Текст книги "Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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Grace Street

(A Chapter 8 Novel, #1)

Copyright © Ella Dominguez 2014

All rights reserved

Published at Smashwords

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To the most wonderful & precious people in my life – my daughter, husband, mother & family.

Acknowledgements

To the fantastic group of beta readers I’ve been blessed with, who gave up their spare time to help me and on short notice – THANK YOU! (although thank you’s don’t seem like enough): Gwen from G Book Diva Blog, Yvonne, Christina, Terri T. from My Book Boyfriend Blog, Terrie A., Monica, Becki, Dorothy & Gabby.

Gratitude, ‘kindness & smiles,’ sent to CL Smith of Go On Write (www.goonwrite.com) for this beautiful cover and the many others he has provided me with.

To Mallory M. for her assistance and friendship. I wish her the best of luck in her new endeavors. Your Mama Toon loves you!

Much love to my coworkers for their encouragement. I’ll miss each and every one of you. I’ll be creeping on your FB pages daily. You’ve been warned. ;)

Thank you to all of my loyal readers for putting up with my indecent writings and sense of humor, and whose kind words and support are what keep me going.

To the new readers who have given me a chance to prove myself – thank you.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

1: Deliberate

2: Intentions

3: Calculated

4: Premeditated

5: Anticipation

6: Rules

7: Hesitation

8: Unpredictable

9: Exacting

10: Challenging

11: Respite

12: Layers

13: Absence

14: Details

15: Eye-Opener

16: Bared

17: Light vs. Dark

18: Obsession

19: Invested

20: Clash

21: Wrath

22: Resilience

23: Possession

Other Books

Prologue

Victor tossed his jacket over the back of the curved white couch, and threw himself onto it. His solid, lean body sunk into the leather as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. With his mind racing, he suddenly jolted upright and reached for the journal on the abstract-shaped table only a foot in front of him. Just as he began scribbling furiously into it, his phone rang out. C7 lit across the screen.

Would this bullshit never end? Letting out a heavy sigh, he answered, his deep, baritone voice clipped with agitation. “Why must you persist with this?”

“Please, Mr. Black, I need to see you,” a shrill female voice choked out.

The corners of his mouth twisted upward into a wicked, satisfied grin. “I can only imagine the pain you’re going through.”

“Please, just one more time. Please…” she panted out in a tear-smothered voice.

He shuffled the phone between his hands, contemplating what to do. He had already granted C7 a goodbye fuck just before heading home. For fuck’s sake, he could still smell her cunt all over him.

“I already made you come once tonight. Don’t be greedy,” he shot back with his usual coldness.

“I am greedy! I want you!” she yelled into the phone, the panic in her voice vibrant and chilling.

Her high-pitched tone and obvious alarm grated on his nerves. She was unstable and volatile, two characteristics he had no patience with or time for.

Without emotion he responded, “No, I’m done with you. Move on.” When she began to cry, he momentarily paused. He knew she was capable of doing something rash and he didn’t want or need the drama. “You agreed to our arrangement, Em. Remember?” he said only slightly less frigid than before.

“How could I forget, you cold-hearted bastard, when you constantly reminded me of that? But I need more time with you. Just a little more time. Please, Mr. Black, I need more time to prove myself worthy,” she began to sob uncontrollably.

He seriously didn’t have time for this shit. Hell, he had already wasted too much of his precious time on her already. She would never prove herself as anything other than a major pain in the ass.

“Time’s up,” he stated with finality as he hit the end call button.

Guilt coursed through his veins for only a split-second, and somewhere deep in his blackened subconscious the word asshole flashed in bright neon lights. Without another thought to it, he brushed it aside. He had no room for remorse in his life. It was useless and only complicated things, and ‘complications,’ immaturity and people who didn’t do exactly as he said, didn’t fit anywhere on his agenda.

He reached for his journal again and flipped to the page he had been jotting down his closing thoughts on his most recent test subject and finalized his entry.

Chapter 7– Game over.

Now that things were officially finished with Chapter Seven in his mind and on paper, he had important matters to attend to. Calling his realtor, he confirmed his meeting at The Grace Street Brewery and reached for his jacket again. He glanced optimistically at his journal one final time before leaving.

