28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

IZEL

I storm into Victor’s study, not giving a single fuck about his “Do Not Disturb” vibes. His eyes shoot me a look that screams, “I am not to be fucking disturbed,” but today, my mood is one big middle finger.

“You failed to mention that Isla was engaged to Liam. Is that why you wanted me to be around him?” I spit out the words, no sugar-coating, just raw anger.

Inwardly, everything starts to click into place. Of course, Liam would have Isla’s birthday as his safe password. It all makes sense now.

Victor, sitting all high and mighty behind his desk, doesn’t even bother looking up. His silence pisses me off even more.

“Answer me!” I demand, slamming the door open for extra dramatic effect.

He finally glances up. “Details, my dear, they’re insignificant. Focus on the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture?” I snarl. “You fucking killed Liam!”

Victor leans back in his chair, unbothered. “And you ratted out Charles. Remember? I had to kill him because of you. An eye for an eye.”

“I didn’t rat out Charles—”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” Victor’s voice explodes through the room, a sharp contrast to the calm demeanor he had seconds ago. He slams his fist on the desk. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You wanted the FBI sniffing around my business, pointing them straight at me so they’d lock me up and throw away the key.”

He’s wrong. He’s so fucking wrong. But I don’t say it. My only goal was to get Charles killed, and I managed that. I don’t want Victor in prison.

“You think I’m stupid?” he continues. “Do you really think I’d keep my mouth shut about all the blood on your hands?” He points an accusing finger at me. “Do you honestly believe I’d go down without dragging you with me?”

I say nothing. There’s no point in arguing; my life was altered a decade ago, and no amount of words will fix that. Victor knows it too, which is why he’s using Liam’s death as leverage to manipulate me.

“Liam was a warning. You pull this shit again—put me in danger again—and I’ll walk into the FBI office myself, hand over every single piece of evidence I have. And trust me, sweetheart, I’ve got enough to bury you so deep, you’ll never see the light of day again.”

“So you killed an innocent man just to prove a point?” My voice wavers, but the rage is clear beneath it. “That’s your fucking warning?”

“No, you killed an innocent man. I just cleaned up your mess. Besides, Liam had to die. He knew too much.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What does that mean?”

Victor leans back in his chair, finally showing some semblance of interest. “Liam’s existence was becoming a bane in mine.”

I shake my head, searching for sense in his words. “So you killed him?”

“I had to,” Victor says. “Liam’s obsession with his dead fiancée Isla—who put on his ring without her family’s permission i.e., me—was dangerous. After I broke Isla and Liam’s engagement, I told him she had moved on and was studying abroad. The only reason I wanted you to move to Virginia was for Liam to see Isla had moved on, but that fucker knew you weren’t Isla the minute he saw you. The more he dug up on Isla, the more he found out about me. He started accusing me of Isla and his unborn baby’s death. His obsession with Isla turned into an obsession with me.”

Victor scoffs, shaking his head like he’s reliving a bad joke. I suddenly feel unsteady on my feet. “Is that why you had me kill Isla? Because she was pregnant?”

“No, I had you kill Isla because she was a whore, just like her mother.”

“You used me.”

“I used you to keep him distracted,” Victor admits. “But you were useless as usual, and Liam had to die.”

I don’t answer because this is what he does—manipulates me into thinking everything is my fault. And maybe it is. Maybe my existence wasn’t meant in the first place, and the universe is now retaliating.

I whisper, barely able to get the words out, “There was no information that I was looking for on that USB drive, was there?”

Victor’s smirk deepens, but he doesn’t answer. I’m not going to inflate his ego by asking what was really on that drive since he isn’t going to tell me anyway. It was just his ploy to make me a suspect in Liam’s murder. I can feel myself spiraling out.

That’s when I lose it. I throw a tantrum. A full-blown tantrum, throwing anything within reach. Papers go flying, and I don’t give a damn about the mess.

“I won’t be your pawn!” I yell.

Victor finally stands up, looking more annoyed than concerned. “Enough, Izel.”

But enough isn’t in my vocabulary at the moment. I keep going, tearing through his carefully organized space.

