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Vic looked at me like I’d just asked what two plus two equals.
“It’s a gun, Lennox,” He replied, tucking the gun into his waistband.
“Why do you need it?” I replied, my voice getting higher. I was definitely worried, but for whom, I don’t know. Dean was an asshole who was stalking me, who wanted to rape and kill me, but that didn’t mean that I wanted Vic to murder him.
If I really thought about it, really admitted the origins of my feelings, I hated the idea of Vic going out somewhere with a gun. He cared about me and I him. Also, he refused to let me help. I wasn’t some woman who put candles in the window and waited for the man to return home.
Instead of replying, Vic gave me a look as if to say “don’t ask,” and stuffed another gun into a shoulder holster.
“Two guns?” I gasped. Dean didn’t warrant a two-gun showdown! He was Dean. The most harm he did was to my spam box. Well, and punch my lights out, threaten to rape and kill me, and . . . well, hmmm. “Look, Vic, maybe I blew this a bit out of proportion. This guy, like I said, he’s just a psycho ex. I’ve been toying with the idea that he’s actually mentally unstable . . .” I trailed off, unsure of where I was going with this. “I mean, he used to be really sweet. You don’t need guns, is all I’m saying. He’s just...arg!” I didn’t know how to explain it: He’s not an angsty teenager, but he’s not Osama Bin Laden either. He’s somewhere in between.
“I always come prepared,” Vic replied gruffly.
“For what? Armageddon?” I said, eyeing the bowing knife Vic was strapping above his ankle. “I should have called the police. I just didn’t know what to do. Never mind.”
I reached for the gun in his holster. I assumed it had the safety on, or at least that’s what I told myself because otherwise reaching for a gun and trying to pull it out would just be totally stupid. And I don’t want to be totally stupid.
“Lennox!” Vic growled, his voice a warning.
Instead of it stopping me, though, his snarl fueled me to continue. I grappled at the gun in his holster, frantically trying to pull it loose.
I know it was dumb, I do, but at that moment it was the only thing I could think of to regain control of the situation. I had already lost too much control of my life to Dean; I didn’t want to lose more to Vic.
Finally fed up, Vic grabbed my wrists to stop me. I twisted in his hold, elbowing his chest. He smiled and even seemed to be enjoying my fighting, which just infuriated me more. I fought to get free, and, finally, I kicked him in his right knee. His eyes clouded with something I hadn’t seen before in Vic: fury.
I froze.
Vic shoved me backward. As we crashed onto the couch, he pushed my wrists above my head and used them to brace himself above me. There was a good amount of space between us, but he was still on top of me.
Vic enveloped me. His usually neat bun had come loose and strands of his black hair fell down across his chiseled, olive chin. He clenched his jaw, and eyed me with those midnight eyes. In any other situation, I would have found this unbelievably sexy, but right now, I was focused on getting what I wanted.
“Are you going to listen to me now?” I asked, my chest heaving.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing, Lennox,” Vic replied, gripping my wrists harder.
I hurt everywhere—my ribs, my head, my wrists. I didn’t let him know; I didn’t want him to know how badly Dean had hurt me. Instead, I smiled and gave Vic a wink.
Vic smiled back, the fury gone and replaced by mischievousness. He let go of my wrists at once, and rolled off the c
ouch.
I was so surprised at the suddenness of being free, that I forgot to feign toughness: I rubbed my wrists. He raised an eyebrow at me, so instead of trying to hide my pain, I continued to rub. Fuck it, right? I sat up, settled into the leather couch, and proceeded to make a show of rubbing my wrists.
I was thankful that Dean had kicked my ribs, and not my face. I was thankful that the punch on my head wasn’t showing. Vic probably would have brought out a bazooka if he’d seen any bruises on me. I best keep my shirt on.
“I know what I’m doing, Lennox,” Vic said, a hint of weariness playing at the syllables.
I didn’t say anything; I needed a moment to think. I knew I’d have trouble thinking if I looked at Vic right now, so I settled my eyes on a piece of art I hadn’t seen on my first visit here: a blown glass woman. Focused on the art piece, I let my thoughts swirl: I’d already gone to the police and filed a report. There wasn’t much they could do. Basically, they don’t help until I’m in the ground. Here was this sexy Asian god ready to help and I was getting cold feet. I realized I had been scratching the back of my hand, something I do when I’m nervous.
Finally, I looked up at Vic silently asking him what he would do.
Instead of flashing a cocksure smile or patronizing me, he did something unexpected; he sat down next to me. He held my hand and made me stop scratching.
I looked at him and then back at the blown glass sculpture that was so easily broken. Maybe I didn’t want to know.
After Vic left, I realized I was alone. Like, really alone. In Vic’s apartment. All alone in Vic’s apartment. A giddy schoolgirl smile spread across my face. I mean, he was going to be gone for hours and I was too amped up, scared, and freaked out to watch TV. So, what’s a girl to do? I started with the kitchen.
I’m not one for sneaking through other people’s things. I’m not. I’ve been in plenty of guys’ houses and when they leave for the morning coffee, I always just stay put. Something about Vic, however, made me want to snoop. Maybe it’s his aloofness. I’ve been “getting to know him” now for months, yet I still havn’t learned anything of substance about him.
