The man drummed his fingers on the expensive desk and stared out the window. He should feel happy. He should be content. Instead, he felt restless… incomplete.
He brushed his thumb lightly over his upper lip. It still felt strange sometimes to not feel the gap that had once split his mouth. Adult skin wasn’t as resilient as children’s, but the scar cream they’d given him after the surgery had worked wonders. Though the flesh had been healed for several years now, he’d continued to use it. Maybe it was all in his mind, but he was terrified of being associated with the boy he’d left thousands of miles and many years behind.
Once, he hadn’t had two nickels to rub together. Now, he had a successful business and everything his heart desired. Everything but her. She should know by now how determined he could be once he set his mind to something. Of course, he’d never told her about his past; not the truth of it, anyway.
For as long as he could remember, rage had consumed him. His father had been an abusive drunk, taking his anger out first on his mother, then himself as he got older. His mother had abandoned him just after he’d turned twelve, turning to drugs to escape her dismal reality. He’d found her one afternoon when he returned home from school, her eyes cold and lifeless as she gazed at the ceiling from where she lay reclined on the couch.
He’d received the thrashing of his life that night as if he had wielded the needle himself, and the last scrap of humanity within him fell away. He lived with his father for the next five years until one night, he’d had enough. Father had come home drunk with fire in his eyes, and he knew one of them wouldn’t see the light of morning. Self-defense, he’d claimed when the police questioned him about the knife he’d wielded against his raging father. With a track record a mile long and a bad reputation in town, the police had been eager to believe a seventeen-year-old boy struggling to survive under a tyrant’s rule. Only he and his father knew the truth of that night—and now the secret would be carried to his grave.
For a brief period of time, custody had been awarded to his father’s sister, an equally abrasive, worthless excuse of a human being. The tiny house had reeked of gin and cigarettes and he’d left the day he’d turned eighteen in search of a better life. She’d ridiculed him for going to college. She’d called him ugly and worthless, told him he’d never amount to anything; he was no better than his trailer park roots. He’d reluctantly gone back at her request several years later, one weekend during his senior year at West Virginia University. She’d been evicted from the house for not paying rent, and, out of familial obligation, he’d driven up to help her move. Little did he know that the trip would change his life. It was then that he’d experienced his first taste of raw, pure power. It was the same fateful weekend he’d met Victoria—although she’d gone by Bekah back then.
The morning following the murder, his aunt had accosted him as he came out of the tiny spare bedroom. Though he’d spent an hour or more cleaning himself and getting rid of his clothes once he’d gotten home, she’d somehow known he was responsible. The death of one local woman and the assault of another had been all over the morning news.
She’d looked him in the eyes and pointed a bony finger at him in accusation. “You killed that girl, didn’t you?” When he failed to respond, she’d continued her tirade. “They know what you look like. They’ll come for you.”
She’d made to move past him, probably in the hopes of finding more damning evidence in his room. For a split second, panic had assailed him. But then there was something… more. Confusion had filled her cold, snake-like eyes as his hand whipped out and fisted in her shirt. Fear immediately replaced the confusion as he’d shoved her away from him, watching with an odd sense of detachment as she’d tumbled backward, her body landing in an awkward, lifeless heap at the base of the stairs. For good measure, he’d kicked a moving box down behind her and, as far as he knew, the authorities still believed she’d broken her neck after she’d tripped while carrying it down the stairs.
He’d gathered his things, wiped down every surface he could have possibly come in contact with, then climbed in the car and made the two-hour journey back to campus. His life had taken a completely different turn that day. He’d thought his father’s murder had been a fluke—just a young boy trying to protect himself and survive. But it was so much more than that. It was the gateway that had set him on this path. While he’d initially broken away to make a better life for himself, he’d never imagined something so amazing lay in store.
For years he’d tried to recreate that feeling, chasing the high of his first. When he’d taken Leah’s life that night, he felt like he could move mountains. But none of the others had been the same. Even Victoria’s demise wasn’t at all what he’d planned. She was never supposed to fall over that bridge into the water, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to live.
And then he learned she’d become a psychologist, of all things. He couldn’t help seeking her out, putting himself in her path. He’d concocted the most ridiculous reason to speak with her, but she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. And in turn, he’d fallen for her. He’d come to her with an intricate plan of revenge but had been blindsided by the reality of her. She was nothing like Leah, nothing like the other women he’d taken over the years. Victoria was the embodiment of perfection. Clean and untouched, sweet and devoted, she was perfection personified. He’d spent years perfecting his plan and instead had found his perfect mate. The revelation had hit him hard—he wanted to keep her by his side forever, cherish her.
It was almost comical how uncomfortable she was with men, and he felt a momentary twinge of regret for the discomfort he’d caused her all those years ago. That feeling was eclipsed, however, by the possessiveness he felt for her. He had marked her as his own that day, and she would never belong to anyone else. Red flashed before his eyes as he thought of the man he’d seen her with. He couldn’t allow that. Victoria was meant for him alone, and he would take her with him.
He clutched the paper in his hand, crumpling it in his fist, and let loose a low string of oaths. The short newspaper article declared that the police were following a new lead from the break-in at her house, and an eye witness was supposedly giving them a composite sketch. Had someone actually seen him? It was possible, he supposed, but he’d taken the utmost care in concealing himself in plain sight. He was there often enough to blend in, but he couldn’t take the chance. He would have to move soon—it was only a matter of time before he popped up on their radar. He had to get to her before then.
He regretted the way he’d left things the last time they were together. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but desperation had overruled him and he’d lashed out. Now, he’d have to find a way to get to her and get back into her good graces. But how? Victoria was a complex creature, and he would have to find something that called to her, something she wouldn’t be able to ignore. A slow smile spread over his face as a plan began to form in his mind.