Текст книги "Return to Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Be careful what you choose to ask me, because once you know everything, you may wish you didn’t,” the muscle in his jaw quivered. “...and I don’t know what the consequences will be of your forcing me to tell you my secrets.”

"I'm not afraid of Mr. Black or what secrets he holds. I've already seen him at his worst.”

“Trust me when I say, you haven’t.”

She leaned forward, setting her cup down and held his gaze. “I knew what the consequences would be by agreeing to play your game again. I could've said no, but I accepted them.”

A condescending half-smile touched his lips. "No, you couldn't have."

"Who's ultimately in control?” she glared at him, putting him on the spot. “You or Mr. Black?"

"We’re one and the same.”

She shook her head. Nothing he ever said would convince her of that. “Who, Victor? Who’s in control?”

Giving her a frustrated look, he sighed. “I am. Me. Victor."

"Are you sure about that?” her voice trembled unintentionally. She needed to know if she was going to continue with this.

"No.”

The misery in his eyes said more about his intentions than any words he had spoken.

She reached over the table and laid her hands on top of his, unable to stop herself. No amount of hurt he had put her through would make her hate Victor. Mr. Black, yes, but not Victor. This man. The one sitting in front of her, exposed and unsure of himself. The one conceding when it wasn’t in his nature. This imperfect man agreeing to abide by her one condition.

Her touch made his body stiffen, but she held his hands tighter. "If you want me to play this game, I need to know you're really the one in control."

Slowly and mechanically, he turned his palms up to take her hands into his.

His eyes roamed over her face, his lips forming some silent word before he spoke, "I’ll do my best to be in control. That’s all I can promise. Nothing more.” He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and shook his head. “Nothing I ever do or say is ever going to make up for what I did to you, is it?"

"That’s an impossible question to answer." And it was. There was no telling the future. She hoped he could make up for it, though she doubted he could. Part of her didn’t want him to even try because all it meant was he would put her at risk of having her heart shredded; something she doubted she could recover from again. And she wasn’t ready for that; there was still too much anger and too many other mingled emotions to deal with, including what she was struggling with in regards to Nate.

He turned his face away from her as if ashamed before standing and lifting her into his arms. “Let’s get you home and warmed up, you silly, petulant little girl.”

***

Readying the bath for Elsa, Victor dipped his fingers under the running water while she undressed. As she folded her clothes and placed them neatly on the counter, he caught a glimpse of the welted scars. He had been doing his best all day to suppress the emotions he was feeling about having been the one to put them there, but seeing them again made him face the ugly truth of his actions.

A question lingered: why hadn’t she brought up the scars earlier? Lashed out at him? Despite his threats, why had she agreed to play his game when he had scarred her even after promising he would never leave irreparable damage? Were his secrets so enticing that she would put all that aside just to learn them? It made no sense, but nothing Elsa ever did was based on logic. Emotions were the gasoline to her fire and she allowed them to control her life.

Seated on the ledge of the tub, he reached out and took a hold of her wrist to pull her to him, but she resisted. Unyielding, he tugged her close and hugged her waist, resting his ear against her breast, listening to the sound of her heart. It was the very one that used to beat only for him. Even if only for a brief time, it had belonged to him.

But he dismissed it – pushed her away out of fear of being made to feel the one emotion he didn’t want again and hurting her in return. What a fucking pathetic thing to do to someone. He had hurt her anyway and far worse than he ever could have imagined.

Easing her down into his lap, he crept his hands up her spine and between her shoulder blades, causing her to wince and try to escape his cradling arms. He wouldn’t allow it. He had to feel them to know they were real. When his fingers skimmed the first one, a gasp escaped her mouth and she pressed her arms against his chest, but still, he refused to let her go.

“I did this,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I did this,” repeated but without emphasis.

“No,” she gritted her teeth. “Mr. Black did.”

He clenched his lids together tightly at the sound of her voice. He was Mr. Black. Fucking hell. Why couldn’t she just accept that?

As if sensing his building frustration, she stood and slipped into the tub, letting the soapy water cover her body. The water sloshed all around her and the only sound in the room was of the running water, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

He needed space; time to process everything that had happened and what he had agreed to. Leaving her alone in the bathroom, he retreated to his office to pen his thoughts in his personal journal.

