Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
TEDDIE
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My aching head pounded, relentless and heavy.
I tried to open my eyes but they were dry, crusty. My mouth was worse, with a bitter and unpleasant taste on my tongue.
Someone groaned. It took a moment to realize it was me.
I tried again to open my eyes, only to close them again against the glare.
What the fuck?
The ice cream.
Victor.
What had he done to me?
I wriggled my fingers. Then my toes. They still seemed to be attached to me.
I pressed my hands against my sides. My clothes were intact. Shorts, t-shirt. Where were my shoes?
Over the thudding in my head came a buzzing. A moment later, a sting on the inside of my thigh.
I jerked.
A hand clapped around my knee. "Hold still, Curly, I'm nearly done."
Curly? Nearly done? What the hell?
I forced my eyes open. I was lying on a kitchen table. The chairs had been shoved aside. Hastily, if I had to guess.
One of those chandeliers that looked like an alien space station hung directly above me, bulbs illuminated except for one on the left side. Why did that matter? It didn't.
Who was the man holding my knee, squinting at the inside of my thigh, right below the line of my shorts.
Victor.
"I should have left you in the basement," I told him. My voice was croaky. I licked my lips to wet them.
He glanced over at me and grinned before turning back to… What was he doing?
I pushed myself up on my elbows and gaped.
"Tell me you're not tattooing me."
"I wouldn't want to lie to you." He tightened his grip on my knee when I tried to pull away from him. Truthfully, my effort was weak at best. Whatever he gave me, I was still groggy from it.
"I don't think you give a shit about lying to me," I said, scathing. "What the fuck did you do?"
"Now, now." He waved the tattoo gun at me before he went back to work. "Don't lose your shit."
"I really should have left you in the basement." I tried to kick out with my other leg, but he was leaning over me, holding it down with his stomach.
"Do you know what those assholes would have done to me if you did?" He wiped off excess ink before adding a little more. His arm was in the way, blocking whatever he was inking on me without my consent.
"Something you deserve," I said. What other the answer was there?
"They have the wrong idea about me," he said. "They think I'm some kind of predator."
I barked a laugh. "Why in the world would they think something like that? Oh, right. You drugged me and now you're tattooing me." I tried again to jerk away from him.
Once again, he held me firmly. "You'll mess up the design."
"The first chance I get," I said darkly.
I fucking hated the fact I liked the way the tattoo gun felt on my skin. The sting between pleasure and pain. Too much and not enough at the same time.
"You don't even know what I'm putting on you," he complained. "Wait until you see what it is."
I dropped my head back, taking the weight off my neck.
It helped the ache a little bit. What I could use right now was a big bucket of water.
A few sips for me and the rest of it to dump on his head.
Of shove his head inside and hold him until he…
Did I want him dead? That depended on a lot of things, including what he did next.
"That's better," he said. "I always find it's more comfortable if you relax."
I snorted. "You drugged me and abducted me, yet you want me to relax?"
He glanced at me and grinned again. "Exactly. I'm almost done."
"I have no idea why the other guys got the wrong impression about you," I said sarcastically.
"I know right? I'm mostly more harmless than they are. For one thing, I don't lock people in basements."
"I find that difficult to believe." I took a moment to glance around, trying to figure out where we were. Judging by the architecture and design, we were still in Saltgrave Cove. Everything had that 'been here for a hundred years' look about it.
Victor sighed heavily. "I have no idea why. I saved you from them." Was he pouting?
I picked my head back up and stared at him. "You what? I seem to remember finding you in that basement and letting you out."
"And if you hadn't done that, you'd still be there with them. You might have even…" He cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, "Fucked them."
I shook my head and lowered it back down to the table. No, not the table. To the pillow he'd placed under my head.
"Are you out of your mind?" I asked. "I let you out of the basement." I got him out of there and he thought he'd saved me somehow? Was he unhinged?
"You're welcome." He dabbed up the tattoo again before placing the tattoo gun aside. "Just so you know, 'out of your mind’ isn't an official psychiatric diagnosis."
He lifted his hand off my knee so I could see what he tattooed on there.
"And yet, it's strangely accurate."
My skin was puckered and red, but the only thing he'd tattooed on me was a single word. 'Mine.'
"What the hell?" I leaned closer, to get a better look. The ink was written in what I guess was his handwriting, as though he'd left his signature on my skin.
"It's perfect isn't it?” he said happily. "Now none of them can touch you without seeing that on you."
"I'm not yours," I told him. "You drugged me and brought me here. Against my will. You put ink on me. Also against my will."
