Hop X Victor Novels & Stories

“Okay.” Victor moved to the mirrored wall and drew a line with tape across the floor—a simple strip of blue, maybe six feet long. “This is the locker corridor,” he said. He laid a second strip perpendicular—“Here, the vending machines.” He placed a stool at one end. “And this is the bench where you’ll tie your shoe even if your shoe does not need tying, because delay is your friend when your head is loud.”

“Wake up, you piece of shit!” Officer Xavier’s voice boomed, shaking the dark, musty room. He stood over Victor, a six-foot tower of muscle and fury, and with no hesitation, threw a bucket of ice-cold water over his face. The sudden shock jolted Victor, his body spasming as the freezing liquid seeped into his cuts and bruises.

"Who is she?" "That is none of your business," he glares before smiling once again. "I've got something for you and also, something to show you." I don't say anything and just stare at him. His silver orbs were no longer looking the same. They had a different intention, a different aura, they didn't have the Alex that I thought I knew. He brings out an orange flower and then shoves it in my hair. "So gorgeous," I shiver when his skin makes contact with mine. "Look at this, look what they did to me," he raises the newspaper to me. Who even reads- anyways- it reads, ALEXANDER McCANN; WANTED FOR MURDER.

So no matter what, she can never even be with him forever. ‘Too bad, hubby! A handsome man like you doesn’t deserve what lies ahead. If you were the man I saw before Connor, I would have loved you instead but then it was Connor and I am not like many other women.’ She thought. “Ah finally, we are home.” Connor’s voice sounded so cheerful and when Violet glanced through the tinted glass window, her jaw dropped at what she saw. “SO HUGE!” She exclaimed.

Definitely not peace. But recognition. The poles. The silks. The music. The anticipation. This wasn’t foreign. This was home dressed in slightly more questionable branding. I exhaled slowly. Then nodded. “You’re right.” Roxy grinned. “That’s my emotionally unstable superstar.” “Shut up.” “That sounded much healthier.” I laughed once under my breath. My heart was still racing, but now it felt manageable. Roxy extended her hand dramatically. “Ready, Vesper?” I stared at it.

I packed my bag with shaking hands and told myself I’d be good. Victor’s house sat on a quiet street outside the city. Big windows. Dark wood beams. The kind of place that smelled like cedar and coffee even when no one was cooking. He met us at the door in a faded gray T-shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Alex hugged him first—back slaps, easy laughs. Then Victor turned to me. He pulled me in.

Valerie: Morning sunlight spilled across the terrace, warm and soft against my skin as I stepped outside. The breeze carried the faint scent of pine and fresh earth, the quiet hum of the pack grounds far below. Everything felt calmer now, steadier, like the world had finally exhaled after months of choking tension. “Val.” I turned. Xavier stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His eyes, those steady storm-blue eyes, held something different today. A warmth. A nervousness. A spark I hadn’t seen since the very beginning.

"This is Damien. You are lying. Victor is dead. His plans died with him." Harrison answered calm, unhurried. "Dead but prepared. I helped design it. Victor was meticulous. He knew that even if he fell, his work could continue. I have the data the full psychological blueprint. Meet me. I can show you how to stop it before it breaks you." Ava's voice rose, edged with desperation. "Why would you help us? You work for the Cipher Council. You're their consultant now." Harrison paused, and I could almost hear him smiling. "I work for money. They paid me to consult, to share my knowledge of your family. But I kept copies for myself. Victor trusted me with everything. You can too. For Maya's sake."

A framed print clattered to the floor. “I built this company with him!” Victor screamed, his face inches from Davidson’s, his breath hot with whiskey and hate. “I was there in the dirt and the oil when you were still a bible-thumping boy in Texas! I earned it! You just spread your legs for it!” Davidson shoved him back, hard. Victor stumbled, crashing into a low-slung sofa. The two men from Volkov watched, impassively, as if observing a mildly interesting sporting event. This was beneath their intervention.

A second vehicle appeared several minutes behind the SUV, a dark sedan, it was an older model, partially obscured but I recognized it immediately. My stomach dropped, "No." Morris looked toward me. "What?" I stared at the screen. "I know that car." The detective's expression sharpened. "Who owns it?" For several seconds I couldn't answer because out of every possibility running through my head, this wasn't one of them. Finally, I spoke. "It belongs to Victor Hargrove." The name landed heavily, Morris frowned. "Your Chief Operations Officer?" I nodded once. Victor had worked for Calloway Holdings for nearly twelve years.