What have I agreed to? Where was Mr. Black when I needed him? I say we are one and the same, but the fact is that we are not. Elsa has forced me to accept that. Goddamn her. God bless her. God… there is no God. Only harsh reality. Stark truth. Cruelty all around. Ugliness within. Can I go through with what she is asking of me? Do I have a fucking choice? She sees through my lies – through me. She WILL leave me if I don’t play by her rules. She proved that tonight. When she ran, my brain went blank and I reacted just as impetuously as she did by seeking her out and giving in to her demands.

Hotheaded and irrational, she doesn’t give a shit about the consequences she will face by refusing to play my game. And where does that leave me other than with no choice but to punish her? I’m so close to breaking down her resistance. It’s within reach. I can feel it, but still, there is that piece of her that she won’t give up. Her heart. And why the hell do I care? I know Mr. Black doesn’t. He doesn’t need her heart in order to enjoy the game, so why the fuck do I?

I must remind myself that the game has only begun. It’s only been a few days even though it seems like many and there is plenty of time to see things through.

She’s drawn her line in the sand and insists on the truth. So be it. If it’s the hideous truth she wants, then she’ll get it and we’ll see just how strong she is when she learns the true depravity of a mother’s hatred for her own son. We’ll see just how resilient she is when she learns the lengths to which people will go to crush someone’s spirit and devour their soul. We’ll see if her own spirit can remain intact when everything is said and done. I only hope it can and I pray to a God I don’t believe in, that her light remains a bright torch to guide the dark path ahead of us.

 

7: Before Darkness

Victor stood outside the Virginia State Penitentiary with the arctic wind blasting against him. It had been a long, difficult year since last facing Anthony. As he walked briskly toward the entrance, his stomach roiled and his head throbbed with an impending migraine. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he had last seen Elsa and given her permission to write out a list of questions. Every hour since that time, he had dreaded his decision, knowing that he would have to answer to her, truthfully, in order to keep her.

As he handed over his ID and badge to the guard, his mind wandered to his own list of rules he had made for her, as well as the mental list of how he wanted to push her limits and break her down. As always, Mr. Black’s imagination was spinning its web and Elsa would be ensnared before long.

Even though it had been over a year since last being at the Virginia Pen, other than a few different faces – nothing had changed. It was still dreary, slightly dirty, and cold. In the interview room, he draped his trench coat over the back of the metal chair and laid out the file he had brought with him – the one with the falsified records of Chapter Nine.

His heart thumped madly in his chest as he waited to see the old familiar face of the serial killer whom he detested more than anyone. Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one other person he hated just as much – himself. Although it was practically one and the same if he wanted to get technical about it.

What a cruel fucking irony his life had become.

He hated his mother too, though not quite as much. At least she had an excuse, albeit a pathetic one, for her cruelty – alcoholism. He, on the other hand, had a tainted bloodline to blame for his behavior and sadism.

Just like the murderer he was about to face.

A solid ten minutes later, Anthony Bruce came into the room, exuding the same overconfidence and smugness that Mr. Black had adopted over the years.

“Well lookie who’s decided to grace me with his fuckin’ presence.”

Anthony’s contemptuous statement raked over Victor. He took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to appear unaffected.

“I can only guess why your Royal Faggotness decided to show his face around here,” Anthony continued. “You want to know about that killer that’s making me look like a motherfuckin’ rock star, don’t you?”

Jesus H. Christ, he hated Anthony. Just like Nathan Fucking Duncan, he didn’t know when the hell to shut his Goddamn wordhole.

Barely able to contain his rage and the urge to rip Anthony’s tongue from his mouth and strangle him with it, Victor flexed his fingers in an attempt to release the tension building in him. “Are you done?” he grumbled under his breath.

“I’m just gettin’ started, Agent Cocksucker.”

His temper flared and he stood as he glared down at Anthony. “You’ve got a lot of nerve name calling considering you’re the one in prison, taking it up the ass and being forced to be someone else’s bitch.”

He had hoped to strike a hard blow to the sociopath’s ego, but all that happened was a sinister smile curved Anthony’s lips upward.

“It’s good to see you too, Son,” the old man chuckled, making Victor cringe at the reminder of their connection. “And for the record, I don’t take it up the ass, I only give it. Just like you.”

Momentarily defeated, Victor sank back into his chair and attempted to pull himself together. Tapping the folder casually, he stared at Anthony.

“Chapter Nine.” Victor only spoke two words, but the hungry look on Anthony’s face revealed his excitement.

“You been working long hours on that one?” his tongue poked out to slick across his top lip.

“Long, hard, hours,” he lied.

Anthony’s pupils flared. “What do you want to know?”

Feeling empowered, Victor straightened up and rested his elbows on the table. “Have you had contact with the killer?”

