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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Apr 23, 2021 7:54:21 GMT -5
Dermot hadn’t realised how much of a coward he was until now. For five days, he’d holed himself up with Max, wandering from room to room, wracked with guilt and heartbreak. He hadn’t turned on his phone either. Hadn’t spoken to anybody except Max, when Max could even get a word out of him. He should have spoken to Aoife and George, at least to try and explain... but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was hiding, even though it shamed him to do it. Jock would never look at him the same again. His cousin, his best friend. They were family, or at least had been. Did Jock hate him? Did Nora hate him? She’d seemed too shocked that night, her words had been spoken automatically, as if she were numb. Now she’d had time to process it, was she angry? Would she ever want to see him again? Dermot could barely sleep. He’d grown so used to having Nora by his side, the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin... being apart was literal agony. Was she okay? Was she eating? Or was she just living her life, happy now he was out of it?
He knew it shouldn’t, but Max’s question about Jock and Nora had bothered him. So, she chose Jock? As if he already had knowledge Dermot didn’t. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he had muttered to himself. Jock had only been back a couple of weeks, and he was pretty certain he and Nora had had a perfect relationship before .... before he went and ruined it all. He didn’t hear Max enter, but when the sandwich was slammed in front of him, he pulled his unseeing gaze from the window to look at it. Max took the chair opposite, but Dermot really wasn’t hungry. Even the bacon wasn’t all that tempting. Minutes passed in silence. The clock ticked on the wall, endless as always.
“She probably doesn’t mean it. Nora will take you back, if you ask. Aoife too. They think the sun shines too much out of your arse to hate you forever. And if they don't, life fuckin' goes on.”
Dermot shut his eyes. Even the mention of her still hurt. He’d seen the betrayal in her eyes. He’d seen what Malachi had done to her, the vast difference between the woman he met and the woman he loved now. The last thing he wanted was to be the reason for her pain. “Don’t compare us to you and Lara,” he snapped, opening his eyes and scowling at the BLT in front of him. Angrily, he twisted off a piece of crust. “It’s not the same at all. Did you even love Lara?” Did Max ever love anybody but himself? What he and Nora had - have - was real. Pure. Dropping the crust onto his plate, he looked up, eyes flashing darkly. “I was trying to do the right thing. A-And they’ll understand that, they’ll see. They just need time.” It’s what he’d been trying to convince himself for the past few days at least.
“How /did/ Lara know, by the way? ... My boy.”
Dermot slammed a hand on the table. “Yes, your fuckin’ boy, Max.” Clenching his jaw in anger, he narrowed his eyes. “You know I was going to tell her? I went to her house that night. I was going to tell her everything. But she already knew, thanks to your little message. Happy?” He hated he smug look on his brother’s face. “Why are you such a bastard, Max? Why couldn’t you just stay away?” But he knew the answer. Max wanted his son and what right did Dermot have to stop him?
“Look, I've put up with this act all week, but are you done being a miserable cunt?”
“Act? I’ve fucking lost everything and you expect me to me happy about it? I was due to be married in a matter of months!” He hadn’t even seen her in the dress she’d taken so long to chose, had imagined for months how perfect she would look in it. He groaned and sank his face into his hands. “I hate you sometimes, Max, I really fucking do.” But he was also all Dermot had left. Did he truly deserve Dermot’s anger? He hadn’t made the choice to fake his own death, Dermot had. He lowered his hands and looked across the table, but before he could apologise, Max spoke. A Nicholas Walker? A look of confusion, until he mentioned Rosa. “Rosa? I know...” he trailed off, watching Max uncertainly. Max didn’t know about Rosa. He didn’t know how close she was to Jock. And as unpredictable as Max was, would this put her in danger? But Max was watching him expectantly, an eager light in his eyes. He looked like a shark that had just scented blood, and Dermot looked away with a frown.
“When Jock arrived home a few weeks ago, he brought Rosa with him.” Reluctantly, he filled Max in on what he knew. Jock and Rosa were friends and they’d met in Rehab. Both had failed to clean up, and now... Dermot didn’t even know. He suddenly felt a sick longing for home. To be curled up on the sofa with Nora watching crappy Saturday night television. It hadn’t mattered what they did; as long as they were together, they were happy. “I just don’t get up,” Dermot muttered finally, meeting his brother’s eye. “Even if Rosa knows this Nick, why would he be taking pictures of us? How would he even know who we are, or what happened?”
For the first time in five days, Dermot finally had a purpose, and as Max told him to find him, Dermot nodded, a raw determination settling over his face. This he could do. This arsehole had ruined everything. Because of this photograph, Dermot’s life was in shambles. If anybody had to pay, it was this Nick Walker. He didn’t even give a fuck why he’d done it, it was too late for explanations. And there was no time to lose. He grabbed the sandwich and left the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time. He ate, feeling a lot better for it, waiting impatiently for his laptop to load, then showered to freshen up. He hadn’t packed when he’d left the house, but Max had already provided a wardrobe of brand new shirts and suits. Dermot slid on a crisp black shirt and studied himself in the mirror as he did up the buttons.
Things were changing and it was time Dermot changed with it. He was going to win Nora back, no matter what it took. He was going to fix things with Aoife and Jock. And Lara. His fingers stilled on his buttons as he thought about Lara. The fury in her big blue eyes as he admitted the truth. The way she’d hissed her hatred at him. Dermot swallowed, then grabbed his jacket and slid it on. Downstairs, Max was listening to music on the record player, a whiskey glass to hand. Dermot poured himself one and knocked it back. Then he went to the other cabinet where Max kept his harder stuff. Found the bag of cocaine and dropped it onto the coffee table.
“Nick Walker has a clean record,” he informed Max, rucking up his trouser legs as he sat. He measured out a few lines, ignoring his brother’s stare. “Nothing on the police data bases. Not even a speeding ticket. He’s from Luton, was living there until the last few weeks.” Which coincided with Jock and Rosa’s arrival. Dermot rolled a note between his fingers. “He doesn’t use a bank card, but I did manage to track his phone signal to a block of flats a few miles away.” It had been strange how difficult it had been to find any information about Nick Walker. The internet had been strangely empty; no social media, not even any old school records. The only way Dermot had managed to get a trace was by searching through Rosa’s Facebook history. Five years ago, her page had been full of images of her and Nick, smiling at the camera, eyes bright, young and in love. He been shocked at how fresh and round-faced she’d looked, and he knew this was taken at a time before her addiction took hold. He’d committed Nick’s face to memory, before finding out where he had last logged on from; a place not far from here.
Bending over the table, Dermot snorted the line. It hit the back of his throat, and he shut his eyes to savour the rush. How long had it been? Too fucking long. Dermot was tired of trying to be good. Of trying to please and impress, of fucking up no matter how much good he did. Life was always against him, so it was time to stop fighting and embrace it. To be the Sullivan he was always destined to be. He sniffed the second line and then stood, wiping his face as he felt the drug began to buzz through his veins. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?” He asked, checking his gun was still holstered around his hip. “...He’s going to regret messing with us, deartháir,” he said solemnly, before heading to the door.
***
"That wouldn't be a threat, would it?"
Carter had been on his way out when he stopped and stared hard at Jock. Jock stared back unflinchly, then reached for the door and held it open. It was better this way, he tried to convince himself, as his gaze searched the younger man's. Another person involved just meant more mess to clean up later when things went wrong. And it was destined to go wrong, as it always was. Rosa was better off this way. Getting with a cop was only asking for trouble and they had enough of that to deal with between Dermot, Max and Nick. If Carter even got a sniff of what was going on... As the officer left, Nora was just coming up the steps. Carter flashed her a smile, then glanced over his shoulder at Jock. Dark eyes narrowed, a determined look on his face.
"I am a Policeman, you know? I do this for a living? I can help you on this — or I can just do it without you."
Jock rolled his eyes, watching the Carter walk off down the drive, flowers hanging loosely from his hand. What chance did Carter really think he had? He tried not to think about how upset Rosa had been earlier, how lonely. When he'd left, there'd been a deadness in her eyes when she'd muttered goodbye. Running a hand over his face, he stepped aside to let Nora in, letting the door swing shut behind her. After everything that had happened in the past few days, Jock felt as if they hadn't actually stopped to acknowledge each other, but now they were here, he felt tense and awkward, like a teenage boy. Nora could easily bring him to his knees with a single look.
"Are we in the twilight zone? Everyone knows. So, can we talk now? And who was /that/? He’s cute."
"Don't fuckin' ask," he groaned as he followed her through into the kitchen, deciding to ignore the fact she'd just called Carter cute. Pfft. “Rosa's new love interest. And everyone knows?" Even Jock couldn't deny the anxiety that crawled up his chest at the thought. Did everyone mean Dermot? What did they think? Had their opinions changed Nora's mind? What had she been thinking anyway? Would she even want him now? Jock sank onto a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Nora uncertainly. Talking about it would be good, he reasoned with himself. That way he could stop torturing himself with ideas that it was a one-time-only thing and he’d barely gotten a chance to savour her.
Jock swallowed.
He’d had women before. Plenty. But none had left him feeling like this. Normally women were a distraction, a way to let off steam in such a brutal world. Never had he liked one enough to stick around, let alone pursue and want a relationship with. But all of this he could envision with Nora. Nights curled up beneath the stars, exploring woodland, cruising around the city with the roof down. He wanted it all and he wanted it with Nora at his side. None of this eased the guilt he felt over Dermot, nor the anger. Anger at himself for even feeling sorry for the traitor, but he did. Now they’d had five days to process what had happened, he couldn’t help but feel Dermot’s heart had been in the right place, but his actions hadn’t. However now it was too late. How were any of them supposed to recover from this?
Jock watched as Nora paced about the kitchen and for a few minutes, it seemed neither was willing to start the conversation. But Jock had to know once and for all, even if it meant laying his heart on the line. Even if it meant watching her destroy it before his eyes. She wore no make up as she stood in front of him, arms wrapped around herself, yet she still looked as beautiful as ever. Dark brows above the deep browns of her eyes, the soft angles of her face. He still remembered the first time he’d seen her - no, properly seen her. When he’d crashed the Abbey, he’d been high and riding on bloodlust. The second time, at the pent-house, her small body crushed beneath his, fear brimming in her huge eyes as he caressed her with the muzzle of his gun. That had been the moment when he’d really seen her. That had been the point where he’d become hooked.
“Look, I know we... And I completely understand if you don’t, but ...” he began, trailing off, frowning at the floor. He forced himself to look at her, to be a man about it. The least she deserved was the truth. His truth, open and honest, no matter how hard it was to say. “...Nora, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I think you already know that.” As if his constant pursuing from the moment he returned could have gone unnoticed. Did that make him worse? Dermot lied, but Jock was chasing his woman before they’d even found out the extent of his betrayal.
“Things are crazy shit right now and I understand if you don’t want to rush into things. If you don’t want me at all. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, that I’d honestly do anything for you.” Like kill for you. What if she knew that truth? Would she still look at him the same? Would Dermot become the more favourable stable option? “I care about you a lot. More than anybody else. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
Jock stood from the stool and approached her slowly, caution in his features. He reached for her, fingers trailing her cheekbone. He let out a soft sigh. “Do you want me, Nora?” He asked, searching her eyes, desperate for her answer. Inwardly pleading that this wouldn’t be last time he would be allowed to love her.
***
Nick climbed out the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Today had already turned into a disaster and it wasn’t even late afternoon yet. He’d felt better after leaving his little gift on Rivera’s work computer and now it was just a waiting game to see what the copper did next. By any luck, he’ll see Rosa for what she really was; a waste of space slapper, a lost cause. Worthless. Because she was, really. What did she offer to society? Nothing but a bigger tax bill to the NHS. No. The only worth she held were Nick’s secrets and they were going to stay buried. He was determined they would.
There was something puzzling Nick though. Jock had told Rivera to turn off the phone and invited him in. As far as Nick was aware, the Irishman trusted the police as much as you’d trust a lion not to bite off your hand when holding out a piece of wafer thin ham. Was he getting the police involved? Or was he warning Carter off? It seemed more likely, and yet Nick couldn’t shake off this uncomfortable feeling that things were slipping out of his control. Had he been too obvious? Had he revealed himself too early? He suddenly regretted going after Rosa when he did. His anger and jealousy had gotten the better of him, had made him see red, and now she’d gone on the run. What was to stop her going into the nearest police station and admitting to it all? Last night, he had searched the internet for news about the girl. They were still following leads, but they’d been no fresh evidence. Did Rosa know how much power she held right now? How a few simple words could have him imprisoned for the rest of his life?
But if she was scared enough to go into hiding, would she risk everything just to blab? He knew Rosa, he knew and understood her need for self-preservation. And her distrust in everybody around her. Confusion made his head throb as he swapped his towel for a pair of joggers.
On the table, Nick’s laptop bleeped. He wandered over, feet silent on the carpet, eyes widened as he saw the screen. Carter’s phone was back on and he was calling Charlotte. Nick snatched the headset and pulled it on to listen.
”You there?” “Y-Yeah. Sorry, Tristan was doing something stupid, I-I got distracted. Do you want to come over now?” “Tristan? Do you know that means "noise"?” “It was my father’s name. But I suppose he is quite noisy. Look, I'll text you my address and see you soon?” “Sounds great. I'll bring my badge for him to play with.”
“Good girl,” Nick whispered. Well, well. Things had certainly taken a surprising turn. As the line went dead, Nick removed his headset and smirked. So Rivera had taken the bait, and he wondered how much this had to do with Rosa’s disappearance. What had Jock told him? Obviously nothing of importance. If Sullivan had spilled the truth, Rivera surely would have been racing back to the station to begin investigating. But no, he was ringing Charlotte to arrange a play date with her son and if it wasn’t so funny, Nick would have found it revolting. Just another officer using his position of power to dip his dick wherever he could. Just like the rest of them.
It would only make it all the more sweeter when Rosa saw the truth for herself.
Nick picked up his phone and called Charlotte’s number. He was smiling when she answered. “Interesting call you just had there,” he said softly; he could hear her shaky breath down the line. “This is what you're going to do. Leave your phone on the side with your camera facing the room. You don't need to record yourself, just leave it there. I can do the rest." He paused, smirking. "Play the game, Charlotte. I’ll make it more than worth your time.” He glanced at the duffel bag beneath his desk. Filled with enough money for Charlotte and her sprog to live out their years somewhere sunny. “Don’t let me down,” he added before he hung up. Ten minutes later, Nick’s screen was filled with a HD image of Charlotte’s kitchen, which he’d set to record. She was pacing nervously back and forth, occasionally glancing out of the window. A few minutes later, a little boy raced in and she handed him cookies before he ran out again. Through the speaker came a distant knock. Charlotte left the screen and when she returned, Rivera was with her.
Nick sank down on his chair and watched carefully. Everything was riding on this one encounter. Charlotte had one chance to give him what he needed and if she failed... well, it wouldn’t be looking good for her. He’d just turned up the volume to listen to the conversation when a knock at the door made him freeze. Nick swivelled in the chair and stared at the door opposite. Another knock. Steady and firm. It’s probably just the landlord... Nick stood, approaching the door as silently as he could. His heart began to race. Behind him on the computer, Charlotte laughed and it was high-pitched, girlie. Nervous. Another loud knock. Nick swallowed, then unlatched the door and pulled it open. He had no time to even see who was behind it.
The fist connected with his jaw, hard enough to loosen teeth. Nick stumbled back, hitting the floor, blood suddenly sharp in his mouth. The figure stepped in and shut the door with a snap. Nick scrambled to his feet as Dermot Sullivan approached. The knuckles on his left hand were split and oozing blood. “Who the fuck are you?” Nick hissed, but he knew. One of the infamous Sullivan’s, come for revenge no doubt. Nick stepped backwards quickly into the kitchen, searching desperately for a knife or -
Dermot grabbed his shoulder, swinging him around and slamming his brow into Nick’s face. The explosion of white hot pain was agonising, and blinded, Nick was defenceless to Dermot grabbing his head and slamming it repeatedly on the counter. The taller man released him, tossing him to the floor as if he were nothing but a doll. Nick gasped, head swimming as he struggled upright. “I should be the one asking the questions,” Dermot growled, voice dangerously low. “Like who the fuck are you? And why the fuck are you taking pictures of me, eh?”
“Not just you,” Nick hissed, crying out when Dermot kicked him hard in the ribs with a horrifying crack.
“No. Not just me. My brother too. Why?”
Nick stared up at him, face dark, blood oozing from his mouth. He spat. “Fuck you.”
Dermot smiled. “Have it your way then,” he murmured softly.
***
Dermot sat in the back of the car and watched his father strike a lighter. He brought it to his mouth and lit the end of the cigar jutting from between his papery-thin lips. It swelled amber as it ignited, then curled thick pungent smoke upwards. Uncle Michael sat in the passenger seat,
“What are we doing here, Paddy?”
“I told you. I saw him looking at Caitlin. I’m going to teach that little runt something he’ll never forget.”
Michael looked across at him. “Caitlin would never betray you, you know that.”
“You think this is about her? Why don’t I let every Tom, Dick and Harry have a fuckin’ gander then?” He took a long drag on his cigar and shook his head. “No. I won’t let this name get wiped through the mud. We’re fuckin’ Sullivans and it’s about time people starting respecting that. Are you in or not?”
“You know you can count on me, deartháir,” Michael replied softly. Patrick have a satisfied nod, craning around in his seat to glower at Dermot.
“You hear that? We don’t let any fucker taint our name. If this cunt thinks he’s big enough to start eyeballing your mam, then he’s big enough to take what’s fuckin’ coming.” Without waiting for an answer, he climbed out the car. “Keep an eye out. I’ll take the boy,” he added to Michael, who sighed but remained in his seat. Dermot got out the back and tailed his father towards the block of flats. Climbing a flight of rusted metal stairs, Dermot felt his stomach churn uneasily. He wasn’t afraid of a fight and knew how to use his fists thanks to his Da, but something about this felt different. More intense. He was only fifteen. He should have been kicking about at the park with his friends, not here. But he said nothing as he followed Patrick to the unpainted rotten door.
He didn’t bother knocking. One kick sent the fragile door shattering inwards, and with a harsh shove, Dermot found himself inside. The boy stood like a deer in headlights in the hallway wasn’t much older than himself. He gave a nervous laugh and backed up when he saw them. “Paddy? I-I’ve got your money, I was gonna drop it round later.”
“This isn’t about the money,” Patrick growled, stepping forward. There was a beat of silence, and then everything seemed to happen at once; the lad made to run for the stairs just as Paddy charged forward, snatching his ankle and yanking him hard enough for his chin to smash several steps. The boy cried out, fists sailing as he fought back. However, Patrick was relentless. He pinned the boy easily, fist colliding several times with his face. “Checking out my wife, was you? Liked what you fuckin’ saw!?” Each word was punctuated by a fierce blow, until blood streamed and the boy’s face was swollen and raw.
Dermot could only stand and stare. It was as if his feet were rooted to the spot. Only a few weeks ago, he’d been that boy, pinned beneath his father as he let out his rage unrelenting. The boy’s legs kicked and jerked beneath Patrick as he began to choke him. “Da.”
“You scummy little cunt! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”
“Da!” Dermot lunged forward, only for Patrick to lurch to his feet, pinning him against the wall by his throat. He pressed his face into Dermot’s.
“You like your mam being a little whore, do you? Think she should sleep with every bastard, do you?” When Dermot frantically shook his head, Patrick released him. Reaching into the back of his jeans, he pulled free a blade. “Then you do it. You show everyone what happens when they mess with a Sullivan’s woman. Go on!”
Dermot’s legs were trembling. The boy was a cowering, half-conscious mess on the stairs. One eye was completely swollen and bulging, the other open by a mere inch. The boy’s eye searched his face rapidly and he tried to crawl away up the stairs. Dermot swallowed his fear and pulled him back to the bottom. Patrick laughed. “Go on, my boy. Show him.”
Dermot fell onto the boy, forcing up his shirt to reveal a pale freckly torso. “You don’t mess with the Sullivans,” he spat, before drawing the blade down. Screams rang out.
Screams Dermot could still hear twenty-odd years later. He sat in his car, staring at his shaking hands. He didn’t even know if Nick was dead or alive. They were coated with drying blood, and pushing open the door, he retched and threw up onto the road. His black shirt hid the blood well, but he could feel it soaking into his skin, gritty and foreign. Wiping his face and taking shaky breaths, Dermot sat back in his seat and shut his eyes. Nausea swirled inside him. How long had it been since he’d unleashed such pent-up frustration. Not even when he’d been tied to a chair in a warehouse having the shit kicked out of him had he lashed out like this. The warning shot had been fired though. Don’t mess with the Sullivans.
Dermot drove straight back to Max’s apartment. Let himself in and headed straight for the bathroom. Turning on both taps, he began to wash his hands, watching the blood disappear down the drain.
***
It was dark when Nick came round. He was laid on the kitchen floor in a pool of drying sticky blood. The pain in his chest was like fire, and every breath he gulped was sheer agony. What had happened? It came back to him hazily. The knock on the door. The punches. The weight of a body above his. The coldness of the blade slicing his flesh.
Nick groaned and slowly rolled into his side. The simple movement had him crying out, whimpering, tears dripping down his cheeks. He touched his chest, fingers coming away sticky and wet. Nick staggered through his own blood, nearly slipping as he reached for the bathroom. Turned on the light and let the fluorescent flicker above. His own pale reflection looked back at him, stark beneath the cuts and bruises. And his bare torso, covered with rivets of blood. The large untidy S has been cut into his skin, across his chest, a crude emblem.
Sullivan.
***
It was growing dark. Nora had taken herself for a bath, and Jock paced the front room, whisky to hand. He couldn't stop thinking about Rosa. The sadness in her face as she'd spoken about the date she should have been on today. Would it hurt to bring Carter to her? She'd been through enough with Nick not to have at least a shot at happiness? Fuck, what was wrong with him? Jock downed the whiskey. Some jumped up policeman and Rosa? He sighed, eyes straying to the mantlepiece. There was an empty space where there used to be a photo of Nora and Dermot. You couldn't help who you fell in love with. Wasn't he testiment to that? If he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have chosen Dermot's woman, not in a million years. Even putting space between them, three years of space... It hadn't worked. It hadn’t even dampened the allure, the pull, the need. In fact, it had only made it worse. Pulling out Rosa's phone, Jock found Carter's number and called it. When it connected, he waited until he heard Carter's voice before he spoke. "There's a pub called the Brigid Abbey, you know it? Meet me there at ten. Don't bring your phone, no electronics at all. I'll take you there." And then he hung up.
He left a note for Nora, letting her know he was going to see Rosa, before he left, making sure the security system was turned on. He wasn't taking any chances this time.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Apr 27, 2021 10:32:34 GMT -5
Max Sullivan had a penchant for pushing people. Funnily enough, that was what his teacher had also said when he was younger, running around the playground and shoving kids faces in the dirt. Over the years, however, it had escalated from physically to mentally. He had learnt from a very young age that you can manipulate people into acting out if you pushed them hard enough; made them loud, angry and abusive, so the pain you inflicted was warranted. Made them look like the bad person.
It was a surprise no one had caught on yet, especially Dermot. Max was always dragging his past up to rile him into doing his deeds. Like now, for instance. All the little snips of Nora and Jock, planting unfounded ideas in his head to make him worry. Mentions of Aoife and George; the consistent dearthair that should be so fond but was actually just poisoned whispers from the past. Max had heard how his family softly used the phrase, dipped in the midst of manipulation.
A kind word could take away a lot of the pain in a destructive sentence.
In some ways it was quite frightening how easily Dermot changed from the do-gooder to this machine. Sometimes he went so far that Max grew minutely worried he would lose control; not quite threatened, but wary. It was almost as if Dermot were the more chaotic of the two, and it only seemed he wasn't because he managed to subdue the beast so well. For that Max applauded him, but then for that, Dermot had rages like this.
'I hate you sometimes, Max, I really fucking do.'
Max gave a mock pout in response, glancing down at his brother. 'Only sometimes, though, dearthair.' he smiled. 'Never always.' As much as he denied it, they thrived off one another and the want for power was more overwhelming than that to hate.
The topic swiftly changed then. 'A Nicholas Walker. He has a connection to a Miss Rosa Croft. Does that mean anything to you?'
'Rosa?' Dermot said the name slowly and then hesitated, words desperately wanting to spill from his mouth. 'I know...'
Max watched his brother expectantly, wondering if he would flip back to the Jekyll part of himself that wanted to protect this girl, for some unknown reason. It always seemed every upset stray, Dermot knew. Sometimes he preached to the choir and others he burnt it; Max was only just realising how contrasting the two sides of his sibling really were.
They were at school together and Max was poking fun at Molly Flynn; a small girl with a tiny nose and big round glasses perched precariously on them. She had long, curly hair always pulled back in a fish tail braid and one side of her skirt always got tucked into her underwear by the afternoon. Max had cornered her at lunch, having backed her into the shade by the sheds.
'Don't be such a fuckin' prude.' he whispered, his face close to hers. He was just fourteen and they were in the same class; he watched the back of her head as she scribbled furiously every day and something about it just irked him.
'Leave me alone!' Molly called, but didn't make an attempt to leave. She was breathing so heavy that her glasses had started to fog up and Max grabbed them, throwing them to the ground. 'Hey --' Molly went to pick them up but he hovered a boot cautiously over them, slowly wagging his finger with a tut. Then he lowered his foot, the satisfying crunch of the metal rimmed frames succumbing to pieces beneath his weight.
'Be quiet.' Max warned with a hiss.
That was when Molly filled her lungs with air and released the loudest scream he had ever heard. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Max bent down low, snarling threats into her ear if she didn't shut up as she hastily bit at his palm. He could feel her skin brushing against the splintering wood of the old bike sheds and pushed harder, hearing the oak groan.
Taking his free hand, Max placed it on her thigh, the warmth of the flesh making his pulse race. 'You look better without them anyway.' he whispered, his fingers sliding higher and higher --
'Dearthair?' a voice came from behind him and Max clenched his jaw, glancing over his shoulder to see a bewildered Dermot. 'What are you doing?'
'Fuck off, Dermot.' Max warned, turning back.
Molly flashed Dermot a panicked look and Max didn't need to be looking at his brother to know the concern no doubt in his face. He still hand his hand over her mouth and she started to yell, muffled and strained sounds seeping through the gaps in his fingers.
'Max?' Dermot asked, his voice shaking. He was smaller, more timid and confused. 'I don't think you should --'
Max gave a snarl then and let Molly go, spinning on his brother in seconds. As she went to run past however, he gripped her wrist. 'What?' Max demanded, glowering at him. 'Do you want her?' he asked and Dermot started to shake his head quickly, stuttering like an idiot.
'N-n-no, Max. I think you should let her g-go!'
'Are you sure?' Max advanced slowly, tugging Molly with him. 'I think you want her, don't you?' he looked in his brothers face but Dermot was looking anywhere else but. 'If you don't, then I will.'
The threat hung in the air for a moment as Molly continued to squirm, eyes wide and bewildered by the whole situation. Cocaine, although no doubt laced with flour was pulsing through his veins as he challenged his brother for interrupting him. He hadn't expected Dermot to do or say anything, instead to run off as he always did but then something snapped. It must have been all the blows to the head at home, all the cursing, the abuse, the battering of his ego that had pushed Dermot to make that leap. He was still supporting a bust lip and black eye from two days ago and it looked painful.
'Out of my way.' Dermot demanded and Max stepped aside slowly, a look of interest on his face.
He didn't do it. Dermot took Molly's hand and whispered for her to run away and she did. The fury on Max's face made his blood boil and he flung himself at his brother, aiming a blow for his ribs.
'You're fuckin' weak.' Max hissed as Dermot overpowered him, straddling his body as he raised a fist. A second of hesitation before Dermot brought it down and blood flew from Max's nose like a faucet. He swung again and again, his head bouncing off the grass with each thump. Disbelief and somewhat pride crept onto Max's features and he started to laugh hysterically as Dermot threw himself off, breath heavy.
'Okay.' Max pushed himself up onto his elbows, spitting blood on the ground. 'Impressive.'
'Fuck you, Max!' Dermot yelled. 'I'm not you! I-I was bloody protecting her!'
'Au contraire, dearthair.' running a hand over his face, Max couldn't help the grin. 'You're worse than me, because you're not even aware of what you're capable of. That's dangerous.'
Dermot ran off after that and Max pulled himself into a sitting position to smoke a cigarette. There were always glimmers of the monster within, it was just less contained now. Should Max be scared? Swallowing, he looked back at his brother across the table. No longer children playing games.
'When Jock arrived home a few weeks ago, he brought Rosa with him.' Dermot admitted and Max felt his spine tingle at the mention of him. Jock. Why was he always involved?
Some sob story about a failed rehab attempt; how many times had that been now? Did anyone even care? Did he even try? One thing about Jock was although he followed through on his word, he would only ever do it if he wanted to and getting clean was obviously not one of those things.
'I just don't get it.' Dermot struggled and Max rolled his eyes, lit a cigarette.
'You never do.' he murmured and noticed Dermot was finally looking at him.
'Even if Rosa knows this Nick, why would he be taking pictures of us?'
'Think, dearthair.' Max drawled.
'How would he even know who we are, or what happened?'
'If Rosa knows him, Jock knows him. I think you forget that Jock is as easily swayed by a bit of sciorta (skirt) as you. And he fuckin' hates me, that's always a motive.' he added with a scoff. 'Find this prick and stub him out before he causes us real troubles, alright?'
Max didn't want to believe that the one behind all of this was Jock fuckin' Sullivan, but what other sense did it make? Nick Walker was a nobody, though, his name barely even whistled on the wind let alone cried. A jumped up peeping Tom who thought he could get one over on anyone? Well, Max Sullivan wasn't just anyone -- he was everyone with Dermot by his side. An army that no one could stop in their tracks.
Dermot ate, got up and went to get ready, all his moves robotic with his mind obviously elsewhere. Whilst he had been moping around a new wardrobe of decent clothes had been prepared for him and Max was glad things were getting back to normal. To how they should have always been. It seemed impossible for them to be apart, so the only thing seemed to be work together; when Dermot swayed, the tension grew and the threats seeped in. Max wanted the walls to his world as strong as possible, because he knew this would probably be the final fight.
They were big words he had consistently repeated, but somehow this time really did feel like the last. He didn't want to self destruct, he wanted his son; that didn't mean he wouldn't stop treading on those that deserved it but he couldn't afford to always be running. Not now. It was silly, but when he closed his eyes Max could see Charlie staring up at him with those big eyes and dark ringlets.
