“No, wait!” I walk after him. “You gotta help me. Please.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re a cop,” I say, slamming my hand on the car. “And I’m telling you I need help.” I know my story is flimsy, and that he doesn’t have any reason to trust me or even believe me, but I still need him to.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. I don’t have any money, and I can’t get home.”
He purses his lips, a simple smile on his lips. And then he grabs my arm. “I think you’ve said enough.”
Gripping the back of my head, he pushes me down onto the car and folds my arms behind me. I yelp from the pain, but he holds me so tight that it’s impossible to fight him.
“I’m bringing you in.”
“The fuck? I haven’t done anything!”
“Yeah, you and all those other girls I’ve seen around here,” he muses, and he spreads my legs with force. “Spread.”
I sigh when he puts his hands on my shoulders and starts to pat me down. But then, out of nowhere, he stops … and his finger briefly drifts across the back of my neck.
“Oh …”
The sound makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
His grip on my neck fastens, his nails digging into my skin as he leans over. “You’re … one of them.”
“Them? What are you talking about? Are you done yet?” I snarl.
“You’re one of the girls from that place …” he says softly. “You’re one of them.”
“What?” I growl. “Enough. Let me go!”
He grabs my wrists tight. “You thought you could escape, did you? I bet they’ll have a nice reward for the person who finds you …” he whispers in my ear. “But first …”
His hand drifts down my belly, to my skirt … unbuttoning it.
“No,” I scream, but he covers my mouth with his hand.
“I’ll give you what you need. Now, do as you’re told.”
In one go, he rips my skirt down. I try to fight him by kicking and twisting in place, but his tight grip on my wrists stops me from giving it my all. I’m left to fend for myself with half my strength, but I won’t give up. I won’t let him win. I won’t let him have me.
Not this. Anything but this.
“Get off me!” I yell as he zips down his pants behind me.
He slams my face into the car.
“Shut up, you filthy slut.”
The metallic taste of blood poisons my mouth with fury.
Instincts take over, and I kick back at him as hard as I can. His ‘oompf’ tells me I’ve hit him right in the balls. “Motherfucker,” I scream.
I turn around, but with my skirt around my ankles, it’s hard to run. When I look behind me, he leaps forward and grabs my legs. I fall down to the ground face first, screaming as he crawls on top of me. He smashes my face into the ground with the palm of his hand.
“You little cunt, I’m going to rip you a new one.”
Tears well up in my eyes, but I will never stop fighting him, not until I’ve either passed out or I’m dead.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a car racing toward us. I try to scream, but the fucker covers my mouth again. My body is completely pinned to the ground, and with the police car covering our position, there’s no way the person in that car will see me.
Panic rushes over me as I struggle to breathe.
But then the car comes to a screeching halt right in front of us.
With my face smashed against the concrete, I can’t look up, but I can clearly hear his steps as he charges toward us. Then my attacker is swatted off me like a fly.
The cop screams out from pain. “Motherfucker!”
I turn on my back and scramble away from the scene, pulling up my skirt at the same time. The sun shines on my face so brightly, I can barely see what’s happening, but I know they’re fighting. That’s when I notice the little strap around his head.
It’s Viktor.
I put my hand in front of my mouth as I watch them hit each other. The cop punches him dirty, in the gut and in the balls, and Viktor buckles. I don’t know what to do as I get to my feet and watch the men fight. Viktor keeps punching him until the cop is down, and for a moment, I think victory is near.
Until the cop pulls out a gun.
Bang.
It only takes a fraction of a second to get Viktor to the ground.
I scream as blood pours from his thigh.
But Viktor doesn’t give up.
He charges at his attacker with everything he has, pinning him to the ground. But the cop won’t give up either, not while he has a gun in his hand, which Viktor is trying to snatch. They roll around on the ground, engaged in a power struggle, but neither of them seems willing to give in. The pure male grunts that come from both of them tells me neither will stop until the other one is dead.
So I do the only thing I can think of.
I run to the cop’s car and search around inside for anything I can use. I know it’s only seconds, but it feels like minutes before I finally find something useful … a baton.
I take it out and rush toward the two men. That’s when I notice Viktor’s on the ground with the cop on top of him … and the gun pointed at Viktor’s chest.
He shoots.
The baton goes up and down, smashing with full force onto the cop’s head.
His hand drops to the ground.
So does my baton, blood spattering everywhere.
The guy’s face is completely ruined, his eyes still half-open.
I watch his soul leave. And I fucking enjoy it.
Panting, I step back away from the blood pooling at the cop’s head. Tears stain my cheeks as I realize what I just did. What just happened. It all went so quick.
Viktor turns his head toward me as he tries to sit up.
His mask has split into two and pieces of it have broken off.
And then his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he falls down sideways on the road.
I look at him and then back at the cars, which are now empty and ready to use.
For a second, I contemplate escaping the scene.
But as I get up, an unfamiliar feeling weighs down on me.
A feeling I’ve only ever felt for my sister.