Anthony smiled a little too widely and his response came a little too quickly. “Of course not. I already told the other agents that. Didn’t you do your homework?”

Bullshit.

The tendons in the back of Victor’s neck tensed at the green-eyed gaze that was staring back at him. He could read Ant like a motherfucking book. It was like looking in a mirror, after all. Yes, he had done his homework, but he knew this piece of shit was a notorious liar and he wanted to hear the words himself.

Victor lowered his voice to a deadly level and calmly stated his intent. “You may have the others fooled, but I’m not some asshole you just met. I know you like I know myself. It may take me awhile to make the connection between the two of you, but I will make the connection. And when I do…”

Anthony’s body stiffened and a murderous look came over him. “You’ll what?” he eyes darkened as his irises dilated fully. “There’s nothing else you can do to me that ain’t already been done. I’m in here for the rest of my fuckin’ life, asshole. I’ll never taste pussy again or sink my cock into cunt. So what are you gonna do to me? Take away my cornbread privileges?” he sarcastically laughed. “Remove me from general population? Oh, yeah. That’s already been done, too. So what exactly do you plan on doing to me?” he rose in his seat, making Victor do the same out of defense.

Smoothly, he reached across the table and slid the folder out of Ant’s reach and put it back in his briefcase. Ant’s jaw muscle quivered.

“Unless you tell me who the killer is, you’ll never read another word of my journals. I know you want to. And let me tell you, Chapter Nine was so fuckably good. Tasty. Tight. And she begged…” Victor’s lusty tone made Ant’s jaw tense and the erection in his prison uniform became visible. “But you’ll never know about her until you give me what I fucking want.”

In the blink of an eye, Ant’s arousal turned to hatred as he seated himself again. “What about Chapter Eight? Where are the notes on that one?” he gripped his stiff dick to readjust himself.

Victor’s composure wavered.

“Fuck Chapter Nine. You want information? Then I want the notes on that little defiant bitch you mentioned before. The one whose spirit you said you liked.”

Victor swallowed loudly as he recalled the meeting where he briefly mentioned Elsa.

“Why is it you’re keeping her all to yourself? Is she tasty, too? Fuckably good and tight?” he mocked. “Did you keep that one as a pet? Is that why you’re so secretive about her?”

Victor gritted his teeth and Mr. Black took over. “Is that how you want to play this? Demand things that you have no right to demand? Okay. But you’ll never know about Chapter Eight. Or Nine for that matter. And you want to know what I’ll do? I’ll make sure you spend the majority of your days in solitary confinement for aiding and abetting a murderer. The privileges taken away will be computer privileges, mail privileges, any kind of social interaction with reporters or interviewers. That’ll really hurt, won’t it, you piece of shit?”

Ant stood and shoved his chair backward, tipping it over and making the guard in the room lunge toward him.

“We’ll see just how far your accomplice will get without your input,” Victor reached for his jacket casually and moved toward the door as a long line of obscenities and threats spilled from Ant’s mouth.

As the door closed behind him, Victor sighed with relief as the dull ache in his chest slowly began to subside. He was done with Anthony Bruce. It was over. And long overdue. Nothing good had ever come from learning of their connection and having contact with him.

It was time to face his past with the Chapter who was demanding to know his secrets. He only hoped he could remain in control when he faced them.

***

The pen touched the paper as Elsa pondered what questions to ask. She only had a few hours left to complete the list that could neither be added to nor changed. It seemed a monumental task and one she hadn’t really prepared herself for.

The quietness in her home was unsettling, making it difficult to think straight. With no one to answer to, she felt oddly out of sorts. Normally Nate would have called to check up on her, but things had changed. He hadn’t called in days. Perhaps he knew the reason for her betrayal. It was a dismal thought, but she couldn’t think about that. To face her own traitorous actions was too difficult a thing to do.

She knew when she started the list earlier that morning what the first question would be: the very one that got her into hot water. The scar. It had been haunting her for more than a year and a half and now she would finally know how it came to be.

Sleep had been minimal the night before and work, unproductive. She had not only been exhausted, but too preoccupied with the list to get anything done. And more concerning, what the repercussions would be of making him give her information.

As she penned the last of her questions, her phone chirped.

MrBlack: Your version of the game begins tonight. I hope you’re ready.

*

Elsa was as ready as she was ever going to be as she slipped the key into the lock of Victor’s home. The loud click and sound of her heels on the tiled floor broke through her calm and she began to tremble. Setting her bag down at her feet, she took a moment to try and recall the song still in her head, Drowning by Banks, or something positive, but nothing came to mind. Not even Nate.