'We're the same.'
Max hoped so, then also... didn't. Didn't want Charlie to have the same upbringing on tainted Irish ground. Didn't want him to feel threatened or small, unworthy; wished for a youth full of fun and learning and enlightenment. Not to be a pushover, sheltered from the world, but just to have everything Max didn't. A strong bond with his real father; an acceptance, a place to stand in the world full of people designed to tear you down. Lara was good, but Max was better. She would be too much fluff, not enough grit. Together, though, it would be harmonious.
Switching on the record player, Max listened to the smooth music flow around the flat as he poured himself a fresh drink. He wondered if Dermot would pine after Nora, and try and find her on his way. It wouldn't be unusual, but Max hoped he would be more focused now.
'You're making a mistake.' Max had hissed, back when Susie was becoming serious. 'A kid means shit when it's with someone like her.' she was waltzing around the living room in a tight dress, cradling the every emerging bump and Max felt sick. 'Téigh amach agus is féidir leat.'
Get out whilst you can.
He never did.
Dermot appeared then, dressed smart and looking prepared.
'Nick Walker has a clean record.' he announced and Max turned, watching him poor a drink.
'So he isn't Nick Walker.' Max shrugged.
'He doesn't use a bank card, but I did manage to track his phone signal to a block a few flats away.'
A small smile on Max's face. 'Impressive.' and he didn't say that often. 'Find him, warn him. Don't kill him, or do actually. I don't give a fuck.' He had thought about leaving him alive, leaving a warning, but then games began and Max wanted to focus on what was actually important now. 'Are you okay, dearthair?' Max asked as he watched Dermot draw himself a line on the table. It looked like freshly drawn snow and in seconds it vanished.
It had been a long time since Max had seen Dermot do that, and as exciting as it was, it was also disconcerting. 'Stay in this.' Max warned. /Don't fuck it up for me/ he willed. Then it occurred to him how rather than being afraid, he was envious. Of how carefree Dermot was being and how uptight Max had become.
'What are you going to do while I'm gone?' Dermot asked, another line down, a satisfied gasp.
'Don't you worry about me.' Max reassured him with a smile, advancing towards his brother. 'Is this the first time you've had a gun by choice?'
'He's going to regret messing with us, dearthair.' Dermot finally said, albeit heavy hearted about it all.
Grabbing his brothers face, Max pressed his forehead against his, holding him sure. They did this to horses to calm them down, it just so happened to work for them both too. When they were younger they would always grab one another like this, to regain control and composure. 'Fanacht Dírthe.' he whispered before pushing him back and letting him leave.
Stay focused.
When Dermot had left, Max turned back to the suddenly silent apartment and let out a gentle sigh before turning the music back up. Grabbing a card he drew himself a line and sat back in the chair, letting the high still him. For a while he hadn't been able to do this, to afraid it would bring the torment of years past, but this time it was welcome. He felt released.
Who knew what Dermot was going to do, but it didn't matter as long as he didn't fuck up. Just get all of the playing out of the way so the real work could begin. Having a henchman was something that Max had missed and he wondered what else Dermot would do for him now. Kill Jock, perhaps?
Picking up his phone, Max swiped through the contacts before landing on Lara. Was this even her number anymore? The digits seemed so familiar but the name like acid on his tongue. He was lost, with where his feelings for her had sunk. It wasn't hatred, but it was something and that was infuriating. Moving on he dialled a number and pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the ominous dial tone. It made Max feel he was at the top of a cliff, tiptoes peering down as he waited for the urge to jump, the call to be answered.
'Hello?' the saddest greeting he had heard in a while.
Max smiled like the Cheshire cat.
'Hello?' they repeated with a sigh. 'Dermot?'
'No, not Dermot.' Max replied and he could imagine Nora's body running cold with ice. 'Try again.'
There was silence and he wondered if she would perhaps hang up. Nora steadied herself against the wall, trying to compose her breathing when her body was telling her otherwise. This was a trap. She had come out of the bath to talk to Jock, only to find he had left, a note for her in his childlike drawl. Fumbling it, the phone had rang and firstly she had thought about not answering.
'I'd say its nice to hear from you, but that would be a lie.' she settled on, stomach in knots.
Max gave a low chuckle, now imagining the small hairs on her arm rising to attention. 'Is Joshua in?' he asked politely and Nora scrunched her nose in disgust.
'No, he isn't.'
'Oh, So you're all alone in that big house...'
'Goodbye --'
'Wait!' Max snapped, then steadied himself. 'I mean, don't you want to talk?'
'What would I have to say to you?' Nora snarled back.
Every second she had spent with that man was flashing before her eyes and she felt both light headed and angry.
'I don't know...' Max drawled. 'Sorry for smashing me in the head and leaving me to die on that fuckin' sodden boat?' he bit, unable to help himself.
Then it was Nora's turn to laugh. 'If you mean sorry I didn't hit you hard enough, then sure. Sorry.
Max jumped up from his seat, feeling restless and annoyed. He had hoped to rile Jock, but all that happened was this bitch was riling him. 'You're very cocky for someone who just lost the love of her life.'
'Should I be saying thank you?' sarcasm dripped her words, her heart fluttering. Was he going to say something about Dermot? Was he there? Was he dead? Somehow his name couldn't find her lips and she swallowed, mouth dry like a dessert. 'He isn't dead. We're just... not together.'
'Why are you so sure?' Max asked and the worry lingered in the air for a moment. 'He could be.'
'He isn't.'
'But he could be.' Max's voice was low like gravel and Nora felt the sick rise in her throat.
Everyone seemed to terrified of Max, but all he was was volatile and manipulative. This fear had turned Dermot into a liar, a traitor and afraid. Fear only fed him, so Nora wouldn't do the same.
'He might be, if he stays with you, yeah...' Nora agreed. 'But he won't. No one does, do they? You might think you scare me, Max Sullivan, but you can't touch any of us anymore, especially not Charlie. So stay the fuck away or you'll regret it.' she slammed the phone down before the gasp left her lips and legs weak, she crumpled to the floor like a doll.
Across the town, Max hurled his phone at the wall before picking up his glass and smashing it into the table. Shards of crystal cut into his palm, a snarl echoing like an enraged lion. Turning his hand around he examined the rivers of blood before slowly closing it, crunching each piece with a satisfying hiss. Not afraid of him? She didn't even know him, merely a pawn in the games he had played in the past.
Did she want true pain because he could offer it to them all.
---
Dermot was gone for a long while and Max was angry. What had he expected, he tried to calm himself; if it was Jock he would've only been more frustrated. Or perhaps not. At least Jock was level competition for him, on the basis that they came from the same soil and were both destruction seeking men --- but Nora? Even Susie had never got as involved as this, and the only time she had peeked interested she had been slaughtered. Why hadn't that scared her away?
Pacing the apartment, he lit cigarette after cigarette, the balcony windows open wide to release the smoke. He understood the nicotine rush, but Max wasn't about to become one of those men who had the tar within their pores. The cool breeze kept him focused, away from the frustration, drifting to distant memories.
He was stood in the doorway, looking out on the rolling hills and the fog carrying over the sharp green grass. Wearing a matching grey sweatshirt and jogger combination, his normally pristinely curled hair combed back and damp from a shower. Dragging on the cigarette, Max glanced over his shoulder as the nurse came in. She was a lithe creature, with blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail and a soft expression on her face. She had a dimple nestled within her left cheek and it tweaked whenever he winked at her.
'More?' Max asked as she placed his medication down on the side table and came to join him by the window.
The operation to correct the damage to his face had been a success, but the aftercare was unnecessarily extensive. He had gotten to known Flora /very/ well since his time here, and some part of him wondered if she would fall apart without him. Somehow they always got attached, and Max wouldn't deny he liked it. The breeze tunnelled into the room, catching wisps of golden hair and the scent of her sickly sweet perfume. Sometimes he smelt it on his pillow, and wondered if the drugs were making him crazy.
Back in his apartment, Max had his eyes closed as he clung onto the scent, only to be jolted back when the door flew open. Dermot raced in and headed for the bathroom so fast he left the it swinging and Max watched him steadily. Was Nick Walker dead? It didn't matter if he was, but curious, Max slowly shut the front door and slid across the dead bolt.
Pouring two whiskeys, he followed after his brother and knocked on the door with his elbow. 'Dearthair?' he called, hearing water spilling down the drain like a whirlpool.
The image of blood mingling with water and he was back at the rehabilitation centre, hanging over the porcelain sink with blood gushing from his nose. Flora was in the doorway and she tentatively reached out a hand to rub the small of his back, but Max flinched and she shrunk away.
'It's just a side effect, it will stop in a few days.' she attempted and Max looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror.
'Along with the nausea and the headaches and all the fuckin' rest?' he snapped, and then swallowed. 'You're too delicate to be in a job like this.' Max turned to look at Flora and smiled when she didn't back away again. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five.
'You'd be surprised what I can handle, Mr Sullivan.' Flora reassured him and he held her gaze for a moment, tempting himself.
When there was no reply, Max kicked the door open with his boot and leaned against the frame. 'You didn't even lock it, you daft bastard.' he mused, holding out a glass for his brother as he turned around. 'Drink this, get your clothes off and put them in a black bag and come meet me in the lounge.' he ordered, turning away before he could argue.
Would he tell Dermot he had spoken to Nora? He chuckled with a shake of his head. No fucking way. Would she tell Jock? That was debatable, but it didn't matter if she did. As he waited for Dermot, Max tried to think over what had happened and how they were going to move forward. If everyone knew, who was going to make the first move? Of course they wanted it to be him, but the longer he waited, the more nervous they would become.
Max didn't need to see Lara's face to know she was terrified of him.
He was going to get his son back, and he was going to live his life how he had before; boldly. Back when he'd had a thriving empire he didn't need to control from underground; a vast estate, a woman on each hip and the world trembling beneath him. Before Lara contorted everything into her fantasy land of martyrdom. Before the likes of Pete Dunham and Nora Samuels. If he could, Max wanted to transport himself back to four years ago. When games were fun and his face was perfect. When Jock was nowhere to be seen and these people didn't run around like vermin trying to destroy him.
For what? Being better than them? Or because he revealed the darkness in themselves they wanted to conceal? That was why Dermot had hated him, until he'd accepted it. Nora would be gone soon enough, and all that was left to exterminate was Joshua Sullivan, the foighneach sipsi bastard. The pathetic gypsy bastard who had wormed hiss way into his life since their youth, always clinging on desperately for some purpose. It appeared Dermot could extinguish a man in mere hours, so Max could only count down the days until his col ceathrar was gone.
'So.' Max turned as he heard Dermot appear. 'Tell me what happened.'
Across town, Carter was walking towards Charlotte's with no idea why he was doing so. His brain felt battered and his chest ached a little. A few weeks ago and his life was dull, but comprehensible. Now nothing made sense, and he didn't know if he wanted to even fight for it or not. His whole life he had tried to stop the chaos from forming that had ruined his fathers life, and he was sure if he stepped into this life with Rosa that the abyss might take him.
Firstly he had been defensive, wanting to protect her, but the more he heard, the more the stories didn't make sense. Why did she not tell Carter she needed help? Why was Jock not letting him know the true details? If this was a classic ex-boyfriend situation, he could handle it; it was his fucking job. Sometimes it truly irritated Carter how no one took his line of work into consideration. Did they think he merely walked parks and fined people for littering? Years of training to be judged because on his appearance and not his capabilities. He could handle this Jock, and anyone else who thought they could diminish him.
However, now he was wavering on whether Rosa truly did want him. There had been no warning she was fearing anyone or anything, and they had spoken openly and honestly. She hadn't told Jock about him, or anyone about their date, but then why would she? He hadn't told Robbie. Carter kept reminding himself that she had made plans, and as supposedly crazy as she was, he didn't think she would set him up like that. The downfall hadn't exactly been humiliating, merely confusing, so what was happening?
The itching at the back of his mind that it was Jock would not leave him alone. He felt like a prairie dog with a flea behind his ear. He should have stayed and pursued it; he should have checked the house, called her name and done more, but he knew Jock would only turn to violence if challenged. He knew he shouldn't be, but Carter was angry at Rosa for not telling him more. For not laying these threats on the table so he could stop them. He was also frustrated at himself for not following her, ensuring she made it inside safely, but who knew if that would have stopped anything.
Then came the unsettling feeling that she hadn't in fact been open, well certainly not about things that actually mattered. At least, it seemed, Charlotte appreciated him. The idea that he could make a difference to her sons life; set a good example. She was pretty, and a single mother seemed less precarious than whatever Rosa had gotten herself into. Ignoring the nagging feeling to go back, he knocked on the front door with a calming breath.
Charlotte was walking down the stairs when her phone rang, and this time she knew it was him. Her stomach gave a flip and she hesitated, her hand on the silver object as if it were a bomb.
'Interesting call you just had there.' a surprisingly soft voice spoke when Charlotte finally found the courage to answer. Courage or fear she would argue. 'This is what you're going to do....'
Charlotte knew he could hear how uneasy her breath was but she couldn't seem to control it. She didn't think she was easily frightened, but it wasn't until Tristan that things started to become serious. If someone endangered her, who would look after him? If she was taken, hurt or a stranger came around, what would he think? Maybe getting Carter here could be her protection... maybe she could tell him...
Nick went on to explain his plan and Charlotte felt sick in her stomach. It was a trick, for an ex girlfriend, she reminded herself as he hung up the phone. All she could think about was the time Nick had appeared on her doorstep and Tristan had been in her arms, playing with her necklace. The smile had dropped from her face the moment she had seen him and the threat that hung in his dark eyes had terrified her.
'My mistake.' he had smiled apologetically at the two of them. 'Wrong address.'
She had contemplated moving but that would only anger him and upset Tristan. Charlotte had to live with these consequences now.
Play the game, Charlotte.
Setting her phone on the side, she balanced it carefully behind the toaster and the coffee container, the camera peeking out in preparation. Charlotte wasn't sure what Nick was wanting to capture, but she wasn't willing to do anything in her own home, for the sake of a little revenge. Tristan came in and got a cookie and she ruffled his hair, shooing him back outside and wanting as little of him on the footage as possible. Then someone knocked at the door and she jumped despite herself.
'Hey.' Charlotte smiled as she opened the door, unable to help herself because she had forgotten how handsome he actually was. Carter gave a brief smile back. 'Thanks for coming.'
'Thanks for inviting me.'
The house was nice and modern, but small. The hallway lead to a flight of stairs, a room to the right and the open kitchen ahead. A patio door lead into the garden and Carter could see Tristan sat on the grass munching on a cookie. 'These look good.' he nodded at the plate of them on the table. 'Did you bake these?'
Charlotte took the glass covering off them and offered with a shake of her head. 'Out of a packet, but he doesn't need to know that.'
She knew Nick would be mocking her, judging her; wanting more. Without thinking she stood with her back to the camera, blocking Carter from view. How she was supposed to know Nick was otherwise occupied and wouldn't be there to complain?
'Sorry if this was a weird request...' Charlotte said slowly as the two of them stood waiting for the kettle. The kitchen had granite worktops and red appliances, an oak table with two chairs in the middle and slate tiles on the floor. By the back door was a chalk board and on it Tristan had drawn a t-rex and a sunflower; what a funny contrast. 'I just thought it would do him good. I want him to grow up good.' her voice wavered then and she coughed, moving away to make the coffee.
'I know what you mean.' Carter leaned against the table, picking at the cookie.
Stop thinking about Rosa, he urged himself as he picked out a chocolate chip and chucked it in his mouth. Stop trying to work out what's happening and just think about yourself for once. As much as he tried, though, Carter didn't think he could be a selfish person. He was wondering what Rosa's kitchen looked like; what /their/ kitchen could look like. What was wrong with him?
'I wanted to become a Policeman because of my old man. I had no stability or protection growing up, so wanted to be the person that created it. It's good to have strong foundations.'
Charlotte hated herself as she poured the milk and stirred the drinks. 'You're too nice.' she replied, meeting his eyes briefly. 'Do you want to meet him?' she asked, pointing out a hand as Carter nodded, ready to go outside. 'No!' she yelled and then hesitated, looking panicked. 'I mean... He's been in the sun enough. Sit down, I'll bring him in.'
Watching her leave, Carter was too distracted by his thoughts of the days drama to even think about how Charlotte was acting. What did it matter? Nothing could be worse than this morning, could it?
They spoke for a while and Tristan sat on the table, throwing a toy police car around and making sound effects that had Carter in stitches. They played cops and robbers and his getaway vehicle was a purple motorbike with a rabbit at the wheel; it made Carter miss being young. Pulling out his badge, Tristan's eyes grew wide and he snatched it in an instance, only apologising when Charlotte flashed him a warning look.
It would be nice to have a family, Carter thought as the afternoon went on and the coffees turned into beers and Tristan left for a nap, and the garden lights came on and it got heated. Charlotte was pretty, but he still couldn't get out of his head that she /wasn't/ Rosa. She didn't have the same features, the stern ones that could both threaten and entice you. But she was here, and Rosa was not.
'Can I ask you something?' Carter looked over at Charlotte, sat cross legged on the kitchen chair with a beer in one hand.
She had forgotten the camera was even rolling anymore until she'd heard the phone battery beep. 'Yes?' Charlotte asked, coughing to cover it up.
'Was this just your indirect way of asking me out?'
He felt warm and the distraction of an overexcited children had helped him momentarily forget about earlier. Focus on what you do have, he told himself. It was nice to be wanted, or at least humoured, whatever this was. He barely knew this woman but she had been more friendly and normal than Rosa ever had. There was nothing to hide here; no skeletons waiting to play catfish.
They spoke about the silliness of their childhood and the countryside, and Carter spoke about all the different countries he wanted to see, and all the beaches too explore. They spoke to Tristan about what his favourite subject, animal and colour was and then asked one another like they were children too. It was nice.
It had been a long time since a man had actually just wanted to talk and it made Charlotte feel a little emotional. Her routine had been to go out, get drunk, have fun and return in the morning to say goodbye to her babysitter. The prospect of having someone who wanted something more seemed impossible. Who would want to be with someone so broken? A tear in her eye, Charlotte gave a small laugh and wiped it away.
'No.' she admitted. 'I really did want you to see Tristan.'
'Are you okay?' Carter asked, placing his drink down and Charlotte nodded, sniffing up.
'I don't know what's wrong. I think I'm just a bit drunk.' she admitted apologetically. 'You can leave if you want, it is getting late.'
'Can I ask one more thing?' Carter stood up and filled the gap between them, inhibitions sailing away. Charlotte looked up at him with long lashes and uncertainty swirled in her stomach. He had attractive dimples and freckles, which should make him look like a boy but somehow made him more appealing. He looked cheeky, but he wasn't he was kind.
Fuck Nick Walker, Charlotte thought. If he was getting what he wanted, why couldn't she too? She was the one sacrificing for it.
'Do you want to kiss me?' she asked as Carter stood over her; his aftershave was strong, and somehow she knew he was sad too.
Back in his apartment, the atmosphere was somewhat different as Max watched Dermot in disbelief. 'Is he dead?' he asked slowly. In that exact moment, as Carter was cupping Charlotte's face and tasting her coconut lip balm, his work phone began to ring and the one recording them gave a deadly beep as the battery surrendered.
Pulling back, Carter barely had a second to catch his breath before he put the call to his ear.
'Hello?' he asked, pacing as the officer on the other end spoke. A call of disturbance in a flat down town; a front door kicked from its hinges and a floor covered in blood which traced back to a Nick Walker. Nick fucking Walker. 'I-Ive got to go.' Carter turned to Charlotte, his face suddenly white.
As Carter apologetically left, he tugged on his jacket and raced down the road. They didn't need him there, but he liked to stay informed and he was near. He was going to get this supposed ex-boyfriend and it would all come to a conclusion and he could finally see Rosa and...
Stopping in his tracks he felt his phone vibrate and raised a hand to his lips, still feeling balm from Charlotte's kiss. Swearing, he lifted his phone up and raised an eyebrow at the unknown number.
'There's a pub called the Brigid Abbey, you know it? Meet me there at ten. Don't bring your phone, no electronics at all. I'll take you there.'
Carter couldn't bring himself to speak. Jock had just barked ordered at him before hanging up and now Carter had both of the things he had wanted this morning; the whereabouts of the girl and the man who had ruined his dreams. Swallowing, he swayed on the spot for a moment as he considered his options. Then, without hesitation Carter was on the underground and heading for the Brigid Abbey. Fuck.
Was this just a coincidence? That Jock was ready to talk and Rosa was free, now that Walker was indisposed?
---
Carter Rivera didn't like to be bossed about. It was one of the perks of the job; not quite being superior, but having a deserved level of respect and authority. There were people he answered to of course, who were higher than him but... Jock Sullivan? Carter scoffed as he stopped to catch his breath. Why was he running for this prick? Then he had to remind himself he wasn't, he was running for her.
Whatever had happened five minutes ago slid from his mind like water down a drain. It was unlike him to be so irrational and he had been momentarily annoyed -- disgusted, even, in himself. He didn't act sporadically; do things without thinking, planning, discussing the pros and cons with his inner monologue already whirring with potential dangers. One night stands were messy, degrading and cruel. There was always someone who came out hurt, and Carter didn't see why people would put themselves through that.
He had seen the damage in Charlotte, and although he hated to admit it, it was both her pretty face and her tortured past that had motivated the kiss. Carter didn't love her, or want to be her husband, he had merely felt fleetingly broken also, and wanted to feel something good. Before his senses reminded him that even going to her door had caused a chain of events to grind into motion. There would be repercussions from something so minute he was sure, but right now Rosa came first.
Childish feelings, spurred on by Jock's tales had made him act out like the teenager he used to be, stubborn and pride hurt. It was embarrassing, but then it only filled the idea that Rosa was the only one for him. The one to make him feel loopy in less than a month; the one who danced in his dreams and currently needed saving from whoever had been daring to lead him on. Numerous occasions he had seen the passing on of pornography, or near enough, from exes, enemies and hackers; there was a road to go down to proceed with precautions but Carter didn't care about rules right now.
When he finally got to the Abbey, his lungs felt cold from the sharp wind and he stopped, running a hand through his hair. He could see Jock a mile off, a burling red-headed man glancing at his reflection in his wingmirror as if he were James fucking Dean. As he advanced, a plume of smoke came his way, Jock emerging through it.
'Was starting to think you’d stood me up.'
The way he spoke already had Carter's back up. Arrogant, and with no reasoning, no real authority. He was just cockily dangling Rosa in drip-feeds like Carter was a mouse and she a slither of cheese.
'Phone in there.' Jock practically demanded and Carter glanced at the car then back to the man with a questioning eyebrow.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to slam Jock against his gritty car and tell him who was really the boss, and who had Rosa's genuine safety at the top of his mind. Slap some cuffs on him and let him sit in a cell for a few days, albeit would probably just be a home away from home for him. Carter wanted to do some research on this man, some background checks, and if he were to accidentally dig up something incriminating, it would be the bastards fault for having committed it.
Carter didn't say anything.
'Phone in there. We walk from here. Gotta stay away from the old CCTV, y’know.'
'In case Nick sees?' Carter asked with a tilt of his head. The two watched each other for a moment. Both were weary, trying to remain the Alpha.
'If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it when you turned up on my doorstep with a fuckin’ bouquet. If you want to see Rosa, you come now, ‘cause I have a woman at home and I’d rather not hang around for the lovefest.'
Carter clenched his jaw as Jock slapped his shoulder. This was too close for comfort; this man hadn't earned to be this close and personal with him. People like Jock made Carter's teeth feel on edge and he couldn't help the niggling feeling that he was behind this. Why would Rosa be foolish enough to associate herself with such bad people, unless he was holding something over her? Like her freedom.
Putting his phone in the glove box, Carter looked at Jock expectantly.
'Let's go.' the Irishman declared as if they were going on a countryside walk.
'The sooner the better.' Carter snapped, his teeth clenched. The alcohol had practically left his system, but every now and then it surged to his tongue and what he wanted to really say attempted to slip out. 'If you have someone to get back to, doesn't she mind you sacrificing so much for another woman?' he asked, glancing sideways.
Jock took him across the road and down alleyways like they were in the SAS; stopping and starting with hisses and sharp finger point directions. A bush scratched him in the face as he was pushed under an archway of angry foliage and Carter began to hate this man more and more. Was this a game?
'To clarify: you're not interested in Rosa?' Carter found himself asking when Jock ignored his first question. 'It seems like you are.' There was slight hesitation as they emerged back into daylight and Carter blinked, turning to Jock with narrowed eyes. 'Yes or no?' he snapped, finding his pulse racing. 'You're making me crawl through this crap like we're in Vietnam, not fucking London.'
Jock didn't look angry, and Carter was shocked.
'I lied to you. Earlier.' he sighed and Carter felt his back tingle, like the spine of a threatened feline.
About what?
Everything he thought.
His fists balled and Carter was waiting for the revelation that this was a trap and Rosa could never be his. How foolish he had been so much today and how angry it made him. If Robbie had heard about this, he'd be mocked for weeks. Following some stranger down a darkened alley, no phone, no protection? That was when Carter wished he had asked about Jock, asked Robbie the truth about him before having to realise it all in person.
'Rosa told me about you.' Jock announced and Carter felt the breath leave his body.
'Bastarda.' Carter spat, albeit happy. She had mentioned him. She loved him, wanted to be with him, wanted their date! Was that why she was now lost.
'I know you bought her coffee. I know about your cute little trip to the museum.'
Carter watched Jock, unsure why he felt so angry. It was the smirk at the end that finally got to him and Carter slammed him into the wall, holding his shirt with balled fists. 'Something funny?' all the ideas of what had happened beneath his nose were now spinning inside his head. Had Jock been watching them? Following them. Was /he/ the one waiting in the bushes, as Rosa rose to her tiptoes and placed the sweetest kiss on his lips? 'I care about her!'
'But I also happen to care for her very much. I won’t see her hurt. You know what I mean?'
'Yes I know what you mean!' Carter pushed him hard before snapping back, pacing the small alley like a caged animal. 'Soy una idiota.' he shook his head, looking at the cobbles as if they had personally offended him. I'm an idiot. Why was it so hard to understand she was loved by men? Not because she was fractured but because she could fix your own splinters with her crazy smile. She hadn't been joking when she said she knew what men wanted, because they all wanted it from her. How cruel was the world when you were beautiful.
When the heat had stilled, Jock knocked on the door and they both watched it cautiously. A shotgun snaked its way through the crack in the door and Carter reached for his own firearm he had left at home. Fuck.
A small conversation ensued between the two but Carter didn't say anything, which was hard. He wanted to ask if that man had a licence, for that weapon or this building. But who was he to argue when he was supposedly so close.
When the silence fell around him, Carter looked to see Jock holding key out, a closet facing the two of them.
'A cupboard?' he asked, genuinely confused. This was worse than he had expected. 'She's not an animal --'
'I want this returned to me as soon as you’re done.' he placed the small key in Carter's palm. 'And if I find out you’ve upset her, I’ll ram it down your throat. Comprende?' the playful slap on his face made Carter mad and he went to grab Jock's wrist but he was faster.
'Comprende, tu gilipollas.' Carter muttered under his breath. Asshole
As he pushed open the door, he slipped the key into his pocket, heart racing. Everything in his entire life told him this was a trap, yet somehow he didn't want to take the risk. One thing he knew for certain, was if Rosa was in here, he was taking her home with him, back to safety. The house he had left her at was big and grand, so why was this somehow more secure? It was secluded, but it was weak; an old man with a shotgun and an attitude? A single key to fit a flimsy door? It was also inhumane, and Carter was fighting the anger swirling in his stomach to punch Jock for this but then he saw her and it dissipated as fast as it had risen.
Her big eyes were like saucers as she looked at him from across the dim room. A robe covering her modesty, but clinging to the right places to make his mind soar with fantasies. Carter thought back to all the images he had been sent, knowing they weren't from Rosa, but they were Rosa. She was beautiful and contradictory dainty and powerful. Just to look at her overwhelmed him, and the figure before him suddenly made him nervous.
Both stared at one another, equally apprehensive and terrified. Did she know about the messages, the pictures? Did she want him to be here? Was she safe, was she injured? Carter thought of the night at her house, watching her leave between the spaces in the railings, her image teasing in the distance. The shy smile as she kissed him and planned their next date. The way she had put herself out there, risking everything just to spend more time with him, because she cared. She had to care! Jock knew. The world knew and had grown envious of the obvious chemistry sparking between them.
Dampening his bottom lip, Carter didn't know what to say and it was Rosa that spoke first.
'I-I'm sorry I missed the zoo.' her voice was small and it made him catch his breath. 'I really did want to go.'
'Mierda.' Carter whispered. Fuck. Advancing, he filled the gap between them in seconds and cupped her face, kissing Rosa before either of them had a second to mumble more awkward greetings. She smelt like a hot bath, all floral and soapy, her hair still damp as he felt it brush against his arm. The robe was so flimsy he could feel every inch of her pressed against him, her hands gripping his shirt as she urged him closer.
There had been so many mistakes since their first date, but this was one thing Carter did not doubt. He had been lead on, confused, threatened; Jock had attempted to intimidate him, belittle his feelings -- their feelings. This Nick Walker had thrown his presence unnecessarily into the situation and all the two of them wanted was what they deserved; one another. Seeing Rosa so small and wary had made his heart ache for her, and he wanted her to know she was loved.
Carter loved her.
He could taste chapstick on her lips and kissed harder, biting her bottom lip with a moan. Rosa's hands were scratching his back, running through his hair, tugging off his shirt. As it floated to the ground, he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing and placed her on the chest of drawers. It wobbled uncertainly but Carter held her with a firm grip. It was as if they couldn't get enough of one another, his fingers running down the smoothness of her thigh, the other hand in his hair, kissing her neck, nipping her earlobe. The small moans and whimpers that left her lips merely spurred him on and stepping back, he got onto his knees
Rosa was breathing heavy as she looked down at him, her lashes long, pupils full of want. Parting her thighs, Carter pushed the fabric of the robe to one side and let his tongue tease the warmth there. In a second Rosa was gasping, throwing her head back as he worked up to speed, his own self growing hard as she gripped her fingers in his hair, urging him not to stop. Twisting his tongue he worked to the gentle thrusts of her hips, the way her held tightened and loosened on his curls, the sound of her cry as it reached climax and then crescendo, thighs quivering around his head.
