When she heard the next click, she turned her head and closed her eyes tightly. She knew what the next picture would show and she didn’t need to see in vivid clarity Patrick coming into the pretty woman’s mouth.
“Five…”
“Fuck you, Mr. Black!” she sobbed out as she held her ground.
“Four…”
“Go to hell!”
“Do it, Elsa. Look at the man you can’t seem to get enough of,” he ground out between his teeth.
So Mr. Black had heard her conversation with Patrick and not only was she suffering his wrath for not wearing panties but for her interaction with an ex-boyfriend.
“Three…” he stood and moved to the side of her as if preparing for something worse.
Opening her tear-filled eyes and boldly meeting his gaze, she shimmied her foot until her shoe loosened and kicked it in his direction, the platform catching him on the shin.
“You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that. Two…” he continued, undaunted by her ferocity as he moved closer.
She began to shake uncontrollably but forced herself to stare at what she already knew she would see. She gagged and completely broke down when it came into focus through her blurred vision.
He moved to the back of the room and she wailed with relief when the projector finally shut off and the lights in the room came on, nearly blinding her.
As she was still shaking and weeping, Mr. Black unbound her ankles first and attempted to wipe her tear stained cheeks but she jerked her head away, repulsed by his sadistic touch.
No sooner were her hands freed when she stood and pounded her fists on his chest.
“How could you?” she screamed at him.
Grabbing a hold of her wrists, he tried to rein her in but she was on a mission to make him pay for his cruelty. She fought to get free and when she did, she slapped him so hard she heard his jaw creak under her palm. He snarled, stepped back and his beefy hand swept across her cheek, leaving it blazing with heat.
Elsa shrieked and covered her cheek, shocked that he had just hit her.
“I told you that only the first one was free,” he spat out.
Enraged, she raised her hand again to deliver another blow to his ego but he caught her wrist in mid-air.
“Don’t,” he growled.
She lifted her other hand and he gripped her by that wrist as well. “I meant it, Elsa. Do not. Hit. Me.”
Holding her by the wrists, he dragged her hollering into the bathroom and pushed her into the shower and swiftly turned on the cold water.
“Cool down!” he shouted as she shrieked from the sudden system shock.
She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. She was still so enraged and her mind clouded so far beyond making any kind of logical thought, she pounded on the shower door as he held it closed. Several minutes later and thoroughly soaked and shivering, she broke down crying again and sank to the floor of the shower with God-awful images of Patrick still fresh in her mind.
Her brother’s words echoed in her brain: what had she gotten herself into?
10: Challenging
When Victor opened the shower stall, Elsa had the appearance of a wet, scrawny and trembling cat with her make-up running down her face. She had exhausted him and his body ached from her assault, but he found the strength to wrap a large bath towel around her and carry her into the bedroom where he undressed and dried her. Surprisingly she accepted his assistance, but he knew it was only because she had worn herself out as well. She was one hell of an opponent and the ache in his cheek and chest was proof of it.
Dried and wrapped in a thick, over-sized terrycloth robe, she began shutting down. He could see it in her demeanor and actions. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him and the tears were still seeping from her eyes. Yes, he was a shit for what he had done, but holy hell, those tears… She was so fucking beautiful.
Everything about his previous miserable day had been erased from his memory when he watched her cry. Even the images of the newly found body in Massachusetts were momentarily forgotten. Running on only four hours sleep in the past thirty-six hours because of work and trying to get surveillance footage of Patrick at the last minute, he was starting to shut down mentally as well, but he knew Elsa needed him. He had just put her through the wringer and if he didn’t engage her quickly, she would be lost to him. Maybe forever and he wasn’t ready for that. Not when he desperately needed her to keep playing his game to help him escape from the daily atrocities he faced with his job.
He heaved her into his embrace and lifted her off the bed.
“No,” she mewled and fought weakly.
“Hush, My Sweet Peach,” he commanded as he carried her down the stairs. He fired up the electric fireplace and set her down in a dining room chair that was near to it in order to warm her while he made something for her to eat.
While he prepared a simple tortellini soup, he watched her through the kitchen entrance. She stared into the fireplace quietly, her body swaying hypnotically, her hand coming up to wipe her eyes of the tears that were still flowing. Maybe he had pushed her too hard this time.
His stomach cramped and a knot rose in his throat. Why the fuck did she have to call that piece of shit? Her punishment was only going to be light until she dialed his number. He could live with the panty wearing, but not with her contacting an ex-lover. Lover. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at thinking of her with another man. He hoped by making Elsa see him with another woman it would make her forget about him… but she was still crying. For what? That man never loved her. If Patrick had, he never would’ve let her go. If he wasn’t the man he was now and he was like he used to be, he sure as hell never would’ve let Elsa go willingly.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed sorrowfully. He needed a long vacation away from everyone and everything; away from killers and victim’s families’ pleas for justice. And Anthony. Fuck him. Hell, he needed a break from life in general. Even away from his cherished, but challenging, Eight. He glanced in her direction again to see she had moved from the chair to the chaise. No, he didn’t need time away from her, he needed more time with her; time to break her down in order to take complete control of her.
He bowled the soup and carried it to the small table.
“Come eat, Elsa,” he gently ordered.
She shook her head. “I have no appetite.”
“You need to eat. You’re worn out and after all that wine last night and your menial breakfast, you need something with substance in your stomach.”
Her sable eyes darted to him. “You know everything, don’t you?” she asked contemptuously.
“It’s a fact that your body becomes dehydrated after alcohol binges and you need to replenish it.”
“It wasn’t a binge, thank you. But you’re full of lots of little facts aren’t you, Mr. Black?” Her eyes revealed the agitation rising up again and Victor feared another show down with her. “Here’s a little fact: you’re sadist and a son-of-a-bitch,” she hid her face in her hands and began to cry again.
Victor left her comment to linger in the air. What would be the point of denying it? It was true. Hell, it was in his blood and he had no one but his mother and father to thank for those fucked-up qualities.
***
Elsa wiped her tears and looked up at Mr. Black when her statement went unanswered.
“How could you?” she asked again, sniffing.
His look of imperviousness turned to agitation and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you crying over a man who doesn’t deserve you?”
His statement stunned her. How the hell would he know what Patrick deserved? “You don’t know Patrick or what he deserves. You know nothing about him,” she tried to defend him.
“I know he used you for his own pleasure and then threw you away as if you meant nothing to him,” he glared at her.