Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (32 page)

“Fuck you, Eight,” he spat out.

“I’m sorry for hitting you when I promised
myself I would never do that again.”

His eyes narrowed with confusion.

“You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I…” she
couldn’t take anymore. “I just wanted to be the one to help
you.”

His look of hatred changed to horror. “I
don’t need to be helped.”

“Tell me how I can make this right. Tell me
what you want from me,” she squeaked out.

A group of people walked by and Mr. Black
quickly changed to Victor.

“We’ll finish with this later and by finish,
I fucking mean
finish.
”

He walked double-time ahead of her and
straight to his car, leaving her at the entrance. Her mother came
out shortly looking for her. Elsa wiped her tears and explained
that Victor had work to attend to. Her mother clearly knew she was
lying, but let it be.

Her mother slept that night on her bed while
she slept on the couch. As she lay there wondering what wrath she
would suffer next, she couldn’t help but feel like she had let
Victor down by not explaining herself from the beginning.

The cat was out of the bag and if she made it
out of this thing alive, she promised herself two things: she would
never allow any other man to treat her the way Mr. Black did, and
no matter what, she would never give up the hope that people can be
helped.

Elsa didn’t rest at all that night and drove
in a sleepless daze to the airport on Wednesday with her mother.
She bid her a bittersweet goodbye, wondering if it would be her
last.

It would be another missed day of work.

Not bothering to change or freshen up, she
drove directly to 2500 East Grace Street. She would prepare for her
punishment there.

***

Victor sat at his desk staring at the wall.
He had been there most of the night. His office was in shambles. He
had torn it apart in a rage when he returned home the previous
night. He hadn’t moved from his chair in six hours and he still
couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen the signs of her deception. He
had gotten lax and was so blinded by work and Anthony, that the
signs that kept popping up were completely ignored. Her smell in
his house, things slightly out of place, the disappearance of his
key that was perfectly placed in plain view... She had even found
the spare key to his home. He had to give it to her, she had done a
fair job at hiding her tracks, except for the video footage at the
brownstone and the missing journal notes from the envelope. He had
simply tossed the envelope into a drawer when he arrived home
without looking inside of it. He had no reason to. But surely she
knew she would be caught. Maybe she wanted to be caught.

She knew everything about him. Every.
Fucking. Thing. All his deepest, darkest and most repulsive
secrets. No one knew everything. Not even Anthony. Victor had
limited what he allowed Ant to read, but Elsa read it all and knew
every single ugly detail of the horrible person he was. He didn’t
understand her. He never would. She had read all the ghastly
minutiae of his debauchery and cruelty, and still she had stayed
and came back for more. She was no masochist, he knew that. But
then what was she? Fucking insane like he was? She knew he was a
sadist who had murderous nightmares and still she was asking him
how she could make it right…

The inner voice that he thought had died long
ago reared its sentimental head.
She’s fallen for you.
Hell,
she all but admitted it.

His phone chirped with a message.

C8: I’m waiting for you.

He laid his head over his crossed arms on the
desk. What the hell was she waiting for? What did she think this
thing with him would lead to? A fucking happily ever after? There
was no such thing. All things ended eventually, some of them
amicably, most miserably, and in the case of Chapter One –
horrifyingly.

She wanted to know what would make it right?
He would show her. And then she would see once and for all who he
really was, whether he wanted to be or not: Mr. Black.

***

Elsa showered and dressed in only her silk
robe as she waited on the staircase. When she heard the key in the
lock, she stepped off the bottom step and disrobed quickly and
kneeled by the door.

When he entered, his movements halted and she
heard a sharp intake of air. When she looked up, she immediately
noticed his swollen lip and grief almost overcame her. His eyes
were wide as he stared down at her and he appeared scared. But
scared of what? Her?

He promptly recovered and moved past her
without saying anything and put his briefcase down. She stood and
followed him when he still didn’t speak.

He sighed loudly when she brushed up against
him.

“Wait over there,” he pointed to the
chaise.

She seated herself and wrapped her arms
around her body for warmth.

He settled himself in the duchess chair and
crossed his arms over his chest.

“First things first: I didn’t know Chapter
Five owned Juniper’s. Not that I need to fucking explain myself….”
he grumbled under his breath. “And I never intended to mail those
notes about you to Anthony Bruce.” He sighed irritably and pushed
his hair off his forehead. “Nevertheless, it wasn’t my intention to
include your mother in this game. I do have standards, however
fucked-up they may seem to you.” Barely keeping his anger in check,
he continued. “That being said: I want to know why you did what you
did.”

Elsa shrugged to hide her embarrassment and
guilt at having assumed the worst. She swallowed tightly and licked
her lips. It was confession time. “I just wanted to know more about
you.”

Victor’s malachite colored eyes darkened as
he held her gaze. “So you thought breaking into my house and
stealing an extremely personal item was a reasonable way to make
that happen?” he said louder, his temper flaring.

“I tried to do things the right way by asking
you questions and you made a ridiculous rule about not asking you
anything. And what about you? You’ve been stalking me and watching
me since the very beginning. You know absolutely everything about
me.”

“That’s how I work,” he answered without
really addressing her statement logically.

His stare drilled into her as he sat
motionless. “Did you learn everything you wanted to learn?”

“No.”

“No?!” he huffed and sat forward. “So you
fucking read my personal journal files and you still didn’t learn
everything you wanted? You greedy whore.”

Mr. Black was now present. She knew it wasn’t
Victor talking, but she still lowered her eyes to hide her
hurt.

“What the hell do you want to know?” he
barked as he threw his hands up and paced in front of her.

“Who made you like this?”

He walked forward, stopping in front of her
and gripped her chin, forcing her head back. “No one made me like
this, Eight. I was born like this.”