As she jumped down, Rosa's hands worked at his belt buckle, gently teasing as she slid her hands down his jeans. For a brief second Carter let his eyes flicker shut before he gripped her middle and spun her around. In the same swift movement, he undid the tie on the robe and it pooled like liquid at their feet. His hands roamed her body as she arched her back into him, his fingers finding and teasing the rosy, hardened nipples and then dipping back down to the wetness between her thighs.
Pulling his underwear down, Carter pressed his hardness against her ass, his breath warm against her ear. 'Do you want this?' he whispered, hesitating only fleetingly. When Rosa nodded in want, he slowly slid himself inside her, the tightness constricting his cock and making his body tingle. It was as if every fiber of his being was on fire, and the warmth from her set him aflame.
It started slow, one of his hands around her middle; Rosa had her own flat on the chest of drawers for support and he placed his own on top, lacing their fingers. Carter nipped her neck as they built up a gentle rhythm, their breath fogging up the small mirror on the wall above them. He could feel her hips rolling as she begged for him and Carter thrust harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Rosa came a second time and it was enough to send him over the edge, his satisfied yell no doubt startling the stranger outside with his shotgun.
Breathless, the two of them gave a small laugh and he leaned against her, trying to steady himself. 'Rosa.' he whispered, stepping away to pull his underwear back on. They sat on the side of the bed in silence for a while as Carter slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. Rosa had slipped the robe on again and he could see a handful of welts on the side of her throat where he'd gotten carried away. 'Come home with me.' he finally said, raising a hand when she argued. 'Don't explain anything now, let's just go.'
As she dressed, Carter took time to glance around the room and shook his head in disgust. He never wanted to see her in a place like this again. Slipping his jacket over her shoulders, he opened the door and stepped back into the dimly lit hallway. Bill looked at the two of them warily but all Carter did was flash his police badge and silently walk out. He didn't want drama, he wanted to take Rosa home and protect her.
The cool air hit both of them and Carter hailed a taxi, opening the door for Rosa to get inside. On the way back however, he asked the driver to take a detour and they stopped outside of Jock's home. Rosa asked what was happening and went to get out but Carter merely rolled down his window and threw the key onto the lawn before turning back.
'I will never let anyone hurt you, mi amor.' Carter's voice was low and strangely serious. 'And you are never going to have to hide again, okay?' watching her, he urged the driver to continue the route. 'You're not Jock's concern anymore, you're mine, understand?' he asked, cupping her face gently. 'I will do whatever it takes to make sure these demons from your past stay dead. And I mean anything.'
Inside, Nora was looking out of the window, Jock's shirt draped around her. 'Someone just threw something in the garden.' she murmured, turning back with a shrug. 'Who did you piss off?'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Apr 30, 2021 7:55:39 GMT -5
Dermot was losing his mind. He'd left the house with intentions. To find answers. To figure out who the fuck had torn his world from around him. Yet somewhere between knocking on the door and entering the flat, he'd lost it all. As soon as he'd set eyes on Walker's face... Fanacht Dírthe, his brother had whispered to him before he'd left. Brow pressed against his, dark brown eyes meeting lighter hazel ones. Fuck. Dermot stared at the water as it finally ran clear, then cupped a handful and splashed his face with it. A knock against the door. "Dearthair?" Dermot froze, eyes fixed to his own in the mirror. A second later, the door swung open and Max leaned in the doorway. As Dermot turned to face him, Max handed him a glass.
"Drink this, get your clothes off and put them in a black bag and come meet me in the lounge."
He walked out without another word, as Dermot knocked back the whiskey and gasped at the burn. It seemed to bring some life back into him though, warming him from the inside out as he unsteadily pulled off his jacket. His fingers trembled as he undid his buttons. Once he'd stripped down and searched beneath the kitchen sink for a bag, he balled up the clothes and stuffed them inside, before heading to the spare bedroom.
He couldn't quite call it his bedroom yet. His bedroom was the one he shared with Nora, the one he wanted to go back to soon. The large double bed with the drapes, grey and yellow bedding, the extra cushion she always insisted on so she could read before sleeping. Ten minutes later, he was dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a baggy navy blue t-shirt, wandering bare-foot like a lost child. Max turned to look at him as he entered, and Dermot sank down onto the chair opposite him.
"So. Tell me what happened."
Dermot was looking at his hands, a deep crease in his brow. Looking up, he stared at his brother for a long moment. "I didn't use the gun. I didn't need to." It was as if the scene was printed behind his eyelids. Dermot straddling an unconscious Nick, blood flowing over his hands as he removed the glistening knife. The blade he'd snatched from the block after he'd sent Walker to the floor with a well-aimed punch. He remembered staring at his hands, then at Nick and the scrawled S carved into the muscle of his chest. His Da's signature move. And the worst part was that on some deep level, Dermot had enjoyed it. It had satisfied him to see Nick collapse from the pain. Part of him hadn't wanted to stop.
It was only later, as he'd escaped the flat, that his senses had come rushing back. His actions had horrified even him. Max was watching him and Dermot sat forward, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. He felt sick again. “I gave him the Mark, dearthair."
Silence. When Dermot looked up, Max looked stunned. "Is he dead?"
"...I think so. I don’t know,” he replied, voice strained. He ran both hands through his hair, agitated. "There was blood everywhere, he - When I left, he was just lying there." Bleeding out. Could anybody survive that? The boy from his youth certainly hadn't, his body left to go cold at the bottom of the stairs. Was Nick Walker now rapidly cooling on his kitchen floor? He should have checked. Why hadn't he checked? Dermot stood. "I should go back. I should make sure-" But Max's hand was on his shoulder, easing him back into his seat, another whiskey finding its way to his hand. Dermot drank.
"I didn't... I didn't even find anything out. I fucked it, Max. I just couldn't stop." He was more like their father than he'd ever been willing to believe and it felt like the evidence was there, staring him in the face. The damage he was capable of. He thought back to what Max had said before he left; if Rosa knew him, Jock did too. Had Jock set them up? Had somebody follow him, determined to uncover the truth? His own col ceathrar, his flesh and blood. Who knows what Jock had been telling Nora this past week, poisoning her mind against him. Planting seeds which sprouted doubt and distrust. How could he do this to him?
Dermot stood, agitated again. “Remember, remember before, Max? And I had to go talk to that quack because my head was such a fuckin’ mess?” His chest felt tight and he braced a hand against the wall, leaning forward to steady his breathing. Before. How long had he kept it buried? Even now, he could remember the build up of events that had led to him breaking down inside the psychiatric’s office...
Dermot looked down at Susie as she cradled the infant to her chest. Aoife had just turned six months, her dark hair barely more than a mop on the top of her head, large blue eyes fixing him to the spot as she looked up at him. Reaching out with a chubby fist to grab him. Susie shifted her further away, her eyes cold. “Again? You make me sick.”
“It was an accident,” he mumbled, glancing at the blood-splatters on his shirt.
“Fuck off, Dermot. You were with Jock, drinking no doubt, sniffing too much. It’s the same every time! Who was it?”
“Susie-“
“Who was it this time?” She narrowed her eyes. Dermot’s shoulders slumped.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I can’t remember, Susie!” he snapped, shaking his head, pacing away. “I woke at Jock’s this morning. I can’t remember where I was last night. I can’t remember what I fucking did, okay?” He pushed a hand through his hair. All he knew was that he’d woken with pain in his battered knuckles and dried blood on his shirt. Jock had been passed out on the sofa as he’d left. Susie stood, shifting Aoife to her other hip, except now her anger had been replaced by a flicker of fear.
“So you keep blacking out? You can’t remember what you’ve done?”
Dermot felt his stomach twist uneasily as she gently sat Aoife in her play pen and approached him. He watched her uncertainly. “Susie-“
“That’s what your old man used to say, didn’t he?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “To excuse what he did.” Dermot narrowed his eyes.
“I’m nothing like him,” he spat, but Susie looked disbelieving. She turned away, picking up Aoife’s empty bottle and heading to the kitchen.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Dermot. You’d do your best to remember that.”
Later, Dermot sat by the river bank, tossing rocks into the water. Jock leaned against a tree, lighting a cigarette, the burning ember glowing. “She thinks I’m going crazy,” he said, throwing another stone with force. “Says I’m just the same as him.”
“Bullshit,” Jock replied, shrugging away from the tree to join him at the waters edge. “You’re nothing like that old cunt, D. Just a little too much snow, that’s all. Don’t worry.”
“But what if I am?” Dermot glanced up at him, desperation in his eyes. “What if I can’t stop it?”
Jock sighed and sat down beside him, stretching out his legs. He took a long drag, smoke spiralling skywards as he looked out over the river. “Dermot, you’re not your Da. That man was a vile piece of shit and you aren’t even on the same level. I promise you.” He looked across, meeting Dermot’s gaze, the confidence and surety of Jock’s stare enough to give him a sense of relief. Jock knew him better than anyone. Too much cocaine, that was all. “Come out with me tonight.”
“I don’t know. Susie-“
“What Susan doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Jock grinned. “Don’t be a pussy all your life.” Dermot kicked him and they laughed. And when Dermot woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. Mid afternoon? His mind was fuzzy, he didn’t even know what he’d been up to last night... He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Susie was sat at the edge of the bed. She was wrapped in a cardigan and she was sporting a black eye. Dermot stared, feeling heat begin to reach every part of his body.
“Who the fuck did that?”
She looked away, hands twisting anxiously on her lap. Dermot shoved away the duvet, reaching for her and frowning when she flinched. “Susie? Who fuckin’ touched you, tell me now.”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” she said softly, voice thick. Dermot felt like all the air had been taken from his lungs.
“What do you mean? I didn’t-“
“You did this, Dermot.” She looked up at him, blue eyes swimming with tears. “You were so angry, I... No! Don’t come near me!” She fled from the bed to the other side of the room. “You promised me you’d never hurt me again.”
“Again?” He said weakly, shaking his head, not understanding...
“There’s been other times. But you can never remember. You terrify me, Dermot.”
“N-No.” Dermot slipped off the bed, running both hands through his hair. “I’d never hurt you, Susie. I ... I would never...” He looked at her eye, face crumpling. “I did that?” He’d laid his hands on her. Why? How had it happened? Why would he have done that? He tried to approach her, but she cowered away again. Suddenly the room was too enclosed, the walls shrinking in on him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered a moment before he fled.
Susie watched him rush out. A minute later, the front door slammed. A small smile curved her lips. Reaching into her pocket, she slipped free the compact and opened it up. Dark eye shadow. She reapplied it around her eye, humming pleasantly to herself as she did so.
“I’m going mad!” Dermot shouted at the therapist three days later, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’m a woman beating piece of fucking shit, I laid ... I hit my daughter’s mother in the face and I can’t even remember.”
“I think you’re very lucky she didn’t press charges,” the man in the chair replied, edging his glasses back up his nose as he scribbled a note on his clipboard.
“Why would she not? I deserve to be put away. I’m a fuckin’ monster.” Dermot sank into the chair, pressing his palms so hard against his eyes that they ached and flashed white. “I’m a monster. I need locking away.”
Now he looked across at Max, and felt that same out-of-control haze he’d felt all that time ago. Had it just been the drugs? Or had it been something deeper, something in his bones, in his brain, that he couldn’t escape from? Had Paddy Sullivan poisoned every last part of him? A final fuck-you before his death? He’d endured so much at the hands of that man... did Dermot really believe he’d remained unaffected all this time? “Max,” he said softly. “I think there’s something really wrong with me.”
***
Everything was trashed. His camera, his computer, his laptop. The second screen he'd hooked up to watch the CCTV was in pieces over the floor. His hard drives shattered. His phone had been crushed beneath a boot. Pressing the rapidly-reddening towel against his chest, he gingerly stepped through the room, staring at the destruction. No matter. That could be fixed. But could he? Each breath was agony, fire licking beneath his skin. He still hadn’t dared take a closer look, knew how bad it was from the pain alone. Blood was still dribbling down his torso and he did his best to staunch it, gasping as the pain ripped through him.
Charlotte’s money hadn’t been taken either, but he hadn’t expected it to be. This wasn’t just a brutal robbery; this was personal. Limping to the side unit, he slid open the drawer and pulled out the back up phone he’d used as Rosa’s. At the touch of his finger, it sprang to life. A missed call from earlier, when Carter had tried to ring the phone in Jock’s hand. He swiped it away. Opened the App Store and downloaded a voice changer. Then he grew dizzy and slumped down against the wall. The world faded in and out of focus, and for a moment, he could barely take a breath. His brain felt numb, as if he’d just woken up from a bad dream. He’d just been attacked. Taken completely unaware. Nick, who had fucking eyes everywhere, had been ambushed.
Dermot Sullivan. He savoured the name, turned it over in his mind. Dermot Sullivan had just changed the game. Opening his eyes, Nick forced himself to climb to his feet, his cry of pain ending in a growl as he exerted himself. Somehow, he managed to pull on his trainers and his coat, holding the towel in place as he zipped it up. By the time he had finished, he was trembling from the effort. Come on, Walker, get it together. He gathered anything of use and stuffed it into his rucksack before looking back at the glistening burst of blood across the kitchen floor. The last thing he took was his gun, pushing it into the back of his jeans.
Then he staggered from the flat, leaving the door swinging from its hinges. He unlocked Rosa’s phone, activated the voice changer and rang 999. “Police please, my boyfriend’s been stabbed.” He had to stop in the stairwell to catch his breath. “Nick Walker. No, he’s not breathing, there’s blood everywhere!” Nick squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the wave of dizziness that swept over him. He stuttered the address. “My name’s Rosa Croft. Please hurry.”
Hanging up, he turned it off and shoved it into his pocket. He needed to get out of here, find a place to recover and replan.
***
Jock sat in his car outside the Abbey, a lit cigarette hanging from between his teeth. He had no idea if Carter would actually come, and if he didn’t, then it would be his loss. The cop had one chance to prove himself, Jock had decided on the way. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was obvious the young man cared for his friend, had seemed thoroughly confused as to why he hadn’t been in the loop. Jock wondered how Rosa would react. He hadn’t told her he was coming, and despite the fact she was adamant she was never leaving her room again, he didn’t think she’d been all too annoyed at having him bring Carter to her door.
Jock sighed, resting his head back against the headrest. He wanted to go home. He wanted to take Nora into his arms, pepper kisses up her throat, teasing her lips with his tongue... He smiled softly to himself. Luckily Carter rounded the corner before his thoughts could get carried away. Jock blew out a plume of smoke, opening the door and climbing out. He was smirking when Carter approached. “Was starting to think you’d stood me up.” Tilting his head, he held open his car door and pointed at the glove box. “Phone in there. We walk from here. Gotta stay away from the old CCTV, y’know.” Carter looked reluctant, and Jock chuckled, arching an eyebrow.
“If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it when you turned up on my doorstep with a fuckin’ bouquet. If you want to see Rosa, you come now, ‘cause I have a woman at home and I’d rather not hang around for the lovefest.” He slapped Carter’s shoulder, maybe a little too roughly, then leaned back against his bonnet to finish his cigarette. Once Carter had stowed his phone, Jock kicked the door shut and locked it. “Let’s go.”
They headed down the street, keeping to the shadows. Another two streets passed before Jock held out an arm to slow him. “Camera on the junction over there. Stay to the left and head down the alley. It’s hidden by ivy, you need to push through.” He let Carter go ahead, following him in through the curtain of greenery. They reappeared on the other side. “I lied to you. Earlier.” Jock sighed, coming to a stop beside a graffiti covered door. “Rosa told me about you. I know you bought her coffee. I know about your cute little trip to the museum.” He smirked again, eyes bright with amusement.
“But I also happen to care for her very much. I won’t see her hurt. You know what I mean?” Jock held his gaze for a log moment before reaching out and knocking on the door. After a few moments, there was the sound of a chain and the door opened out. Jock stepped in first. “Put it away, Bill, for fuck sake.”
Bill lowered the shotgun. “Safety first. Whose this?” He eyed Carter suspiciously, an unlit cigar tucked behind his ear.
“He’s not a problem. Go back to your crossword.”
“Using this place as a fuckin’ doss house,” he grumbled as he headed back to his desk. He glowered at Carter on the way past, propping the shotgun against the table.
“Remember who pays your fuckin’ rent! Íosa Críost.” Gesturing for Carter to follow, he led him down the corridor to the cleaning closet. When they reached it, Jock held out the key, lowering his voice when he spoke. “I want this returned to me as soon as you’re done. And if I find out you’ve upset her, I’ll ram it down your throat. Comprende?” He slapped Carter’s cheek, chuckling as he walked off.
Inside the room, Rosa looked up with a frown. She was sure she just heard Jock’s voice. Was he here again? Maybe something had happened. Her stomach gave an uneasy turn. Getting to her feet, she quickly tightened the bathrobe around her, brushing damp hair over her shoulder. She’d spent two hours sat in the bath, constantly topping up the hot water, inspecting the way her fingers and hands went wrinkly. She’d submerged herself to see how long she could hold her breath; not very long.
And then she’d been bored. Between the upset, frustration and anger came the boredom. The TV was boring. The walls were boring. Her stupid black hair was boring. And beneath all of that was the fear, the fear that Nick was out there somewhere, waiting for the right time to pounce. Rosa stood as she heard the key turn in the lock, her heart beginning to hammer as she glanced at the clock. It was nearly half ten. Something had definitely happened, had somebody else been hurt -
Rosa’s eyes widened as the figure stepped into the room. Carter. Tall, broad, tousled dark hair, those dark eyes meeting hers. That single look made it feel like she was at the top of a rollercoaster, staring down into the gaping darkness below. Her heart began to beat rapidly, brow furrowing in confusion but unable to form the words. What was he doing here? Was he angry at her? How did he find her? Had Jock told him? Or had she just drowned in the bath and was now hallucinating the thing she wanted most in the world?
Rosa shifted on the spot. God, she’s missed him so much. Over and over again, she’d replayed that day at the museum. It was the only thing that had kept her going. “I-I’m sorry I missed the zoo,” she whispered, voice tight. “I really did want to go.”
***
The garden was dark and rain fell heavy from a grey sky. Nick stood with his hood pulled up, looking upwards at the landing light. Finally it turned off. A few minutes later, the kitchen lights flickered on. He watched Charlotte through the window, the water running down the glass and obscuring her. She moved around the kitchen, putting used pots beside the sink. He noticed the pile of empty beer bottles waiting to go out to the recycling bin, and prayed that she’d at least held up her end of the deal, that all of this was worth it.
Swallowing back the pain, he moved towards the kitchen door and tried the handle. It swung open. Charlotte turned, startled, wide eyes landing on his face and he saw the fear there for an instant. “Sssh,” he said quietly, a finger to his lips as he stepped, dripping, into the house. He knew he looked bad. Dried blood on his face he hadn’t yet cleaned, a swollen eye, bust lip. Shutting the door quietly behind him, so as not to wake the boy upstairs, he eased off his rucksack and set it at his feet.
“I need your help,” he said roughly, pulling the gun out the back of his jeans and resting it in the table. The action casual, the thread hanging. As he sank into the wooden chair, a soft whimper of pain escaped, and he unzipped his jacket to reveal the bloody towel. He could see the horror on her face, lips moving soundlessly as she shook her head. She didn’t want to see, but he pulled it away anyway, gritting his teeth against the agony of the air against the tender and torn flesh. Charlotte sank back against the counter, face white.
“Alcohol,” he hissed at her. “Vodka. Whiskey. Whatever.” When she didn’t move, he slammed a hand on the table, making her jump. He saw her gaze dart to the gun and despite how weak he felt, he forced a smirk onto his face. “If you don’t do what I say, I’ll put a bullet in your son. I promise.” This spurred her into action and she searched her cupboards for vodka and a cloth. He took it from her, biting off the cap. Shoving the cloth into his mouth, he poured it out over his chest. His body stiffened as the fire unlike anything he had felt burnt through him, his scream muffled against the material clogging his mouth. Tears ran down his face, and he sat back, eyes shut, ripping the cloth from his mouth.
“S-Sew it,” he gasped, peering at her blearily, and when she hesitated, he grabbed the gun. “Now, Charlotte!”
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on May 11, 2021 11:18:30 GMT -5
The silence following her whispered words probably lasted a few seconds, yet it felt much longer. They stared at each other from across the room and Rosa’s heart began to pound, a heavy throb in her throat. In the next moment, Carter was striding towards her, his hands finding her face as he brought her close. Their lips collided in a kiss so ferocious it made her gasp. Sinking against him, she kissed Carter with just as much heat and need. His teeth caught her bottom lip and she moaned softly. He tasted delicious, even better than she’d remembered. Had it really only been five days? It felt so much longer. And she wanted him. The feeling inside her was so powerful, it was almost overwhelming. She wanted Carter, fully and completely. Wanted to love him and be his for as long as he’d have her. Nothing had made sense until he’d stepped into her life and now he was here, actually here....
She pushed the checkered shirt from his shoulders, fingers running over the muscles of his arms. His skin was burning hot against her touch, and he smelt amazing. Faint aftershave and the unique scent which belonged just to him. Carter had one hand in her hair as they continued to kiss, almost frantic. In one movement, he lifted her into his arms and set her back onto the chest of drawers. She couldn’t think of anything else. All the trauma and her worries, her fears and her grief, it had all disappeared the moment he’d put his lips to hers. It felt like his hands were everywhere, his mouth everywhere, and her mind was spinning and yet she still couldn’t get enough. Her robe loosened as his hand ran up her thigh, delightfully rough, sending shivers of pleasure throughout every fibre of her being.
Her eyes shut briefly as he pressed kisses against her throat, the light sucking making her moan and her insides quake. And then Carter was stepping back, sinking to his knees and Rosa followed him with a hooded gaze, excitement rippling through her. He parted her thighs and sank against her, his mouth hot and warm and causing her back to arch as soon as he touched her. “Carter...” His name a gentle gasp from her lips as her fingers found his dark hair. Already she could feel her nipples tighten and her stomach clench in response to his mouth, his tongue, his palms against her skin. Head resting back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut, fingers tightening in his hair. Nobody had ever touched her like this before. Nick would never have dreamed of putting his mouth there, had deemed it too disgusting. She was only just beginning to realise how strange Nick really was. Carter shifted, his tongue hitting something inside of her that made her whole world explode into brightness. She gasped as her hips rocked against his face as she climaxed hard, harder than she’d ever experienced. She was still shuddering when he stood, pulling her from the dresser.
Rosa’s legs trembled as she tugged impatiently at his belt, between more frantic and heated kisses. Trousers loose, she slipped her hand into his boxers and felt him, hard against her palm. Lightly squeezing, she gave a grin at the look of pleasure that passed his face. And the idea that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, that he’d been unable to keep his hands off her... it amazed her. Nobody had looked at her the way Carter was now. With an adoring intensity, a look of a promise that he’d always be here, that he was here for her.
She’d had blokes. Not one of them had even come close to this.
Carter grabbed her hips and spun her around, her hands seeking the dresser as he freed the tie around her robe. It pooled at their feet, and she could barely feel the air against her skin as Carter shifted behind her. She could feel his hard member pressed against her and gave a soft impatient moan. Carter’s chest was against her back, his lips at her ear, and at his words, she flashed him a lust-filled look and nodded. She wanted this more than she’d wanted anything before. She was pretty certain she wanted this more than she wanted to get high. As Carter pressed into her, she let out a deep groan, eyes falling shut as she back arched. He was big and it only made her hotter as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. His hands trailed fire over her side, her breast, then dipped low between her thighs. Rosa’s hips jerked in response as she rolled them back against him.
She could hear his shaky breath and the the effect she was having on him made her smile. This was what they both wanted, had needed since the moment they set eyes on each other. That felt like a world away, that day in the hospital. Not that it mattered now. They were here, together, and that’s all she cared about. Carter’s hands slid down her arms to entwine with hers, fingers laced as they continued to move together. Every hard thrust caused pleasure to cool in her stomach and she knew it wouldn’t be long, not with the way he was touching her... “Please, Carter, ohmygod!”
Rosa cried out as she came again, body shaking as he gripped her hips and held her in place. His own cry was guttural and hoarse and she felt the warmth as he spilled inside of her. Gasping, Rosa kept her eyes shut as she fought for breath. Finally gathering the energy to disentangle themselves, she gave him a coy smile as he slipped his boxers back up over his hips. They were both breathless, the only sound in the room being their heavy breathing and the rustle of clothing. Rosa stooped to pick up her robe, sliding it over her shoulders, but not bothering to retie it. Joining Carter on the bed, she settled against him as he slid his arm around her. She could get used to this. Having a man, a real man in her life. Not to say Jock wasn’t a real man, but he wasn’t hers. He was never destined to be and for that, she was thankful. Because now Carter had stepped into her life, she couldn’t imagine anybody else.
“Come home with me. Don't explain anything now, let's just go.”
“But-“
Carter had raised a hand and she trailed off, glancing at the room. For the past week, she’d been desperate to get out of here, had gone half-mad in such a short amount of time. Part of her was still afraid of what lurked outside, but... wasn’t she Rosa Croft? Wasn’t she the woman who’d escaped in the first place? Strong and independent? A woman who took shit from nobody, and God help them if she did? “... Okay.” Slipping off the bed, she dressed into jeans and a white tee, throwing the rest of her meagre possessions in her bag. She stilled when she came to the foil wrap that housed the last chunk of her heroin then, bravely, slammed the drawer shut with it still inside. You don’t need it, she thought to herself on repeat, putting her coffee cup into the bag and zipping it shut. You don’t need it. You really don’t need it.
Carter had redressed and now he eased his jacket over her shoulders. She hugged it around her before slipping her hand into his. Together, they left the room and Rosa hoped beyond all hope that it was for the last time. With her bag slung over her shoulder and Carter’s hood pulled up, she allowed him to lead her down the corridor. Bill was stood at his desk and he looked up, eyes narrowing as Carter flashed his badge. Meeting his eye, she gave the old Irishman a reassuring smile, but didn’t stop.
Outside, the night air was pleasantly cool and she paused on the pavement and took a deep breath. Oh, that was good. Rosa wasn’t made to be cooped up; she liked freedom, liked the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. Yet, as Carter hailed down a black cab, there was still a lingering thought that she hadn’t allowed come to light since Carter had turned up; Nick was still out there. He knew about Carter. Was he watching them now? Unable to help herself, she glanced around, then slipped quickly into the backseat when Carter held the door open for her. She only let out a sigh of relief when they were well on their way across the city. Until... “What are we doing ‘ere?” she frowned, going to unclip her belt, only to have Carter stop her. She watched him wind down his window and toss the keys over the fence. They disappeared in the grass on the other side and she looked at him, puzzled.
“I will never let anyone hurt you, mi amor. And you are never going to have to hide again, okay?”
As the cab rolled away from the house, she stared at him in awe. Who was he? How did a man like Carter even exist? Or rather, how had she gotten so lucky as to catch his eye? And she wasn’t talking about his looks, even though he was very handsome. It was his actual being, his personality, his soul. When Rosa was a little girl, before Robbie was born, she and her mum lived in a dingy one bedroom flat on the top floor of a highrise. Rosa had been terrified of the height, refusing to even look out the window. To escape the various strange men her mum had around the flat most of the time, she’d found a small loft hatch in the corner of her room, pushed her bed over and climbed up. A small dark little alcove where she’d hide with a torch, pouring over her fairytales. As the sound of the headboard banging beneath her and men’s pleasured grunts filtered up from below, she’d lose herself in the stories of fairies and princesses, pumpkins and princes. Glass slippers and wicked stepmothers. Always, she’d study the image of the prince and the princess on the last page, happily married and smiling. One day a prince will save me, she’d thought more than once. And here he was, sitting opposite her.
“You're not Jock's concern anymore, you're mine, understand? I will do whatever it takes to make sure these demons from your past stay dead. And I mean anything.”
Rosa’s heart began to race as he cupped her face and leaned forward to kiss her. She returned it, but her wrists suddenly flared and the panic was setting in and - she pushed him back a little, looking apologetic. She began to scratch. “You don’t understand. Jock isn’t the problem.” Blinking, she glanced out the window as the cab pulled up outside. As Carter paid, Rosa got out, looking around anxiously. There were a few cars parked along the street, but they were empty. Her skin crawled and an uneasy feeling settled in her gut, and she was grateful when Carter led her into the house. Well, house was a bit of an understatement. The place was expansive and beautiful, and she found herself in silence as she eased out of his jacket and slowly set her bag down by the door. She watched him lock it, then set the security alarm on the opposite wall. The unease lessened.
“I have a lot of things to tell you,” she said quietly, after he’d brought them both drinks. One thing she was certain of; she wanted to tell Carter the truth. But the thought of him knowing was terrifying. She sat stiffly in the chair, back straight, and she hadn’t made eye contact with him for five minutes. How could she? She was about to shatter whatever image he’d built of her in his head, and the truth of who she was made her sick. Absently, she scratched at her wrists, the skin already sore. Where did she even start? “Um. My mum’s ex-boyfriend, the copper. He raped me when I was fifteen. And for a while after. It gave me nightmares, and then um I met Nick in a bar.” Scratch, scratch. “I mean I moved out, got a job at a pub. Nick started me on the smack. It took the nightmares away.” Dank dark cellars that smelt of rot. Picking up her glass she knocked it back and relished the burn. She didn’t dare look at Carter, too afraid of his reaction.
“Then he started making me do stuff for my fixes. Um sleep with um men for money.” Her voice broke. “He liked to um take pictures of me.”
***
It was at times like this that Jock wished his parents were still here. For a talk, some advice... Just their presence would have been enough. He’d lived many years without them, forced to make his own decisions without the support and advice of the two who had loved him the most. And he wasn’t doubting Dermot’s love and help here, but... would Jock have made he same mistakes if his mam had been there to teach him different? Or if his da had been there to stop him making such bad choices? Like stealing from Barry O’Neill and Nick Walker. Like stealing his cousin’s woman. At times like this, when he was alone, these kind of worries plagued him. What if Nora decided to change her mind? What if tomorrow she realised she’d made a huge mistake? What if she blamed him for getting between her and Dermot? She and Dermot who had been happy, who’d had a future planned out, an upcoming marriage...
Dermot had lied, but had Jock been wrong to use that to his advantage? For slipping in when she was at her most vulnerable... was he even any better than Max? He bristled at his own thought, the comparison to his own lecherous cousin. Jock had been honest from the start, he reassured himself. He hadn’t hid anything from Nora. He’d been open, he had nothing to hide. Again, his mam came to mind. What would she have thought? Would she have been angry that he’d done such a thing to his own family, his blood? Or would she be happy he’d finally found somebody he wanted to call his own and spend the rest of his life with? Would she have loved Nora? Would they have gotten along?
