Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell
Chapter 32
Viktor Farrow
Sequestered in my cushy hotel room, I watched the time on my phone as if my life hinged on each second. There had been only one way I could think of to speak to Angela, and it was almost showtime. OAS had officially begun in earnest, yet the end goal had changed.
Instead of a desire to leave her begging for more and walking away after shattering her heart, I wanted her choosing to give it to me for protection. Ridiculous, right?Me, Viktor Farrow, consumed with himself for years, now reduced to a fucking lovesick sap who would cut off his own dick if she asked. Pathetic.
Every day for two years, I had fought the cravings, the desperate need to fill the black emptiness inside, the unrelenting drive to drown my turmoil and pain, but thinking of her, being with her, feeling her—eased the relentless guilt and made me whole for the first time in ages. I wanted my angel, even if I had to become a devil to get her.
Hunched forward on a recliner, I pulled up the live stream of her radio show.
“Hello, you K-rockers. I hope everyone’s staying cool out there.” Her smoky voice sent chills across my skin.
God, I want you. There’s no other woman for me. How can you not see that?
“You know what time it is? That’s right. Dedication and request hour, so hit me up either through the phones or on the website, and let’s light this hour up.”
I tapped the country code of 1, then the number listed online, and held the mobile to my ear.
Several rings trilled then silence. A slight tremor shook my muscles, and I concentrated on breathing, willing the nerves and jitters to normalize. I didn’t want to be that kind of caller—the heavy breather.
“Hello. You’re speaking with Angela Morales. Do you have a special someone out there or a song request?”
For a couple of seconds, words fled my mind.
“Hello?” A tinge of humor threaded through her words.
“I do.” I cleared my throat.
Silence.
I bet she’s debating on whether she should hang up or not. Work fast, wanker.
“There’s a beautiful, sweet woman out there who thinks I did something rather naughty, but I didn’t. She only saw a snippet of a half-truth.” I took a breath and prayed she’d keep listening. “What she didn’t see was a crazed, drunk fan pushing into me and sloshing her drink, or me grabbing it before the contents landed on my clothes.”
“Hmm.” She clucked her tongue, and I could almost see her dark-brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Let’s say said woman did see a version of this. How would she know if you were telling the truth?”
“She could ask everyone who was there. They’d vouch.”
“Sure, they would because you pay them, Viktor.” Her voice hardened, no longer sultry and sexy.
“Angel, I’m not him.” I gripped the mobile. “Fuck. You felt what we shared that night. I know you did. I want more of that.” Deep in my heart, more truths begged to come out, and I closed my eyes. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about since I set eyes on you. No other person could ever compare. What must I do to prove myself? I’ll never betray you, I’ll never let you down, and I’ll never, ever mistreat you. I might be an asshole to the rest of the world, but not you—never you. Give us a chance, Love.” It was official. I sounded like a royal cunt in front of the world. Even worse, I didn’t care. This was a new low for me—I groveled for no one.
“Even…” She sniffed. “Even if you weren’t messing around, you’re always going to be an alcoholic and an addict, and I don’t know if I can deal with that.”
I sighed. “Fair enough. It’s true. I told you it’s a daily battle, but like war, if there’s something or someone to fight for, I won’t fuck it up.”
“I need to get the next caller.” Her voice firmed. “And take the car back. I don’t want to owe you anything.”
“What car?” Smugness oozed from my words. The vehicle was hers—free and clear—and there was nothing she could do about it. No matter what she decided, at least I’d rest easy knowing she’d make it back and forth to work without breaking down in that wreck of a dereliction she called Rusty. I shuddered. That piece of shite was my nightmare.
“I’ve gotta go, Viktor.” Soft and velvety, her voice stroked my ear as if she were physically touching my skin.
“Don’t.” I paced to the windows. A light drizzle scattered the streetlights below, their slanted momentum reminding me of a sad, lonely painting. “One chance. Give us one chance, Angel.” Clenching my jaw, I grabbed the windowsill with my free hand and squeezed. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”
“Goodbye.” The line went dead.
“Damn it.” An urge to destroy the mobile rose, but I squashed it. It was my lifeline to an angel from Heaven. I pulled up the show and streamed it, eager to hear her voice but also pissed she’d hung up on me.
“Um.” The sound of papers shuffling came through the mic. “Hmm. I’ve got a lot of comments. Let’s see. Josie from Joshua’s Cradle wants to know…” Several seconds passed. “Josie asks, ‘Why won’t you give Viktor Farrow a chance? It’s obvious he’s in love with you.’ Well, Josie, my love life is no one’s business, and Viktor shouldn’t be calling me at the studio or trying to soften me with fancy gifts. I’m not that kind of girl.”
In love with her? I mulled the words. Had I ever truly been in love before? In lust, certainly, yet I’d never felt the pull or desperation that came over me when I thought of Angela.
Not sure I want to hear the rest of what she has to say without being able to respond. I turned off the device and put it on its charger.
The band and I were leaving first thing in the morning, and I ruminated on the second part of my plan. Perhaps I had fallen in love with her, and wouldn’t that be karma? The person I sought to seduce and break turning the tables on me?
Oddly enough, I wasn’t alarmed. Angela had become an addiction I wouldn’t—and couldn’t—fight. My drug of choice and I wanted to shoot her into my veins and ride the sweet wave all the way to Heaven—or Hell, depending on my next actions.