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Back VICTOR Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. PART I
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. PART II
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. PART III
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. PART IV
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. PART V
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. PART VI
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. ALSO BY THEODORA TAYLOR
  44. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

My heart sank with more disappointment. Lena and I had talked about me coming up to Boston, or maybe her coming down to visit me in New York. There was no way I’d be able to explain this huge house, so I’d have to go to her.

I asked the next logical question, “How do I ask for permission?”

Victor regarded me for a cold few seconds. Then he walked out.

He left. He just…left.

I pulled on the sports shorts and Mount Holyoke tee I put on that morning. Back when I was still just a fresh college grad, preparing to enter the next phase of my life with a Peter Pan bus ride to New York.

But by the time I got back down to the living room, I spied the Bentley pulling out of the driveway from the large front window. He was leaving without a sign of explanation or any indication of when he’d be back.

For what had to be the millionth time that day, I asked myself, What in the entire fuck?

6

DAWN

The next morning, a guy walked into the house’s front hall, carrying a big cardboard box in his arms. He just walked in without even knocking.

The night before, I’d taken advantage of the house’s frontloading washer and dryer, which I could use without inserting any quarters whatsoever—yay! So luckily, I was dressed in a clean version of my Mount Holyoke shorts and t-shirt. Otherwise, he would’ve gotten a show when he looked over to the living room where I was sitting on the couch. I’d been watching the first season of RSW: College Mic Drop, the latest Rap Star Wives spin-off, starring Nitra Mello, the daughter from the original RSW flagship show.

“Who are you?” I rose from the couch and inched closer to the fireplace rack. Most home invaders don’t bust in carrying boxes. But I wanted to be within arm’s reach of the iron poker just in case.

“Oh, hey, I’m Yaron. Victor sent me…”

He set down the box, allowing me to see him better.

This Yaron didn’t look like somebody Victor would send. No visible tattoos or muscles that I could see. He had one of those super multicultural looks that made it seem as though he could be from anywhere. Black hair, slightly tanned skin, tilted brown eyes, and out-turned ears like President Obama. He sported a sloppy man bun, but his hairline sat pretty far back. So maybe he was older than he appeared. He also had a slight accent, which I couldn’t quite say for sure was Chinese.

“Hi, Yaron,” I answered, just to be polite before I asked, “Why did Victor send you?”