When he pulled up in the gravel drive in front of the house, he let out a small sigh. What was the point in wallowing in the past? His parents were dead and the choices he’d made were choices he had to stand by. Like his love for Nora. Cause that was what it was, he’d admitted that much to her the other night. She’d had tears in her eyes as she held him close and he’d breathed in her soft perfume and shut his eyes. Jock had never loved anybody like he’d loved Nora. He didn’t know what the future held either, but what he was certain of was that he was going to make the most of it, no matter what happened. No matter what was to come.
In the house, he dropped his keys in the dish in the hall and headed for the front room. Nora was curled on the sofa watching TV, a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her. When he entered, she sat up and the two just looked at each other for a moment. Smiling softly, he approached, sitting down beside her. “Hey,” he said, reaching to tuck a dark strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers trailed her jaw and he drew her close, placing a tender kiss on her lips. “Are you okay?” Nora’s hand was on his chest and he felt the warmth of it through his shirt. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many promises he wanted to make. A promise of a bright future. A promise that he would never ever betray her. He’d rather die than break her heart.
Nora kissed him again, and he eased her back against the sofa, pinning her body with his. The kiss grew heated, and he dropped his mouth to the soft skin beneath her jaw, peppered kisses down her throat. His hand scorched up her thigh, pushing up her dress as she drew him closer. She made short work of his shirt buttons and impatiently, he shoved it off and let it tumble to the floor. Nora’s hands traced his torso, his muscles shifting, tense, beneath her touch. How easily she could turn him to flames; a single touch, a single look. Somehow, his belt loosened and her dress was around her waist, and they both moaned in unison as he sank into her.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, nipping her ear lobe as her legs tightened around his waist. They made love right there on the sofa, gentle whispers and soft kisses. Later, he carried her to the bedroom and they made love all over again. Nora’s back arching as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, and when he came it was so intense he swore the world went black for a moment. As they lay gasping amongst the sheets, he let out a breathless chuckle and flopped his head back against the pillow. He could hear Nora’s heavy breathing beside him and it made his heart swell. Rolling into his front, he admired her, a slightly smug grin on his face. He traced her collarbone, then the valley between her breasts, still sheeting with sweat. He dropped his head and took her nipple in his mouth, enticing another moan. “You are beautiful,” he stared again, firmly, tracing down to her bellybutton, watching the way her stomach tensed at his touch. “I could stay like this all day.” He smiled against her lips as she leaned up to kiss him, before she left the bed and pulled a clean shirt from his wardrobe. He watched with a pout as she slid it on, her frame disappearing beneath the fabric. He bit his bottom lip and watched as she moved to the window. Something caught her eye as she frowned, still for a moment. Jock sat up. “What is it?”
“Someone just threw something in the garden. Who did you piss off?”
“What?” He climbed out of bed and joined her at the window just as the black cab drove off down the street. Moving to the bedside table, he picked up his phone. There was a message from Bill; Rosa left with that cop.
He smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just a key.” He dropped the phone back down and moved towards her, pulling her close. “How about I order us some food and we spend the rest of the night in this bed?”
**
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Post by katherinesullivan on May 12, 2021 10:57:17 GMT -5
'I need you, Pete. I need you now more than ever. But... I have to know you won't ever let me down like that again. Please. I don't... I don't even care about the match, just don't lie to me. Because I love you so fucking much Pete, I can't live without you and our children can't either. We want you back.'
Lara looked at him with big eyes full of sincerity.
'I'm sorry I left you there.' she whispered.
Pete had taken the ring from her and gotten down on one knee, holding her delicate hand in his own. Slowly, he slid the band onto Lara's finger and kissed it, looking up to meet her gaze. He was so sorry. So ashamed. He hated the cliché of not knowing what you had until its gone, but the expression must've manifested from genuine pain because he had felt it. Ripping his heart into pieces, more than when it had when he'd left the match, knowing it was the last. That had barely been a tint within his armour but leaving him in the hospital with nothing but betrayal in her eyes had pierced through that armour like it was paper.
They went to bed shortly after and as he took his shirt off, Lara watched from the bed as he struggled before standing and helping. His shoulder was still badly bruised, the sling on the bed but a blue Velcro cast on his wrist and elbow. Standing with the moonlight slipping through the partially closed curtains, Pete looked at Lara, /really/ looked. At the curve of her hips as she faced him, pretty, blush pink underwear contrasting the olive toned skin. Each little freckle, each little line; as she smiled and the dimple rose, the crease beneath her almond eyes, a glint of something kind as she watched him back.
It wasn't often you truly looked at someone. Ask Pete what colour Dave's eyes were and he couldn't tell you, but his favourite fighting position, if he fought left or right hook and what size trainer he took? Sure. What was Bovver's dog called; what side of his face was that mole he would always poke fun of as a kid? Little details, but important when it came to it. The fractions that created this person that meant so much. Pete had forgotten about all these things, as he'd abused his relationships.
Sometimes he regretted not being there more for Bovver when Nora was concerned; had dropped the Major on him, forgetting the fact his friend had a life, a love, an opportunity to move on. Now that was gone, and albeit Bov was happy, was it what he truly wanted? When he had screamed at Dave in the hospital, the regret had gnawed at him, knowing he was nothing but a humble soul who never deserved disgust. Finally, leaving that morning, kissing Lara goodbye and knowing he was lying to her, that was the worst feeling.
Anything could have happened that day, and if he had died, what would Lara know? The truth? Or would she hate him, his memory; their marriage. Would the children learn to despise him, judge him, this reflection falling badly on anyone who loved the sport; Dave and Bovver, Swill all cast aside because of a stupid action their father had once committed. What if Lara had been injured, or if Charlie hadn't come back? A thousand things could have gone wrong, and him at the match would've only multiplied the repercussions.
When he was younger, his mother would always make them say they loved her before they slept or left the house. They would wrinkle their nose, act as if they were revolted by the notion but say it all the same.
'But why?' Pete would moan and his mother would kiss his hair, lingering for a few seconds as she smelt the sweet shampoo. 'I'm only going to school.'
'Because you just never know.' she would say casually.
And you never knew.
Back in the moonlight, Pete ran his finger slowly down Lara's bare arm until he reached her hand, lacing their fingers.
'I love you, Lara Dunham.' he whispered, pulling her close. 'More than I knew possible. I feel it down in my bones.'
They made love on top of the sheets, the scent of her perfume clinging to his skin as Pete ran his hands over her body, exploring as if it was the first time. When Lara finally fell asleep, he stayed awake and stared at the ceiling, mind running. He hadn't slept very well at the hospital, flitting in and out and mostly managing to doze during the day. The painkillers they gave me offered a gentle nudged in that direction, but with all the news his mind was racing. Rolling onto his side, Pete kissed Lara's back and got out of bed and headed for Charlie's room.
If Max Sullivan was back, there would be a war. As if they hadn't just overcome the last one. Sighing, he leaned in the doorway and looked at his son with a small smile. His son. A small light was on the chest of drawers, cut outs of stars reflecting patterns on the ceiling. Pete watched them swirl and imagined his way out in the warm countryside beneath aa twinkling, inky blue sky with nothing to threaten them. Moving forward a little the floor creaked and Charlie rolled over with bleary eyes. He was holding a toy close to his chest and Pete realised he didn't recognise it.
'Hey, you.' he whispered, stepping in and kneeling on the floor. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'
Charlie had only one eye opened and then he rubbed them both with tiny fists. His hair was in messy curls and he looked so innocent. He /was/ so innocent.
'You're back!' Charlie smiled, as if only just realising who it was and he crawled onto his knees, throwing his arms around Pete's neck. 'Did you have a good trip?' he asked and Pete nodded, hugging him tight. 'Mummy really missed you.'
'I'm glad to be home, though. I missed you all too, so much.'
The two of them settled against the wall, Charlie nestled in Pete's lap as he read out a story. It was the one about the hungry caterpillar, and Pete could still recall when Swill had bought it and joked it was to remind them of him. It was strangely silently, besides the gentle whirring of the light in the corner, and the slow breathing as Charlie fell asleep. Pete stayed there most of the night, just taking in all the peacefulness around and wishing so hard it could always be like this.
Knowing they deserved to have it like this.
Kissing Charlie on the head, Pete sighed, inhaling the baby shampoo as his eyes closed.
'I love you, Charlie.' he whispered, throat tight. Because you just never know.
A pang of sadness struck his heart, at the pureness of it all. Such a perfect, young child with no knowledge of the destruction desperately seeping after him. But Pete would protect him, and his daughter and his wife. Max Sullivan was not getting a second chance and Lara had made it very apparent how much he needed him to step up.
Pete Dunham was never going to give anyone a chance to fucking doubt him again.
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Post by katherinesullivan on May 27, 2021 9:09:30 GMT -5
Max Sullivan did not like to talk about mental health. He thought it was subjective; you were either strong or weak willed, there was no in-between. Everyone then had the ability to advance, grow stronger; battle their demons, it was just a matter of choice. Because everyone had fucking demons, even if you had lived the dullest life in existence, there was always something to torment you. Sometimes it was little, like taxes, or your health; you weren't rich enough, or weren't paid enough, or your body wasn't ripped enough. The flipside was, you didn't feel enough, you only felt satisfied when you did something wrong... when someone was hurt. Blood beneath your nails was common, the voices in your head congratulating you on a new conquest was rewarding.
The voices in your head... Max had had those before and had been adamant for a while they were Dermot. Now it appeared his poor brother was in the same predicament.
Whose voice did he hear?
'I didn't... I didn't even find anything out. I fucked it, Max. I just couldn't stop.'
Max looked at Dermot, unsure what to feel. For a flicker of a second pride waivered, before it fell into concern. It was always a difficult situation when someone was so volatile. It could always be used to his advantage, though, if only Dermot could follow through. The idea of having his own henchman had been enthralling and beneficial to Max, but he wasn't willing to continue to play that game if this happened at the end of each feat.
Dermot wasn't sure if he was dead or alive; couldn't even seem to comprehend what had happened, just that it had happened.
'I should go back. I should make sure--'
Max pressed a hand into his brothers shoulder, firmer than necessary. Dermot had given this Nick Walker the Mark. That hadn't been part of the plan. That was for territory, for those who had a fucking clue who they were playing with. What would the claret S mean to this nobody? A no doubt junked up computer hacker who wanted to play a little game. If he was dead, this mark would go viral; the police would investigate, look back to all the places this had been left and piece together their history. Luckily most of the Marks had been left in gnarled, pale skin back in Ireland, but all the same it was a worry.
This was the problem with Dermot. He was overwhelmingly powerful, but his conscience pushed him past sanity. Max relished the moment he had stepped over that line and welcome insanity like ice cold water on a scorching day. He hadn't wanted to turn around, no remorse gnawing at his insides, only clarity, of his potential. People were capable of being so much more if they just let go. So many people nowadays were fickle, wavering; Max was sure... had been sure. Until Charlie.
Shaking his head, Max rid himself of the notion that finally after all these years, he wanted to be good again. He didn't, not really... and that wasn't even the issue... his mind swirled to a stand still. Dermot was the problem, and he needed shoving back onto the correct path.
'I'll sort it.' Max murmured, then cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. Like I always do, he wanted to add, but didn't.
'Remember, remember before, Max? And I had to go talk to that quack, because my head was such a fuckin' mess.'
Max grit his teeth as Dermot babbled, and leaned against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut whilst memories transported him. His brother was falling down a dangerous hole, and for the briefest of moments, Max was following. He didn't need reminding of the days Susie would fuck with his head and Dermot would pay hundreds of euro just to talk about it. The shrinks he spoke to were always big eyed, with glasses balancing on petite noses, lashes fluttering in understanding which Max merely found condescending.
'Take this.' Max had urged, handing over a suitcase full of money. 'Put it in the bank and get a better fuckin' shrink. One that doesn't look like she moonlights for Irelands answer to Hooters.' he'd demanded, shoving the case roughly. 'I don't condone this bollocks, but nothing else works for you. So do it. Get it out of ya' system and come back to me dearthair.'
There had almost been a threat there. Max didn't do second chances, and he didn't do fucking therapy. If Dermot hadn't sorted himself that year, Max didn't know what would have happened, but they wouldn't be here.
'I think there's something really wrong with me.' Dermot whispered, his voice fragile.
'It's like you're drowning, but they all think you're just waving.' Max said absently as the real world faded back into existence. 'I was much too far out all my life and not waving, but drowning.' he quoted, looking up to meet Dermot's gaze. 'Life is struggling against the current, brother, but I know you're strong enough to beat it.'
The two held the heavy silence and Max didn't know what to say. Dermot merely trembled like a leaf, struggling to sit still on the stool Max had pointed to. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he placed it in front of Dermot and sighed. 'You haven't done that shit in years. You went too hard, too fast, alright? It... can be fixed.' Max hesitated there, glancing over his shoulder at the world below. 'But this can't happen again, you understand, Dermot?' Max asked, his gaze showing no mercy. 'Rialú é.' Max whispered and pushed himself away from the table. Control it. 'There's a gym downstairs. If you can't sleep, then burn it off until you can. I've got some calls to make.'
When Dermot finally left, Max pulled out his phone and set a new plan into motion. He was surprised how he had managed to cage his frustration, but he knew Dermot couldn't handle the accusations right now and Max couldn't risk losing him on his side. He did love Dermot, in the sense that you have to love your siblings, so would protect him to an extent. Do anything for him? That was a different question Max didn't want to comprehend until the time came. If it came.
'I don't care what time it fuckin' is.' Max responded to a disgruntled greeting, his phone in the cradle and the speaker carrying through the lounge. 'You do remember who you work for, don't you, Inspector Shaw?' Max drawled and took the spluttering on the other end as confirmation. 'I need a favour.' he grinned.
As the time past, Max took himself off to the bathroom and let the rainfall shower cascade over him as if he were in another country. Sometimes he wished he'd have bought a house in Costa Rica or Florida, somewhere with sun and life. He could be on a beach right now, with a woman leaning besides him, topless, a sweet little wrap around a tiny waist. Maybe there could be a dog. Perhaps there was the sound of little feet crunching sand as they pattered towards him... Max opened his eyes, staring at the tiles as if they had invaded his thoughts.
He was getting tired of these visions.
Wrapping a towel around his middle, he wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked at himself, really looked. He needed to focus. Dermot was a wreck alone, and Max wasn't fortunate enough to have anyone to guide him if he went astray. Opening the cupboard he pulled out some small green coated pills and popped two of them with a wince. A sedative that offered the same rush as heroin without the tract lines and disgust. As he walked around his apartment, Max wondered if anyone had decided to act yet. If Lara was crying, if Pete Dunham had left her yet. What was Nora doing, and Jock, the bastard.
Max scoffed at the memory of them all, so weak and pathetic with their idealistic hope of a love filled world. Their own selfish deeds were their only undoing, Max was merely joining in for the ride.
A knock at the door and he stilled, glancing cautiously. Moving towards the large frame, he flicked on the camera hovering just outside and saw a figure leaning awkwardly against the wall. He looked relatively young, perhaps Aoife or George Turner's age. Hands in his pocket, he glanced around before knocking again. 'Mr Sullivan?' he called and Max slowly opened the door.
Luke Winter's looked up with big eyes, as if he had just been introduced to God himself. A week or so again he had been introduced to Lawrence's uncle, and now he was being offered jobs?
'What about your nephew. Can't he do it?' Luke had asked when he'd first gotten the call. Bluffing, and they both knew it; he loved the opportunity to score.
'What about him?' had been the reply.
Luke had dressed up smart, neatened his beard, ran some cream through his hair. His skin glowed from a recent facial and his eyes were sharp, ready for work. He was wearing a light blue shirt beneath a beige coat, camel coloured trousers contrasting nicely. One thing he cared about more now was appearance and he could happily say he was one of the best dressed men in London. Some people though if you had the money you shouldn't spend it, but what was the point in wealth if it stayed hidden? Luke had heard about Max Sullivan and knew he was a man who could understand his point.
'I'm Luke Winters.' he introduced himself, holding out a hand.
Max examined him for a moment and slowly Luke lowered it back to his side. 'I know.'
'You just don't look like you were expecting me.'
'You're late.' Max purred and Luke narrowed his eyes a little, knowing he was exactly on time, but didn't argue. 'Come in.' he called, turning away before he could say anything more. Moving into the bedroom, he came out quickly dressed in a pair of smart trousers, a plain white t-shirt over his shoulders. 'Do you want a drink?' he asked as found Luke examining the place. 'Do you remember me?'
'Italian marble.' he mused, running his fingers along the worktop. 'Nice.'
'Do you?' Max repeated as he poured the two of them a whiskey.
Luke nodded hesitantly. 'Yeah.'
Of course he remembered the worst day of his life. 'I appreciate the lesson you taught me.' he replied slowly. 'I'm different now.'
'You better be.' Max flashed a dangerous look before smirking. He didn't give a fuck what this little runt did, as long as he didn't turn on him. Aoife had been spiraling, and Max had needed Dermot on his side back then. Part of him regretted punching a young boy in the face, but he had been taking the piss. 'You reminded me of me when I was young, actually.'
'I respect you. Like I hope you can respect me.' Luke retorted, struggling not to waiver. He knew this man was big, this job was big, but he also knew you had to pretend to have balls even when you didn't to impress the big dogs. 'This is what I got.' Luke threw a brown file on the table, taking the glass as it was pushed towards him. 'Nick Walker doesn't exist.'
'I figured.' Max sighed, flipping through the pages. 'Brian got you these?' he asked, looking at the photographs of Nick's apartment. 'Did they find a body?'
'No, but they think the amount of blood loss shows he's more than likely dead.'
'More than likely isn't' certain.' Max mimicked with a roll of his eyes. 'What's this?' he asked, picking up a roll of film. A few photographs fell out of the folder too and he picked one up, turning it over. 'Were these his?' Max asked and Luke nodded.
'Look's like he's just some perv. There's pictures on there of half naked women, and there's endless amounts back at the station.'
'Do the police have copies of these?' Max asked, fumbling with one image in particular.
Luke nodded his head, sipping the whiskey and relishing in the fieriness. 'Brian thought you'd like those.' he shrugged. 'Do you?'
One of the images was a house he knew, the lights off in all but one room, the very top bedroom. The trees were full and green, and the lamplight flickered, a blurry patch on the left corner. This man wasn't the best photographer, but he had caught something special. A woman was standing in the window, staring down with a forlorn look on her face; behind her, a tall, broad man with a red beard. And on the street, almost faded out of view was Dermot leaving on the right. Nora was the woman in the image and the man behind her was Jock fucking Sullivan.
Grinning, Max looked up at Luke and raised a glass. 'You did well.' he announced and the two cheered to a job well done. Luke Winter didn't have a clue what was happening, but he felt exhilarated. If Aoife Sullivan was going to deny him, he could get to her another way.
----
The panic was still there as Rosa flinched away, and it was frustrating Carter. He felt wound up. Momentarily he had lost himself but rage was simmering inside and he wondered if Jock dared to come outside and challenge him, if he would be able to hold himself back. It had been a long night and he was exhausted. To have kept her in such a pathetic and dim room, as if she were the convict? Rosa hiding herself from the world, feeling ashamed, overwhelmed and unloved. It was inhumane, and the way that Irish prick had sauntered to the door had made Carter sick.
He would get Jock Sullivan back for what he had done.
There was no valid argument for what had happened; no reason to believe the only way she could be protected was to be in that room. That hole. As they were fucking, Carter felt the worn patches of carpet, the way the chest of drawers rocked unevenly. There was nothing safe about this safe space, everything was falling apart. A few bolts on a door were barely anything to keep any supposed psychopaths away. Why not a expensive hotel, with a concierge and security? Why not a different part of the country? Why not call the police? And Carter knew, as he looked at Rosa and she craved to scratch at her already red wrist, that it was something illegal.
Carter had made the mistake of falling in love with someone involved in something wrong. No, he faltered in his thoughts; it wasn't a mistake, it was merely a hurdle. It could be worked around. He could help her! Save her.
'You don't understand. Jock isn't the problem.' Rosa insisted and Carter grabbed her hands and holding them in his so she couldn't irritate her wrists further.
'He also isn't the solution.' Carter murmured, and they fell silent for the remainder of the journey. It was hard, because she was hurting, but he couldn't understand. There was obviously so much he didn't know.
The taxi finally stopped and Carter paid the driver, slipping a kindly tip in before joining Rosa on the path. She looked like a startled deer and he hoped once inside, she would calm down. Inside, he locked the door and flipped on the alarm, turning all the lights on in unison so no darkened corner could cause panic. He knew too well what it was like, to believe danger was lurking in every shadow.
'I'll get you a drink.' Carter squeezed her shoulder as he passed, placing a gentle kiss on the side of her head. She still smelt like fresh shampoo.
Moving to the drinks cabinet he poured both of them a whiskey with a twist of orange. Almost every inch of him wanted to sleep, wrapping himself round her delicate body, feeling the warmth and the satisfaction of protecting her. But Carter knew if Rosa didn't talk about things now, she probably never would.
'I have a lot of things to tell you.' her voice was small as he offered her a drink. She looked so fragile sat in the armchair, as if it were going to swallow her.
'Take your time.' Carter assured her as he sat down opposite. 'You can tell me anything, okay?'
Carter watched her as Rosa looked desperately into space, wishing the right words to find her tongue and merely tumbling on fractured memories. Was she trying to make it sound better or worse? Was she choosing what to leave out, what to lie about? Just as she had to trust him, Carter had to trust Rosa would be honest.
'Um. My mum’s ex-boyfriend, the copper. He raped me when I was fifteen. And for a while after. It gave me nightmares, and then um I met Nick in a bar.”
What?
Carter felt his stomach tighten, blood instantly rushing to his ears. His mind whirred so fast he struggled to listen to the words. A bull seeing red, he was thrown back to one of the big jobs he had done years ago. A serial sex offender, they had had a tip off where he was living and that he'd gotten a girl in his basement. The tip was correct, but the girl was dead; tied to a rusting pole, legs spread and knees bruised. Carter had barely hesitated before running back up the stairs and to the van. Two officers were preparing to load him in when Carter tackled him from behind, pummelling his skull as if it were a grapefruit.
When he was finally pulled away, the man could barely see for the blood running in his eyes and Carters chest felt tight. Back at the station, no one said anything as Carter sat in silence, picked the blood from his nails and replayed flickers of the little blonde eleven year old, now blurred into his retinas. The man in question didn't say anything when questioned on his battered face, and none of the officers could explain it either. Predators always knew what they were doing was wrong; that was why they enjoyed it so much.
For a while after that Carter wasn't allowed on any of the cases concerning children or women. He stayed with walking the streets, checking for break ins and drug smuggling. The things that didn't hit deep. He had seen dark things, but abusers never had a justified reason for their actions. They were just sick and Carter wanted to stomp every one of them out. Swallowing, he looked up at Rosa, knowing any flicker of alarm would halt the story.
'I mean I moved out, got a job at a pub. Nick started me on the smack. It took the nightmares away.'
'I understand.' Nick nodded slowly, clenching his fist by his side, the other downing his drink. 'I'm going to get another.' he told her as he stood up. 'Please, carry on.'
With his back to her, Carter clenched his eyes shut and tried not to imagine the torment she had been through. To not ask, yet, for a name or number of who this man had been, to lock him up, to break his skull. Pouring another heavy whiskey, he turned back but didn't sit. Rosa was picking at herself again and he felt uneasy. Coping mechanisms.
'Then he started making me do stuff for my fixes. Um sleep with um men for money.' Her voice cracked and so did his heart.
Carter took a shaky breath, still standing. How was he going to handle this? His heart was beating so fast he felt sick; the whiskey burn helped a little. Should he treat her like she had come to him, as an officer? Run through the protocol? Rosa wasn't telling him to catch anyone though, she was telling him so she could breathe again. 'And Jock?' Carter asked after a while.
Moving towards her, Carter got on his knees in front of her and took her hands in his. 'I want you to know that none of this is your fault.' he said calmly, looking to meet her gaze. 'You need to believe that, so you can make it through this. I see it all the time. I know you don't want to be seen as the victim, and you're not. You are so strong for still being kind, when the world has been so cruel.' he gave a small smile. 'Querrera. It means warrior.'
'He liked to um take pictures of me.'
He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know more. Carter wanted to hurt someone.
'I saw the pictures.' his voice was low. 'Some of them. Nick sent me them to me. Itall makes sense now. The fucking prick!' throwing his half-full glass at the wall, Carter instantly regretted acting out and flashed an apologetic look. 'I-I can't...' he was shaking his head, unable to fathom why someone would be so twisted. 'I'm so sorry, Rosa. I am so sorry that he did this to you. That they hurt you.'
As he knelt up and stared at her, Carter wondered if he should tell her what /he/ knew. 'Rosa?' rubbing his thumb in her palm, he gave a faint smile. 'I had a call earlier, from work. I asked to be told if anyone heard anything on Nick Walker.' he saw her eyes flare and raised a hand in defence. 'I'm looking out for you.' he reassured her. 'Do you trust me?' he asked before going on. 'There was a call made from his flat, a disturbance of some kind. When they got there, there was blood everywhere. They think he's dead, Rosa. If not dead, then seriously injured.' a beat. 'Bastardo got what he deserved.'
As the reality of it all sank in, Carter took her glass and placed it on the table. 'Let's go to bed, please.' He gave a small whine as he lifted her up into his arms, a firemans hold. 'I don't care what you did in your past, I just care that you're in my future.' scrunching his nose he laughed. 'Was that cheesy? I don't care. You heard me earlier, right? No one is going to harm you again. And anyone that did will pay for it and if Nick Walker isn't dead, I'll kill him myself.' he murmured beneath his breath.
The next few days he called in sick. Carter and Rosa lay in bed, sprawled in various positions beneath Egyptian cotton sheets. They bathed and showered together, played monopoly and chess. Rosa read from a poetry book Carter vehemently denied was his; it was nice. In the night he would kiss her back up and down, letting his fingers run across her creamy skin. When the sun rose in the morning he would watch the oranges and yells cascade across her face, her eyes sleepily watching him, urging him closer.
This was where she was protected. This was where Rosa was safe.
'Does Robbie know where you are?' Carter asked one day as they sat across the table eating pancakes. 'I haven't told him about us. I... I didn't know what to say.' he admitted. 'I didn't know how you felt. I'm sorry.' sipping his coffee, he watched the world below and gave a gentle sigh. 'Does he know about this? About Nick and... when you were younger?' Carter guessed the answer was no before she answered. 'He loves you, you know? If you would've told him...' his words drifted off. 'You did what you had to, to survive.' pushing from the table, Carter came to stand behind Rosa. She was wearing one of his shirts and it had slipped off her shoulder, revealing faint bite marks from the previous night. 'Call him. Invite him out to dinner. I'm tired of home cooking, aren't you?' he teased.
His intentions had been to get up and get dressed, but as he walked away a sudden urge came over him and Carter found himself stalking back. Picking Rosa up from the chair, he headed straight into the bedroom and threw her on the fresh sheets. 'I couldn't help myself.' he apologised, kissing her all over and enjoying the giggles that left her lips. 'I love it when you laugh.' Carter whispered against her neck, then dipping a hand between her thighs. 'I love it even more when you moan.' he teased.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on May 28, 2021 4:37:57 GMT -5
I was much too far out all my life and not waving, but drowning.
These words circled Dermot’s head as he headed to the gym. It was underground, below the car park, and expansive; it rivalled the best gyms in London with the amount of equipment alone. Excessive for one man, but then Max had always been excessive. And now Dermot was too. Because that’s what had happened tonight. He’d gone too far, too hard, too fast. Max was right. He needed to control this.
He didn’t control it when he was young. He used it to his advantage, to make people fear the Sullivan name. After Da had blown himself up and Dermot had seen his flesh dot the canal bank. A white explosion before it rained claret. How long had Dermot stood, staring, his face splattered with his father’s blood? Not even his newborn daughter at home had been able to save him then.
Dermot hit the treadmill, his t-shirt hung over the rail as he ran. Focused on each breath, the forceful way his heart beat, the way his lungs expanded for air. Did his best to focus on the physical and not the mental. Not the shattered images passing through his mind as he ran; the remains of DA’s body, Nick on his back pulsing blood, the look on Nora’s face when she realised he’d lied all this time. Gritting his teeth, Dermot upped the speed and ran harder. He ran until sweat rolled off his body and he was gasping for air and his legs were jelly...
He slammed the button on the treadmill and it slowed to a stop. Dermot leaned forward, his head on his arms as he squeezed his eyes against the sting of perspiration. Each ragged breath tore his throat and he focused on that pain and not the pain in his heart. And he realised, now, that he’d never really gotten better. He’d just put his past into a little box and sealed it away. But the past never stayed dead and he should have known that by now. Like Pandora’s Box, it had burst open and unleashed his personal horrors back into the world.
Dermot exercised for another hour, until finally he couldn’t take anymore. Exhaustion bit at him, body aching in every place imaginable. But his brain was wired, and it was with a heavy gut, that he made his way back upstairs, his shirt thrown over one shoulder. As he hit the upper level, he heard voices. Max and somebody unfamiliar; a Londoner, a local. Dermot slowed as he reached the door, unseen but able to listen.
'Did they find a body?'
'No, but they think the amount of blood loss shows he's more than likely dead.'
'More than likely isn't' certain. What's this?' Dermot heard the papery shuffle of an envelope. ’Were these his?'
‘Look's like he's just some perv. There's pictures on there of half naked women, and there's endless amounts back at the station.'
Dermot edged away from the door, shame settling in his gut. Max was sorting it, just like he said he would. But the police hadn’t found a body? What did this mean? Had Nick escaped? Had somebody found him? He lost the rest of the conversation as he fell into his thoughts, leaning back against the wall and shutting his eyes. The police would be all over this now, then the papers. A murder scene with no body would make huge news across the country. Had he even stopped to make sure he’d left no trace? “Fuck,” he murmured, throat working. Inside the room, Max slipped the photograph of Nora and Jock in a safe place, before refilling his glass. Dermot entered the room.