That’s when Victor gets handsy, and not in the way you’d imagine. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me back. The pain shoots through me, but I refuse to let him see it. I glare at him.

He leans in, and before I can react, his hand slaps across my face. The stinging pain echoes in the room, and for a moment, the world stops. I’m not about to let Victor think he can break me. I straighten up, wiping away the trickle of blood from my lip.

“Is that all you got?” I taunt.

Victor’s fury lurks just beneath the surface. He’s always been the type to throw punches to assert control, and I’ve taken enough of them to know his blows can only hurt me so much. But this time, there’s a different vibe in his eyes.

“Is this bravado because of that fed agent you’re screwing?” he sneers.

I tense up, and it’s like Victor can read my thoughts. He knows about Richard, about the feelings I’ve developed for him. And he wouldn’t think twice about using him as leverage to keep me in line. Just like he’s used my—

“I’ll make sure that agent of yours knows what pain feels like.”

He’s voicing my darkest fears. I’ve had it up to here. I’m pushed to the limit, and I’m not about to let Victor keep pulling my strings.

Out of desperation, I deliver a swift kick to his balls, and he staggers back, letting go of me. I seize the opportunity, grabbing him by the collar. My voice drops to a low, menacing whisper as I give him a piece of my mind.

“If you so much as breathe wrong in his direction,” I hiss, “your screams will be the last sounds you make before I redecorate this place with your blood.”

Victor might think he won this round, but I’m not done fighting. He underestimates the strength of a pissed-off woman, and I’m ready to prove him wrong.

I release him, and he staggers backward, gasping for air. He’s about to open his mouth, probably to throw another threat my way, but I’m not giving him the chance. Not this time.

“You’ve taught me a lot over the years, Victor,” I say, stepping back, my eyes never leaving his. “And believe me, I’ll use every single thing you showed me to protect him.”

I turn on my heel, my back to him now, but I throw one final glance over my shoulder. “And just so you know, I’ll make it hurt.”

I storm out of Victor’s pretentious study, slamming the door behind me. A five-hour drive to Hollowbrook was useless. Well not entirely. My mind is a fucking swamp of emotions. My feelings for Richard aren’t helping—they're like quicksand. The more I try to get out, the deeper I'm falling in.

I reach for my phone, and see his name lighting up the screen, like a hundred missed calls and texts. I want to answer, to hear his voice, but my hands are shaking, and I can’t bring myself to press the damn button.

The truth is, being near Richard feels like stepping into an ocean of emotions. He’s more than just a good time in bed. Every touch, every kiss, it feels like fireworks. And damn, he knows how to make a woman feel weak in the knees.

On the flip side, I’m not ignorant. I know for Richard, it’s just sex. He thinks he can coax information out of me, but it’s not that simple.

I look at the screen again, contemplating whether to call him back. My mind is screaming, “Fuck it, answer the damn phone!” But my gut says otherwise.

I take a deep breath, shoving the phone back into my pocket. I need to gather my thoughts, figure out what the hell is going on, and stay one step ahead of Victor. The last thing I need is to be tangled up in Richard’s shit, no matter how good it feels.

The road to Virginia feels like Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis — the longest. My phone buzzes, it’s probably Richard again. But this time, I keep driving. Maybe it’s the right move, maybe it’s not.

I park the car and walk into my home, finally getting the fuck away from Victor’s circus. The FBI released my place a little over a week ago, and I was damn happy to have it back to myself. Only now, Cassie’s not around to share it with me. Her brother swooped in and grabbed her stuff the moment the door swung open.

I step inside and immediately notice how dark it is. Guess the FBI didn’t bother covering the electricity bill while they had the place. I stand still, letting my eyes adjust, but the darkness feels heavier here. In moments like these, when everything goes dark, I don’t usually reach for the candle. I know better now… it doesn’t chase the shadows, it only creates more.

But tonight, I want to see it. I want the light to pour over everything I’ve lost, to make the emptiness unbearable.

I make my way to the kitchen. The place feels different without Cassie’s stuff cluttering the counters. Her stupid little plants are gone, too. I half expect to see one of her ridiculous sticky notes with a smiley face on the fridge. But it's bare now, just like everything else.

