Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (2 page)

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.

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.”

For more than two weeks, Elsa’s dreams had
been haunted off and on by the man that smelled like sex and pricey
cologne and his penetrating eyes. It was a welcome change from her
usual tormented dreams of Patrick. She was desperate to be over him
but still, she lingered on what could have been. It was pathetic
and she hated herself for her inability to let him go. It had been
over six months since their break up. Why couldn’t she just move
on?

Directing her attention to the task at hand,
she worked diligently in the silence of her office. Solitude was
what she had wanted but now faced with the unnatural quietness, her
mind and thoughts were scattered and often times bordering on the
ridiculous. She needed a distraction. Cueing some music on her
phone, she let the sounds of
People Help the People
by Birdy
crash against her body. The somber words somehow soothed her
anxieties of her past failures, and urged her to finish her
work.

Walking past the large window, she spotted
the car that had been parked out in front of her apartment for
almost a week. She had just assumed someone new had moved into the
building, but seeing it here and now was a bit disconcerting. She
opened the blinds to get a better look and saw a man sitting in the
vehicle peering up at her. The sun was bright in the sky and the
angle of it nearly blinded her, making her unable to make out any
recognizable features other than his dark hair. Was it coincidence?
Alarm bells went off in her head telling her that it wasn’t.

As she stood staring down at the parking lot,
unbidden thoughts of her family came to her mind. She had promised
to call and let them know she was safe. It had been five weeks
since her move to Richmond and she had only texted them, still
unable to find the nerve to call them. She didn’t want to hear the
cynicism in their voices or their lecturing about how wrong she had
been to move away from Boston instead of simply finding another
job. But who was it wrong for? Not for her. It had been the right
thing to do. She was sure of it.

When her fuzzy thoughts came back into focus,
the car had driven away, leaving her to wonder who had been
watching her.

The day came and went quickly. Viv invited
her to The Brewery again, this time without the company of the
asshole who had been invited previously, but Elsa wasn’t up to
it.

Instead she showered, changed and decided to
catch a bus to Grace Street for a stroll. Unlike most people she
knew, she enjoyed public transportation and the opportunity it gave
her to be an uninvited spectator into the secret lives of
others.

During her short walk to the bus station, she
felt the peculiar sense of eyes on her and on several occasions,
she stopped in her path to turn around and take in her
surroundings. The sun wasn’t quite set yet and low on the horizon,
but the shadows on the street were prominent, making the atmosphere
feel unsettling. Thoughts of being attacked and pulled into a
darkened corner besieged her. As panic began to surface, she
reached into her jacket pocket and tightly gripped her mace, ready
to burn the eyes of any would be assailant, and picked up her
walking pace. She couldn’t be sure if she was just being paranoid,
but she swore she heard footsteps behind her matching her pace.

The bus stop was only a few hundred feet away
and she jogged the remainder of the distance, relieved when she
came to an overhead light where several others were waiting. With
her heart pounding in her chest, she eased herself onto the bench,
feeling somewhat safer in the company of others, though not
much.

Suddenly, there it was: the smell of citrus
and bergamot. Surely she was imagining things. Her eyes darted
around and she leaned into the man sitting next to her, inhaling
his aroma, but all she could smell on him was his sweat. Just then
a large bus squealed to a halt in front of them. The doors flung
open and she pushed her way to the front of the crowd and scrambled
on.

Once on the bus, she let out a loud sigh of
relief. Her mind was racing and her mouth parched from fear.
Sinking low into the seat, she scanned the bus, her eyes becoming
fixated on an amorous couple who were discretely trying to cop a
feel. A smile danced on her mouth at the sight of it. She felt
dirty watching them, like some kind of perverted onlooker, but she
couldn’t take her eyes off of them. When the petite woman giggled
and tried to pull away, the unassuming, thin man with black
horn-rimmed glasses got a wild look in his eyes and yanked her back
roughly and whispered something harsh into her ear as he slid his
hand up the inside of her thigh and under her skirt, making her
mewl with delight. Elsa’s breathing quickened at what she was
witnessing and she shifted in her seat, her nethers becoming damp
with arousal. When she did, her movement caught the man’s attention
and his eyes darted toward her. He gave her a lewd smile as he
continued to work his fingers into his girlfriend, all the while
the girl panted softly with her eyes closed.