“Celebrating, are we?” He asked, eyeing the newcomer distastefully. He’d heard the chink of glasses a moment before he’d opened the door, had seen the smiles on both their faces. As with everything, it was business as usual. Never mind the fact he’d possibly murdered a man today. Crossing to the cabinet, he helped himself to a glass of scotch and knocked it back. Turning, he looked hard at Luke; expensive clothes, smartly dressed, smelling of expensive cologne. Where did Max find these people? Like maggots, they just seem to multiple. Realising he didn’t actually want to be here, he slammed his glass down and walked back out. He was done with today. He was done with everything.
In bed, he lay and stared at the ceiling as he had done every night. And when he slept, he dreamt he was stood at the edge of an abyss. The ground at his feet crumbled as he balanced on the edge, arms out to balance himself. He knew it would only take a step. One little step into nothingness. He didn’t want to take it. He was afraid. It was so dark, so deep.
Jump, deartháir. He heard his brother’s voice. I’ll catch you. Dermot shook his head, panic gripping him. “I can’t.”
“I said jump,” Max snarled, appearing behind him and shoving him hard, and then Dermot was falling and falling...
The next morning, he showered and left earlier. He could barely remember his dreams the amount of times he’d woken. At one point, he swore he still had blood on his hands. He needed to see her. He couldn’t take it anymore. Avoiding Max on the way out, he took a Mercedes and headed straight for the school. She’d be in there now, he hoped, getting the class ready for the day. He walked across the familiar car park, down the corridors until he found her classroom. He saw her through the glass, sorting worksheets on her desk. Her dark hair was pulled up, and she wore a light bit of make-up, but nothing on what she normally did.
Had it really been six days? It felt like it had been an eternity, an absolute lifetime. Last week, he’d held her in his arms and kissed her, made love to her in their bed, laughed along with her jokes. His heart ached at the mere sight of her. He didn’t know what he was going to say, what he could say. But he couldn’t hide for ever and she deserved better. He’d more or less abandoned her and that didn’t help the guilt already eating away at him. Swallowing hard, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Nora.”
She looked up at him. Dark eyes widening as she straightened, losing grip in the sheaf of paper in her hand; it scattered over the desk, a few spiralling to the floor. He hurried forward. “Let me help you.” He picked them up, setting them now, the awkwardness stretching between them and each tried to find something to say. It should never have been like this. “I wanted... I need to say how sorry I am. That I did this to you,” he said quietly.
***
Rosa saw the pain in his face the moment before he composed himself. She wondered how many times he’d heard stories like hers, from abused and terrified women, from women desperately on the edge, from women with nothing else to live for. For a brief second panic overwhelmed her and she regretted saying anything at all. This would change things. How, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it would. Carter had his back to her now, an empty whiskey glass to hand, and she could see the tension in his back and shoulders. She’d barely touched hers and she suddenly felt sick. What if he saw her differently? What if all he saw was a whore and not Rosa? She swore her heart broke a little at the thought.
“And Jock?”
Rosa glanced at her wrists, focusing on the small droplets of blood oozing from the scratches. For the first time since Carter arrived, she was desperate for another fix. She didn’t want these memories back, memories and a past she’d done everything she could to run from. To forget. “Jock saved me, I guess. We met in Rehab, I went for a little while. Nick didn’t think I’d manage it and he was right. He was always right... I think.” Rosa gave a weak shrug. “Jock got me out of there, brought me back to London and gave me a fresh start. If I hadn’t met him...” She squeezed her eyes shut against the burn of fresh tears. If she hadn’t met Jock, where would she have been now? How many other girls would have been hurt or killed? How many had in her absence? Carter moved towards her, kneeling down and taking her hands in his. So much larger than her own, and warm. She clutched them tightly as if they were the lifeline she needed to save herself from drowning.
“I want you to know that none of this is your fault. You need to believe that, so you can make it through this... Querrera. It means warrior.”
She listened to him speak, tears trailing down her cheeks. Carter smiled at her, a soft and warming smile that made the vice around her chest loosen. She’d never thought of herself like that. A warrior. A survivor. Not a victim. But when she mentioned the photos, his next words had her recoiling, her hands slipping from his as the horror spread over her features. “Y-You’ve seen them?” He explained about Nick, Nick’s texts more importantly and she wondered what else Nick had said. Carter had only seen some of them, but which ones? Her heart began to pound again and she wanted to be sick. Sick, sick, sick. Carter’s voice was low and she sensed his swirling anger the moment before he threw his glass. It shattered, a thousand sparkling shards littering the hardwood floor and making her jump. He looked at her apologetically, though she could see how tense he was. She knew he was angry because he cared, because he loved her. This man would never hurt her, would never dream of doing what Nick, or any of the other countless men, had done. Carter was a protector, a fighter for justice, and the only person she could ever see a future with.
She took his hands again, smiling weakly as he gently brushed his thumb over her palm. “You don’t have to be sorry, Carter,” she murmured, looking back at him. “I’m sorry, for not being honest earlier. For not coming to you instead of hiding... I’m just scared. But more than that, I’m exhausted. Exhausted of running, of always looking over my shoulder.” She longed for simplicity and peace. A life of love and laughter, not trauma and heartache. Could she have that with Carter? She’d never even been this honest with Jock. He knew she hated the police, but not about the rape. And he knew Nick was an arsehole, but didn’t know the extent of what he’d done. Not really. The surface stuff was bad enough. Why was it so easy to spill her heart and soul to Carter? It should have been difficult, yet her words had spilled like a waterfall; flowing and relentless.
But there was more. Carter asked if she trusted him and she gave him a sharp look. “Of course I trust you, Carter, I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anybody.” And it was the truth. There was something so easy and good about being around him, being in his presence. When he smiled at her, it was as if it lit her up from the inside. Now as Carter explained about the call from work, she felt a little lightheaded. One face swam in her mind’s eye, one person who would be capable of killing Nick Walker. One person who would have enjoyed every moment, who wouldn’t have waited for the police to solve anything. Jock. Had he done this? Had he gone after Nick and dealt out a bit of Irish justice? It wouldn’t surprise her and she wondered if Carter was thinking the same thing. If Jock had... then Rosa would have to protect him at all costs.
“Do you think he’s dead?” she whispered, struggling to wrap her mind around it. Nick had been attacked, that much was clear. And if he had fled badly injured, where would he go? To hospital? Would he go to the police against Jock, even though he too detested them? Or would he be sitting and planning his revenge somewhere? No. She had to think rationally. If Jock had attacked him, he wouldn’t leave a body around for anybody to find. She’d heard enough stories about maggot farms to know what he’d do. Nick was dead, he had to be. Especially if it was at Jock’s hand. He’d killed Nick for her.
“Bastardo got what he deserved.”
Nick was dead. He’d never be able to hurt her again. And with Carter by her side, maybe she could have a good future after all? Rosa nodded, allowing Carter to lift her to her feet. Sleep sounded wonderful right then. Suddenly, he picked her up over his shoulder and she let out a squeal, gripping the back of his shirt. And then she was giggling, his hold on her strong and secure.
“I don’t care what you did in your past, I just care that you’re in my future.... No one is going to harm you again.”
Carter’s words literally took her breath away. As he carried her upstairs, she clung to him and thought them over and over, and when he lowered her to her feet in his bedroom, Rosa gazed up at him in wonderment. How ever had she gotten so lucky? She’d thought she knew men, yet Carter was the opposite to everything she’d grown to believe. His honesty brought out hers, his confidence and surety made her feel secure and uplifted. She’d noticed it at the museum. She’d been so intent on hating him, on rejecting him and pushing him away, but by the end of the day, in the space of a few short hours, she’d fallen in love. Rosa reached up, touching Carter’s jaw, searching his eyes. Then she leaned close and kissed him, savouring the softness of his mouth and the way he felt against her.
That night was one of the most peaceful she’d ever had. Carter tended her to wrists, cleaning them up and wrapping them tenderly in bandages. Then they undressed and lay in bed together, the darkness swallowing them. It really felt like it was just the two of them in the whole world. They didn’t leave the apartment for a few days, Carter calling in sick, and though she didn’t admit it, she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to be alone, not yet. During their time, she began to learn more about him, his endearing little habits and quirks, his dreams and fears. Her toothbrush joined his. He taught her chess - though Rosa was pretty sure if he asked for another game, he’d have to explain it all over again anyway. Reading, drawing, She knew in the back of her mind that he was keeping her busy, keeping her mind focused. When the itching grew worse and the cravings too ferocious, he’d hold her against his chest, reciting quotes from books and literature, or recall things his mother used to say to him. Or sometimes he’d just speak Spanish and she’d calm down as she listened, no clue as what he was saying but appreciating it none the less.
More and more, she opened up to him. Found every time that it was easier. At night when they were lay entwined, she’d stare at him as if he was the most wondrous thing in the world. To her, he truly was. Beautiful, inside and out. One morning, they sat eating pancakes. Rosa was decorating hers with quartered strawberries to make a face, when he looked over at her.
“Does Robbie know where you are? I haven’t told him about us. I... I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
Robbie. Rosa shook her head, putting down the strawberry and glancing away as she felt a tsunami of guilt engulf her. Since she’d arrived she’d made no attempt to speak to anybody. Jock had her phone for a start, but she knew there were other ways she could have got a hold of them. Would they be worried about her? Surely Robbie was used to her disappearing act by now? But did that make it better or worse? “He doesn’t know,” she replied slowly. “I haven’t spoken to him yet.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was a bad sister. At his other question, she shook her head, then sighed and forced herself to look at him. “Robbie idolised him when we was young. He used to take Robbie out fishing, or camping. For him, it was like having a real dad in the house and... And I didn’t want to take that away from him. And I don’t think he would have believed me anyway. Brian was never nasty to him, or nasty to me in front of him. That was always saved for when we were alone.”
Rosa shrugged softly, her palms clammy just talking about it. “I tried to tell a teacher once, but I never did good in school and I ran away a lot, even before mum got with him. But they didn’t believe me. He just told them that I was making it up to make him leave my mum. Cause I was jealous.” Tears swam. “I wasn’t jealous.”
“You did what you had to, to survive.”
Rosa nodded, watching as Carter got to his feet and moved around the back of her. When he mentioned inviting Robbie over, she looked up at him nervously. “... Okay.” Then more firmly. “Yeah, actually, I will.” What did she have to fear anymore? Nick was dead. Brian couldn’t hurt her now, he was in the past. And she’d finally found the man of her dreams. Why shouldn’t they go out for dinner? It would be nice. Normal. Normal was good. Carter had gone to walk away, but, within a few strides, was back. He picked her off the chair with ease, and she let slip an excited squeal as she looped her arms around his neck. Straight upstairs, giggling as he dumped her down on the bed. She grinned back up at him, hair fanned, the scent of him fresh on the sheets around her.
He was above her in moments, murmuring his apology against her neck and Rosa giggled, squirming beneath him though making sure to capture him with her thighs. “I love it when you look at me like that,” she replied softly, catching his dark gaze before she kissed him, drawing him down above her as his hand sought the warmth between her thighs. A small gasp as she lifted her hips, suddenly desperate for his touch.
“I love it even more when you moan.”
Could he honestly get any sexier? The husky tone to his words sent a thrill through her, the ministrations of his fingers causing liquid heat to pool. He pushed aside the material easily, finding her hot and wanton. Their kisses grew more heated as she worked to ease off his tee, her own dressing gown loosening at the waist. She kissed his jaw, her fingers tangling in his dark curls. She moaned when he entered her, his hand hooking her thigh higher up, sinking deeper into her. She loved this. The feel of his hands in her body, knotting in her hair, his mouth sending shivers through her. Her nails dug into his back as she drew him closer, her head thrown back as they moved together.
And more than loving this, she loved him. She couldn’t see her life without him anymore. Any idea she had included him, any visualisation of the future... Carter was there. She wanted to wake up every morning at his side for the rest of her life. She wanted to cuddle up every evening, where they’d talk about their day, knowing no matter how hard, nor how shit it was, none of it mattered because they had each other. This was love. Real love. Real hot messy love that would make or break them. And she didn’t even care about that part. Because even if it all ended badly, what she’d learnt from him already, the tools he’d given her... those were precious things she held and would never let go of. Rosa cupped her jaw, meeting his gaze as he thrust into her, his movements growing more frantic the closer they came to the edge. Leaning up, she kissed him again, tongue sliding against his before she sucked teasingly on his bottom lip. She saw his face scrunch as he came, sweat heading down his back, his breath coming in shuddery pants. Rosa giggled as he collapsed against her, keeping her thighs wound tight around his waist to hold him in place.
“I love you,” she whispered.
A little while later, while Carter showered, Rosa sat drying her hair in front of the mirror. Carter had ordered her a new phone which had come in the post that morning, and she taken Robbie’s number off his phone and added it. Turning off the hair drier, she put it down and picked up the phone. She spent a few minutes sat with her finger over the call button before deciding to chicken out and message him instead. Hey, Robbie, it’s Rosa. Just want you to know I’m safe. Sorry for disappearing again, this will be the last time. I want to be better, do better. Be a better sister. I just want you to know I love you so much. Please come to Nandos (the one near Carter) tonight at 7pm so I can make it up to you xxxx
She sent the message, then set the phone down and let out a shaky breath. Looking at herself in the mirror, she held her own gaze. “Things are gonna be better from now on, Rosa,” she told herself.
***
Robbie day in the restaurant that evening and couldn’t help but feel nervous. The past few days had been... weird. Rosa going missing on the same day Nick Walker’s body goes walkies from the flat his bosses were sure he’d been murdered in. “With this much blood,” the white-suited forensic officer had said at the scene, “there’s no way he’s walking. There are drag marks by the door. Somebody definitely removed a body.” Everything else in the flat had been trashed. Hard drives and computers, all of which were now being run through down at the station. Robbie has been a mess after that. No answer on Rosa’s phone, no matter how many times he called, until the thing was turned off and he hadn’t been able to get through at all. And then Carter had suddenly taken sick for the first time in like... ever? And even then he’d barely been answering messages and only rarely picked up the phone.
There was something going on. He didn’t know what, but he felt it in every fibre of his being. So when he’d got the text from an unknown number claiming to be Rosa, he was suspicious. Yet here he was, anxiously waiting and glancing at the clock every two minutes. Was it actually her and if it was, would she come? And maybe more importantly... had she killed Nick? It had been playing around his mind for a while now, the idea that it could have been her. But how would Rosa have moved a body? With help. And she wouldn’t exactly be short on help, the types of people she hung out with.
Another part of the text had puzzled him too. The Nando’s near Carter. Carter. Not ‘that copper from the hospital’ or even ‘Officer Rivera’, but Carter.
The bell above the door jingled as it opened and he stood, his widening and a look of pure confusion filling his face when Rosa did indeed walk in, followed by Carter. Well, fuck.
What was going on!?
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 30, 2021 9:24:51 GMT -5
When Carter was younger, he had a habit of bringing injured animals home. A mouse, a bird with a broken wing, a puppy found in a crumpled cardboard box outside a bus stop. He caught butterflies as a child, snatched them in mason jars to awe over their beauty before letting them go. Scooped up fish from the murky rivers and freed them into a washing up bowl on the kitchen side. He learnt how to wrap up an animals broken leg, pinned it, tied gauze around a splint.
If something in their block of flats was broken, he would fix it. A loose handrail, a wonky door knocker, a smashed in window; Carter would sling a bag of second hand tools over his shoulder and get to work. On the second floor he could recall a couple of old Indian ladies who always opened their door when he passed and joked they had some work for him. Batting their almost transparent lashes and cackling.
Then there was Nina who lived a few doors down. She was 100% Puerto Rican fire. Her boyfriend was some broad shouldered arrogant white man who thought he owned the world, and didn't deserve what ten year old Carter thought /was/ the world. Nina had the longest dark hair and piercing green eyes; the sweetest smile. The faintest of bruises blooming on her upper arm that morning and the plumpness of her bottom lip dampened by broken flesh.
'Be careful.' his mother murmured one day as Carter dropped his bag and went to grab a snack from the kitchen. 'No puedes arreglar todo.'
You can't fix everyone.
That was what she would say of Rosa, he knew. Because she cared. Because his mother believed she knew him better than anyone; could read the eagerness of his soul to do good. But life had changed him, if only slightly. From the second he had laid eyes on Rosa Croft, Carter knew it wasn't saving that she needed or wanted. Nina on the other hand had craved protection, and when Carter saw her figure being taken down the stairs in a body bag, he had regretted not acting sooner.
'It wasn't your job.' his mother warned him as he paced dramatically through the kitchen with the weight of a thousand years on his shoulders. 'You're just a boy.'
'Someone has to do something.' he snapped, and then steadied himself. 'Lo siento, madre.' Carter sighed, sitting down beside her. /Sorry, mother/.
'I know you want to help, chico dulce. But this world is not kind to those that get involved. If you are not careful, one day you will get hurt and there will be no one to save you.'
'Won't you save me?' he teased and she wrapped her arm around his small shoulders, kissing the gentle curls on his head.
'Siempre.'
Always.
She would say that Carter had a problem with fixing things, but the moment his mother saw Rosa's ferocity she would understand. Both of them would be awe struck by the sweetness of her mouth but the sureness of the words that left. The look in her eye that displayed a thousand journeys in such a short lifetime; an experienced, yet still soft soul. Rosa couldn't be as hard as she wished because her heart was too kind and now Carter had earned it, he would never let it go.
Carter made sure he text his mother every day. They always said good morning and goodnight, and they always said they loved one another. She was in a nicer home now, big and protected, and her new partner seemed genuine and safe. A quick background check had shown nothing suspicious, and after a few months Carter had let his shoulders sink into the realisation not everything was a threat.
When would he tell her about Rosa?
They fucked so intensely, Carter could barely stand as they both stepped into the shower, the cool water washing away the sweat and scent of one another. Rosa kissed his chest, his shoulders, their bodies pressed so closely their shadows merged.
'I love you' Rosa had cried as she'd cimaxed and the words had set his senses on fire.
'I think I loved you before I even met you.' Carter whispered when the two had laid in the bed panting. 'Like my whole life I have just been waiting for you.'
They were going to meet up with Robbie, and explain... to an extent what had happened. /Was/ happening... What /was/ happening? Carter's mind was spinning when he glanced back at the mirror and saw Rosa smiling expectantly.
'Sorry.' he smiled back. 'I feel like nervous, and I'm not sure why.' he admitted. How would he have felt, in this situation? Happy, or annoyed he wasn't confided in sooner? That permission wasn't asked, or granted.
Unsure why he felt nervous, or did he feel nervous because he was sure he was doing something wrong? More to the fact, it didn't /feel/ wrong. He didn't feel guilty.
Carter reminded himself as they both got ready, that he needed to look at the bigger picture. That Rosa was his focus, that her happiness and security was paramount to any friendship. Was that selfish, or was that just what you did when you were in love? Swallowing, he watched Rosa fuss in the mirror and a small smile tugged at his lips. She wasn't preening, with false lashes and ruby red lipstick, she was examining herself. So pure and natural, an intoxicatingly unadulterated, perfect woman.
Her cheekbones were high and strong, like her attitude. Her eyes were the deepest shade of brown, like a rich, warm coffee. A slight tint to her lips, a balm and gloss Carter already wanted to wipe off with his own mouth. Thick eyebrows framing a beautiful face, and yet Rosa wasn't seeing that. Coming behind her, he kissed the softness below her ear and smiled as he felt her relax.
'I love you.' Carter whispered.
Finally they had made it out of the door, and their hands instantly laced without consideration.
It hadn't failed to make him laugh that the past events had so easily dissipated and now what was causing him anxiety was his own friend. Carter was twelve again, standing on a girls doorstep and being interrogated by her father. He would say the truth; it had been unexpected, unintentional but inevitable.
'You okay?' he asked, looking down at Rosa who was examining the pavement like it were a maze. Her eyes focused on each crack, as if terrified she may fall. 'Hey.' he tugged her hand and she looked up at him, nervousness flitting into a brief smile. 'You deserve this. It will be fine.' Carter reassured the both of them.
When they finally got to the restaurant, they could see all the couples on the top floor, peering out at London through the large glass windows. Teenagers were in crowds on the large, round tables, chattering and laughing as they took advantage of unlimited refills. What was it like to be so young and carefree? Carter let Rosa go first, his hand touching the small of her back as she opened the door. The Afro Cuban music filtered out and gave him a small sense of calm.
Suddenly a waitress sprung out of nowhere and stopped the two of them in their path. Behind her, Carter could make out the shape of Robbie as he slowly glanced over his shoulder.
'Hello!' the waitress chimed, a handful of menus in her hand. 'Welcome to Nandos! Have you been here before?'
Carter pulled himself away from Robbie's confused gaze and swallowed. 'Huh?' he asked, his hand on Rosa's shoulder without thinking. 'We're meeting a friend.'
Rosa mumbled something about meeting her brother and how she didn't need any help and the two held gazes for a moment, an uneasy look between them. Rosa looked ready to shove the woman, and the waitress looked frazzled someone was disobeying their seating system. After a moment, the waitress blinked and passed Carter a menu.
'Come to the till when you're ready to order.' she gave a small smile before walking away.
Carter wanted to take Rosa's hand, but he also didn't want to throw their relationship in Robbie's face before it was even announced. Did he already know? Robbie felt sick in his throat, and hated the childish fear washing over him. The back of his neck was hot. The music was suddenly overwhelming and he needed a drink. /Fuck/.
Rosa greeted her brother and they all stared at one another for a moment.
'Hey, Rob.' Carter tried, unsure if he should smile and instead awkwardly grimacing. 'Mind if we take a seat?' he asked, letting Rosa sit down first.
Why was this so difficult? He could see Robbie's near jiggling restlessly beneath the table and wondered if he was nervous or angry. 'Let us explain.' Carter began just as Robbie opened his mouth.
Rosa cut across both of them then and Robbie braced himself. A sentence later and Robbie expelled his confusion with a 'When the hell did this happen?'
Putting out a hand, Carter stopped Rosa before se could say anymore. 'Can you get us some drinks, Rosa?' he pulled his card from his pocket, handing it across to her. 'Whatever you and Robbie want. I'll have a Sagre. Please.' he lowered his gaze, not asking but insisting and slowly Rosa got up. 'A beer from Portugal. 5% and as golden as their beaches.' he smiled to Robbie who wasn't returning the warmth. 'Fuck, I know, alright.' he sighed, exasperated. 'I don't know what to say, but just know how sincerely I care for your sister, alright? This wasn't planned --'
Robbie cut across him and Carter felt the heat on his neck flare.
'I didn't tell you, because I wanted to be sure!' Carter defended himself, trying to put himself in Robbie's position whilst also defending his own. 'Have you forgotten that you never even told me you had a sister, let alone to stay away from her! But I know what you were doing, man. I know why she needs protecting, and I want to help do that.'
Robbie made a point that she wasn't just another police case to which Carter rolled his eyes, resigning to the petty comments Robbie wanted to throw.
'In the beginning, she was.' Carter admitted. 'The club. I went to the hospital to check on her after. I met Jock' he scoffed at the name. 'I know what you're both doing. I mean, I think Jock is a bastarda, but I know you both care about her.' running a hand over his face, he glanced over his shoulder to see Rosa coming back with the drinks. 'I thought I was checking on her for the job, but I wasn't, Rob. I couldn't get her out of my fucking head. I still can't.' he whispered, straightening up when Rosa slammed the drinks tray down.
---
It had been six days since her world had imploded, and somehow managed to rebuild itself. Nora was glad for the distraction of the school, and the children and their small problems they thought would end them. Who would invite who to the end of year party? Would the cigarette they took behind the bike sheds kill them? Were they pregnant or just getting their period?
Over the last few days, she and Jock had just sat wrapped around one another in different rooms. One night, as Jock slept in their bed, the sheet twisted around his bare torso, Nora had tiptoed downstairs and turned the living room upside down. The sofa was in the wrong place, the table wasn't right either; there was a polaroid on the mantle she hadn't noticed before and snatching it up, she stared at Dermot's face with sick in her stomach. Nora had been drinking Jock's whiskey and jumping across the furniture, music playing in the background now skipping as the new armchair arrangement had nudged the record player.
Everything here reminded her of the lies and she slumped onto the rug, the photo burning her eyes. She hadn't been in their room since Dermot had left. Jock had taken a load of her clothes and placed them in his room, no questions asked. Dermot wasn't dead, it was just the discomfort of the betrayal. How had she not known? Perhaps it was a selfish necessity to know where she had slipped up. Why she hadn't noticed. Dermot had snuck out, taken phone calls, long drives, business meetings -- all, with a ghost. And Nora hadn't noticed. How many nights had Dermot came home and kissed her, the scent of that man upon his skin.
Forget the fact that Max could have enticed Dermot into the arms of another woman, the arms of his sadistic brother was enough.
Albeit, Nora had started to realise she hadn't noticed because she hadn't been present. Not really, for a while. Her mind consistently flicking to Jock, and then the guilt set in and the whiskey burned.
Jock padded downstairs, sleepy and confused as Nora held a zippo to the polaroid and watched it slowly burn.
'I want new furniture.' she sniffed, looking at him like an injured child. Jock had just nodded his head and sat besides her.
After that night, Nora didn't want to be broken anymore. Some of the furniture went into storage, and she got a new sofa, a new table and some bright art work for the walls. It wasn't that easy, but it was a start.
'Has he tried to speak to you?' Nora asked, and then frowned when she knew the answer. No. 'I'm going to work tomorrow.' she sighed a day later as the two of them laid in bed.
And here she was, a pile of paper in her hands. It was strange, without Pete Dunham blowing his whistle incessantly in the playground. The children chanting his name as they jumped around, giggling. The news sports teacher was a beefy, butch woman and not much entertainment. She heard the door go as she was gathering some files, but expected a small child to enter. Sometimes they liked to have lunch in her room, if they wanted to avoid someone or it was raining.
'Nora.'
It wasn't a voice she expected at all.
Suddenly her heart jolted so sharply it hurt and gasping, the papers in her hand floated to the floor like butterfly wings. Dermot was stood in the door, filling it with his strong frame and she wasn't sure what to feel.
'Let me help you.' he strode forward and Nora couldn't seem to move. She smelt his aftershave and it made her head dizzy.
Why was he here? Glancing over his shoulder, she half expected Max to be behind him, but he was alone. He looked tired, too, and a piece of her felt sad.
'I wanted... I need to say how sorry I am. That I did this to you.' his voice was quiet and Nora still couldn't find the words. She was angry, but Dermot looked broken.
'Are you okay?' she finally managed, turning away from him to put the papers on her desk, and also to put a barrier between the two of them. 'Where have you been?' she asked, turning back to him. 'Don't tell me.' she cut across 'With him.' she spat. He was stood like a helpless child. 'Do you want a seat?' she offered as Dermot stepped back to sit on the edge of a table. Nora remained standing behind her desk, unable to sit, feeling trapped.
When Dermot didn't speak for a while, she swallowed. 'Do you want the house back?' she managed to meet his gaze and was suddenly back to the beginning. Meeting him in the carpark, arranging to meet for drinks. Kissing on the hill not too far from here, and finding herself both exhilarated and afraid.
'This is where we met.' she whispered, chewing her lip. 'Funny how things come full circle.'
Then she recalled the warehouse, and Dermot being beaten and shot, leaning on her for support as they drove away from the scene with a gun beneath her seat. Perhaps she should have seen it all coming.
'Do you remember when we met?' she looked at Dermot and nodded slowly. 'I was so in love with you, it was ridiculous.' a small laugh. 'But do you remember when you almost died, for Max?' she went on, tone bitter. 'It all went down hill from there. You hate Bovver for what he did, but he wasn't even the one to blame.' she picked a petal off the sunflowers on her desk, then another. 'We were so blind.'
Then she thought about how she and Jock had ran and... the kiss when they'd believed Dermot was dead. The anger and confusion inside of her was welling like lava and Nora didn't know what to do. Could she hold this against him, after what she had done? Dermot looked so down, like an abandoned Labrador and she wanted to both hold him tight and strangle him.
'Why do you always have to try and fucking fix everything!' she yelled, shoving the books on her desk onto the floor, breathless. 'Why do you always have to help him!' tears were stinging her eyes, and glancing at the clock, she shook her head. 'You've got to go.' she murmured and when Dermot didn't move, she advanced towards him.
'Leave!' she demanded, grabbing his arm but Dermot was resolute in his position. 'You have to leave, because I can't do this.' her face was wet with tears and then the door behind them opened. A student stumbled in and Dermot did move, but to whisper something to the child before pulling a chair in front of the door.
'Dermot, what are you doing?' Nora blinked in confusion. 'You can't just come back and do what you want. You can't just break my heart again.' she sobbed as he grabbed her shoulders.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 28, 2021 4:13:54 GMT -5
Fear was a strange thing. No matter how big or small the problem, the fear was always the same. The same dry throat, the same pounding heart, the same clammy palms. That’s how Rosa felt now, as they made their way to Nando’s. Afraid. Afraid of what Robbie would think. Would he see her as a hypocrite? For all the shit she’d given him when she’d found out he was a copper? Would he approve? Did it matter if he approved? Already, in such a short amount of time, Carter meant the world to her. He’d become everything and she couldn’t survive without him. He was her new addiction and she was hooked. That was the problem with her; she was all or nothing.
I think I loved you before I even met you.
Carter’s words from earlier still swam around her mind and she focused on that, gaining strength from them. She could do this. They could do this. Inside, the restaurant was busy. They were accosted instantly by a young waitress with a plastered smile, her hair scraped back into a ponytail as she clutched menus to her chest. Before they’d come in, Carter had asked Rosa if she was okay, and she’d been unable to answer, or to hide the nervousness in her features. He’d tugged her hand gently, smiling down at her. Hey. You deserve this. It will be fine. Rosa just hoped he was right. Things between her and her brother were rocky enough as it was. The waitress tried adamantly to guide them to a table, and flustered, Rosa pushed a hand through her hair, trying to force down her growing irritation. “We don’t need help, I’m meeting my brother.” She said that at the same time Carter said, “We’re meeting a friend,” and the two exchanged quick looks. The waitress’ smile was still in place, frozen, but her eyes weren’t smiling anymore. She looked stressed, and Rosa felt a wave of irritation. Couldn’t she just get the fuck out of the way so they could talk to Robbie? God, it was worst than rehab this place. In the end, the waitress seemed to decide this wasn’t a battle she wanted to fight, and handed Carter a menu.
Come to the till when you’re ready to order.