I start rummaging through the drawers and my hand grazes the lighter. I pick it up, feeling the weight of it in my palm. I find a pack of candles shoved in the back of a drawer, dusty and unused. Fitting. I set it on the counter, staring at it for a moment.

I twist the lighter in my hand, my thumb pressing down on the switch. I bring it to the wick and watch the fire spread, licking the darkness away.

“It hurts, it burns—please stop!”

I set the candle down and reach for another one, lighting it with the same careful precision. The heat pricks at my fingers.

“I’ll be good, I promise! Just make it stop!”

My fingers tremble. I don’t flinch this time. I don’t feel anything…or at least I tell myself I don’t. Another candle finds its place on the windowsill, the flame casting thin shadows that cling to the walls like ghosts.

“See? This is what happens when you don’t listen. It’s your fault, you know. If you just kept quiet, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I wait, just a little longer, for one to finally slip free, to feel that faint release. But it doesn’t come. It never comes.

“Beg for it to stop. Say you’re sorry.”

I lean closer to the flame, the heat warming my face, almost inviting me to touch it, to see if it would still burn the same way it did back then. My fingers twitch, hovering just above the light, but I don’t move. I can’t. The pain is supposed to make it better, isn’t it? The suffering is supposed to cleanse me, make me stronger. But it never does. It just hurts.

“Can you take it?”

“No.”

“Good. Maybe now you’ll learn.”

Screw this. I’d rather throw myself in the shower, drown out the voices in my head with the sound of water hitting the tiles. At least in there, I can avoid the loneliness.

The water does fuck all to wash away the heavy weight on my shoulders. It’s like I’m trying to scrub away the memories, but they cling to me like a stubborn stain.

As I’m standing there, feeling the hot water soak into my skin, I sense something off. Like a sixth sense tingling at the back of my neck. It’s that feeling you get when you know shit’s about to hit the fan. I shake it off, blaming it on the paranoia that comes with Victor’s games.

But then I hear a crash, and my senses go on high alert.

I wrap the towel around me. The bathroom feels different now so I take a step out and scan the room. Nothing. I walk down the stairs, expecting to find an intruder or a robber, but the place is dead silent.

My gut tells me this is all kinds of wrong, and I’m not one to sit around like a sitting duck. So, I head to the kitchen and grab a knife. I hate that it’s almost become an instinct, but I’d rather be armed and ready. Who knows what the hell’s lurking around?

I sense someone behind me. My heart races, and I whirl around, ready to go all stabby on their ass. But before I can unleash my inner badass, the assailant catches my hand, and I stumble. Before I hit the ground, strong arms steady me.

I look up, half expecting some psycho, but it’s Richard. I’m torn between relief and the urge to punch him in the face.

He glances around, taking in the sight of my house. “You expecting company, or do you always keep a knife handy for decoration?”

I try to stammer something, but I can’t because my mind is busy doing somersaults between anger and relief, and I don’t trust myself to form a coherent sentence. He’s so close, and all I can think about is how badly I want him inside me. Again.

Richard takes the knife from my hand, and for a second, our fingers brush.

“Funny how you and your team had me in for breaking and entering when you’re doing the same thing,” I finally manage to say.

Richard smirks, placing the knife on the table. “I used a key.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “A key you had no business keeping.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, the casual arrogance radiating off him. “Details, baby. Just checking in on you.”

“Checking in?” I repeat. “So, breaking into people’s homes is your way of showing concern now?”

He chuckles. “Learned from the best. You should feel honored.”

“Honored? I should be calling the cops on your ass,” I retort, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on my lips.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’d really call the cops on me? After everything?”

“Yeah,” I say, surprising even myself. “Because you’re breaking the law.”

Instead of backing off, Richard closes the distance between us. He shoves the towel away, and I let him. He grabs my shoulders, pushing me against the nearest wall. My breathing quickens, and he’s rougher than usual, but there’s something about it that my body seems to like. It’s messed up, but it is what it is.

“I’ve only broken one law so far,” he smirks, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. “And it wouldn’t hold up in court.”

“What makes you so certain?” I manage to say through the rising desire.

