Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (7 page)

*

Fifty minutes later he
pulled into the large parking complex and made his way into the
high-walled, brick jail. The sun was still bright in the sky and
the warm wind was whipping all around him, leaving him damp from
the muggy air and making his cotton shirt cling to his skin. While
he walked toward the entrance, he took in his cold, sterile
surroundings. He had been here far too many times to count over the
years with his profession and had come to know the facility well
and all the blood thirsty killers by first name. Except for the
ever changing inmates coming in and out of the place, it felt
strangely as if he were home.

Anthony Bruce was already
in the interview room waiting when he arrived at his final
destination. Seated in front of him, Victor couldn’t deny his
eagerness to see the man’s familiar craggy face and to get into his
degenerate headspace. As Anthony’s body count and notoriety
continued to rise, so did the difficulty in getting in to see him
as he was being inundated with requests for interviews. Victor had
formed an unusual bond with the man over the last four years nd
Anthony was his go-to-con when he couldn’t wrap his head around a
case. Or Chapter.

The bond wasn’t only
atypical, but necessary and Victor had come to accept the
sociopath’s role in his life, even if the old man didn’t know the
reasons himself. It was better that way. It was better that no one
knew the reasons. It was essential.

“You’re a difficult man to
get in touch with,” Victor eased himself into the hard metal
chair.

Anthony’s weathered and
scarred face split into a sarcastic grin and his voice cracked,
“What can I say? I’m the man of the hour.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,
Ant. Once we find out all your secrets, you’ll be old
news.”

The sinewy, white-haired
man belted out a depraved laugh and pounded his fist on the table.
“You’ll never know
all
of my secrets, no matter how hard you try,
Son.”

Victor winced and his mouth
tightened into a deep frown at Ant’s term. It reminded him of his
mother who used the same euphemism when speaking to him. God rest
her bitchy, demanding, old soul.

Ant tipped his head back,
his green-flecked eyes scanning Victor’s briefcase. “So what ya’
got for me? Chapter Seven?”

“A new case I’m working on.
I need your thoughts,” he answered as he pulled out a thick case
file.

“You know how this
arrangement works. I help you in exchange for the enjoyment of
reading about your fucked up relationships. Oh, my apologies. I
mean
Chapters.
”

His stomach knotted and
twisted. He hated Anthony with the kind of putrid loathing that
seeped from his pores. More to the point, he was repulsed by the
fact that he needed him. Narrowing his eyes, Victor sat silent,
giving Anthony a pointed, contemptuous stare and prolonging the
inevitable – having to share his secrets with the only man he knew
wouldn’t judge him. They sat like that for several long moments,
neither of them giving an inch.

“I’ve got all the time in
the world, Agent Laurenzo. How about you? Don’t you have some
pretty, young thing to get back to? Chapter Eight, perhaps?” He
flashed his yellowed, cracked and crooked teeth.

Victor swallowed hard,
trying not to reveal his resentment and nonchalantly waved his hand
as if he could care less. “Seven was a waste of time and not worth
mentioning. As for Eight, I’ve only just begun that endeavor and
there’s nothing yet to discuss.”

“I’ll decide for myself if
Chapter Seven was a waste of time,” Anthony seethed with visible
mounting rage. “If you want my fucking help…”

“Don’t get yourself in a
tizzy, old man. I’ll give you what you want,” he smirked
derisively. He loved seeing the cold-blooded killer’s eyes brighten
with fury. He often wondered if the rage that flared on the rarest
of occasions in Anthony’s eyes was the same as that of when he was
cutting the limbs from the bodies of his victims.

Reaching into his leather
satchel, he pulled out a stack of photocopied documents. Ant’s face
immediately brightened.

“You’re always prepared,
aren’t you? So? Was she a good fuck?” he licked his lips like a
hungry mutt and outstretched his arm. “Or was it a ‘he’ again?” he
waggled his eyebrows perversely.

Victor’s jaw tensed and he
pulled the notes just out of reach, tormenting Ant.
“
She
was
no better and no worse than the rest.”