With any luck, the next Chapter would prove herself more valuable than the others and worthy of his time and effort. Perhaps she would provide him with everything he wanted and needed in a plaything. Hopefully, the next Chapter would be the one shining pupil in his long line of failures. Maybe, just maybe, the next Chapter in his life would finally see him for who he really was and allow him to let all his demons loose on them.

1: Deliberate

It was always darkest before the light and, God, how Elsa needed the light. It had been dark for so long, she had nearly forgotten what the warm feeling of happiness felt like. She needed a new beginning and a new life. Not one to normally run from her problems, she had done that very thing in hopes that Richmond would provide her the change that she so desperately yearned for. It was time to move on and start over and there was no time like the present.

As she drove to The Grace Street Brewery, she reminded herself to stay focused and to remain lady-like at all times. That meant taking it easy on the chardonnay.

When she entered the large establishment, she heard her name called over the loud din and live background music and turned her head to see Vivien, her neighbor, waving her over to the bar. She smoothed her cream-colored pencil skirt over her thighs and strode over to the bar with her long, slightly-curled, henna red hair swinging around her shoulders. Seating herself, she promptly ordered a cranberry-orange sangria, sans alcohol. The last thing she needed was to get lit so early on.

The atmosphere was invigorating. She had only been on Grace Street twice before but somehow, she felt like she was in her element with all the different shops, restaurants and old brownstones lining the street. “I love the energy here. It feels like home,” she half whispered to herself. Facing her neighbor, she thanked her and returned the smile that Vivien was giving her. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

“Anytime, Sweetie.” The brown-haired Vivien pulled a cube of ice out of her glass and sucked on it nervously. “Don’t be angry, but…” she started as she crunched down, “I’ve invited a few male friends to meet us.”

Shooting her a cold look, Elsa puckered her mouth and glared angrily at her. “Oh, Viv, why did you do that? I told you I’m not interested in meeting anyone. I just moved here and the last thing I want is the hassle of having to pamper some man’s ego.”

Vivien rolled her eyes in response. “Who said anything about pampering an ego? It’s just a night out. And, hell, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Elsa sighed loudly. “I’m not interested in getting laid. And don’t you know – all men want their egos stroked. I should know. I’m good at attracting the kind of men who demand that sort of indulgence.” she mumbled. And those were precisely the kind of men she couldn’t say no to and who had trampled her heart time and time again.

She had made it perfectly clear to Viv that men were off the menu as far as she was concerned, even if it had been a long five months since her last tryst. She smiled weakly at Vivien and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. No, she didn’t need the hassle of a man, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to at least enjoy the evening out.

When the men arrived, she was polite as usual, but made it known she wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship, physical or otherwise. It made no difference because four shots of bourbon and two beers into the evening, the overly-touchy blonde, muscle-head whom Viv had invited was turning out to be a real douchebag. When he began putting his hands all over her, she voiced her objections repeatedly, but he was relentless. His pushiness and insufferable cologne agitated her beyond reason and when his hand ‘accidentally’ brushed up against her breast for the second time and he let out a disgusting, breathy chuckle, all her professionalism and self-restraint flew out the window.

With cheeks flushed, she hissed, “You prick,” as she raised a hand ready to slap the smug smile off his face.

At that very moment, she heard the clink of glass next to her and felt something cold and wet on the front of her skirt. She jumped off the stool and looked down to see herself drenched in sangria.

“Watch what you’re doing, you asshole!” Blonde Douchebag garbled at the man on her left who had tipped her drink over into her lap,

Elsa found it a little more than ironic that the drunken Blonde Douchebag was suddenly defending her honor when he was the asshole making unwanted advances. She grabbed a handful of napkins and dabbed her skirt in an attempt to soak up as much of the beverage as possible and motioned for Viv to get their drunk, unwanted guest under control.

“I’m deeply sorry, Elsa,” she heard from above her in an unfamiliar, husky voice that resounded with a staid calm.

When she looked up, the man’s heavy-lidded and seductive, pitch-black eyes staring down at her were so focused and penetrating, she almost lost her footing when she quickly attempted to put distance between them.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him over closely.

One corner of his mouth lazily curled upward. “No, but you really should get some salt on that before it stains,” he gestured toward her skirt.