“Well, for one, you have no witnesses,” he whispers looking around.

Before I can retort, he inserts two fingers deep inside me, and I gasp. Richard is still rough, using his thumb to circle my clit, and it’s no gentle caress either. My legs weaken as pleasure courses through me, and he smirks.

“Two. Everything we’ll be doing will be consensual,” he adds.

His teeth graze the skin on my neck, leaving a mark of possession. His lips find my earlobe, and he kisses it before whispering, “Three. You’re not hurt in any way, shape, or form.”

My wrists are suddenly bound by one of his hands and lifted above my head. Richard pushes his fingers deep inside me.

I hear the clinking of metal, probably the cuffs, but my focus is solely on his fingers, now causing a delightful ache. I’m still sore from earlier but even through the lingering ache, there’s something addictive about the way his hands move, the way the pain blends into pleasure, making me want more. The pleasure intensifies, and I try to buck against him, craving release. But he stills, denying me that satisfaction. It’s a feeling of emptiness that leaves me desperate.

“Please, Richard.”

But something in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want me to beg this time. He wants more.

He wants a piece of me .

Richard steps back, leaving me breathless and exposed. My chest rises and falls in heavy waves, but before I can fully comprehend the situation, I feel something sharp and pointed against my neck – the knife.

With his free hand, he grabs the back of my neck, pulling me off the wall. I’m manhandled onto the kitchen counter, my hands forced behind my back. The cold surface presses against my wrists, amplifying the pain, and a wave of terror washes over me. I stammer, and the fear is evident in my voice, but Richard cuts me off, dragging the cold blade from my neck to my lips, pressing it against them with a threatening force.

“You’re going to shut up and answer my questions,” he says.

I don’t answer, and he presses the knife harder against the corner of my lips. The metallic edge cuts into my skin.

“Is that understood?”

I nod and as he keeps the knife against my lips, I brace myself for whatever comes next. His eyes lock onto mine, searching for something, and I’m left wondering—just how deep are we going to plunge?

He drags the knife back along my neck, grazing my skin but not cutting it, and I instinctively shut down any hint of fear. I feel his weight shifting, and when I open my eyes, I realize he’s lifting me onto the kitchen counter. In the process, things crash down from the counter.

The hard surface presses into my back, but I refuse to let him see how much it hurts.

This side of Richard is unfamiliar, and even though my body craves more of him, my mind rebels against the overpowering force. I know I can still fight him, but for some reason, I hesitate.

He bends his head, and just the tip of his tongue grazes my pussy. A moan escapes my lips, but I fight to hold back.

He looks up at me. “What’s your name?”

“Izel,” I manage to say.

Richard bites down at my clit with a force that nearly has me bucking off the table. It’s a sensation that’s both painful and pleasurable, and I struggle to keep my composure.

“Try again,” he demands.

“Izel,” I repeat, my voice stronger this time.

I tense as Richard’s mouth comes down hard on my pussy. The pain radiates through my body, and at the same time, he digs the knife deeper into my neck, drawing out blood. Fuck, I didn’t expect him to escalate this quickly. Maybe I underestimated how far he’s willing to go.

“Richard, I—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a look that freezes the words in my throat.

“Answer the damn question,” he demands.

I bite my lip, suppressing the urge to scream. The pain in my pussy and the throbbing in my neck collide. I gather my thoughts, scrambling for answers before he inflicts more pain.

“What do you want to hear?”

The sarcasm probably pisses him off because the next thing I know, he bites the skin above my pussy, and I can feel the sharp sting. His tongue follows, leaving a mark that I know will linger as a painful reminder.

“The truth,” he demands.

“Oh, sure. Let’s have a heart-to-heart about my deepest, darkest secrets,” I retort.

Without warning, he shoves two fingers deep inside me. He curls them in just the right way, hitting a spot that has me biting my lip to stifle a moan. His mouth doesn’t stay idle either; he continues to torment me with his tongue, and a moan breaks free.

Richard increases the pressure on my clit with his mouth, and I can feel the orgasm building, rising like a storm. He’s pushing me close to the edge, and just as I’m about to tip over, he pulls back. The frustration wells up inside me, but I bite my lip.

