Victor #3
I trace the rose on my hand, feeling its raised edges beneath my skin. "You're going to set her free, Aaron. Tonight. And you're going to make her believe it's for her own good."
"And if I refuse?"
The smile that crosses my face is the same one that used to appear in nightmares of men who opposed me. "Then I'll destroy you so completely that when Kyra comes to comfort me over my son's tragic overdose, she'll be grateful for the shoulder to cry on."
The threat hangs between us, as real as the gun in my desk drawer and the bodies I've put in the ground. Aaron may be my blood, but Kyra is my obsession. And obsession always wins.
"When?" he whispers.
"Tonight. Call her in one hour. Tell her you need to see her. Then end it." I slide a piece of paper across the desk. "Here's what you're going to say. Memorize it."
He reads the script I've prepared with growing horror. It's perfectly crafted to wound her just enough to ensure she won't try to fight for the relationship, while leaving her self-esteem intact enough that she'll be receptive to comfort from the right source.
"This is evil," he whispers.
"This is love." I stand, moving to the window that overlooks the garden where I first realized I wanted her. "Real love. The kind that's willing to do whatever it takes to claim what it needs. You wouldn't understand."
"She'll never want you. The age difference alone—"
"Will make her feel protected. Cherished.
Valued in ways your pathetic fumbling never could.
" I turn back to him, voice low with dark promise.
"Kyra craves intellectual stimulation, emotional depth, and security.
I can provide all three. You offer her nothing but pretty privilege and broken promises. "
I return to my desk, picking up the letter opener again. "You have fifty-five minutes to prepare. Call her at exactly eight o'clock. Break her heart quickly and cleanly. Then disappear from her life completely."
"And if she tries to contact me?"
"You'll ignore her. Block her number. Avoid places she frequents.
" The blade catches the light as I test its edge against my thumb, drawing a single drop of blood that I let fall onto the rose tattoo.
"Because if you ever speak to her again, if you ever come near her again, I'll finish what I should have done years ago when I realized what a disappointment you turned out to be. "
He stumbles toward the door, then pauses. "What happens to her after? When she finds out what you really are?"
"She'll never find out. By the time she's in my bed, she'll be so grateful for a real man that she won't care how she got there." I lean back, satisfaction flowing through me like fine whiskey. "Now get out. You have a heart to break."
After he leaves, I remain in my study, surrounded by the scent of his fear and sweet anticipation of victory. The rose on my hand seems to pulse with its own heartbeat, three years of patient planning finally coming to fruition.
I pick up my phone and dial the number I've had memorized for months. "Patrick, initiate the final phase. I want her isolated and vulnerable by tomorrow night."
"The apartment situation?"
"Accelerate it. Building inspection tomorrow, immediate evacuation required.
Make sure she has nowhere to go except the shelter of concerned friends.
" I pause, savoring the moment. "And Patrick?
Make sure everyone she might turn to for help is suddenly unavailable.
Work emergencies, family crises, whatever it takes. "
"Understood, sir. What about the university angle?"
"Professor McQuillan's offer has been withdrawn. The research funding falls through tomorrow morning. Her supervisor gets his transfer orders by noon." I press my thumb against the rose tattoo, feeling each thorn and petal. "By Friday, she'll be desperate enough to accept comfort from any source."
"Even from her ex-boyfriend's father?"
"Especially from her ex-boyfriend's father. Guilt makes people do stupid things, Patrick. And gratitude makes them do stupider ones."
The plan is perfect in its simplicity. By the time Kyra realizes what's happening, she'll be so dependent on my support that leaving will seem impossible. Not because I've trapped her, but because I've convinced her that staying is her choice.
Free will is an illusion when you control all the variables.
***
The Day Before
The cabin stands ready, every detail calculated to seduce and ensnare.
Her favorite medical journals and research papers have been scattered casually across the mahogany desk in the study, positioned where she'll find them and think it's coincidence rather than careful planning.
Tomorrow I'll add the final touches—fresh flowers, wine, the subtle atmospheric details that will complete the stage.
Tomorrow, Kyra will think she's coming here to reconcile with my son. She has no idea she's walking into the most elaborate seduction in criminal history.
I stand in the master bedroom, our future bedroom, and touch the rose tattoo one last time before tomorrow's performance begins.
Three years of planning have led to this moment.
Three years of watching, wanting, systematically removing every obstacle between us.
Silk sheets are pulled back invitingly, waiting for her body to be spread across them, waiting for me to claim what's rightfully mine.
I pour myself a final whiskey and raise it toward the window that will soon frame her desperate arrival. "To patience, planning, and claiming what you're willing to wait for."
The Macallan burns warm down my throat as I imagine tomorrow night—her confusion giving way to attraction, her resistance melting under my careful attention, her eventual surrender to the inevitable.
I imagine her writhing beneath me, those soft lips parting as she moans my name, her tight heat gripping my cock as I finally take what I've craved for so long.
She'll try to fight it at first. They always do. But I've spent three years learning her weaknesses, her pressure points, her deepest desires. By Christmas morning, she'll be begging me to keep her.
And I will. Forever.
The rose on my hand catches the lamplight as I check the time. In fourteen hours, I'll place the call that will bring her to me. The concerned father reaching out to comfort his son's ex-girlfriend in her time of need.
Three years of planning. Three years of patience. Three years of systematic elimination of every option except me.
Tomorrow, I will claim my rose.