Rosa definitely wouldn’t be ordering. She felt sick, her appetite completely gone. As soon as the waitress stepped aside, she caught sight of Robbie, alone at a table at the back. He was watching them, brows knitted together, and she couldn’t read his expression. That was worse. Rosa found her back straightening, the tension in her shoulders as she fought against the defensive tide threatening to consume her. Just stay calm. Hear him out. She repeated this mantra as they sat down at the table, legs squeaking as they scraped against the linoleum floor. Carter had greeted Robbie, but her brother was yet to say a thing. His hazel brown eyes darted from her face to Carter’s and back again. Probably waiting for the punchline. His leg was jigging beneath the table in the way it did when he was nervous or unsure. Then, he opened his mouth, but Carter raised a hand.
Let us explain.
“We’re seeing each other,” Rosa blurted out, unable to stop herself. She tilted her chin defiantly as Robbie sat up that little bit straighter. She was kind of glad that they’d chosen a public place to do this. Not that she believed Robbie would ever lash out. It was more to keep herself in check. To remember to keep her temper from boiling over.
When the hell did this happen? He demanded, shaking his head in disbelief. She could kind of see his point; the last time he had seen the two together, Rosa had been shouting at Carter furiously from her spot in a hospital bed. The memory made her flush a little; stalking off down the corridor, trying to find a way out with Carter hot on her heels. Willing to give him zero time of day. What had changed? Was it his gorgeous dark eyes, or tall, solid frame? She could have been shallow and told herself it was his exceedingly good looks. But maybe it was the way he’d undoubtedly been at her side? Believed her words even when nobody else had? He believed her when it came to Nick, and he believed her when it came to Brian. His unshakable faith in her had become everything. She watched as Carter pulled out his card, holding it out to her and asking her to get them a drink. Rosa hesitated, glancing between them, but then Carter lowered his gaze, eyes still locked with hers. Please?
Rosa bit back a huff, but took the card with a nod. “Fine.” Taking the offered card, she made her way over to the counter; the waitress from earlier was busy at the table full of teenagers, and Rosa was greeted by a woman in her late forties with a black bob and overdone lipstick, thick globs of mascara clinging to her lashes. She made her order, and as she waited, she glanced over her shoulder. Robbie and Carter were deep in conversation, neither smiling. Looking at Robbie now, she was reminded so much of when they were younger. She’d always been there, always looked out for him. She’d been the one to make sure he was at school on time, his uniform clean, lunch in his bag. She’d been the one to walk the streets looking for loose change just to be able to buy them a chippy. And she knew, deep down, that she had let him down the past few years. Disappearing from his life. Giving herself fully and unforgivably to Nick.
Nick Walker. The man who was now dead.
—
As soon as Rosa left to get drinks, Carter spoke. He’d seen the cool look on Robbie’s face, his own flushing a little under the glare. Robbie held his stare unrelenting though, his mind trying to process what was going on.
Fuck, I know, alright? This wasn’t planned-
“So why didn’t you tell me?” Robbie snapped, not willing to sit and listen to excuses. How the fuck had Carter even gotten close to her? She hated cops with a passion!
I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to be sure! Have you forgotten you never even told me you had a sister, let alone to stay away from her! But I know what you were doing, man. I know why she needs protecting and I want to help do that.
Robbie scrubbed a hand through his short hair, feeling the frustration building in him. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was angry at; it wasn’t even the idea of Carter and Rosa together. Had it been the sneaking about? Or Rosa’s absolute hypocrisy? For the way she’d made him feel ashamed to take the step into the world of law enforcement? “She ain’t just some police case, Rivera.” However, he still fell quiet as Carter began to explain; how she had been at first, after the incident at the club. How he’d checked on her, how he’d met Jock. Even Robbie had to nod when he called Jock a bastarda. He knew why they were protecting Rosa and who from...
I couldn’t get her out of my fucking head. I still can’t.
This was the first thing that Carter had said that made Robbie realised that Carter had truly fallen for his sister. He may have only known him a few years, but when you’re risking your life on the streets day in day out, those colleagues soon became brothers. He knew Carter like he knew himself; he knew how many sugars he had in his coffee, he knew the stupid little Spanish sayings he’d come out with, he knew Carter wasn’t the type to go picking up girls after every case they’d been on. In fact, there’d been a running joke at the station about Carter being such a bachelor as he wasn’t tied down yet. And to be honest, it surprised Robbie that he’d fallen so hard and fast for Rosa for all people. She was hardly a delightful summers day, as much as he loved her. Robbie didn’t have a chance to reply as his sister returned, slamming the tray unnecessarily hard in front of them. She looked ready for battle.
—
The woman set the trays of drinks in front of her, startling Rosa from her thoughts. Picking up the tray, she made her way back to the table, setting it down hard enough for the glasses to rattle. Carter had been whispering something furiously, but he straightened now, flashing her a strained smile. Rosa took her seat and flashed Robbie a look. “Go on then.”
“What?”
“Tell me why it’s a bad idea.” She fixed him with a haughty stare, folding her arms over her chest.
“I’m not here to tell you that it’s a bad idea,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. “But you gave me so much shit for this, Rosa. For wanting to join the force.”
“So that’s all you’re bothered about?”
“No!” He scowled. “Of course not. I’m bothered about you, Rosa! I’m bothered about the fact you always chuck yourself head first into shit. How you disappear for weeks on end, months, and then come back as if nothing happened. And you know what?” He looked across at Carter. “I’m not even mad that you’re with her. But I’m worried for you. I’m worried she’ll drag you into her spiral and there’ll be no escape. She’s going to break you, Carter.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Rosa narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table towards him. “You think I’ll break him?”
“Because you don’t think! Somebody else will come along and offer you drugs and you’ll leave him in the dust. And I’ll be the one to pick up the pieces.” Silence met his words. Rosa was breathing heavily, obviously trying to contain her building anger; he could see the fight in her eyes. “I love you, Rosa, but you’re toxic. And I know it’s not your fault, Nick made you that way-“
“Fuck you.” Rosa stood fast enough for her chair to clatter behind her. Without another word, she stalked out.
“Rosa, wait!” Robbie locked eyes with Carter before he could move. “You don’t know her, Carter. You don’t know what she’s like. She’s my fucking sister.” Sighing, he looked away, dampening his bottom lip. “I’m not her boss though. I can’t stop you seeing each other. And maybe you’ll both prove me wrong. Maybe you’re exactly what she needs. But you can’t blame me for being worried about her. I’m only saying this cause I love her. And cause I’ve seen how it all ended before.”
Outside, Rosa moved to lean against the wall, shutting her eyes and focusing on the cool air brushing her face. Fuck Robbie. What did he know anyway? Hand trembling, she pulled out her cigarettes and lit one, inhaling the nicotine rush. She loved Carter, she did. But part of her wondered if Robbie was right. Would she end up breaking him?
—
Six days. How could six days feel like half a century? How had those six long days and longer nights stretched into a never-ending eternity? Dermot didn’t know. He just didn’t know. He’d left the house early today, not exactly sure where he was going until he pulled up at the school. He could see it clearly from here, Aoife’s old college on the other side of the field. And in the middle was the coffee shop where he and Nora had first met. He still remembered that moment as if it were yesterday; the pair accidentally walking into each other, Nora’s coffee splashing over his shirt. And he’d been captivated at that moment by those dark eyes, framed with darker lashes, the sweet smile she’d worn as she’d looked at him. Inside the school, Dermot wandered the halls slowly. Children’s art work decorated the walls around him. He knew exactly where her classroom was as if it was his own office, but his feet felt like lead, his stomach churning the closer he got.
He just wanted a chance to explain. A chance to put right everything he had done wrong. And he needed to see her, to make sure she was okay. It was almost laughable. Of course she wasn’t okay; he’d broken her heart. He’d lied. He’d betrayed her. When he reached the classroom and saw her, his breath caught in his throat and his chest went tight, so tight that he couldn’t draw another breath. The sight of her like a punch to the gut, a reminder of everything he had risked and lost. And if it was this painful for him, how painful would it feel for her? Bracing himself, another few moments passed before Dermot gathered the courage to open the door. He wasn’t sure when he’d become such a coward. Maybe he’d always been one.
When she saw him, she gasped so hard the sheaf of papers she was holding fell to the floor. He rushed forward to pick them up, more as an excuse not to look at her, to gather his thoughts and figure out what he was going to say. He’d had it all planned until he had seen her and now it had all disappeared like smoke, leaving him blank. Nora still hadn’t moved, frozen to the spot as if she was looking at a ghost. And he felt it then, the gulf between them, as if they were nothing more than strangers. Somehow, Dermot found his voice. He began to apologise, trying to figure out the right words that would help balm the wound he’d created in her.
“Are you okay?”
Dermot looked at her. She’d turned away, carefully piling the paperwork on her desk, though he had a feeling she was busying herself. Then she glanced back at him, asking him where he had been, and shamefully, Dermot couldn’t answer. Couldn’t or wouldn’t? “Nora-“
“Don’t tell me. With him.”
Her words dripped with venom and Dermot felt them painfully in his heart. What could he even say? He couldn’t deny it; that would only be twisting the knife he’d embedded into her. She knew everything, and the shame was overwhelming. Dermot nodded, unable to look at her. Yes, he’d been with Max this whole time. Miserable, perhaps, but still with the man who’d supposedly been killed three years ago. The man Dermot had said was dead He felt like such a fool. Had he really imagined he’d get away with this? A long moment passed in silence before Nora offered him a seat, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he leaned back against the small square desk behind him, feeling more exhausted than he had his entire life. He just wanted his normality back. He wanted to wake up beside Nora, kiss her sun-browned shoulders, to feel her comforting warmth against him once more. She was still behind her desk, the tension rolling off her; he could see it in the way she stiffly held herself, fists clenched at her sides. The worst part was Dermot didn’t even know what to say. He glanced at her, meeting her eye and looking away again. If Jock was here, Dermot knew what he would have said. Stop being such a pussy and spit it out, will ya? He wondered where Jock was now. Wondered what he was thinking.
“Do you want the house back?”
Surprised, he did meet her eyes then, before shaking his head furiously. “No. No, Nora, the house...” The house was theirs. It was a place he’d imagined they’d grow old together in, raise children, grandchildren. Have late-night dinners after long days at work, none of the stresses mattering because they had each other. Lazy afternoons on a Sunday, Nora’s feet on his lap as she curled up on the sofa and read a book. “I’m not an arsehole,” he added quietly. “I’m not here to take the house, either.” Nora didn’t seem to hear his words though. Her eyes were distant, and when she spoke, it was a trembling whisper.
“This is where we met. Funny how things come full circle... Do you remember when we met?”
Dermot nodded slowly, hating how her words sounded so final. Full circle. Completion. And how could he ever forget meeting her? That was the day when his life changed for the better. When this angel walked into his life and saved him from himself. Everything suddenly made sense, as if he’d been blind and she’d given him sight. Everything he’d done since that day had been for her. He listened to her speak without interrupting, his chest aching when she mentioned how in love with him she’d been. Surely, she still loved him now? Surely they could fix this? Then, she mentioned Max and her voice went cold, eyes hardening.
“... You hate Bovver for what he did, but he wasn’t even the one to blame. We were all so blind.”
Dermot felt a flicker of irritation skirt through him at the mention of Bov. He watched as Nora began to pluck the large petals from a sunflower sat on her desk. “He wasn’t to blame? He wasn’t there because of Max. He was there because of you. Because that was his only chance to get at me. To get revenge.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I’m surprised he isn’t sniffing around already, knowing I’m not on the scene.” His anger died pretty quickly, as he looked sadly down at the floor with a shake of his head. The next moment, Nora shoved her books off her desk, eyes wild as she turned to him. The anger radiated off her in waves.
“Why do you always have to try and fucking fix everything! Why do you always have to help him?”
Tears swam in her eyes and Dermot pushed away from the table, his own features creasing as guilt bit sharply. “Nora...”
“You’ve got to go. When he didn’t move, she strode towards him, eyes flashing. Leave!”
“Nora-“
She grabbed his arm tight. “You have to leave, because I can’t do this.”
Her bottom lip trembled, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Dermot hated himself for it. Both stilled when the door behind them squeaked open, and he turned to see a little red-haired boy, face flushed from the playground. He stared at Dermot, eyes big. Dampening his bottom lip, Dermot turned, kneeling down to face him. “Give us five minutes, kid. I just want a quick word with your teacher.” The boy scurried out without a word, Dermot shutting the door behind him. Then, he grabbed a nearby chair and shoved it beneath the handle.
“Dermot, what are you doing? You can’t just come back and do what you want. You can’t just break my heart again.”
She sobbed as he approached her, deep brown eyes glossy, shoulders slumped helplessly. He reached out, taking her arms gently and holding her still as he fought to catch her gaze. “Nora, listen to me...” His fingers slipped beneath her chin, angling her face to his. The urge, the need, to kiss her was overwhelming. “It’s just a bump, Nora, a... a bump in the road,” he insisted, cupping her face, searching her eyes desperately for any hint of forgiveness. “It was a mistake. I never meant to hurt you. I’d rather die than see you like this.” He wasn’t being dramatic, he was being truthful. If he didn’t have Nora by his side, in his heart, what was the point of existing? This life they’d built together, this future... it was in ashes, and he was desperately trying to put it back together. But that was the problem. You couldn’t fix something that had been burnt to cinders. A lump rose in his throat, panic making his chest tight. “I can’t lose you, Nora,” he whispered, pleaded. “I love you. And I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
No resistance left, he dipped his head and kissed her, hard, trying to show her exactly how he felt. Almost immediately, small fists began to bang on the shut door behind them, demanding entry. Nora’s hand on his chest made him break away with a soft and frustrated groan. Then, he pulled away completely, backing towards the door. “I’ll be at the Hilton. Friday evening. Please come and see me. I just want to explain properly. Please.” She didn’t answer. She was still standing where he left her, looking stunned. Removing the chair, he let the flood of children into the classroom before he walked out. Glancing back, he saw Nora hastily wipe the tears from her face, putting on a bright smile for the screaming stream of children gallivanting around the room. And feeling no better than when he arrived, Dermot walked out.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 19, 2021 6:42:14 GMT -5
Carter didn't know what he expected to happen, but if anything, he would've presumed Rosa would start the trouble.
Not because she was broken, or dramatic, or crazy, but because she was fierce and defensive. This relationship was new for the both of them, and pivotal to Rosa moving forward. Starting fresh.
The first time the two of them had met, she had been confrontational and he had somehow found it endearing. He had told her one night that the more aggressive she was, the sexier he found her and Rosa had pinned him to the bed and bit his ear, hard.
'Hey!' he yelled and she knelt back, looking at him with a satisfied grin.
'You said you liked me when I'm aggressive.' she teased and poked her tongue out, to which Carter quickly flipped her, straddling either side of her tiny waist. She called him a baby but before any more taunting words could leave her mouth, he kissed her lips, heavy and hungry.
He knew her, inside out.
He knew how important this was, but he didn't know what it felt like. Carter didn't have siblings, didn't have anyone to protect anymore. Wasn't sure how he would feel if the roles were reversed, or exactly what was going through Robbie's head as the seconds between Rosa sitting down stretched on painfully. He did know that Robbie knew him. That they had been so close over the years, telling one another everything; so the thought of betrayal over keeping his sister secret hadn't even risen until now.
If Robbie wanted to play the victim, Carter momentarily knew he had a card to draw to make them even. But, he wouldn't. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn't appreciate it, and the time for anger at that had long gone. Just in case, he watched Robbie cautiously before the thought dissipated and the scent of Rosa's perfect distracted him.
'Go on then.'
Her tone was already hostile and Carter briefly closed his eyes.
'Tell me why it's a bad idea.'
It was different, now. Carter couldn't step in and calm Rosa down, pull her away, or insult the person she was unfortunately arguing with. The bond between siblings was different than strangers, and if he got in the crossfire, he would be abused just as much. So, he watched, painfully, and somewhat humorously. They were so alike in their mannerisms and yet so unaware.
For a moment, Robbie played the doting brother and it was nice to see his protective side. If Carter couldn't have her back, Robbie always would; yet had this protection ever saved her from danger before? No. Then, things turned.
'I'm not even and you're with her.' Robbie said honestly and Carter gave a small smile. 'But I'm worried for you.'
'What?'
'I'm worried she'll drag you into her spiral and they'll be no escape.'
'Rob, hey --'
'She's going to break you, Carter.'
Carter felt like he had shattered in that instant. Rosa and Robbie continued to bicker, but Carter couldn't really find the words. He had known from the beginning that Rosa had the potential to shatter him into pieces and had been okay with it. It was better to have the risk, than lose the opportunity of a potentially perfect love. But when someone else said it, it was different; it was obvious to the world. Carter would not be the one to hurt her, inflict any pain or trauma; all the firing power was in Rosa's grasp and the thought of losing her was overwhelming.
The reason Carter Rivera did not date, was because he always fell hard. Like Robbie had said about Rosa - 'you always chuck yourself head first into shit.'
Snapping to reality, Carter looked to see Rosa on the verge of tears and his heart jolted.
'I love you, Rosa, but you're toxic. And I know it's not your fault, Nick made you that way--'
'Fuck you.'
Rosa was up in a second, the chair falling behind her and causing the restaurant to fall awkwardly silent. It had been apparent since they had arrived, people were watching them, engaged in the drama around them as every person does. Twitching their heads up at the sound of a raised voice or a scrape of a chair; desperate for someones destruction to justify their own life, and how it wasn't as bad. People found it satisfying, to know someone was always worse.
Whenever he had been at crime scenes, people would peer at the cornered off area, the yellow tape or the body bags and flashing police lights and shake their heads. 'That could've been me.' they would mumble, really meaning I am glad that wasn't me. Humanity was quite fickle and selfish and in these instances he hated them. It was more the people watching than Robbie's words that got the heat up Carter's neck.
'You don't know her, Carter.' Robbie attempted and Carter pushed himself away from the table to stand. 'You don't know what she's like.'
'No.' Carter's voice was low and he couldn't find himself able to make eye contact with Robbie. 'You don't know her.'
'She is my fucking sister!'
Catter shrugged his shoulders, took a swig of his drink to wash the bitter taste forming in his mouth.
'I'm only saying this cause I love her. And cause I've seen how it all ended before.' Robbie defended.
'If you loved her, you would've kept your opinions to yourself.' Carter muttered, finally catching his gaze. 'She wasn't the one you were protecting, it was me. Well, not really, was it? I was just your scape goat, you idiota egoista.' a roll of his eyes. 'If you were looking out for her, why were you attacking her?'
'Excuse me.' A small man in a tight shirt placed a hand on Carter's arm and he spun so fast the manager gave a little squeak. 'I-I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'
'We're leaving.' Carter snapped, turning back to Robbie. 'You're right about one thing, though. You're not her boss, and we didn't have to come to you like this, to explain anything to you, because it has fuck all to do with you to be honest, Robbie. This was Rosa's idea, because she loves you. How foolish of her. ' with a shake of his head, Carter went to leave before hesitating.
'Don't contact her for a bit, alright? You don't know her like I do, but I'm pretty sure you're the reason she keeps repeating the same mistakes, not Nick. And if you do anything to hurt her, I won't hesitate in letting you know. Comprender?'
In the heat of it all, Carter didn't regret the threat, but he would later. It had just occurred to him that if Robbie was doing such a focused job of protecting her, why had all her chances of a normal life fell through? How did Nick get under the nose of a policeman? How did Robbie not see the signs and cut them off completely? Had he even been protecting her, or manipulating her? His head was spinning. He didn't want to doubt his friend, but Rosa was upset and in danger and he felt sick.
The air hit him like a welcoming slap in the face when he got outside. The world around him seemed loud and it was only now Carter realised how he had drowned everything out. The car speeding past, the people laughing, chattering; the sound of heels on pavement, the sound of the wind in the crisp trees. Not too far down the road, Carter could see Rosa leaning against a wall as she tried to compose herself.
Once she got startled or threatened, he knew Rosa would go into self-destruct mode and he needed to stop it. Striding towards her, he watched as she pulled a cigarette to her lips and he grabbed it before she could inhale a second time.
'Hey.' his voice was strangely quiet. Taking the cigarette, he took a drag himself before throwing it on the floor. 'It's alright.' He murmured and instantly filled the space between them.
Cupping her face, Carter kissed Rosa as if her life depended on it. His hand was strong on her jaw, the other finding her waist beneath her coat. Her body was hot like a coursing fire and he pulled her closer. His tongue teased her own, and then demanded entry and the two kissed heatedly as the world once again fell silent. He could feel her hands on his jacket, digging in desperately and all the anger they both felt spilt into the kiss.
When they broke apart, Carter continued to hold Rosa tight. 'He's wrong.' he whispered, their noses brushing. 'Tu eres mia.' You are mine. Kissing her nose Carter caught her gaze to see how she was feeling. 'You remember what that means?' he asked.
Rosa was in the kitchen making them both a coffee when Carter came to stand behind her. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and he could see her perk bottom in the smallest underwear imaginable. Pressing himself against her, he kissed the side of Rosa's neck with a sleepy moan. 'Tu eres mia.'
'Soy todo tuyo.' Rosa repeatedly quietly. And I am yours.
Hailing a taxi, Carter glanced at his watch, his other hand clasping Rosa's tight. 'You know that I love how honest you are, right? Even if it hurts, you'll speak the truth. And you did. There's nothing more to be said right now.' he reassured her. 'Our flaws only help us to grow, Rosa and I'm not going to let anyone stop you.'
As both of them got into the back of taxi, they remained close together. After a few minutes, Rosa asked where they were going and Carter smiled down at her, nestled under his arm like a bird.
'The policemans ball is in a few days, don't you need a new dress?'
Nora hadn't said a word once Dermot had barricaded the door and turned to face her. Something about his entire presence had changed, and although she wasn't scared of him, she was scared of the feeling in her stomach.
It had been the same with Malachi in the past; it was hard to let go of someone you had loved.
Endless nights she had tried to make herself see sense, but years of abuse was easily washed away with a second of affection. All he had ever had to do was smile at her, and here Dermot was doing the same. His eyes watching her as if he were drinking her in. It felt a betrayal to Jock for letting him look at her like that and the fact it ignited sparks inside her was worse.
Dermot had been so angry when Bovver's name was mentioned that the defence felt appreciated. He had always made her feel a priority, until he hadn't. Until Max.
'Nora, listen to me.' his hand was beneath her chin and she was hooked. His aftershave smelt strong and reassuring, mingled with an expensive cigarette. He must've been stressed because Dermot only ever smoked when he needed a distraction. 'It's just a bump...'
Dermot sounded desperate, pleading as his eyes searched hers. Then all the words swam into one and it was just words, noise; the only thing Nora was sure of was his body close against hers. His.... lips... on hers. For the briefest second, Nora gave into her better judgement and let him taste her. Vanilla lipgloss, the half drunk cappuccino on her desk.
A knock at the door jolted her back and she raised a hand to Dermot's chest, pushing him back.
As she drove him, his words were swimming in her mind. 'I'll be at the Hilton. Friday. I just want to explain.'
Turning the radio up, Nora turned up the music and tried to ignore the guilt inside. What was there to explain? If she went, Jock would never forgive her, but if she didn't go... would she regret it? All her life she had searched for answers and never got them, yet now was her opportunity. The other half of her, however, doubted there was any way Dermot could explain himself out of this situation. What he didn't understand was it wasn't what had happened, it was that he had lied about it. Now all he could do was hope he could be forgiven for that, and no amount of answers could change it.
When she pulled up, her heart was beating fast and she hated it.
Inside, there was soft music flowing from the kitchen and Jock was humming to himself as he made dinner.
'This is interesting.' Nora smiled in the doorway, startling him.
So, this was life now. Coming home to Jock cooking with a stupidly happy grin on his face. He had changed, for her.
'Can you come here?' she asked and Jock threw the teatowel over his shoulder and turned the hob low so the food wouldn't burn.
Throwing her arms around his shoulders she held him tight, so tightly that he asked her if something was wrong. Keeping her grip on him for another few moments, Nora finally let go and pulled back.
'Dermot came to the school today.' she said in a quiet tone, instantly seeing the anger flash in his eyes. Anger that he had tried to see her, and not him, his best friend. His family! 'I'm sorry.' she grabbed his hand as she saw the frustration flare inside of him. 'He didn't stay long. But...' meeting his gaze, Nora felt herself wanting to cry for the ridiculousness of it all. 'He told me to meet him at the Hilton on Friday, and....' shaking her head she wasn't sure why she couldn't say it.
When Jock asked if he had made a move Nora merely nodded her head, ashamed. 'I told him to leave. He left.' grabbing his other hand she tried to get Jock to focus on the now, and not the endless ways he could harm Dermot. 'It's Swill's birthday on Friday, so me and you will go to that. Together.' she added, surely. 'Please?' she pushed, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes.
Jock didn't say anything for a moment and Nora sighed, leaning against his chest. 'I don't want to do this, if it's going to ruin your relationship, Jock.'
The words seemed stupid after she had said them. It had been Dermot to ruin all their relationships with his own foolish actions.
'I love you.' she whispered and he smiled slightly.
'He's lost and confused, and in a really bad place, Jock. I know he put himself in this position, but that doesn't mean we have to make it more difficult. I don't want to see him, alone, but I do think you need to talk at some point, to air it out.' chewing her lip, she buried her face deeper in the warmth of his shirt and felt his hold tighten. 'What were you making for dinner?' she asked after a while, hearing his stomach rumbling demandingly.
So they ate dinner and washed it down with a little too much alcohol. Both of them fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped around one another to the point they looked whole. Nora loved Dermot, but even before all of heartbreak, she hadn't been true to herself or their relationship. The first day she had laid eyes on Jock it had felt different. Right.
They would go to The Abbey for Swill's birthday and Dermot would understand she wasn't interested, and a few days or weeks later he could fix what was left between him and Jock. Nora just had to hope Bovver wouldn't start a fight and that Max wouldn't find himself involved in family affairs.
It had been a strange few days for Pete Dunham. He had really questioned his stance on life, and most of all his own sanity.
Showing your emotions had never really been something the Dunham's did; you were tough and hard, skin like a rhino. You didn't flinch when you were punched or beaten, and especially not if you got your heartbroken. It was also the trait of a struggling Alpha male; being a leader meant never showing a weakness. You were the glue that kept the firm together, and if you started to crumble, they would all shatter like a flimsy house of cards. For years Pete had lived under the false pretence that everything was okay, and finally it had fractured him.
'Life is tough.' Steve had said, as the two stood in the kitchen and watched the sun die behind the houses. 'But you're tougher.'
After a while, the silence eased and they began to talk about life. Not football, not banter, but real true life. What the children were learning at school, and what Lara had made for tea. The new and ugly lamp Shannon had ordered direct from her home state, sitting in the corner and demanding a beating for being so hideous. 'It has feathers on it?' Pete had whispered and both shivered as if it were a rotting carcass and not some hippy/Indian/tribal piece of crap.
'It's Swills birthday on Friday, are you going to come?' Pete asked and Steve rolled his eyes, finished his beer. 'He'll cry if you don't.'
'I'll cry if I have to.' Steve joked but he was smiling. 'Swill is such a stupid fuckin' name.'
Pete gave a loud laugh and startled himself at how genuine it felt. 'Well, you gave it to 'im.' a boyish grin as both recalled the night he was no longer Simon Wilkins, but Swill. 'And it ain't just an abbreviation.'
A scrawny little blonde boy with the messiest ringlet curls; eyes a piercing blue, full of excitement like a golden retriever. He was in the year below Pete and had consistently adored him from afar for the last six months before he'd gathered up the courage.
They were in The Abbey, before it was The Abbey that they knew. When it was just a place of excitement, and danger, because they were all under age. Before Terry was a barman, and when instead he was sat in their corner with Steve and the original GSE sipping pints and chanting about a future match. Simon had watched Pete go in and was stood unsure on the pavement, wavering with nerves and adrenaline and a bit of coke he'd scored by the bike sheds.
Minutes ticked by into what seemed like hours - no, decades! His pulse was racing. Pete Dunham was inside. Pete and Stevie Dunham! Simon could only hope to have friends so cool, and to feel himself so cool, a validated existence at last
'Hey, my name is Simon. Nice to meet you.' he practised a handshake with an invisible hand, then shook his head and turned away, swearing. 'No.' he muttered, trying again and again to think of a phrase that would solidify a new friendship. Simon was on the seventh attempt when he heard a laugh behind him and spun round. Pete stared at Simon with gleaming blue eyes and Simon gave a full tooth and gum smile in return.
'Nice to meet you, Simon.' Pete smiled, holding out his hand with a wink. 'Do you want to come inside?'
It was barely two hours later when Simon was on the table on his back, a bottle of vodka being poured down his throat. Beer covered the table, making it sticky and wet, the brittle beer mats in disintegrated soggy heaps. One of the bar stools was upturned on the floor and someones shoes were scattered besides it. It was chaos; it was the end of their GCSE's and they were all hammered, but none more than -
'What's your name again, Bruv?' Pete asked, stumbling a little as Simon pulled himself up and wiped the vodka from his lips. 'You're a fuckin' machine.'
Simon grinned the largest grin that made his cheeks sore. 'Simon.' he stated proudly, grabbing a pint someone had left on the bar. 'Wilkins.' he finished as he downed the beer and slammed the glass down with a roar of energy.
Steve Dunham was fetching a fresh drink with a shake of his head; disbelief and somewhat adoration for this little blonde nobody. 'More like Swill fuckin' Wilkins the way 'es drinking.' he muttered, barely expecting to be heard when suddenly everything fell silent. They were looking at him and slowly he turned to face his brother, his friends; a slow blinking Simon Wilkins.
'I like the sound of that.' Simon, now Swill, grinned, enjoying the taste of it on his tongue like it were something sweet. 'Swill! Call me Swill!' he laughed and the whole pub burst into laughter with him. 'Swill fuckin' Wilkins was born on this day!' he then proceeded to down one more pint before passing out so aggressively he cut open his forehead and got rushed to the hospital.
'Swill Wilkins was born on that day, but I think a little bit of him also died with that hit.' Pete smirked at the recollection of how young they had been, how foolish.
'That can't happen on Friday.' Steve warned him. 'It will be a civilised do --'
'Will it fuck.' Pete scoffed and Steve gave him a sharp look before rolling his eyes.
'Will it fuck.' he agreed.