God, she detested being called a number. It
was so impersonal and cold. He had to know that. “I don’t believe
that.”

Backing away, he glared at her scornfully. “I
already told you once; I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

“I don’t believe that either,” she pushed her
chin out.

His jaw muscle quivered. “Again with your
audacity?”

“Was it Chapter One?” She wasn’t really sure
why had asked the question, but by the look on his face, she knew
she had hit a nerve.

He stood motionless in the middle of the room
with his hands fisted at his sides as a tense silence enveloped the
room. Even though he didn’t speak, Elsa knew that the answer was a
resounding
yes
.

“You’re a lying cunt,” he quickly changed the
subject.

“Stop calling me that!” she yelled, catching
him off guard and causing him to back away from her. “You really
are a hypocrite! You told me that if I was going to lie then to
make it believable, so I did!” She stood and rushed at him. “You’re
pissed because the tables got turned, aren’t you?” she hollered and
pounded her fists on his chest. “I played your game the way you
designed it and now I’m going to be punished for it?”

“Yes, you are,” he gripped her wrists to rein
her in and spun her around, pinning her wrists behind her back and
rendering her immobile.

She began to sob when he forced her to her
knees. “I just wanted to know the real Victor. I just wanted…” she
dropped her chin to her chest, letting her hair fall in her face to
hide her despair. “I just wanted to know the real Victor.”

“Then you will, Peach,” he leaned down and
whispered into her ear.

Roughly, he pushed her away from him making
her fall onto her stomach. Elsa rose up and looked over her
shoulder to see him digging into his briefcase. When he approached
her, he had an old, worn and tattered, black-leather bound journal.
She hadn’t seen this one before. Tossing it on the floor in front
of her face, she touched it and peered questioningly at him.

What she saw next sent panic rioting through
her. Slowly he began removing his belt, but by the look on his
face, it wasn’t going to be used to bind her.

“Victor…” she pleaded as she tried to crawl
away.

“Call me that one more time, Eight, and see
what happens,” he growled as he grabbed a handful of her hair and
halted her movements. “You want to know who I am and what started
all this? Then your wish is my command. Read,” he snapped the
leather belt on the floor next to her.

Fear and anxiety knotted inside of her and
for a split second, she thought she would vomit.

Elsa rose to her knees and reached for the
journal and opened it to the first page as she tried to keep her
fragile control in check.

Herein contain the notes of Victor Laurenzo,
Special Agent for the FBI and criminal profiler.

I have been tasked with my first big case
and the intention of this journal is to document my feelings and
thoughts as it progresses so that they can be clearly defined later
if necessary.

Elsa looked up at Mr. Black, not
understanding what exactly she was reading. The snap of leather
startled her and she dropped the journal.

“Read it out loud. Every time you hesitate or
stop, you’ll meet the real Victor.”

Although his statement was veiled, there was
no ambiguity in its meaning. He intended to whip her. The thought
filled her with disturbing images and she began to shake. She hated
pain. She reached a quaking hand out and reopened the journal to
begin reading aloud.

The case in question is file #23249
regarding the murder of two individuals who are not related or
connected in any way other than being suspected of being killed by
the same perpetrator. It’s an interesting case and one I’m lucky to
be involved in. I look forward to being able to stretch my wings
and really learn from the other agents and detectives involved. I
genuinely believe that this will be an excellent learning
experience. I digress.

Murder victim #1: A 32-year-old husband and
father of three, Gerald McKinney.

Method of homicide: Strangulation.

Thoughts: It was personal. Perhaps sexual
asphyxiation? Will note more on this as more facts are
available.

Particulars: Staged murder scene. Clean.
Killer has clearly done this before or at least done their
homework. No forensics to speak of regarding traceable DNA. Loose
clothing fibers found linked to victim #2. See below.

Murder victim #2: Jonathan Gonzalez, Age 24,
university student majoring in Pre-Law.

Method of homicide: Jugular artery
laceration leading to exsanguination.

Thoughts: Again, personal.

Particulars: Pattern of blood spatter
consistent with no struggle, patient in resting position. Unique,
red clothing fibers found at the scene and identified to be that of
a scarf sold only in the Virginia Beach, Virginia vicinity. Only
1000 units of this particular scarf were manufactured and sold
exclusively at a
small custom boutique at the
Virginia Beach oceanfront.

Suspect 1:

Scarlett Greenwood, Age 29, Law Student

Elsa reread the name to herself. It was
vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place it. It was hard to miss
the hopeful tone of the journal and Elsa wondered how old Victor
was when all this happened. She paused to read the name again,
trying to jog her memory when she felt the sting of the leather.
The pain scorched across her back and she dropped the journal again
as she screamed out.

My God, he was serious about whipping her.
Raw and primitive fear jolted her system and her self-preservation
instincts kicked in. It was fight or flight time and she knew she
couldn’t hold a candle to Mr. Black. Instantly she jumped to her
feet and bolted toward the door, not giving a damn if she was
clothed or not. Mr. Black was quick on her heels and grabbed a
handful of her hair at the nape her neck and dragged her back.

Shoving her down in front of the journal, he
growled deeply, “You wanted to know everything, so fucking
read!”

Elsa sucked back her tears and wiped her
eyes. How the hell could’ve she have allowed this to happen? Fear
of what Mr. Black was capable of held her immobile and with a shaky
voice, she steadied her hands the best she could and continued.

I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Greenwood
during a basic interrogation of several suspects. I hesitate to use
the term ‘suspect’ so frivolously with this high-profile case.
Perhaps a more appropriate term is ‘person of interest.’ She
answered all questions without hesitation and appeared to be
comfortable in her surroundings, despite the intense line of
questioning. She was linked to Mr. Gonzalez by association only.
She is a late, fourth-year student majoring in Law.