bolt from the hotel, but she couldn’t. Not in the middle of a winter afternoon the way she was dressed. All she could do was sit there, red-faced, humiliated, acting as if she didn’t hear his suggestive question.

Hot breath on her ear made her shiver with disgust. “How much, Sweetie?”

The taste of bile and rum made her swallow loudly. “More than you can afford,” she finally found the courage to face him.

The dark-haired man wearing a tailored suit chuckled and sipped on his drink. “I doubt it,” he smiled amiably as if unaffected.

The bartender slid a note across the bar toward her.

Wait for me in the room.

-V.

 

Elsa rolled her eyes and climbed off the stool. Always waiting. That’s all this damned game was – a waiting game. Waiting to find out her next punishment; waiting to learn his secrets; waiting until the day her heart was shredded… Nothing but fucking waiting.

She marched toward the elevator and punched the button when a woman’s snobbish whisper was heard next to her.