A low growl rumbled in Anthony’s throat making Victor smile. He was getting to him and he felt a pride in having been the one to deliver the blow to his ego.
“You should know that Chapter Eight is alive and well. She’s with me and so long as she is, no harm will ever come to her. Try to remember that when they’re sticking the needle in you.” He peered over his shoulder as he took a step over the threshold of the door, ready to close this chapter of his life. “By the way, I’ll be there for that. See you then.”
25: Stripped Away
Victor had called two more times to check in on Elsa after leaving her at her office. His voice had soothed her anxiety, and the image of his fuzzy, bearded face and the words he had spoken to her as he held her the night before made her long to be with him. It was moments like that that she cherished. Mr. Black hadn’t made an appearance in days. Maybe longer. She had no idea as time seemed to slow when she was with him and everything she had done with him blurred into one big, twisted memory. Even though Mr. Black hadn’t been overtly present, there were small glimpses of him. Like when he fucked her mouth roughly. And when Victor’s temper flared. Yes, Victor and Mr. Black were one and the same; intrinsically combined and inseparable.
Yet, Victor seemed to have the upper hand now. Was it possible that he was really changing? She found it hard to believe. Not in such a short time span. Not unless they really want to.
As she lay in bed trying to fall asleep, she wondered how his meeting with Anthony went. His father. She still wasn’t used to the idea. She never would be. It made no sense that someone like Victor could have come from a man like that. Not even with his dark side looming beneath his man-of-justice exterior. Mr. Black could be cruel, sure, but not murderous.
The memory of him lashing her with the belt jolted her awake. He had treated her like a worthless animal and the pain of what he did to her would forever be seared into her psyche. However, now that she knew of his past and what he had endured, she somehow felt sympathetic toward him. Perhaps it was ignorance on her part. Maybe it was just the way she was built. She wasn’t mentally equipped enough to psychoanalyze herself to try and figure it out.
What Victor had done was unforgivable no matter what his past circumstances were, but the look in his eyes when he fell to his knees and held her afterward… The look in his eyes when he saw the scars he had caused… The look in his eyes anytime she brought up how she felt about what he did… There was remorse there; genuine, gut wrenching regret.
She hoped that someday she would completely forgive him. She needed to because harboring the kind of resentment toward Mr. Black that she did wasn’t healthy. Even in her fucked-up state of mind she knew that. She could feel the anger eating away at her peace of mind, bit by bit, and she wanted no part of it.
Just as she drifted to sleep once more, her mother and brother’s panicked voices suddenly intruded on her thoughts. She had three-way called them to relay the news of her attack and who the culprit was. They insisted on coming out to Richmond, but Elsa had reassured them that there was nothing either of them could do. When she mentioned that it was Victor who had been the one to save her, her mother had gone ballistic. Just as expected. Elsa had simply sat and listened to both of their bemoaning and lecturing for nearly half an hour. She didn’t even try to put up a fight or argue her case. There was no point. They were right. She was out of her head to be consorting with Victor and she damn well knew it.
When she mentioned her broken engagement to Nate, her mother’s miserable silence only made Elsa feel worse. She had tried to explain that she never loved Nate and whether or not Victor had been in her life to prompt her decision, it was for the best.
Finally, sleep found her.
"You tried to kill me."
Victor’s steady, deep voice broke through Elsa’s sleepy, haze-filled state. When she finally sat up, only the whites of his eyes shined in the darkened room.
"Don't." He growled when she reached for the lamp.
She swept the sleep from her lashes and tried to bring him into focus, but he was in the chair that faced the bed several feet away and his expression was unreadable.
"What did you say?"
The heater kicked on, breaking the eerie quietness.
"You tried to kill me,” he repeated without added gravity. "In my dream. You tried to murder me." A moment later his tone changed to annoyance. "Why would you do that?"
When he shifted, moonlight peeking through the window gave her only a split second glimpse at the stark, haunted look on his face. Frozen with a mixture of half-asleep emotions, her mouth hung open in confusion.
The stressed tone of his voice chilled the air. "Why would you want me dead?"
She pushed the comforter aside and sat up to try and reassure him. "It was just a dream."
"Maybe. Or maybe it was my gut instincts trying to warn me." He leaned forward, the shadow of his silhouette revealing his tired features and mouth thinned in displeasure. "Have I hurt you so badly that you hate me enough to want me dead?"
"I don't hate you."
A hush fell over them. The kind that made her nerves prickle with anticipation and dread. Even though she couldn't see him, she could feel his cynicism and doubt washing over her in waves.
"You should hate me. I've given you every reason to, so why the hell don't you?"
"I suppose, but people hate for different reasons. We’ve both done horrible things to each other… "
"You're going to sit there and tell me you don't hate what I've done to you?" He ground out in disbelief, cutting off her statement.
"That's a different question all together." Wakefulness had now fully taken a hold of her. "Of course I hate Mr. Black's actions, but I don't hate you, Victor, and that is who I'm speaking with, isn't it?"
"Victor, Mr. Black... Same Goddamn difference. I’m sick and fucking tired of trying to discern who’s who. Even you can’t decide if we’re one or two people. But just to entertain the ridiculous assertion that we are two separate entities, do you hate Mr. Black enough to want him dead?"
Perilously close to tears, the words that threatened to choke the breath out of her spilled out. "Since I can't have one without the other, and seeing as I clearly need Victor, it wouldn't make a whole helluva lot of sense to want Mr. Black dead, would it?"
She sat in silent anguish, hating herself for admitting her feelings. Hugging her body, she pulled her knees up to her chin to try and make herself as small as possible.
His body stiffened and the air around them crackled with tension. "You need me?"
The angst and fear in his question resonated through his softly spoken words and Elsa prepared herself for the inevitable: a cold, detached stare followed by his emotional and physical withdrawal. Shrugging, she moved toward the edge of the bed, ready to save him the trouble of having to dismiss her.
"You don't have to say it. I know what comes next."
In one beat of her heart, he was next to her, his arms encircling her and drawing her close. With a hand fisted in her hair, he pulled her head back, finally giving her a chance to look into the most devastating green eyes she had ever seen.
"You're free to leave..."
And there it was.