The door clicked shut. A sound so final, so soft, yet it echoed in Vic’s skull like the slam of a prison gate. Or was it the opening of one? He was still on the couch, his body a landscape of ravaged nerves. The air in the room was heavy, humid, carrying the metallic scent of the rain outside and the musky, intimate aroma of sex and power that had just unfolded. It was a perfume that clung to the back of his throat, a tas...