I step into the brick and chrome bathroom. The steam begins to rise and I lower the temperature, as not to fog the room.
The cooler water hits my body. I grab an organic bar of oatmeal soap, lather and wash. After two minutes of washing, the soap falls from my hand and my fingers begin to caress my flat abdomen and downwards. "Vic..." I hear myself whispering. Before my fingers can mimic Victor's magic, I quickly shut off the shower and dry off. Then I grab the ugliest pair of pajamas I own, 5-year-old yellow-polka dot ones with a few holes.
These fuzzy PJs have kept me warm on many nights, even comforting me during my biggest break up. The clothing comforted me when my ex Arnold had decided to marry someone else, after 4 years of our relationship. I couldn't believe that I wouldn't get the ring.
I open the bathroom door. My fingers shake as I button the top, and hastily pull up the drawstring bottoms. Mist travels into my bedroom. My heart begins to thump as I notice that the dresser lamp is the only light on.
I see Victor's silhouette as he dominates the hot pink paisley chair next to my bed.
Victor glances at me as he leans back in the chair and takes possession. He crosses his fingers as he ponders. Before I can find my words, he speaks, "Those pajamas do nothing for you, Lux."
"Wh … what?" I shriek, "G … get out! I told you – "
"Never to call?" He shrugs, sitting rigidly. The light casts a shadow across the sharp curves of his handsome face. Vic waves a hand as if his presence means the world. He speaks through gritted teeth, "Well, here I fucking am!"
"My text didn't imply that I never want to see your crazy ass again? Get this through your brain," I flip him the bird. Not bold enough to step toward Victor and hit him, or force him out, I say, "Get out asshole. I don't want you. Understand? Besides, you're the one with a Doctoral in Physics, Dr. Finch."
"The name is Victor D'Ross not Doctor Victor Finch. No advanced degree in physics, Lux." He runs a hand through his black hair, yet it stays perfect. In a monotone, yet crisp voice he adds, "Though, you've just brought it to my attention. Allow me to remind you Miss Luxury Whitson, you and I are under the agreement that I-own-you."
I hadn't previously thought that Victor had lied about his surname, or even considered the name D'Ross, but my brain now scours the past. Yes, Doctor Finch – or whatever he wants to call himself – owned me. But I'm too stumped to speak.
"You agreed, Lux," he adds in that sexy British accent.
"During sex!" I scoff.
"Wrong answer, Lux. I abide by principles only. Your word is key. Always and forever, you belong to me." He starts to get up. Victor speaks as if all of this is rational. My mind breezes back to his name. He was...is Dr. Finch! I had goggled him, accolade upon accolade and almost as many degrees as my father. Never heard of D'Ross.
I'm in the company of a madman. I slowly shift toward the door, dash and open it quickly, and begin down the stairs. My bare feet lash against the wooden floors as I make a quick descent. "Daddyyyyy!" I shout angrier than the first time I fell from my bicycle after Dad had determined a tricycle was no longer necessary.
"Lux!" Dad is up from the couch as I make the last step.
"Calm down," Victor says, walking down the stairs. "Honestly, I'm attempting to comprehend the situation from your eyes, Luxury. Making hasty reactions could cost your life."
"Motherfucker, you listen here," Dad sticks out his pointer finger. "Dr. Finch, I will not have you threatening my child! Let me get my gun – "
THUMP!
A bullet blazes in the window and thumps into the brick wall, two inches to the left of Dad's head. Bits of rock and powder go crashing to the floor.
In a split second, I'm on the floor with Victor's muscular body on top of me. My mind is ringing. He hadn't been close enough to do this, and now my body is being crushed under a ton of muscles.
"Get down, Whitson!" he commands my father.
You don't have to tell Dad, twice. Age ain't nothing but a number. He moves quickly, plopping down besides his favorite brown leather lazy boy. "What the heck?"
Blood is dripping from Dad, and I start to get up to see about him, but Vic holds me tighter. "Stop, Lux."
"I … I'm okay," Dad reassures in a daze.