Responsibility.
He came for me.
Viktor pushed the cop off me and fought him to save me.
Whether he did it to get me back or to help me is beside the point.
He helped me … and he paid for it with blood.
I can’t not help him.
So I kneel beside him and lift his head. For a moment, I’m taken aback by the scratch marks and bruises on his skin from his struggle with the dirty cop. I try not to look at the body beside Viktor as I inspect his wounds. They look like they need to be treated, but I can’t just take him to the hospital. With both our histories, that would be like handing him over to the cops myself.
I have to bring him back to the mansion.
Putting my arms under his arms, I push him up. He feels heavy, like physically too fit for me to carry, but I have to try. It takes all my strength to lift him up from the ground and drag him away.
Only then do I notice the line of blood painted on the ground.
Fuck, he really needs help.
I don’t know how, but with some kind of inhuman strength or will, I manage to pull him toward his car and place him on the backseat. Then I run over to the front seat and start the engine. I hit the gas and turn the wheel, making a U-turn.
As I drive back to his home, hoping I’m still on time, I can’t help but think to myself. I’m stupid, insane, and a liar … but I’m going back to the mansion I swore I’d never to step foot in. Again.
Chapter 10
Alexis
I run to the mansion and bang on the doors. “Winston!”
After a while, he opens the door. “You’re back.”
“You have to help me. Viktor’s hurt,” I say, g
rabbing his hand and dragging him outside.
He stumbles after me as I bring him to Viktor.
“Oh, no,” he mumbles as he immediately reaches for his lifeless body. “Quick. Help me get him up.”
We both grab a leg and drag him out of the car until only his head is on the backseat. Then we pick up his arms and lift them over our shoulders. Even with two people, he’s still heavy to carry, and we’re both panting as we take him back to the mansion. After much struggling, we manage to lay him down on the couch inside.
“Be right back. I’ll gather some supplies,” Winston says, and he runs out, leaving me alone with Viktor.
I sit down beside him, hook my fingers under his shirt, and pull it over his head so I can look at the gunshot wound. As I throw it to the floor, I can’t help but stare at his ripped chest. He’s fucking chiseled like a rock, and huge, and … wow.
Scars cover the entire left side of his body, running all the way down to the V and all the way up to his neck, disappearing under the mask.
I wonder what his face looks like.
Bits and pieces of the right side of the mask have broken off, exposing a part of his skin and one eye. I know I shouldn’t do this, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull off what’s left of the mask.
It drops from my hand the moment I see him.
My hand immediately covers my mouth to stop the gasp.
The left side of his face … It’s completely covered in scars, slashes, and burns.
Fuck.
It looks bad.
Now, I understand why he hides behind the mask.
It must’ve felt terrible for him to look like this and to have people staring at him. I can’t imagine what he must’ve gone through. And now, I’m starting to wonder how it all happened. He wasn’t born this way, that’s for sure, because the other side of his face is bold and … handsome.
Wild, light-brown locks cascade down his chest to frame his face and back, the hair much longer than mine is. With his full lips, square jaw, and scruffy beard, he looks really rough and sexy, and for some reason, it surprises me.
I have to admit, I haven’t looked this closely at him before, but I can’t stop looking either.
“What are you doing?”
My face immediately turns toward the sound of Winston’s footsteps rushing back in with a small bucket. I grab the mask and attempt to cover his face with it again.
“You didn’t see anything,” I say, giving him a lopsided smile.
“No use for that thing anymore then, I guess,” Winston says, sighing as he walks toward us with the bucket.
“Sorry … I couldn’t help it.”
“I know; you’re a curious one. That’s why he’s so enamored with you.”
“Enamored? With me?” I repeat, raising a brow.
Winston places the bucket on the table next to the couch and dips a washing cloth into the water.
“Yes, it’s also why he gets so angry.”
“Yeah, I have that effect on people,” I muse, muffling a laugh.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He wrings the cloth. I hold out my hand, and after gazing at me for a few seconds, he hands it over to me. I gently remove the mask again and wipe his forehead a bit, hoping it will wake him up.
“What happened?” Winston asks as he inspects the bullet wound.
“I tried to get a ride from a dirty cop. He tried to …” My throat clamps up. “Fondled me. Pulled my skirt down.”
“I’m … sorry,” Winston says.
I smile gently at him. “But Viktor rescued me before he could do anything.”
“So the cop shot him?”
I nod, trying not to think about the fact that a cop did that. A cop, out of all people … Someone who’s supposed to protect.
I sigh. “And then Viktor passed out from the blood loss. I dragged him to the car and brought him back here.”
“That’s a brave thing you did,” Winston says. “Driving him back here.”
“Yeah … I don’t know why I did it either.” I bite my lip.
“Well, I’m glad you did.” Winston smiles at me, and I smile back. “He’s not ready to go yet, even though he’s talked about it often,” he mumbles.