As she came out of her nervous haze, the faint sounds of music drifted from the bedroom and down the staircase. She knew the song well. It was one that was on her own playlist, Flaws by Bastille.

Climbing the stairs, she peeked into his office to see the monitors lit up and the cameras rolling. It was so strange that the man who had hid absolutely every detail of his life from her before, was now laying himself bare for her and allowing her to see the inner workings of his home and private life. A home he was now living in. She wanted to believe that it meant something, but she refused and reminded herself that every step of this game was methodical. He wanted her to think that she was special and that all this meant something, when in reality, it only meant that he was playing the game more fiercely than before.

She would do the same.

When she entered the bedroom, he came out of the bathroom, wearing only a loose fitting pair of running pants. His hair was still damp from his shower and the smell of soap and cologne filled the space, engulfing her in sexual awareness. She closed her eyes, her senses intoxicated with his smell and the vision of the hard lines of his body.

And that tattoo. She had been shocked to see it on his flesh, but it was so fitting, to think of him without it, seemed wrong.

As for her own, she had it touched up during her time away from 2500 East Grace Street. It was hard to see unless you knew what you were looking for, but it was there – one extra beautiful, fragile flower petal and a lone, craggy, broken branch that represented both Victor and Mr. Black.

When she opened her eyes, Victor was standing next to her, his pants now lying on the floor as he watched her. Her mind seesawed back and forth when he reached out and unhurriedly removed her clothes, his lips parting only to pant softly.

With nothing being said between them, the knot in her stomach unraveled with each word of the song. Gliding behind her, he pressed his body tightly against her, the outline of his shaft felt in her lower back. His long fingers raked over her skull and twisted in her hair before tracing the line of her waist and sliding down her belly.

Palming her pussy, he whispered into her ear, “I need you to remind me why I’m doing this…”

The uncertainty in his voice made her vacillate. Victor was doing it again – tugging at her heart. No. She couldn’t… She wouldn’t allow it. But how could she refuse his simple request? If the only reason he was giving into her demands was sex, she could live with that. She had given herself over freely to other men and for far less. Just as she accepted that all he wanted was her body in return for his secrets, he spun her around, his tortured eyes riveted on her mouth.

His large hands enveloped her face as he dipped his head down and kissed her with an urgency that took her by surprise. When his tongue delved into her mouth and she tasted sweet mint and cigarette, she fought against her own body as it began to give in to the heat of his kiss. She wanted him to stop, to beg him to stop, while simultaneously wanting him to kiss her into submission.

“This…” his voice cracked. “Your willing submission… You…”

The way he read her thoughts and the galvanizing look on his face, shook her. Bewilderment raced through her mind and, suddenly, she reconsidered her decision to hand over her list of questions. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out… to run… to break it off completely, no matter what the consequences would be.

Before she could act, he walked her over to the bed and reached for the lubricant on the tallboy.

This again. Elsa’s muscles tensed and her lower belly immediately began to throb at the thought of Victor having that piece of her again.

Your Surrender by Neon Trees was the next song on his playlist. It didn’t surprise her. Nothing with Mr. Black was random. Everything down to the last detail, including the music, had been carefully crafted and planned out.

He laid her out on the bed, slowly easing his lubed fingers into her in preparation of taking her. Her eyes zoomed in on the look of concentration on his face as he slowly eased his cock into her bottom. As he gazed into her eyes, he licked his lips. “For all your strength and sass, this piece of your body that you’ve allowed me to have… screams of submission. Do you have any idea how irresistible you are when you submit to me?” his eyes drifted to some other place as his thrusts intensified.

Yes, she had an idea of how much. But she doubted it was nearly as irresistible as when he took possession of her body. Closing her eyes, she felt fingers slide into the place he hadn’t reclaimed yet. Her eyes fluttered open and glanced downward to his hand as two of his fingers pumped slowly in and out of her pussy while his cock remained in her ass. Over and over he hit that magical spot that only he had ever accessed. The wet sounds became louder as she neared her orgasm and her body began to writhe rhythmically against his palm. When his thumb found her clit, she mewled and began to pant softly.

Goddamn him for making her feel like this. For making her body react the way it did to his manipulations. If only Nate could’ve given her this.

“Give it to me, Elsa,” his words pierced her thoughts, “Give me what that husband of yours can’t give you.”