“Said Agent Laurenzo,
Master of mind fuckery and bisexuality,” Ant mocked satirically as
he leaned forward and puckered his mouth in jealousy. “Now give me
the motherfucking chapter or else get the hell out of here,” he
hissed.

Victor smiled and raised
his eyebrows, untouched by Ant’s accusation. He didn’t consider
himself bisexual. He simply didn’t discriminate when it came to
studying the weak or where his pleasure could be gotten
from.

Casually, he laid the
chapter on the table. Without delay, Ant slid it toward him and
began fingering the pages lovingly as if he had been given a drug.
In a peculiar gesture, his brows pinched together and he began to
sniff the air around him. Picking up the pages and bringing them to
his nose, he inhaled deeply and then placed his hands on the table
and leaned forward, inching his way toward Victor. Ant was much too
close for his comfort and his nerves prickled with caution, a red
flag popping up as he fisted his hands, ready to defend his life.
Again, Ant drew in a deep breath, his eyes dilating and a deep
primal growl floating up from his throat.

“God damn I love the smell
of cunt…” he whispered, his ruthless eyes fixating on Victor’s
mouth. “Chapter Eight?”

Pushing his chair back,
Victor snarled in response, regretting that he hadn’t showered
before the visitation, “Keep your distance and don’t forget your
place. I gave you what you wanted, now it’s your turn to return the
favor. Let’s not forget who the bitch is here.”

***

Elsa quickly finished
packing a day’s worth of clean clothing and womanly essentials. She
had waited for nearly two hours before giving in and leaving 2500
East Grace Street to get ready for the weekend that lay ahead of
her. It was absurd that Mr. Black hadn’t given her any information
as to his whereabouts or what time he would be back. Christ, he
hadn’t even given her a phone number with which to reach him yet.
An unsettling thought had crept up on her during her drive back to
her apartment that perhaps he really was married. It was nauseating
to think about. She didn’t want any part of a man who was in a
committed relationship and she had no desire to be ‘the other
woman.’ There was just too much about Victor, aka Mr. Black, that
needed to be known and she
would
know. She promised herself
that much. After the weekend she vowed to do her own
research.

Speeding back to his house,
she was relieved when she didn’t see his car parked in the
driveway. Letting herself in, the soft sounds of
Figure 8
by Ellie
Goulding filled her ears and the odor of cigarette and citrus
lingered in the air and she knew what that meant. Rounding the
corner to the living room, Mr. Black was leaning back in the
duchess chair, his legs stretched out and his head cocked to the
side as his eyes moved over her body. His mouth twitched with some
undefined emotion, but the look on his face was undeniable - he was
displeased. She dropped her bag to the floor and stood wordlessly
watching him. There was no point in trying to make
excuses.

“It was a simple request,
Ms. Cassidy,” he spoke with light bitterness, his narrowed eyes
stabbing into her.

Elsa lifted her chin,
meeting his icy gaze straight on and pretended not to understand
his look as she seated herself on the lounger across from
him.

“I waited nearly two hours
before I left,” she whispered in defense as her confidence waned in
the face of his unnerving stare.

“The point is: you left.
And now I’m to decide on how to deal with your
insubordination.”

Her lashes flew up in shock
when his eyes suddenly filled with fierce sparkling. He appeared as
if he was thrilled with her ‘insubordination.’ When he stood and
moved near her, she was still too startled by his statement to do
what she knew she should, which was bolt in the opposite direction.
Instead, she eyed him warily, his cat-like movements mesmerizing
and spine tingling.

“What are you…” is all she
could get out before he seated himself next to her and covered her
mouth.

“Shh,” he breathed into her
ear as one of his hands began to unloosen the tie around his
neck.

When he was free of it, he
gently pushed her onto her back, laying her out on the chaise. In a
flash, his hot mouth was all over her as he pinned her down beneath
his strong body; first on her eyelids, cheeks, briefly on her
mouth, then on her neck. His tongue flicked and licked its way down
to her covered breasts and she moaned, enjoying the frenzied and
unpredictable movements of his hands all over her. His touches were
everywhere and she couldn’t focus on one sensation before another
new one would suddenly overwhelm her. As her skirt began to hike up
around her hips, her pussy throbbed its yearning and she opened her
legs to him, eager to have him.