She quickly glanced downward. There was no way that stain was coming out, salt or not. She frowned. It was her favorite skirt. Making her way to the restroom, she slipped out of the garment and spot cleaned it under the sink and then placed it under the hand dryer. Right after wiping the sticky residual off her thighs, she slid back into it. Her eyes rested on her face in the mirror and she took a quick inventory of herself: smile lines at the corners of her mouth from happier times, unmistakable sad, dark brown eyes hidden behind long lashes framed by smudged mascara.

Staring at her reflection and still pouting over the loss of her much loved skirt, she recalled the awkward memory of her last sexual encounter. She had hoped anonymous sex would take her mind off of Patrick, but it had only reminded of her of how lonely and in need of a man’s attention she really was. And how quickly Patrick had gotten over her and found his next muse.

Thinking about the failed relationship with her direct supervisor put her in a worse mood than she was already in. She was sure he had been ‘the one.’ Positive, in fact. Like a love-struck idiot, she had practically picked out her wedding gown and monogrammed linens. But that had been her fatal mistake – assuming he felt the same way even though he had never said as much. Their sex had been good, but she realized that’s all it had been to Patrick – just sex. How was she supposed to know she had been blind-sided by lust and that she had never been more wrong about anyone in her entire life?

Images of Patrick’s horrified look when she mentioned moving in together flashed before her eyes and his harsh, cold words of rejection seeped into her thoughts. Having to see him every day at work, hear his voice, and smell his cologne lingering in the room was all just too much. She had fled Boston in search of a new life in a smaller city, one that was far away from her numerous botched past relationships and miserable thoughts.

She touched up her make-up and dabbed a bit more scarlet lipstick onto her thick, pouted lips. She thought she hadn’t looked half bad considering her circumstances. Elsa took pride in her appearance. Not to say that looks meant everything to her, but just that she believed in putting her best foot forward in all situations. Her new position at work was a significant step up the managerial ladder and she was a professional, after all.

Emerging from the restroom, the man who had ruined her outfit was propped up against the opposing wall, looking like an aristocratic, Italian male model posing for a fashion magazine. He was all solid, lean body dressed in a tight, black leather jacket over a white cotton shirt that was open at the neckline revealing a light dusting of chest hair. His black slacks were hanging sexy and low on his hips, emphasizing the slimness of his form. There was no denying that he was exceptionally good-looking. With his rich espresso-colored hair perfectly coiffed to a fine mess, long, straight nose, and stubbled-to-perfection face – he was masculine perfection personified. Any other time Elsa would’ve fumbled over herself to get a better look at him, but something about his cool demeanor and the ferocity held within his gaze set her nerves on edge. She had been on the receiving end of that kind of look before and it had only gotten her into trouble. She couldn’t tell how old he was, but she guessed he was closer to forty than thirty, or somewhere in the middle.

All of a sudden she remembered he had used her first name only to deny knowing her. Had he been listening to her conversation with Vivien? When she warily approached him, he stood upright, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs and slimness of his hips. The muscles around his eyes tightened as he glanced at her skirt.

“You’re welcome,” he spoke in a low, composed voice while his eyes roamed over her body before resting on her mouth.

Elsa blinked several times trying to process what his haughty remark meant before finally giving in and asking, “For what?”

The man said nothing and his eyes once again darted to the pink discoloration on her skirt. When he met her gaze, he lifted his eyebrows as if expecting a response of gratitude.

“Am I supposed to thank you for ruining my favorite skirt?” she asked in wide-eyed astonishment.

“No. For getting you out of a bad situation before you acted irrationally.”

Her lips parted in surprise. So he had been listening to her conversation. And watching her. The man’s voice carried a unique strength, but his ruthless, authoritative look was terrifying. Uncomfortable with the heat sparkling in his eyes, a flicker of apprehension coursed through her and she looked over his shoulder, suddenly wishing Vivien would show up. Hell, she’d even settle for Blonde Douchebag.

“Yes, well… thank you for that,” she replied curtly, avoiding further eye contact and looking down at her shoes.

When the man reached into his pocket, Elsa flinched and backed away.

The man cocked his head to the side and it was hard to miss the amusement in his eyes. “A little gun shy?” he asked as he casually held out his business card. Her stiffened body relaxed and spots invaded her vision from the adrenaline rush. “I’d hate to see such a lovely piece of clothing go to waste. Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning,” he remarked as he thrust the card toward her.