It was soon Friday and Pete was strangely excited. Sitting up and recalling the old days with his brother had made him happy, grateful for everything he had. He was tough, Steve had reassured him; they were all tough. They had all been through so much, together. And so had she. Pete was watching Lara get ready with a goofy smile on his face. He tried not to think about the tainted parts of her life, the ones smeared with Irish violence and guilt. Instead he thought on the times he had witnessed her giving birth; his warrior, with her hair in a bun and cheeks red as a tomato. Lara had gripped his hand so hard it had made him wince. Hours the labour lasted, yet she was persistent and strong. The scar on her neck was nothing when compared to what she had accomplished since.
How had she done all of that?
'I love you.' Pete found himself saying and Lara turned to him as she held up two different dresses.
How was she still so pure, yet ferocious, after all life had thrown at her. The world attempting to drown her in darkness, yet she always managed to follow the light. Lara Dunham was forgiving, proud, nurturing and a complex contradiction of gentleness and firmness. It was overwhelming how she had not crumpled, and for a moment he felt ashamed that he had.
'I'm sorry.' he found himself saying and he knew she would get annoyed; sorry, again. Pete couldn't help but utter the word almost every other hour, because he was repentant and she was perfect. 'Thank you, for everything.' moving towards her, he took her hands and wrapped them around his waist and he held her tight. They swayed a little to the faint music in the background. It was nice.
After a few moments he stepped back and caught her chin, placing a small kiss there. 'I'll leave you to get ready.' he smiled. 'I'll be downstairs. The babysitter will be here in a minute, but I'll sort it.' with one last smile, Pete headed downstairs and remaining himself of just how lucky he was.
As Pete welcomed the babysitter, the neighbours daughter, he could hear Lara's phone vibrating through the floor. A small hesitation as he thought of Max, but then it faded as soon as it came.
'Hey, Nora.' he heard and relief washed over him.
Nora was stressed. She couldn't stop sweating and had already had two showers. Why was she nervous? Why did it matter? She didn't owe Dermot anything -- did she?
As she stood in the rainfall shower, the water scolded her skin but she welcomed it. This life would not have been possible without Dermot, she knew. This house was his, this confidence was from him. The self-worth he had instilled in her had come from no one else. Then again, a whole lifetime of feeling indebted to Malachi had not been healthy, so did she really want to do the same to Dermot? People changed you, but you did not owe them for it. And yet....
With a sigh, she pulled herself out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy towel around her middle. Her phone pinged on the side and she glanced down to see a message from Aoife.
'He won't be there.' Nora had reassured her earlier, as the two spoke on the phone. 'Your Dad has got other plans.' which was true. The Hotel... The hotel room, waiting, for her...
Aoife had been unsure if they should come to Swill's party, but Nora had managed to twist George's arm and he had sounded desperate for a party. How was he supposed to know that the last party they had been to, Luke had been sniffing around his girl. That Luke was even relevant anymore with with all the other ridiculousness ensuing.
'Aoife and George are coming.' Nora called, jumping when Jock popped his head around the door. Steam billowed out and he choked, to which she gave a nervous laugh. 'I'm done, I'm done.' she assured him, stepping out into the bedroom, the difference in temperature making her shoulders pimple. 'Are you going to be okay?' Nora asked, touching Jock's cheek gently. 'Are we going to be okay?'
What were people going to say when they saw them? Were they going to act like a couple? Act... they were a couple. Oh, that was weird. The panic came back to her and Nora started to hyperventilate before Jock forced her to sit on the bed. Her head was heavy and she felt sick. 'Is this...' she looked at Jock with wide eyes. 'Are we....?' for some reason her mouth felt dry and she couldn't seem to voice the mania in her head.
'Are we dating now?' she asked finally, swallowing so hard it hurt her throat. 'I mean, I know we are but... I never really thought about anyone else knowing, that's all.' she admitted.
It seemed so ridiculous that she was so afraid and yet no doubt everyone knew what Dermot had done by now and would not judge her. Would they? Would Bovver?
'We don't have to go,' Nora changed her mind again, speaking so quickly she made herself feel dizzy. 'If you think there'll be a problem?' covering here face, she breathed gently until she calmed down, feeling the warmth of Jock's hand on her back. 'I'm sorry. It's fine.' she admitted, voice muffled by her palms. 'I'm just going to call Lara, is that okay?' she squeaked.
When Jock left the room, Nora pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed her phone, perching herself on the window seat.
'Hey.' Nora smiled when she heard her friend answer.
'Hey, Nora.' Lara greeted, and Nora knew she was saying her name so that Pete wouldn't worry. Everyone's world had been completely disturbed by Max's return, and Nora's heart went out to her best friend.
'Are you excited about tonight?' she asked, chewing her lip. She wanted to tell her about Dermot being at the school, and about the hotel, but didn't. 'Do you think people will be weird about me and Jock?' she a sked, cutting Lara off mid-sentence. Nora was well aware she sounded like a school girl, but for some reason she felt guilty.
Once Lara had reassured her, Nora could feel her mind starting to slow, her pulse meeting normal pace. 'Are you and Pete okay?' she asked and smiled at the answer. 'I think tonight will be good. You can let your hair down, and relax. You and Pete can just have fun, like the old days.' she smiled, and the two spoke about what seemed like a lifetime ago. When Lara would work behind the bar and the two of them would do shots and Pete and the boys would play pool and they would swoon over them like they were models. Lara's cheeks would pinch as Pete winked at her over his cue. When things seemed easier. 'I better finish getting ready, but I'm looking forward to seeing you both.'
Pulling on a high-neck dress, Nora looked at herself in the mirror and took a steady breath. Dermot would have to understand, and she would have to forget him tonight. Slipping on some thigh-high boots she headed downstairs to meet Jock in the living room. He was already dressed, wearing a smart shirt and her heart swelled when he turned to her.
'You look good.' she smiled, grabbing the decanter from the fireplace and pouring them both a shot. 'Why don't you dress like that all the time, fearngan didean.' she smirked. Homeless man.
Jock was trying to teach her proper Irish, but to annoy him Nora had started reading up on insults rather than common phrases. 'This will be fun.' she assured him as their glasses clinked and they downed the whiskey. 'Together.' a small smile.
Dave was at The Abbey, fighting with a banner that would not stay on the ceiling. Every time he hung it up, he waited a few moments before climbing back off the table and that was when it fell. Cursing, he heard a faint giggle behind him and spun to see Alice laughing behind her hands. 'Hey!' he yelled, advancing towards her, wrapping the banner around her middle and pulling her close. 'Wife's are supposed to be supportive.' he teased, kissing her cheek.
'I am.' Alice smiled, catching his lips with a small sigh. 'It's just hard when you're so bad at it.'
When Pete entered, Dave had Alice on his shoulders and she was hooking up the final letters above the bar. 'H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y S W I L L !' in claret and blue.
'They asked me twice if I was sure about the name.' Alice said as Dave put her back on the ground. 'Why is he called that?'
'It's a long story.' Steve clapped Pete on the back with a wink as he and Shannon entered. 'You did a good job.' he mused, looking at the pub.
They had booked the whole of the pub for him and decorations were everywhere. There was a big table pressed against the wall that had a claret runner down the middle and a massive cake in the centre.
'Alice made it.' Dave grinned with pride. 'It's red velvet inside.' The cake had white fondant on the outside, with claret and blue icing dripping down the sides and over the top; blue swirls held edible footballs with a West Ham crest in the middle. Happy Birthday Swill in font icing beneath.
Sandwiches, mini quiches, cocktails sausage and bowls of crisps were on one side; burgers, chips and beer glasses were on the other. Each table had small shot glasses on them containing sourz in the appropriate colours. It was childish, it was football themed and Swill was going to love it. Soon people started to flow in through the doors as Swill was made to stay around the corner until everyone was in. He had tried to walk through the doors earlier but Pete had put his hands over his eyes and spun him back onto the road.
'It's a surprise, you prick.' Pete whispered in his ear. 'We'll tell you when to come back in.'
Inside, Pete grabbed Lara's middle a little to roughly and kissed the side of her head. 'You look stunning, babe.' he murmured, the alcohol rolling off his breath already.
He was nervous, he needed courage, that was all. This has been the first proper outing since... since he had been out of the hospital.
Nora felt her stomach swirling as they rounded the corner to The Abbey. Swill waved at them as they passed and she raised an eyebrow at him but he merely smiled. Just before they opened the door, she grabbed Jock's hand and pulled him to a stop. 'I love you.' she whispered, dampening her bottom lip with a sigh.
Then they pushed open the doors and there was no turning back. Dave and Alice were sat in the corner with party hats on. Before she could even ask about it, Lara was placing one on her own head and handing one to Jock who looked less than impressed.
'Put it on.' she urged, holding a handful of paper whistles. The kind that when you blew into them, the end unfurled and made a horrendously loud noise.
Ned was holding three party poppers with an eager look on his face and Steve was sat in the corner with a beer, Shannon looking unimpressed. Aoife and George were by the bar, his arm around her middle. He had put two pointy hats on so it looked like he had cat ears, and Aoife was wearing a paper crown.
'Nice hat's.' Nora mouthed and George smirked.
'Wait until you see what they got Swill.' he nodded his head towards Pete who was holding a plastic, silver crown that said 'birthday girl'. Pink feathers covered the bottom and there was a shiny purple jewel in the centre of it.
As her eyes scanned the room, Nora stopped them on Bovver who was staring directly at her. She wasn't holding hands with Jock, but they were pressed so closely she could feel his warmth. Should she smile? Why couldn't she smile? His expression she couldn't read, but before she had time to, Swill kicked the door open and appeared with a loud yell.
Max couldn't stop looking at the photograph. Was that wrong? Twisted? It wasn't incestual, because they had never married. Jock and Nora, stood in the window as oblivious Dermot drove away. To him, Max reminded himself. Both of them were lying to the other, both so equally unaware. That was love, he scoffed. If a married couple said they had no secrets, they were lying. It made him wonder what Lara had ever kept from him.
Then he realised - his son.
His heart ached for the briefest of moments and it made him feel uncomfortable and sick. Max continued to flick through the images, a few more of Nora and Jock, but nothing truly condemning. Then there was some of a slimmer girl, a bigger chin, darker eyes; Rosa. She was pretty, in an unusual, unconventional way. In some images her eyes were open and she looked defensive and hard, but others her eyes were shut. Asleep, unconscious? The positions she was placed in were sexual and planned, not natural. Who was this Nick Walker? Some fat, lonely old man, or something more sinister? Someone Max could... use?
The last image he held was of this new girl asleep, curled up with a blanket over half her body, the other half bare and facing the camera. He could count every vertebrae on her spin, and the tantalising curve of her hip. It reminded him of a photograph he once had of Lara. She was young, perhaps still at school, and asleep in his bed. Her bottom half was covered with a sheet, but the top bare and young breasts perk. Her hair fanned across the pillow and she was wearing the claddagh ring on a silver chain around her neck.
Max was finding it hard to judge this man, and instead saw reflections of himself in his work. To think that, however, made him no more important than your common man and he shook the thought away. Nick Walker was not him, but Max wanted to find out more.
'Where are you going?' he asked as he saw a shadow pass in the hallway. Dermot had a bag over his shoulder and when he didn't stop, Max jumped up.
Hearing the sound of his brothers chair scraping, Dermot slowly hesitated and Max revelled in the power. A younger brother would eternally feel inferior to the older. It was just the way the world worked.
'Leaving, derthair?' Max raised an eyebrow and tutted slowly, reaching to take it from him. 'You're a fool.' Max added when Dermot pulled away. 'I can't protect you if you don't stay with me.' turning away, he went back to the images, the hungry thoughts now shifting onto Lara's naked body, selling herself to him in his mind. He didn't stress when Dermot left, and ignored the minute feeling that he may not return, because he always did.
He was no doubt running to Nora, and Max found himself looking back at the image of her and Jock. It had been an endless taunt that the two of them were playing behind his brothers back, but the fact that it was true was even more satisfying. Max had never bothered entertaining her, she wasn't his type and she seemed too much trouble and trauma. But the fact she believed she could play his brother had irked him. Perhaps he would need to pay them a visit. Or perhaps Nick Walker could do it for him.
Flipping open his phone, Max dialled a number and held it to his ear. 'Luke?' He grinned like a shark. 'I need some more information on our little friend. Do you think you could help me?'
'Charlotte, you really know how to get yourself into bad situations don't you?' Charlotte whispered to herself as she sat in the shower.
Nick Walker was asleep in the next room, in her bed, wrapped in her sheets with the entire contents of her medical box taped to his stomach.
The water cascaded over her, mingling with the saltiness of her tears and the blood on her palms. Tristan was asleep in his bedroom, the nightlight whirring images of clouds and stars on the ceiling. How had she managed to put him in such danger? That night Nick had practically screamed at her, the sureness of his gun a constant in her line of sight. It appeared both as shimmering as water, but as heavy as lead and it made her feel sick.
'Don't hurt my son.' she whispered as she knelt on the floor before him, dabbing cautiously at the wound. Looking up into his face, Charlotte had never felt so small and out of control. This man was ruining her life, and for what
Sobbing in the shower, she covered her face and tried to compose herself. Nick had been scared and angry, and his fear had reflected on her in a spiteful way. 'I'm helping you!' Charlotte cried as he hit her hard in the face for apparently being too rough. The threats were endless and she could barely stop her hands from shaking. After pouring alcohol on the wound, she downed some herself with a wince. Nick laughed at her but she ignored it. After what seemed like hours she had sewn up the gash with uneven threading and knelt back with a groan.
'I'm done.' she said quietly and Nick stood before her, foreboding and yet wavering with weakness. He touched her jaw and as she flinched, he tightened his grip
'Where's your room?' he asked and Charlotte merely pointed above them
'Don't hurt my son.' she repeated as he headed for the stairs.
A few moments later and she followed after him, her door slightly ajar and his body already heavy and unconscious on her bed. Turning to Tristans room she opened the door and peeked at him, fast asleep with a toy held tight to his chest.
'I love you, baby.' she whispered and he opened an eye, looking up.
'I love you too.' he replied and Charlotte had to shut the door before she burst into tears. Of course he hadn't been asleep through it all, but he was brave, and she would protect him.
When she finally got out the shower, Charlotte stood in the hallway and just stared at Nick's back. She could do so much harm to him whilst he slept, but would she? A hopeful thought she had no motion behind. He was attractive, he was rich, he was... relying on her. She felt useful and it was strangely welcoming. Again she was questioning how this had happened. Then Charlotte remembered the night it had all began and felt ashamed for being so easy, so foolish and so desperate for love. Nick Walker had kissed and caressed her like no other man, but with that lust came ownership and now she was trapped.
Shutting her bedroom door she stepped back into Tristans room and crawled behind him in the small bed, arms wrapped around his middle. She nuzzled his neck until she fell asleep, the warmth of the sun on her face waking her in what felt like minutes, when in fact it had been hours. Somehow she felt more tired now than she had before.
Preparing Tristan for school, she refused to check on Nick and instead went about her daily routine. Tristan showered, fought with the hairdryer, stumbled into a fresh uniform and stuffed a peanut butter bagel in his mouth before rushing for the bus. 'Hey.' Charlotte yelled in the doorway. He stopped on the pavement and turned to her, blowing a gentle kiss.
'Will he be gone soon?' he asked, genuine curiosity on his harmless face. It instantly took the smile from her own.
'I don't know, honey.' Charlotte admitted, and then he was waving and rushing to catch his friends on the other side of the road.
Folding her arms around herself, Charlotte turned back to go inside and jumped when she saw Nick standing in the doorway. He was topless, the dressing on his stomach in desperate need of changing. He looked at her with an amused expression and she couldn't work out what he was thinking. Why did this man both terrify and arouse her? Swallowing, she went to push past him but he blocked the doorway, holding her back.
'Let me in my house.' she demanded, albeit her voice shook. He raised an expectant eyebrow and Charlotte sighed. 'Please?' she begged and he moved aside.
Fuck, Charlotte. You really know how to get yourself into bad situations don't you, she thought.
'Your eye alright?'
Max growled at Luke's ignorant question, fired at him the second he'd come through the door. It was itching and sore and he hated it.
'Do you want a feckin' smack?' he snapped and Luke raised his hands in apology, although a small smirk tugged at his lips. What an arrogant bastard, Max thought; just like me.
'You know, you sound more Irish when you're mad.'
'Thank you, detective. Now take a seat.' pulling out a chair, the two of them sat around the marble island in the kitchen, with only the sound of street life whistling through the open window.
Luke drummed his fingers on the counter, glancing around at all the expensive bottles on high, oak shelves; the crystal decanter, the satin lined cigarette box. There was a fire roaring somewhere in the distance yet the warmth failed to reach them. A match box lay on the counter, alongside a rouge lipstick, and that was when Luke heard the noise.
'Is someone else here?' he asked, momentarily on edge. Suddenly he could smell the duskiness of a candle, vanilla and sandalwood and his nerves sunk into relief. 'You have a woman here?'
'Does that bother you?' Max drawled, lighting up a cigarette and pushing the box towards Luke. The younger boy merely shrugged his shoulders, inhaling the nicotine with a satisfied sigh.
'No.'
'Good.' Max rubbed his temple with his thumb, glancing momentarily at the ground. 'Can I trust you, Mr Winters?' his gaze rose and met Lukes. 'You can assure me you're not in this for the girls, fast cars, sex and drugs?' The boy shook his head. 'What about Aoife?' that perked his interest, Max smirked. 'I tried to fuck my bosses niece once, and he didn't like it.' a small pause. 'So I killed him and took his empire. I've been my own Boss ever since.'
The adoration with which Luke was watching Max surprisingly didn't shrink into fear. This excited him. Max understood the rush power gave you, more so than a scantily clad woman; it got you aroused, made you hard. You felt big -- unstoppable.
'You think I could kill you?' Luke asked, holding the older mans gaze. He knew what this was, a challenge, to test his worth, and Luke would not back down. Even if that lucky charm of a girl was now dancing in his mind.
Max gave a loud laugh then and it startled Luke a little. A nervous laugh escaped his lips as he dragged on the cigarette.
'I've no doubt you'd try, you ballsy little cunt.
'I wouldn't.' Luke replied and Max smacked his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet apartment.
'But what if you have to?'
'I wouldn't.' he repeated, then his voice darkened. 'But I could.'
The two started at each other challengingly for a moment before Max gave a small smile. 'Are you just talk, kid?' he asked after a while, watching as Luke got up from his seat and headed to the drinks cabinet. 'You're always dressed so perfectly, your hair always so feckin' neat, but would you get dirty if you had to?'
'I've had to.' Luke muttered, grabbing a bottle of vodka and pouring himself a double shot. He gestured the bottle to Max who nodded his head. With two tumblers in his hand, Luke sat back down. 'Do you think a well dressed man can't be a dangerous one? What about yourself?
'I've earned this.' Max drawled, sipping the vodka and enjoying the heat on his throat. 'I worked up from nothing. I didn't always have the luxuries of this -- I made this.' he gestured to his home, his Armani shirt.
'But you dreamt of it, right? When you were little and getting pushed into the dirt. When people failed to bow to you, and instead laughed at you. When big men in fancy cars thought they could break your nose, just for trying to be like them.' Luke cut across, downing the vodka in one gulp. Big men like Max Sullivan, believing he had ended this boys life, but instead sparked a revolution. 'I've always been the runt of the litter in this society, but the second I put on a nice suit, people saw me differently. You can get away with more when you look good. I got away with more.' reaching into his pocket, he took out a small USB drive and slid it across the table. 'Your dead man is walking.' he murmured.
There was a stir in the other room and feet padded across the floor. A beautiful blonde stood in the doorway, her silky lace thong the only thing covering her otherwise bare, tanned body. Luke turned to look at her, full lips and wavy curls cascading over her shoulder. She was looking at Max with heat in her eyes yet he threw a bored expression her way. Everything bored this man; he had too much of everything that now nothing was ever enough
'Charlotte Foster.' Luke said, turning back to Max who was fiddling with the USB absently. 'She can help you.' with that he pushed himself away from the table and stood up, striding to the exit.
'Where are you going?' Max asked and Luke hesitated by the door, his back to him but a small smile on his face. He had hoped he would stop him.
'You've got company.' he shrugged, listening as Max stood up himself and took a few steps forward. 'I'd rather not speak private business with... strangers.'
'Fuck off.' he murmured and Luke turned, knowing the words were not for him. Max had grabbed the woman by the elbow and was shoving her things into her arms. Still half naked and yelling, he dragged her to the door and threw her into the hall. Without a seconds hesitation, he shut the door and turned to Luke.
'I came from nothing, too.' Luke looked up at Max, suddenly feeling equal and not below. 'My family refused to give me anything. So I took it and multiplied it for myself.'
'Your family have money.' Max corrected him and Luke nodded.
'They didn't always. My uncle was a fucking football Hooligan and my dad is an arrogant wanker.' a pause. 'And respect.' he added. 'They never gave that to me.'
'Was?' Max asked, momentarily intrigued. He couldn't hear the mention of football without envisioning Pete Dunhams mauled body before his eyes.
'Tommy Hatcher.' Luke grinned, knowing that would hit a spot, and a light suddenly glowed in Max's eyes.
'Let's get to work.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Dec 5, 2021 16:28:13 GMT -5
Rosa was fuming. She knew her anger was most likely irrational, and that she was taking out her frustrations on her brother... but, how was she supposed to be any other way? ... You're toxic... I know it's not your fault, Nick made you that way... Those words had stung in a way she hadn't expected. Anything Robbie had to say was nil and void. He said she was toxic, that's what he believed. Was she toxic? She thought back to all the relationships she'd ever had. None had been serious, until she'd met Nick. All silly hand-holding anad sneaky kisses. Most of the time, Rosa had been too busy raising Robbie to even bother bringing a boy home. In fact, that idea of bringing any potential love interest back to meet her mother was horrifying. If she wasn't high off her head on crack, in the dark stinking pit that was her bedroom, she was raging about the house, fixated with nothing but getting her hands on her next fix. If she or her brother happened to be in the way, then it was either a beating, or at least a tirade on why they should be dead. How she'd sacrificed her entire life for them, how they took everything from her. Wherever the nasty old witch was now, Rosa hoped she was rotting.
There'd been nobody really, until Nick. Nick, who'd lavished her with attention on compliments. Nick, who made sure he became her entire world. Nick, who'd controlled her life for years, Nick who'd been manipulative and evil and toxic. Truely toxic. Hooking her on drugs, pimping her out to whatever dirtbag would pay the most for her. During the past week with Carter, it was hard to believe that had been her life at one time. That she'd suffered through all of that. It was like an entire other person, experiences that weren't her own. It was a mental block, a wall she'd built around the bad stuff to keep it at bay. The idea of being that toxic entity in Carter's life revolted her as much as it horrified her. Was it true? No. She wouldn't allow it. Carter had brought a freedom to her life she hadn't known had existed. She loved with, truly and thoroughly. She could do better for him. Would do better for him.
Footsteps behind her. "Hey." Rosa turned, visibly relaxing when she saw Carter. He was such a blessing in her life, she hadn't really realised it until that moment. From the moment he'd stepped into her life, he'd done everything he could to protect her. He approached, searching her face to read her mood, and after she took a drag, he gently took it from her. He took a drag himself, then tossed it aside. Drawing her close, he held her tight, and she embraced him back, cheek pressed against his warm chest. "It's alright." He drew back to cup her face, kissing her with an intensity that made her moan softly. Her hand crept up, touching his neck and feeling his rapid pulse. It was alright, now they were back together. No matter what the world had to throw at them now, as long as he was at her side, they could handle it. Breaking the kiss, Carter kept her close, searching her eyes. His were dark, intense, and it made her stomach flutter. "He's wrong. Tu eres mia." He kissed her nose. "You remember what that means?"
How could she forget when that phrase had become everything to her? Just hearing it made her feel loved and warm. He'd murmured it on their first night together, when he'd been laid in his arms in his bed, and heard it every day since. She clung to that small phrase like a lifeline. Rosa smiled up at him, running her hand down his back. "Soy todo tuyo."
As they waited for a taxi, Carter took her hand, holding it gently in his. He looked down at her, his voice soft in the dark night. "You know that I love how honest you are, right? Even if it hurts, you'll speak the truth. And you did. There's nothing more to be said right now... Our flaws only help us to grow, Rosa and I'm not going to let anyone stop you." Rosa couldn't stop the tears this time. Eyes welling, she nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep the sob from escaping. Lifting their entwined hands, she kissed the back.
"Thank you, Carter. For everythink. I couldn't do this without you." As the taxi rolled to a stop in front of them, they climbed in, and when she realised they weren't heading in the direction of his home, she gave him a curious look. He chuckled, his arm around her shoulders, keeping her tucked against him.
"The policemans ball is in a few days, don't you need a new dress?"
That evening, Rosa enjoyed herself thoroughly. At first, it had been hard to accept Carter's offer to buy her things, especially at the price-tags at some of the outfits they looked at, but after a while of him insisting she was worth it, that he wanted to spend the money, she finally gave in. It was a strange feeling, allowing somebody to spoil her. To be able to spend without a budget, shrimping and saving your pennies just to buy a new pair of trainers. In the end, she'd chosen a strapless gown, white that faded into blue at the hem, which was frilly and fell at different lengths, so it was longer at the back than the front. She paired this with a pair of cream heels, held on by a large bow on each ankle. She looked and felt like a million pounds, and the look on Carter's face when he saw her in it was enough to deal the deal. In the early hours of the morning, her dress hung up on his wardrobe, Rosa lay with her head on Carter's chest as he slept. She looked at the dress, smiling softly to herself. This was the start of a whole new life for Rosa and she'd never been happier.
--
Robbie didn't contact her at all, and now her anger had faded, she was left with a heavy feeling of guilt. As she got ready the next afternoon, she kept checking her phone, but not a single message or call came through. In the end, Carter had taken her by the hand and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I told him not to call," he said quietly, watching her carefully, trying to read how she'd react. Rosa had looked away, brow creased as she thought she over. It made sense now why he hadn't called, but it still hurt that he hadn't at least tried to reach out anyway. "Are you angry?" Carter asked her, and she looked up, shaking her head with a sad smile.
"No. Maybe it's for the best, for now." Neither of them knew if he'd be there tonight, but the thought lingered at the back of her mind. Part of her hoped so. At least maybe then he'd be able to see how happy Carter made her. How much she was trying to be better. By the time evening rolled around though, Rosa was full of nerves. She couldn't keep still, even in the taxi on the way there. Eventually, Carter had grabbed her hand, preventing her from scratching the insides of her wrists.
"You look beautiful," he promised her. "We're going to have an amazing night."
As Carter led her into the hall, Rosa's eyes widened in amazement. She'd never been into a place so classy before. There was a huge chandelier overhead, many tables set out and laid with more than just a knife and fork. There was so much going on that Rosa nearly snapped her neck trying to look at everything at once. Taking two passes of champagne from a passing waiter, Carter handed her one and playfully chinked their glasses.
--
Jock didn't cook. Jock had never cooked an actual meal in his life, and furiously, he flipped back a few pages in the recipe book. What the fuck were Indian Truffles? Finally, the meal stopped fighting with him, and he was humming along to the radio when he heard a voice behind him, making him jump. “This is interesting.” Nora. He glanced over his shoulder as she leaned in the doorway, breaking out into a huge smile. Even now, she still had the ability to take his breath away. She suited the shorter hair, dark lashes framing her dark eyes, that small smile on her full lips. She was all he wanted and needed in a woman, and Jock had never dreamed in a million years he would be in this position.
Nora asked him to come over, and quickly, he lowered the flame beneath the pan and wiped his hands on the tea towel slung over his shoulder. Setting it on the side, he paced towards her, pulling her close. Nora hugged him back tightly, really tight, her face buried in his shirt. He cupped the back of her head gently. “Hey. Is something wrong?” Nora didn’t let go for a moment, then finally looked up at him, and he could see the anguish in her eyes.
“Dermot came to the school today.”
Jock didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been expecting that. He knew Dermot. He knew that being the bad guy would be killing him, that he’d want to put things right. Fix things, as always. Anger brewed inside at the thought of him getting to Nora when he knew she’d be on her own. It was unfair and cowardly. Why the fuck hadn’t he faced Jock yet? No. He’d just run like a coward, hadn’t even returned for his things. Because he was guilty. No matter how they tried to look at it, he’d deceived them, betrayed them for a fucking monster. Nora grabbed his hand, sensing his shifting mood.
“I’m sorry. He didn’t stay long, but... He told me to meet him at the Hilton on Friday, and...” She trailed off and he saw the upset on her face. He sighed, reaching up to run a hand over his jaw. Then, he took her hand between his. “Nora, you have nothing to apologise for. I’d knew he’d do this, but I didn’t expect him to come to the school. I thought he would have come here.” He dampened his bottom lip, expressing darkening. “Did he make a move?”
Nora looked away, then nodded, and Jock felt his heart start to race. That fucking cunt. Jock had been happy to stand back, to see how it played out, but things had changed. Nora wanted him, and the sooner Dermot knew this, the better. But, that meant being honest, and admitting what he and Nora were. And he wasn’t even sure what that was yet. They hadn’t spoken about it.
“I told him to leave. He left...,” she continued. “It's Swill's birthday on Friday, so me and you will go to that. Together.” The sudden change of subject made him pause. Swill’s birthday? “What? Those dickheads in that shitty little pub?”
“Please?”
She peered up at him from beneath her lashes, and he moved closer. Jock cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. Then, he leaned down and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “You know I can’t deny you a thing,” he murmured, before lightly squeezing her chin. “Let’s eat. You look hungry.”
“I don’t want to do this, if it’s going to ruin your relationship, Jock.” He looked down at her, a sadness in his eyes. They both knew who’d really ruined it. Karma had caught up and Dermot was the one suffering. She gave him a weak smile, words a whisper. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“He's lost and confused, and in a really bad place, Jock. I know he put himself in this position, but that doesn't mean we have to make it more difficult. I don't want to see him, alone, but I do think you need to talk at some point, to air it out.”
Jock knew she was right, that soon they would have to sort this, one way or another. But, with Nora in the mix, it only made him more nervous. Dermot was Dermot, but he was also a Sullivan, and the apple never fell far from the tree. The last thing Jock wanted was war. Especially against his own cousins. Holding Nora tight, he sighed.
“What were you making for dinner?”
He took her hand and led her to the stove, where the dish was pretty much done. “I’ll be honest, I have no feckin’ clue. Realised I’d been following two different recipes halfway through. It’s got some shit called asparagus in it, and Indian truffle. With any luck, we’ll get out of Swill’s party with a nice bit of food poisoning,” he teased, earning a playful elbow to the gut. “Sit. I’ll serve this up, then poured us something strong.”