“So trusting…” he ground
out between his teeth as if agitated by the thought.

Yes, she was trusting; too
trusting. And she knew it. But damn the consequences – she wanted
him deep inside of her. Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she hadn’t
even realized when he brought her hands down and over her belly and
looped his tie around her wrists. When she felt the tug of the silk
and the blood constrict in her palms, her eyes popped open and her
body tensed. She tried to sit up but Mr. Black’s large hands pushed
her shoulders back down and he repositioned his body over hers,
straddling her and rendering her completely immobile.

“Now you’re really mine to
do with whatever I want,” his lips parted in a dazzling display of
straight, white teeth and his sparkling green eyes glowed in the
darkening room as the sun began to set.

Good God, that smile. It
was stunning beyond words. He hadn’t yet graced her with a smile
like that and it was hard to take her eyes off of him. And the
boyish look on his stubbled face? Whatever reservation she had
about him and his intentions melted in an instance, her body
relaxing into the velvet cushion beneath her.

His long fingers touched
the buttons of her shirt just as she raised her bound hands above
her head. Locking eyes, he tugged hard and in one motion, all the
ornamented buttons flew off her blouse as he ripped it open. Elsa
gasped. She loved that shirt and now she was out not only her
favorite skirt, but one of her beloved tops. Not that she gave too
much thought to it. She was too thrilled and horrified at his
actions to truly care.

Yanking the lacy fabric of
her bra under her breasts, his fingertips skimmed her flesh and his
mouth crushed down into her bosom, his teeth plucking and nipping
at her tender and under-used nipples. Just when she began to ease
into the rhythm of his sucking, he abruptly sat up, his malachite
eyes dark like ominous storm clouds.

“My word is law, Elsa.
L-A-W,” he drew out the word. “When I say I expect something to be
done, what I mean is: don’t fucking think, just do as I say. It’s
not a difficult concept to wrap that pretty little head of yours
around. My house. My rules. Are you getting it now?” he asked
smoothly, his voice thick with desire.

She nodded her
understanding but gritted her teeth and tried to relax. Who the
hell did this guy think he was and why the hell was she allowing
him to speak to her like that? Because on some level she liked it;
even craved it. Hell -
needed
it. This man had
asshole
written
all over him and lucky for the both of them; she had a thing for
assholes. Her mind was clouded with a combination of excitement,
irritation and fear causing her to involuntarily tense under his
firm body.

“Now that we have that out
of the way, I can dispense your punishment…” he trailed off as his
hands hiked her skirt up the remainder of the way and high over her
hips where he sensually traced every detail of her tattoo,
centimeter by centimeter inching his fingertip over her
ribcage.

The devilish smirk on Mr.
Black’s face sent shivers over Elsa’s torso. He lowered his head
and nipped at the cherry blossom just over her pelvic bone and
sealed it with a lick. She welcomed whatever else he had planned.
How bad could it be? He said she was safe within these
walls…

Tucking his fingers into
one of his pants pockets, he brought out the panties he had cut off
of her earlier. She couldn’t resist a small smile at the thought of
him having been doing whatever he was out doing with her panties in
his possession. Sliding himself down, he wrapped the torn underwear
around her ankles and tied them snugly.

Next, he reached underneath
the chaise and brought out a small container of baby powder and
began to dust it over the exposed parts of her body, her tummy,
thighs and breasts, and sprinkled more down her legs. Occasionally
his eyes would flick up to hers to gauge her reaction. Hypnotized
and a little confused by what he was doing, Elsa lay completely
still, fixated on the look of concentration on Mr. Black’s face. He
looked handsome and powerful with his dark eyes and secret
expression, and his smooth bronze skin stretched over his high
cheekbones. Once more, he leaned over the edge of the lounger. The
clear-cut lines of his profile were barely visible against the
dimly lit room as he reached for a long, satin scarf.