She flinched knowing he had spoken the truth, and also at the use of the word husband. He removed his fingers, making her unintentionally whine out. Reaching down, she patted her mound and slipped her own fingers inside herself. “Why can’t you just have sex with me like a normal man?” She eased her fingers in and out of her pussy. “Why does sex with you always have to be about who’s in control?”

A sly smile worked its way onto his mouth. “Because there’s nothing normal about me, and, Goddamn, I love being in control. But you already know that…” he trailed off as his slickened cock drove into her ass again, making her grunt. “Normal sex is boring… mundane… for the uninteresting sons of bitches who have no imagination or courage to take what they want. Like that fucking douchebag you’re going to marry. He could’ve had this part of you anytime and instead, he denied both of you the pleasure of it and squandered his opportunities away. And now it’s mine; this tight, delicious asshole of yours is all. Fucking. Mine,” he thrust harder. “Now tell the truth: you don’t really want to be fucked in some old boring, normal way, do you?”

No, she didn’t and he already knew that.

Swirling a finger around inside her pussy alongside hers, he continued. “This part of you belongs to your husband. But this other part of you,” leisurely he pulled out only to push back in, teasing her with his paced movements. “So tight...” he whispered so softly it was as if he was speaking to himself, his eyes trained on his shaft inside of her. “You have no idea how good this feels.” His irises darted to hers, the sharp line of his frown overtaking his pleasure. “If I find out you’ve given this piece of yourself to anyone else…”

Again, she winced. If only she had kept her damned mouth shut about Nate not wanting that part of her. And for fuck’s sake, Nate wasn’t her husband nor would he…

A deep thrust broke her concentration and she groaned from the mild pain as he stretched her ass to accommodate his girth, and pulled her fingers out.

“… I’ll make their lives hell…” he continued. “I swear it, Elsa. This piece of you belongs to me,” his mouth twitched with agitation and his stare turned glacial.

She writhed beneath him, frightened by his threatening statement, but he felt so damned good…so, so good… Why couldn’t he just shut the hell up and fuck her?

“Tell me something…” his silky, soft tone comforted her. “Why do you look so uncomfortable when I use the word husband?” “

She abhorred that he could read her so well and that he had fooled her for even a split second with his trickery. Thrashing her head back and forth, she held her tongue, angry that every thrust had to be followed by a vindictive statement.

A hard pinch of her labia between his thumb and index finger followed by a tug caused her eyes to pop open as she squealed out from the weirdly pleasurable and painful sensation.

“Tell me why you look disgusted when I call that man your husband, when you’re the one who said yes to his fucking proposal,” he ordered, his voice thickening with a combination of desire and aggravation.

“Because he’s not my husband…”

Victor swiftly cut her off, “Yet,” he whispered, frustrating her even more.

But she promptly continued. “…and I’m not disgusted with the word, I’m disgusted with myself for being here with you and…” she bit her bottom lip.

“And what?” He pinched harder, yanking at her pussy lips once more, making her unwanted admission spill out of her.

“And loving what you’re doing to me,” she whimpered. He opened his mouth but she cut him off, annoyed beyond belief, “Please just fuck me and stop talking!”

That same damned haughty grin spread over his chiseled, rugged face and he pushed his fingers into her again, stroking her G-spot and rewarding her for speaking truthfully.

Mere moments before her release, he eased his fingers out. Grabbing a hold of his cock, he pulled all the way out, only to push back deeply into her tight canal again. Then, repeated, all the way out, only to be pushed in balls deep. Over and over, he tortured her with his slowly paced invasion, his eyes fixated on his shaft. She began to claw at the red velvet fabric below her as the orgasm began to build within her again. She didn’t think it was possible, hell, she didn’t even know it was possible, to have an orgasm from this kind of sex, but it was there… just within reach as he hit her G-spot through her ass when he tipped his pelvis.

Without warning, the wetness between her legs flowed and she screamed out, her voice cracking from the shrillness. Fisting her own hair, her body convulsed as his anal assault continued until every last drop of her come was released. When she finally opened her eyes, Victor’s eyes grew wild with lust. Leaning down on top of her, he pushed her knees against her chest, ready to deliver a pile driver into her ass. He plunged into her as he rested the weight of his body on the back of her knees and steadied himself on his toes. Too exhausted to care about the wet mess she was laying in, Elsa lay limp beneath him and out of breath as he got his release too, his warm come filling her as he dove deep and grunted his satisfaction.

Finished, he slowly withdrew, stroked his cock a few times and stood next to the bed. Eyeing the wet spot, he casually remarked, “It looks like I’ll have to give the dry cleaning man a call again.”