"There's a rule." He started to pack the tattoo gun away. Lucky for him, because if he tried to ink me anywhere else, I was going to stab him in the eyeball with it. "If you save someone from being locked in the basement by three psychotic assholes, they owe you their life."
"That's not a real rule." I drew my legs up and swung around, wondering if they'd hold me if I hopped down from the table. "Also, if it was, it doesn't include being drugged. Or kidnapped."
"You see?" He placed the tattoo gun in a box and closed the lid. "I knew you'd be a little bit reluctant and disbelieving. If I tried to explain all of this back at the ice cream parlor, you would have told me I was crazy and walked out the door. We couldn't have that happening."
"I would have been right," I said. "You are crazy." Was there a knife block around here somewhere? Maybe a rolling pin. How far would I get if I made a run for it?
"Crazy is also not an official psychiatric diagnosis," Victor said. "Would you like something to eat?"
"After the way that turned out last time, no thank you," I said.
"I have apples." He stepped over to the fridge and pulled one out. Then a couple more. "The skin is intact." He started to juggle them, tossing them so high they almost hit the ceiling before dropping back down onto his hands.
"Here." He threw one at me so fast, I barely had time to raise my hands and catch it before it hit me in the face. He didn't seem to notice. He bit into one apple and put the other one back in the fridge.
I carefully examined the apple before taking a bite. I had to admit it was tasty, juicy and helped to wash away the lingering taste of whatever he drugged me with.
"What is the official psychiatric diagnosis?" I asked. That seemed to be an area of expertise.
“A bunch of things." He crunched into his apple.
"Diagnosed a few years ago. Sometimes I can't sit still.
I have to do things, you know? I had to bring you here and put my mark on you.
That's me though, not my conditions. I have no filter.
Probably wouldn't use it if I had one. Honestly, the first time I saw you in that restaurant.
That was before this mania hit." He was talking so quickly, I struggled to follow.
"Why do they think you're a predator?" I asked. "How many women have you drugged and brought here?"
He cocked his head, his brow creased. "Let me think back for a moment." He straightened his head up and grinned. "Just you. You're the first woman I ever looked at and knew you were mine. You might have noticed, I'm known for being impulsive sometimes. No regrets though, because here you are."
"Okay, but I might go to the police," I said. "Aren't you worried about that?"
At the same time, I knew what happened to people like him. The police wouldn't be gentle. Should they be? Why was I feeling sympathy for a man who kidnapped me?
"I'm more worried about being locked in the basement," he said. "It reminds me of my low days. Dark, cold and…" He shook his head. "You don't want to hear about that. It's depressing. Should we have sex now?"
I almost choked on a piece of apple. He was going to give me whiplash.
"I'm not having sex with you, Victor," I said. "What I'd like right now is to go home."
"Back to those three men?" He looked disappointed, bordering on angry. I should be careful where I stepped. I didn't know if he'd become dangerous and what it would take to push him over that line. I'd rather not know.
"You didn't tell me why they thought you were a predator," I pointed out. "I should be running for my life, not sitting here talking to you." I swung my legs under the table a couple of times, decided they'd hold me before I slid off the table and onto the floor.
"It was a misunderstanding," he said easily. "They thought I got angry and killed an innocent person."
"And you didn't?" I asked.
"Oh, I killed them. They weren't innocent though." He nodded once.
I would have taken a step back, but the table was right behind me.
"You killed someone?" I should get the hell out of here right now.
"Yes, but they weren't innocent," he said, as if that was the most important point here. "They were doing bad things to…to children. I don't like it when people do that."
"Isn't that what the cops are for?" I asked.
"He was a cop," Victor said softly. "They would have protected their own. Turned a blind eye." He brightened up and added, "Don't worry, I gave him two blind eyes before I cut his throat." He seemed very pleased with himself.
"I think I should go now," I said, inching toward the door.
"You know I'd never do anything bad to you, don't you, Curly?" He seemed hurt that I was so eager to leave.
"You kidnapped me," I said. "How do I know you aren't going to kill me?"
His shoulders sagged. "I did the wrong thing.
I should have sent you flowers." His gaze dropped towards the tiled floor.
"I couldn't give you flowers when I was locked in a basement.
Could I? I couldn't have sent you flowers after all.
" He sighed hard out his nose. "I should have told you to leave me there so they could kill me. "
"I'm sure they weren't going to kill you," I said, not sure at all.
He lifted his gaze, staring at me like a child who regretted coming inside with mud all over their shoes.
"Yeah, they were. But you saved my life. Now you belong to me. And even better." He grinned more broadly than he had up until this point. "I belong to you."