I don’t know what, but something about this man makes me feel relaxed. It’s as if he can put people at ease with just a smile, which is probably why Viktor has kept him around for all these years. Those two must have some kind of special bond. Like my sister and I … only different. It’s kind of admirable.
Winston removes Viktor’s pants, exposing the pure muscle hiding underneath. I swallow when I see the big bulge in his boxer shorts, trying not to let my mind go there as Winston prods at the wound in his thigh.
“Oh, boy … these will need to be removed,” he says, pointing at the bullet. “Luckily, I know just how. I just hope he won’t wake up yet.”
He walks off and comes back a few minutes later with a weird metal object that looks like a set of tongs. In his other hand, he holds a tray with a sewing kit. He grabs the table and places it in front of Viktor, putting the tray and tongs on top. Then he drags a chair toward him and sits down, using the tongs on him first.
“Can you hold him still?” he asks before diving in. “Just in case he wakes up.”
“Oh, right,” I say, and I grab his arm to expose the wound in his shoulder.
Winston digs around inside, trying to find the bullet while I try not to look. I can’t believe he’s actually doing this … Then again, I bet it must be handy to have someone like him around for when you get into serious trouble.
I hear the metal clatter onto the tray. The first bullet’s out.
Winston moves to Viktor’s leg and pushes around until he can get a hold of the bullet and pull it out. I grab the cloth again and wipe away some of the blood that seeps out as Winston puts a thread through a needle. As he starts threading, I look away again. For some reason, I’m okay with blood, but needles make me sick.
“There,” he says as he makes a knot. “As good as it gets.”
“It looks good,” I say. “Better than before, at least.”
“Guess all those years of taking care of an animal like him really does rub off,” he says, making me grin.
He puts a few layers of cotton on top of the wound and wraps plastic and tape around it, sealing it off.
Suddenly, Viktor makes a throaty, painful sounding noise.
“See? Animal,” Winston whispers, winking at me as he gets up and picks up the tray. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him leave and then return my attention to Viktor.
He’s groaning and tensing up, his face contorting. “Fuck …” He pronounces each letter separately as if he doesn’t know how to speak anymore.
“Shh …” I say, grabbing his hand. “Don’t rush it.”
“Wha … happened?” He coughs.
“Remember the cop?”
He nods slowly.
“He shot you. Twice. And then you hit your head.”
“Oh … right.” He makes a face. “Wait … he’s the guy who tried to—”
“Yeah. I don’t want to think about that,” I say. “Why would a cop do that anyway?”
He swallows but doesn’t answer, and the room grows quiet. His eyes open slowly, revealing a pristine blue color that almost feels like it could pierce my skull. For the first time, I see the real man behind the mask. A man with cool-blue angelic eyes stares straight back at me.
But the strangest part is something I never expected … He’s beautiful.
I’m in awe. Literally, I don’t know what to say.
He looks at me while grimacing, and his hands reach for his wounds. I whip his hand away. “Don’t open it. It’ll get infected.”
“It fucking hurts,” he growls.
“I know, but it’ll hurt more if you put your filthy hands on them.”
“Filthy?” He grimaces, but I can’t stop focusing on his full lips.
�
��Yeah. You’re a pig.” I cross my arms and raise my brow. “Fuck’s sake, Viktor, when did you last shower?” I sniff the air for added drama. “First thing we’ll do once you’re up again. Get those smudges off your face too.”
“You … know my name …” he murmurs.
“Yeah, Winston told me. And it’s not like I don’t hear you guys talk.”
His frown only deepens, but then his eyes widen out of nowhere and he reaches for his face, tapping himself with his hands as if he can’t believe he even has a face.
Once the realization settles in, his eyes dart from me to the mask on the table. Within an instant, he’s grabbed it covered his face with it again.
“The fuck did you do?” he growls.
“What I needed to do,” I say.
“You had no right! No right!” He points his finger at me as if it will help prove he’s right.
“And you had no right to keep me prisoner. Did it bother you? No.”
He stutters. “Wha—This is totally different. You took my mask off my face.” He points at his face this time.
“Yeah, so?”
“So?” His voice rises in tone. “It’s on there for a reason.”
“Yeah, so you can hide. But you were passed out, and the mask was broken anyway.”
He holds the two split parts together while I hear them crack even more.
“Doesn’t mean you can just take it off!”
Now, it’s my turn to point at him. “I did what I had to do! I dragged you all the way back to your car, drove you home, and helped Winston take out the bullets. Don’t you fucking start with me.” He tries to get up but flinches and sinks back down on the couch again.
I grab his arms, swallowing, trying not to let his muscles reduce me to a puddle of wetness as I push him back down. “Stay.”
“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do.”
“Do you always accuse people of doing the same things you did to them?”
He growls but slams his lips together, refusing to answer me.
Sighing, I grab the cloth again and pat it down around his other wound, cleaning up the blood. He keeps growling, snarling at me like some animal. Like a real fucking grizzle bear.
“It hurts,” he mutters under his breath.
Viktor Page 8