A smidgen of his ear is missing. My eyes go from Dad's to Victor's. The dark blue depths of his pupils have me on pause. He softly caresses my cheek.
"That sniper is here for you, Whitson." Victor uses this calm tone that made me mad, frustrated, and totally and utterly pleased during sex. But it's all wrong, especially when another bullet zips through the glass and thumps into the brick wall. "Lux, it's not a good time, but I just saved your life tonight," he says as another bullet comes crashing into a lamp and shatters over our heads.
What the hell does he mean, 'saved my life'? I start to sob, as Victor gestures for my Dad to crawl away from the living room. With this open floor-plan home, there's virtually no safety. The loft had been converted from an old factory, there are glass walls set in a 180-degree angle.
Victor kisses me passionately on the lips. I'm instantly numb to worry, until another bullet comes blasting inside. My body shakes in his arms.
Victor's eyes lock onto mine and the hypnotizing blues pull me in again, as he says, "Lux, right now, I need you to be that cheeky, confident young woman I first met. No fear."
Victor D'Ross
33 days earlier...
Sweat runs down my neck. My attire consists of a white cloth for my head, a long linen shirt and khaki pants. It takes a second to become accustomed to the Arabian sun's scorching. While lying on my stomach on top of a clay building two stories up, I look through the scope of my sniper rifle at the shopping center across the street. The vendors are bustling. The streets are filled with drivers, bikers, and walkers. Dirt, spices from the shops below, and camel dung all mix together, traveling up toward me.
My senses are heightened. I have a close view of the outdoor restaurant adjacent to me. There resides my next kill.
Four Arabs sit around a table, enjoying a feast of colorful meats and rice. Each of them has on armor and is equipped with guns in holsters . A waiter blocks my target for a second, dropping yet another tray of alcohol. I become frustrated for a moment. I'm finally aligned with my target once more.
He is now leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin, as sweat dribbles down his brown skin. He lights a cheap cigars, looking up at the blistering sky, as if he owns the world. My breath stops. The Arab takes his first and last puff of his cigar.
Nice.
A clean hole nestles right in between his eyes. Instantly, the Arab slumps forward . . . dead. His crew is up as if a fire was lit under their asses. Their guns are out.
"Where did that come from? Fuck … Fuck … " I read their mouths, as they speak Arabic. Grabbing their AK-47s, they're up in seconds, pointing in all directions, unsure of who will catch hell for this. I give a little chuckle.
Mission complete. Hard work done, time to play.
Nothing trumps the alluring seductiveness of Middle Eastern women. The Sheikh's daughter, Princess Noor has these black marble eyes that made me forget all about my previous conquests. A portion of her jet-black tresses escapes from the hijab – veil that has been covering much of her face. The depths of her eyes are just a sample of Noor's forbidden beauty. She's been secretly enticing me for days.
During my stay, the Sheikh has offered an array of gorgeous women in his golden palace. At the prime age of 35 years old, I know that Noor would forever be off limits to a Brit like me. The warning of doing as much as staring at Noor too long implies death.
"You will die for this," Noor's warns in Arabic. I had followed her to a compound out of the confines of the Sheik's palace.
I stop at the threshold, considering her words. Noor is right, her father would fucking murder me himself. She leans against the door with eyes that are begging me to own her. Then she slyly smiles, turns the knob and backs through the entryway, waiting for me to make a move.
I close the door and step into the dimly lit room. It's all open spaces with one large bed draped with colorful silk linens, indicating that I'm not the first man Noor has brought here. There are probably rooms upon rooms that have heard her coy moans in this house. Since this is the first room, we'll start here.
"Have you ever gotten on your knees before?" I joke.
"Nope." The princess licks her lips and untwines the cloth covering her beautiful face. I breathe easy.
"On your knees, then." My gaze captures every bit of Noor's golden body as she disrobes. She's naked, no bra and no panties. She teases me with her perky, tiny breasts, pink hard nipples and clean-shaven pussy. Damn, I want her so badly, but hold it in as Noor slowly unbuttons my khaki's and then pulls my pants and boxers down. The princess falls to her knees.