“What is your name? Your real name,” he interrogates.

“I told you, it’s Izel.”

Richard rubs two fingers along my slit in a silent reminder of how good he can make me feel if I just open my mouth. He leans in again, idly tracing his fingers along my pussy but avoiding direct contact.

“Ever had plastic surgery?”

“No.”

Richard thrusts three of his fingers back into me, and I involuntarily gasp.

“Do you know where Luna is?” he inquires.

I remain silent, and he leans down, closing his mouth around my clit. Another moan escapes as pleasure takes over. But just as things heat up, and he’s about to pull his fingers and mouth away...

“Yeah,” I moan, and thankfully he keeps those fingers working their magic. His mouth leaves my clit, but those fingers of his keep driving me wild.

“Where is she?” He grills, his fingers now working my G-spot. At the same time, the knife on my neck adds more pressure, and blood starts to trickle down between my breasts.

“Is Luna covering for you?”

Finally, I meet his gaze, and the hurt in his eyes is real. I hate letting him down, so against my better judgment, I admit, “Yes.”

With an orgasm building, I tip my head back, surrendering to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and guilt that consumes me.

My world spirals into a hellish nightmare as Richard drops the knife, and his hands wrap around my throat, pressing so hard it feels like my skin might split. Pain shoots through me, and I gasp, trying to tell him he’s hurting me.

“Why is she doing that? Are you threatening her family?” he barks, his eyes dark with a dangerous intensity.

I struggle to get free, my voice strained as I manage to wheeze out, “You’re hurting me.”

“You didn’t think twice before hurting all those people, did you?” he shouts. I try to shake my head, to explain, but he squeezes harder, cutting off my air. I can feel the blood seeping into his fingers from the knife wound on my neck.

“You killed everyone around you! Even Cassie, your damn roommate!” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “How many lives did you ruin, Izel? How many people did you hurt without a second thought just because they had what you didn’t?”

His grip tightens, and I feel the wound sting as more blood trickles down from between his fingers. My vision swims, and I can barely focus on his face.

I don’t try to speak anymore. What’s the point? He’s already made up his mind. My silence seems to only infuriate him more, and he shakes me again, demanding some kind of reaction.

“You played us all, didn’t you? Smiling, pretending to be innocent, while you were plotting everything. You’re nothing but a cold-hearted killer.”

I wince at his words, each one feeling like a physical blow. The pain is overwhelming, both physically and emotionally, but what hurts most is seeing the hatred in his eyes. I hate how, even now, with his fingers inside me and his hands around my throat, a twisted part of me still craves his touch. It’s disgusting, and I loathe myself for it.

When he sees that I’m not going to defend myself—because honestly, why should I? He won’t believe me any more than Luna’s father did all those years ago—his grip tightens even more. The pressure is almost unbearable. I can feel the blood rush to my head, the sharp sting of my wound pulsing with each beat of my heart.

His fingers dig deeper inside me, and my back bows against the cold countertop. It’s twisted, the way my body reacts to him, even as my heart breaks and I feel the shards cutting deep.

I convulse around his fingers, the orgasm tearing through me with brutal force. I gasp, the sound choked by his hold, and he doesn’t stop, riding out every last wave until I’m a trembling mess.

Then, abruptly, he pulls his fingers out and the lack of air starts registering.

“I can’t breathe,” I choke out.

But Richard doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tightens his grip, and my vision blurs. Tears well up in my eyes. He barks again, “Where is Luna?”

“Fine, fuck, she’s at... at the old warehouse on fifth Street.”

Richard loosens his grip just enough to let me breathe, and I cough, gasping for air. He pulls back, unlocking the cuffs from my wrists, and I slump against the counter, rubbing my throat, feeling the blood on my fingertips. My throat aches as my fingers brush over the fresh bruises forming beneath the warmth of my blood.

“So, what now?” I rasp, glaring at him through the pain. “You’re going to arrest me?”

He steps closer, his eyes dark and filled with something far more dangerous than the law. “I could lock you up, but that'd be too easy.” His voice drops. “I’d rather see how far you'll run before you realize you can't escape me.”