“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.”
3: Calculated
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.