“That’s really not necessary,” she pushed the card away as she tried to move past him without appearing as nervous as she felt.

Stepping in front of her, he blocked her passage, his solid frame an ominous, hulking presence. He stood so close she could feel the heat from his body and feel the movement of his breathing, but she forbade herself to look up into his eyes for fear of what she would see looking down at her. She took in a sharp breath and held it as she listened to his slow, steady breathing. Holding the card up in front of her face, he gripped it firmly at the corner and flicked it with his middle finger.

“I insist,” he growled.

Elsa’s breath hitched and she froze. His masculine scent mixed with the hint of a woman’s perfume and sex assaulted her senses, dizzying her and kindling a fire deep within her core. She couldn’t resist inhaling once more to savor his essence, feeling overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions. Excitement and something else – something she didn’t dare admit to herself; an aching desire to taste him… and dread. It was a heady and confusing combination.

She had to get away from him and fast before she did something she would regret. Squeezing past him, she shook her head. She didn’t want his card. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She just wanted to get as far away from him as possible, content to assign the handsome and frightening stranger to the list of mysterious knight in insidious black armor status and leave it at that.

2: Intentions

Returning home from The Brewery, Victor’s mind was buzzing with the kind of energy that came only from a new test subject. He reached for his journal, eager to plot out his course for her when his phone rang out. Fucking, Seven. Would he never be free from her? Rolling his eyes with irritation, he promptly blocked her number and laid his phone on the couch next to him. His eyes closed only briefly when Elsa’s face flashed across his eyelids.

Grabbing his journal, he turned the page and began anew.

“Hello Chapter 8. I met you tonight at the Grace Street Brewery when I was least expecting it. I simply went there to discuss the state of my ventures with my realtor and to sign the last of the paperwork on the sale of C7’s habitat. I’m glad to be done with it and her. She proved to be more trouble than she was worth and I gleaned nothing of any value from our short-lived liaison. I do so hope your chapter is longer than that of 7’s.

It was your voice that first caught my attention as I became mesmerized with the anxiety exuding from it. How I love fear and anxiety; it’s what makes the world go around and the tides ebb and flow. It makes my blood hum and my cock hard. Yes, I’m a sick and depraved fuck like that. But that’s what I get paid to do. It takes one to know one, after all. And so my journey to study and learn how to read people continues and you, C8, are next on my ‘to-do list.’

Elsa. What a lovely name. What fun we’ll have. I anticipate learning much from you on my quest to discover everything I can about human interaction in all forms. Your miniscule but important role in my life will help not only me, but all of law enforcement as I learn how to break down the walls that people build up in order to hide their secrets and deepest, darkest desires.

I wish for wanton decadence and wicked things for you and me. For pain, pleasure, humiliation, and debauchery beyond anything you or I can imagine. I long for you to open my mind and allow me to explore all the possibilities of my dark side.

I’ll most likely dream of you this evening and your ember-colored hair, crimson lips, and that taut, fuckable body.

You didn’t recognize me. It was a nice change. But you rejected me tonight and very soon, there will be no more denying me. You wanted me. I could sense it. I could smell your arousal on you, as well as your fear. You need what I have to offer just as I require what you have to give.

Now for the first step in this little game: where to place you. A high-rise penthouse like my darling, over-privileged C3? Maybe a little out of the way bungalow on the edge of town so no one can hear your screams of pleasure and pain like my masochist C5. Or how about a condo in the next county over like Mr. Machismo in the real world and a dirty whore behind closed doors C4? Or perhaps a sleazy hotel room like my filthy C6? She liked her surroundings seedy, but that’s because she was a dirty girl. But that’s not you – or is it?

I’ve got you pegged. I could see it in your eyes and the way you moved. You’re little Ms. Professional, everything in its right place, aren’t you? But you have a temper. I like that. I like a fire that burns brightly when stoked. Are you a dirty girl, Elsa? We’ll soon find out. Along with how out of sorts I can make you feel while I fuck your mind and body until you can’t recognize your own image when you look in the mirror. What secrets are you hiding, my sweet fuckable little Elsa? What filthy things are you willing to do for me? What can you teach me that I don’t already know? What can I teach you about yourself? I will know all your desires and secrets, I promise you, I will.

For you, I’ll find a place that is unique. Somewhere you feel at home. Something on Grace Street.”