Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (13 page)

*

Amazingly she slept well that night
considering how upset she was with herself for having called
Patrick and getting herself into the whole mess with Mr. Black. The
wine helped in that regard, but when she woke, the headache, nausea
and cotton mouth made her regret her decision to polish off
three-quarters of a bottle of chardonnay and make her wish she was
still a pot smoker. At least she never woke up with a hangover
after a night of hitting the bong.

She forced herself to eat a small breakfast
and primped, plucked, shaved and oiled her body down to within an
inch of her life. Next she dressed in something that she thought
would be pleasing to Mr. Black, a body-hugging black tube dress.
With no undergarments, of course. She picked out a pair of
platforms that she only wore on special occasions – buckled booties
that screamed sex. After putting a light curl in her red locks, she
plastered on the reddest lipstick she could find and heavily
shadowed her eyes in a smoky charcoal. When she glanced in the
mirror, she looked as if she were ready for a night out clubbing
and not like she was getting ready to face the firing squad. She
figured if she was going down, she might as well go down looking
her best.

She drove to 2500 East Grace Street with only
the words of
Habits
by Tove Lo and
Never Wanna Know
by MØ in her head. She couldn’t and wouldn’t allow herself to think
of anything else. When she arrived at the brownstone, she parked
her car and waited for nearly ten minutes before forcing herself to
go through the motions of opening the door, stepping one foot in
front of the other and going inside.

The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered
in the air and she knew her punisher was already waiting for her.
She stood with her back to the front door, holding onto the knob so
tight that her fingers blanched from lack of blood circulation.
When she heard soft music coming from upstairs, she followed it,
taking each step to her doom as slowly as she could. When she
reached the landing, Mr. Black was standing in the doorway of the
master suite looking just as magnificent as ever and visibly
relaxed. His calm expression put her at ease. He wasn’t angry and
that was good.

His pupils flared under the bright light in
the hallway when he saw her and his mouth parted as his hungry eyes
undressed her.

“Damn, Elsa…” he paused to lick his lips.
“You’ve come well prepared, but your appearance isn’t going to
deter me from doing what I’m going to do.”

Affronted, she moved past him and pushed her
chin out. “That wasn’t my intention. I’m fully ready to accept
whatever you have planned for me.”

His body stilled and she glanced over her
shoulder at him as she lay her handbag down on the bed to see an
incensed expression on his face.

“You say that now, but we’ll see if you’re
still feeling that way when all this is said and done. You know… I
wasn’t sure you would show up.”

“Why? I told you I’m a woman of my word,
despite whatever you may have been told about me or read.” She was
referring to what her brother might have said and she quickly shut
her mouth before she gave too much away about knowing of their
conversation.

“I could never read enough about you, My
Sweet Peach,” he smirked.

The pet name sounded so much better before,
when he was being his true self. Or maybe this was his true self.
Her confidence suddenly waned at the thought. What if he were only
the game maker and nothing more? While she waited for him, wordless
and motionless, she tried to transport herself back to their
sensuous night.

Mr. Black moved to the other end of the room
and brought the wooden chair close to her, faced it against a blank
wall and gestured for her to sit. With the little bit of courage
she had left, she tried her best to appear impassive as she seated
herself in it. Kneeling in front of her, he pushed her legs open
and skimmed his fingers up the inside of her thighs to her bare
pussy, gliding his fingers into her folds.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he
commented about her lack of panties.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out
several pieces of soft, nylon rope and Elsa’s body tensed when he
began binding her ankles to the legs of the chair. Whatever he had
planned that necessitated her to be tied down was a distressing
thought. Suddenly her bladder contracted in sympathetic response as
if remembering her earlier torture even though she had the
forethought to empty it before she arrived. With both legs secured,
he looked up at her and she eyed him with a calculating expression.
What was going on in that head of his?

“Are you going to tickle me again?” she
breathed out with furrowed brows.

His right eyebrow rose a fraction. “I never
repeat the same punishment twice. What fun would that be?” he broke
into a wide, open smile as he reached behind her to blindly tie her
wrists together.

His hot breath touched her neck and she
turned her face away from him in a desperate attempt to resist
being captivated by his fiendish smile. She felt a cool chill touch
her skin when he disappeared to turn the lights down and set some
music.

Halcyon
by Ellie Goulding began and
Elsa did her best to calm her nerves. Her eyes darted around the
darkened room and her pulse pounded through her veins. She could
hear Mr. Black behind her fiddling with something when a whir and
buzz followed as the wall in front of her lit up with the image of
a sunset.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve always loved
sunsets in Virginia…” she barely heard him say over the music.

She heard a click and a seaside view of
Virginia Beach popped up on the wall that looked almost identical
to the painting she had hung on the dining room wall.

“I love what you’ve done with the house,
Elsa, but it was completely unnecessary. Neither of us will be here
long enough to enjoy the work you’re putting into it so save your
energy. Your effort would be better spent in learning how to
appropriately conduct yourself around me.”

She gritted her teeth and shifted in her
seat, wrenching on the uncomfortable bindings.

The next image shook her system. It was
Patrick. Her body froze and her breathing halted. It was a recent
picture of him leaving work.

Click.

Patrick leaving his house, dressed in his
best suit.

Click.

Patrick on a dinner date with an unfamiliar
brunette.

Click.

Elsa didn’t want to see what was next and she
tugged on her restraints, but was unable to stop herself from
looking.

Patrick leaving the restaurant with his
date.

No, she really didn’t want see where this was
going. She began to curse under her breath when she felt Mr.
Black’s hands on her shoulders steadying her body as she thrashed
in the chair.

“Please, Mr. Black. I’ll follow your rules.
You know I will…” she panted out when she heard the next click.

“Yes, I have no doubt you will,” he whispered
into her ear.

Patrick fondling and kissing the brunette on
his doorstep.

Elsa closed her eyes and stilled her
body.

Click.

A sharp tug of her hair brought her head
back.

“Open your eyes and see the man in front of
you.
Really
see him,” his voice was deep and dusty.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t.

“Open your eyes, Elsa. Look at him,” his
voice hardened. “Ten… Nine... Eight…” he began counting down.

“Please stop…” she pleaded.

“Seven... Six…” He yanked her hair harder.
“Trust me when I say you don’t want me to get to zero.”

The sinister tone of his voice left no room
for delay and Elsa pried her eyes open and gasped when the image of
two naked and intertwined bodies brightened the wall. They were in
Patrick’s bed - the same bed she had made love to him in on so many
occasions.

Click.

Tears bordered her lashes and she inhaled
sharply at the next image – the brunette’s legs draped over
Patrick’s shoulders as he plunged into her. She blinked rapidly,
her heart tearing in two at the image of her ex-lover’s sexual
exploitations. She began to cry. How could one person be so cold?
What kind of man thinks of a punishment like this?

Click.

“Enough, you cruel son-of-a-bitch!” she
screeched and tried to stand in the chair. Victor stood and pushed
the chair down and held her head face forward.

The next image of Patrick being sucked off
sent a wave of nausea over her causing her to retch loudly.

“I’m going to be sick…” she whimpered, still
feeling the effects of too much wine.

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?

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.