When Friday rolled around, he noticed how agitated Nora was that day. She’d cleaned the entire apartment, which had already been perfectly clean in his opinion, rearranged a little bit more of the furniture, and then spent an hour chopping fruit to put into bags for the freezer. He was surprised she didn’t stab right through the chopping board, she was slicing strawberries so ferociously. Deciding to stay out of the way of her and her knife, Jock went up and took a shower. He was getting changed in the bedroom when he heard her turn the shower on for herself; he’d actually decided to make an effort, despite looking like a fucking fool. Jaysus, the things you do for love, eh? He’d trimmed his beard nearly, put on some aftershave, had even run a comb through his hair. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath a shark grey jacket, his collar undone. To be honest, he was probably going to stick out like a sore thumb in a gritty pub full of fucking chavs in trackies, but Nora was the real reason he was doing this. He wanted to show her he was somebody she could be proud of. Somebody who could be respectable. That he would always make an effort when it came to her. After a while, he made his way to the bathroom, hearing Nora say her goodbyes to somebody on the phone. He popped his head around the door; she was sat on the edge of the bath, hair in a towel and another fluffy white towel wrapped around her middle.
“Aoife and George are coming.” She told him, and Jock broke into a grin. Pup would be there? Finally, a bit of good news. She came into the room, assuring him she was finished. Moving close, Nora looked at him, then reached up to touch his cheek. “Are you going to be okay? Are we going to be okay?” Before he could answer, realisation crossed her face and suddenly she was looking at him without seeing. Her breathing grew heavy, and Jock guided her to sit on the bed.
“Nora? Are you okay?”
“Is this... Are we....?”
Nora was looking at him with wide eyes, struggling to steady her frantic breathing. He grabbed her hands, kneeling down in front of her.
“Are we dating now? I mean, I know we are but... I never really thought about anyone else knowing, that's all.”
Jock was surprised, and then incredibly happy when she said she knew they were dating, but completely understood where her panic was coming from. The past week had been surreal, and they’d be living in their own little bubble, unaffected and unseen by the outside world. To expose themselves like that made them vulnerable. But they were in this together. Nora suddenly changed her mind again, saying they didn’t have to go if he thought they’d be a problem, but jock shook his head and she fell quiet, covering her face with her hand to try and calm herself. Moving to sit beside her, Jock gently rubbed her back. “Nora, I want to go. I want to go because you want me to be there. If you’re not comfortable with telling people yet, that’s fine. I’m happy to do whatever you want to do. Just know... I love you. I’ve never loved a woman like I’ve loved you before. And I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of what people say and their judgement. And I’d love to see the try and give me their opinion. All that matters is you and me now, leannán.”
“I'm sorry. It's fine.” They spoke a little more, before Jock hugged her close and kissed her temple. “I'm just going to call Lara, is that okay?”
“You don’t have to ask my permission,” he reminded her softly, smiling before he stood and left. He downed a cheeky whiskey downstairs, then lit a cigarette and checked his phone. He found Dermot’s number. He was tempted to call him, to tell him not to bother, but a part of him wanted Dermot to suffer. To have to sit there and wait, and finally realise she wasn’t coming. Fuck him. By the time Nora came down, fully dressed and looking absolutely divine, Jock had smoked two cigarettes and had another whiskey.
“You look good.” She smiled at him as she entered, picking up the decanter and pouring them a shot each. He admired her in a long look, from toe to face, an appreciative smile pulling at his lips. She smirked at him over her shoulder. “Why don't you dress like that all the time, fearngan didean.”
“Charming,” Jock chuckled, taking the offered glass, his eyes full of humour. “You wound me, woman.”
“This will be fun.” Nora moved close, chinking their glasses, before they downed them. Now Jock was really ready to get this party started. “Together.”
“Together,” he agreed. They took a taxi down to the pub, getting dropped off down the road so they could grab a bit of fresh air and brace themselves for whatever was to come. Jock held her hand, hers so small in his, and they passed Swill on the way in. Still nodded, smiling at Nora, before his eyes darted suspiciously to Jock. Jock merely nodded back, but before they could enter, Nora pulled him aside, whispering that she loved him. Jock smiled down at her, drawing her close, out of view of Swill. “And I love you.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her knuckles before leading her inside. It was already full, beers flowing, though it was a weird mix of a night out and a children’s birthday party all rolled into one. They had a buffet table, for fuck sake, and a cake. Still, Jock kept his thoughts to himself as he checked out who was there; Pete, Lara, Dave and his girl, Alice. George and Aoife were at the bar, and he grinned when he saw them, approaching to shake George’s hand. “Pup! Shit me, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, eh?” He helped himself to George’s beer, slurping the froth off the top. “Fiver says a fuckin’ clown shows up and starts making animals out of balloons.” Nora nudged him, and he smirked. “Fine. I’ll behave.” Suddenly, there was a party hat being thrust into his hand and Jock frowned, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Put it on,” she murmured, fixing her own, and with a grumble, he did the same. George, who was wearing a hat on either side of his head, nodded towards the buffet table.
“Wait until you see what they got Swill.”
“Oh, shit,” Jock replied with a genuine laugh as he caught sight of the princess crown. And then the door was bursting open and there was the birthday boy himself. He hadn’t noticed Bovver on the other side of the room, nor that Nora had spotted him. Instead, he watched Swill gasp, looking around in utter awe.
“You wankers did this for me? Oh, fuck, yous gonna make me cry, you know.”
“That’s cause you’re a puff!” Nerd shouted out, the others laughing. Alice approached, putting the crown on his head with a bright smile.
“Happy birthday, Swill!”
—
Lara stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She was supposed to be getting ready for Swill’s birthday, but part of her didn’t want to go. After the trauma of nearly losing Charlie the other night, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave them too soon. Max was still out there, despite how much she tried to ignore the fact. Dermot, too. Was it wrong of her to leave? Pete had insisted they’d be fine, that he’d set up the nanny cam so they could keep watch from the pub. But, still, they were her babies, and she’d already come close to never seeing Charlie again...
He could have done it. Max. Easily. Could have taken Charlie and left the country within the hour. And she’d have been helpless, powerless, to stop him. The thought literally paralysed her, heart beating sluggish as the horror played out in her mind. If he came for his son, what would Lara do? Her hands shook as she applied her make-up, unable to keep the torturous thoughts at bay. She couldn’t even concentrate long enough to choose between the two dresses she’d picked out for the night. She was still debating when she saw movement in the doorway and looked up; he leaned in the threshold, arms folded, an affection smile on his face as he watched her.
“Which one?” She asked, true worry in her eyes, and his smile broader before he approached.
“You look good in both.” Drawing her close, he kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Relaxing in his arms, Lara tried to take courage in his confidence. They had a babysitter booked, both kids would be safe. They could have one night of fun without having to face any consequences. Right? Pete was still looking at her, though his smile had faded, his brows knitted.
“I’m sorry... Thank you, for everything.” Pete’s words were soft, as he gently eased her arms around his waist and held her close. They began to sway, and she pressed her cheek against his chest, shutting her eyes with a soft sigh. For a moment, everything was perfect; the kids were safe and happy, and Pete was here, with her. “I’m sorry,” she replied quietly, opening her eyes and looking up at him. “I was hard on you. I don’t blame you for what you did.” She chuckled dryly and shook her head, reaching to touch his injured shoulder. “You probably feel shitty enough. I’m just glad your home. I missed you.” She leaned up to kiss him, palm against his jaw as his hand ran down her back. She grinned against his mouth. “Later.”
Groaning, Pete pulled away, but caught her chin, pressing a small kiss there. “I’ll leave you to get ready. I’ll be downstairs. The babysitter will be here in a minute, but I’ll sort it.” He reached the door, pausing to give her another small smile. Then, he left. Lara stood, still smiling, the taste of him in her mouth. One night, she reasoned. And she could always check in if she was worried. Finally choosing a dress, she slid it on, along with a pair of heels. Her hair was done and she was just reapplying her lipstick when her phone vibrated on the side. Lara jumped a little. She smiled at the name flashing on the screen and answered. “Hey, Nora.”
“Hey. Are you excited about tonight?”
Lara dampened her bottom lip, before spritzing herself with perfume. “Kind of. I just hope everything goes-“
“Do you think people will be weird about me and Jock?”
Lara paused. She could tell this was something that was really worrying Nora, the panic there in her voice. Lara had known from the start, but it would be a real shock to everyone else, there was no denying it. “Truthfully? I think the only person being weird will be Bov. You know what he’s like. But, don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing happens. Pete will be there too. We’re going to have a good time, okay babe?”
Nora seemed to calm down, and they spoke for a moment before she asked her if Lara and Pete were okay. Lara smiled, glancing at the door. “Yeah, we’re good. Don’t worry about us. I’m just nervous.”
“I think tonight will be good. You can let your hair down, and relax. You and Pete can just have fun, like the old days.”
Lara laughed. “I’m glad I’m not still working behind that bar though, I’m not going to lie. They were good times though.” And somehow it felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago, all rolled up into one. When she’d first set eyes on Pete, when she’d finally felt the first flutterings of attraction to someone else other than Max. Nora excuses herself, saying she needed to finish getting ready, and Lara promised her she’d see her tonight. There was definitely no backing out now.
—
Lara had kissed the kids a million times before Pete finally got her out the house, threatening to carry her over his shoulder if he needed to. But, in the end, she was glad she came. Alice and Dave had done a brilliant job on the place; a large banner hung over the bar, and the buffet table with laid with a claret runner and filled with food. The grand piece being the cake itself. West Ham and red velvet; Swill was going to die when he saw it. She spent a bit of time helping Alice with the last of the balloons, but Lara couldn’t help but notice Pete was already drinking. He stood with Bov at the bar, the two talking quietly to each other, Pete already nearly finished with his first glass. Oh, well... it was supposed to be a fun night out.
When Alice went to check the music afterwards, Pete came over to her. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her close, roughly, and she gave a nervous laugh, hand on his chest. “Everything okay?” In answer, he kissed her temple.
“You look stunning, babe.”
Swill was made to wait outside as everyone arrived, Aoife and George followed up by Nora and Jock not long after. Though the chatter didn’t die completely, it definitely went quiet for a moment, before George called out a greeting and Jock made his way over. Slipping out from Pete’s arm and flashing him a smile, Lara was quick to join them, reaching to give Nora a tight hug. “You’ve got this,” she whispered in her ear, before drawing back with a bright smile. “Let’s get you both a drink.”
—
“Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Hap-pee birth-daaaaaaaay!” Swill sang to himself as he waited outside the pub to make his grand entrance. Nora and, oddly, that giant ginger beast Jock, had arrived a few minutes ago and he couldn’t see who else they were waiting on. Why the fuck was he still out here?! Had they forgotten about him? Nah, they wouldn’t. Would they? Nah. Oh, fuck it. Swill hurried to the door, booting it open and bounding in. Gasping, he looked at everything and everyone; his friends, all in party hats, blowing little paper trumpet things, George and Ned popping party poppers into the air.
“Happy birthday!”
“You wankers did this for me? Oh, fuck, yous gonna make me cry, you know.”
“That’s cause you’re a puff!” Nerd shouted out, the others laughing. Alice approached, putting the crown on his head with a bright smile.
“Happy birthday, Swill!” She beamed at him. He caught sight of the cake and gasped even harder. “Is that for me?”
“Who else’s birthday is it?” Terry smirked from where he was lining up shot after shot along the bar, enough for everyone to have two. Swill beamed around at everyone, then clambered onto the nearest table.
“I ain’t gonna go into some long speech about how much you all mean to me, but I am gonna say one thing; you cunts are so fuckin’ lucky to know me, I swear to God, like yous have actually been blessed! I’m fuckin’ amazing, look at me. I’m funny, smart and beautiful. So, buy me plenty of drinks tonight cause I fuckin’ deserve it!” He cheered, as did everyone else. Hopping down from the table, he beamed. “Let’s get fucked!”
Over by the bar, Bov scoffed lightly. Ten minutes ago, he would have laughed at that, but his mood had soured the moment Jock Sullivan walked in. What the fuck was he doing ‘ere? They’d all heard the news about Dermot, and Max, and how he’d betrayed them. He’d knew through Pete that Nora had left him. So why the fuck was she here with him? Why wasn’t he hiding in some dark hole with his cunt of a cousin? Whatever the reason, Bov didn’t like it. He didn’t like how friendly they looked. He certainly didn’t like how smart Jock looked.
They were stood together now, with Aoife and George, and Nora looked up, catching his eye. Even now, just a look from her made his whole body tense and react. Fleetingly, he wanted to pull her close, kiss her like he used to. He still thought about it. Three years and he still thought about it. Pathetic. Self-disgust curling, Bov downed his beer, then turned away to light a cigarette.
—
“Fuck, man! You’re such a clumsy fuckin’ prick!” Benji Johnson scowled as he bent to pick up his phone, cursing when he saw the screen was smashed. “Fuckin’ joke, man.”
“It was an accident, cuz,” one of the youts, Damo, muttered. He was barely fifteen, his body too gangly for him to control apparently. “I just knocked into you, innit.”
“You owe me a new phone, man... Nah, fuck this.” Shoving the useless phone into his pocket, he pulled up his hood. “I’ll be back, aight?”
“Yo, man, where you goin’?”
“To get a new fuckin’ phone, cuz!” Benji flashed him a dark look before turning and stalking off, hands deep in the pockets of his hoody. There was a phone shop just down the high street, which was busy enough as it was. Friday always brought a lot of custom, both for the shop owners and the dealers that lurked outside. They’d made a hundred and thirty and it wasn’t even lunch yet. Benji sauntered down the street like he owned the place. And really, he did. Everybody knew his name around here, and those that didn’t soon found out. He knew each shop, each narrow alley, each hiding place. He knew where every family lived, what they did, who they knew. Nobody could take a fucking shit around here without him knowing about it, which was just how he liked it. Benji was the one in control here.
The only thing that would make life perfect would be to have his daughter back. He hadn’t seen her in five months, since turning up at the school. Kayla had been furious to find him there, pulling little Tasha away as she’d stalked to the car. “I told you to stay away, Benji!” “She’s my fu- she’s my daughter, Kayla. You can’t keep her away from me.”
Bundling Tasha into her car seat, Kayla had turned to him, eyes flashing. “While you’re dealing with that shit on the street, carrying fuckin’ straps, you ain’t havin’ nuffink to do with her, all right?”
“Daddy!” Tasha had begun to cry, and Benji had leaned desperately past his ex to take her hand.
“Daddy’s here. I love you, baby, yeah.”
Kayla had shoved his chest, putting enough space between them to slam the door shut, muffling her cries. “I know you’re carryin’ right now.”
Benji had stepped back, dragging his eyes from his daughter’s face to look at her. He didn’t bother protesting it. “It ain’t safe out here.”
“It ain’t safe because of people like you! You don’t solve the problem, you just make it worse. Now fuck off, or I will call the police.” Dampening his bottom lip, Benji rounded the corner and did his best to keep his daughter out his mind. It was the only way to handle it - the pain, the loss of the only thing in his life worth living for. He hit a street lined with shops; all small businesses, family run businesses. Reggie, the man who owned the shop, owed him a favour anyway and he hoped he’d have some good models in. Something flashy. “Get your hands off me-“
“Listen here, you little bitch-“
Benji slowed, passing a small car park. He looked towards the voices; there was a man gripping the wrist of a woman, her back pinned against a car. He was gripping so tightly, she winced and tried to twist away. “Nick, please-“
“I’m not asking you, Charlotte, I’m telling you.”
Benji was approaching before he’d even realised what he was doing. What the fuck was this? Who the fuck was this big man, knocking his woman about? Things like this reminded Benji of his past, and Benji hated being reminded of his past. A father with a crack addiction and a heavy hand did things to you. It changed you. Benji knew all too well. The woman saw him at the last moment, eyes widening a moment before he forced the man called Nick off. Shoving his chest hard, Benji forced him back a couple of steps. “Fuck do you think you’re doin’, bro? Wanna take your hands off her, yeah?”
There was pain in Nick’s face and it looked like he was fighting to recover. His breath short, he stared back at Benji with a coldness he didn’t like. “I was just talking to her.”
“Yeah. Fuckin’ looks like it.” He looked back at Charlotte, who was still pressed against the car. Now he could see her properly, he was startled by how pretty she was. Eyes cat-like, dark blue, her lips full and slightly parted. “Is he botherin’ you, love?”
“She’s fine.” Nick made to move past him. “She-“
Benji shoved him back, harder than before. “Shut the fuck up! I was talkin’ to her.”
Nick stilled, his jaw tense as he fought his anger, his eyes fixed to Charlotte’s face, daring her to say a word. Benji turned back to look at her; her eyes darted between him and Nick, as if trying to figure out the right thing to say. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. “We need to pick up our child,” Nick said slowly, his voice low.
Benji turned on him. “I swear to God, man, I’m talkin’ to her!” He had a bit of height on Nick, glowering down at him. “Now shut the fuck up, before I make sure you can never talk again. You got me?” He stared for a long moment, until finally, Nick nodded. Benji turned to look back at Charlotte. “Lady. Is this cunt botherin’ you?”
—
Nick laid in the unfamiliar bed and looked around the room. The bedding a soft lilac, the walls white. A vanity table was pushed beneath the window, a wardrobe against the wall beside it. Dawn was breaking, the sky outside a reddish-pink. Each breath he took was like fire; his chest felt tight, the bruised and battered skin stretched where Charlotte had sewn it back together. The S was very evident, even if he couldn’t see it beneath the swath of bandages she had applied. Not the cleanest job, but better than bleeding out on her kitchen floor. Part of him was still in disbelief at what had happened. Dermot Sullivan forcing his way into his flat, beating him, sticking the blade into his flesh while he was still conscious on the floor. He hadn’t been conscious for long, the agony too much to overcome...
But he was still alive. And that was the fatal mistake Dermot made. Because while Nick was alive, he /would/ get his revenge. Dermot Sullivan was a dead man walking. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Nick recalled Charlotte’s terror the night before. As soon as she’d laid her eyes on his gun, he’d seen it in the features, the way she paled, the way her hand gripped the back of the chair. He’d thought she might run, might have headed for the stairs where her precious boy slept... but she didn’t. She did as asked, even with trembling hands and tears in her eyes. “Don’t hurt my son,” she’d begged, words a hoarse whisper.
“Then, don’t fuck up,” he’d snapped back. At one point, she jabbed a little too deep with the needle, and with a cry of pain, he struck her face. Charlotte stared, mark blooming, panic and fear overwhelming her.
“I’m helping you!” she’d exclaimed, voice breaking a little, and he’d glared at her.
“Fix me, or I’ll put a bullet in both of you. Do you understand?” By the time she was done, Nick was a shivering pale mess, and her hands were coated in blood. He forced himself to his feet, grabbing the gun in a way that made Charlotte flinch. Light-headed, he swayed, blinking as the room swam in and out of focus. Charlotte had grabbed a cloth, soaking it beneath the tap before she began to clean the blood that splattered the table, chair, and the floor. He grabbed her wrist and she looked up at him, eyes wide. A bruise was forming where he’d hit her.
She was knelt, part-way standing when he grabbed her. With his other hand, he gripped her jaw, finding pleasure in the way she winced. “Where’s your room?” He needed to sleep, the room swimming around him. Charlotte pointed upwards and he grunted, shoving her face away and releasing her wrist so she stumbled back. Stupid bitch.
“Don’t hurt my son.”
Gun swinging from his hand, Nick just laughed as he left the kitchen and made his way up the stairs. It took a lot of effort and he was shaking and trembling by the time he reached the landing. There was a creak and he glanced left, catching sight of the little boy’s pale face in the doorway. His eyes were wide, dark hair mussed from sleep. Nick smirked. The boy disappeared back into the darkness of his bedroom. Making his way to Charlotte’s room, he more or less collapsed on the bed, not bothering to undress. His chest burned, but sleep had taken him easily. All night, he slept, undisturbed.
But today was a new day. Today, Nick needed to recoup. Gather all the shit he’d lost. Set up a new base for himself. He could hear the kettle boiling downstairs and the clatter of cutlery, two muffled voices below. Charlotte and her son. What day was it? Nick rubbed his eyes. Friday. It was Friday. He groaned as he sat up, the pain searing. He sworn Dermot had cut right to the bone, and a little part of him was relieved that he was still alive. That Charlotte had done a good enough job of stitching him up. She still had some use to her nonetheless. He’d have to sweeten her up today, keep her on side. The fear in her face had been satisfying, but while he needed her, he knew he’d have to play it more carefully. Finally managing to pull himself off the bed, sticky and smelling like the alcohol she’d poured over him last night, he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear the boy downstairs, telling Charlotte his plans for the day, and for a moment, Nick stood and listened.
“- and Aaron is bringing his truck and I’m taking my police car! The one with the lights.”
“Just don’t lose it.”
“I won’t! I’m gonna keep it all safe in my pocket.”
Rosa had always wanted a family. She’d always dropped hints, went all gooey-eyed around every baby she saw. Would flash him a look and say, “oh, but ain’t he cute, Nick?” And he’d just smiled but never reply. He hated kids. He hated the idea of something being entirely dependant on him... okay, so maybe that wasn’t true. But there was a big difference between being in control of a woman and being responsible for a child. In fact, if anything terrified him, it was that. It physically repulsed him. Never, ever, would he have a child. And he’d have no qualms about putting a bullet in the boy’s head if Charlotte even /thought/ about fucking him over. In the shower, Nick gingerly removed the bandages. The bleeding had finally stopped, but the mess on his chest looked grotesque, stinking of iron and vodka. As carefully as he could, biting his lip hard to stop the grunts of pain, he began to clean himself down. Dried blood mixing with the water, turning it a pinkish-red as it swirled down the plug hole. As he washed himself down with Charlotte’s shower wash, he made a plan for the day; he needed new laptops, phones, everything that Dermot had smashed up back at the flat. He needed eyes back on London. He needed to find Rosa - the only reason he was in this fucking mess was because of that whore, and if she thought she was going to escape easily, run off into the sunset with her copper boyfriend, she had another thing coming.
And then there was the problem of the Sullivans themselves. As far as they were concerned, he was dead. He assumed that’s what Dermot’s plan was all along; kill him as a warning. Well, it hadn’t worked, and he was going to have the surprise of his life. Out the shower, he sighed, looking at his bloodied clothes and making a mental note to pick up some new ones too. He couldn’t do much about the shirt, but his hoody was cleaner. He’d just have to wear that. Pulling on his trackies and scowling at the dried blood on the waistband, he made his way downstairs. Charlotte was at the front door, seeing Tristan off, and Nick caught what the boy said as he was leaving.
“Will he be gone soon?”
She paused. “I don’t know, honey.” Nick stepped off the stairs and approached her as the boy headed for the bus. When Charlotte turned to step inside, he was blocking the doorway, palm pressed against the door frame. As she made to move past him, he shifted to block the way, eyes trained on her face. “Let me in my house.” Did she really think she could make demands of him? He raised an eyebrow and she faltered. “Please?” He gave a small laugh, but stepped aside to let her in. Kicking her door shut, he followed her into the kitchen.
“I need you to take me out. I need hardware. Some other things.” She began to protest, but he took a step towards her, watching her flinch. “Get your fucking coat. I’ll be ready in five minutes.” Not long after, they were sat in her car, heading down the road. Nick was silent, making a mental list of everything he’d need, fingers drumming the arm rest. Charlotte sat tensely beside him, hands gripping the wheel, her eyes glued ahead. He’d directed her to a quieter part of town, a grubbier part, where graffiti sprawled the walls and groups of youths hung on each corner. He knew there was a computer shop close by, where he could get everything he needed reasonably cheap.
It was important he laid low. While Rosa and the Sullivans were gallivanting on the other side of town, Nick would keep his head down here, stay under the radar. “In here,” he said, pointing ahead to a small car park. Charlotte pulled in, slipping into an empty space and cutting the engine. Nick looked around them, noting the CCTV that was pointed away from them and towards the road. He could see the computer shop across the street, a few cars passing in front of it. “Come on.”
“I can wait-“
“Now.” He shot her a dark look before getting out, his chest giving an uncomfortable pang where the bandage rubbed against the wound. Fuck Dermot. Fucking cunt. Slamming the door shut, he gestured for Charlotte to follow, and she did, reluctantly, her arms wrapped around herself. When they entered the shop, a small bell rang overhead and a man at the counter looked up; tall and black, though thin with age, his hair grey at the sides. He watched them through a pair of round glasses.
“Can I ‘elp yous?”
Nick plastered on his charming smile and moved to the desk. “Actually, yes, you can.”
—
They left the store, Nick carrying two heavy bags; he’d brought two laptops, for hard-drives and another two phones, as well as a few other bits and pieces he’d need. All paid in cash. The owner had looked surprised, but hadn’t questioned it. He’d only wanted an address, and Nick had forced Charlotte to give him hers. He could tell she was angry as she marched back towards the car, and setting the bag down by the back door, he grabbed her wrist. “What the fuck is your problem?”
She turned on him, snapping about how he needed to leave, how she’d paid her debt, how she’d already risked everything. Feeling a flare of anger, Nick pushed her back against the car. “Get your hands off me-“ Furiously, she tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold, watching her wince and squirm.
“Listen here, you little bitch.” His eyes were stormy, furious as he glared, his face inches from hers. “We’re done when I say we’re done. And you /will/ help me.”
She struggled against him, her voice betraying her fear. “Nick, please-“
“I’m not asking you, Charlotte, I’m telling you,” he warned. She suddenly glanced over his shoulder, and he felt the presence a moment too late. The stranger grabbed his shoulder and forced him back, before shoving his chest, hard. Pain exploded as Nick stumbled back, suddenly unable to catch his breath.
“Fuck do you think you’re doin’, bro? Wanna take your hands off her, yeah?”
Nick fought for breath, trying to best not to let the pain show. His wound felt hot and sticky, and he was sure it was bleeding again. The man had put himself between Nick and Charlotte, and was looking at Nick with utter disgust. Dark eyes, his head shaved, a scar on his brow and another on his cheek. Trying to steady his breathing, Nick straightened. This was the last thing he needed. He stared back. “I was just talking to her,” he replied calmly.
“Yeah, fuckin’ looks like it.” The man glanced back at Charlotte, and Nick took the opportunity to edge forward. “Is he botherin’ you, love?”
“She’s fine. She-“ Nick made to move past him, but the man was quicker. Again, he shoved Nick, harder than before, and Nick grunted, the pain enough to make his eyes water. Anger began to rise like a tide. He had things to do, he didn’t have time to watch some wannabe gangster act like a saviour of women.
“Shut the fuck up! I was talkin’ to her.”
Charlotte was looking as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. She hadn’t moved from the car, pressed against her door, her eyes darting between the newcomer and Nick. He stared hard at her, daring her to utter a single word that would ruin what he had planned. He was getting tired of people fucking with his shit. Rosa, Jock, Carter, Dermot, now this bastard. Everybody getting in his way and preventing him from getting what he wanted. And Nick didn’t like to be denied anything.
Unfortunately for Charlotte, he knew the exact thing to say to get his own way. Did she think he wouldn’t go to that school right now and put an end to that boy’s incredibly short life? “We need to pick up our child.”
“I swear to God, man,” the newcomer snapped, rounding on him, stepping up so close Nick could smell his aftershave. “I’m talkin’ to her! Now shut the fuck up, before I make sure you can never talk again. You got me?” He glared down at Nick and he could sense the other’s man unbridled anger. Fuck. They needed to get out of here before Nick got his head kicked in; he was in no shape to put up much of a fight, much to his own regret and dissatisfaction. He was starting to regret leaving his gun behind. Nick held the man’s stare a moment longer before nodding. The man turned back to Charlotte. “Lady. Is this cunt botherin’ you?”
Nick glanced at the bag by the car. If Charlotte fucked him over now, he’d just have to grab it and run. How far he’d get when he could barely breathe as it was, he didn’t know. After an excruciating moment, Charlotte spoke. “He was bothering me.” Nick’s gaze shot to her face, his fists clenching at his sides. That bitch- “But, no more than usual. I’m fine. Really. Y-You can go.” Nick smirked, glancing at the man. His eyes were locked on Charlotte’s face and he looked like he didn’t believe her. Too bad, arsehole.
“We really need to get to the school.” Nick moved past him, and this time the man allowed it. Picking up the bag, Nick moved to the passenger side and looked over the top of the car at him. He smirked. “It was a disagreement. Nothing more. But, don’t worry; you’ve done your good deed for the day.” He looked the other man up and down, clearly not impressed with what he saw. “Now you can go back to dealing crack or whatever it is you do.”
“Fuck you.”
Nick didn’t respond, but slapped the roof, making Charlotte jump. “Come on.” He got in.
Benji stood, still staring at the woman. He could see it in her eyes, the truth. He didn’t believe a word she’d said. But, it was obvious she just wanted to get away. Clenching his jaw, Benji debated throwing caution to the wind and dragging the twat back out the car, but before he could make a concrete decision, she was pulling open the car door. She looked back at him, briefly, mouthing two words that made him go cold.
Help me.
And then she was getting in, slamming the door shut. “Fucking black cunt,” Nick muttered, as Charlotte pulled out of the car park and drove off, a little faster than necessary. Nick turned in the seat, watching the man watch them leave. Then he turned back to Charlotte with a smirk. “Good girl. You’re learning.”
—-
Benji watched the car leave, a heavy feeling in his chest. Help me. Was he sure that's what she'd mouthed to him? Deep down, he knew he wasn't mistaken, but another part of him wondered if he really wanted to get involved. He didn't know her. He didn't know either of them, and they definitely weren't from his neck of the woods. Her accent Northern, and his boasting roots in Luton. How was he supposed to help? Even trying to remember the number plate was a bit fruitless, and the last thing he'd do was turn to the feds for help. He did have one good start though, and that was the blue bag that had been sat by the car, the one the man picked up. He'd have recognised where that came from any day.
Stepping into Reggie's shop, he let the door swing shut behind him. The older man smiled brightly in greeting. He and Reggie went way back. He'd been Benji's neighbour in the block of flats he'd used to live in, always happy to provide a meal or a chance to use the shower when Benji's mum hadn't been able to provide. Not that that had been her fault; his dad would smoke most of their benefits away on a weekly basis. Reggie was an old timer, had spent a stretch of time in prison for armed robbery when Benji had been a teenager. Now, he'd settled, opening a hardware shop, though most of his business was underhand and illegal. Just how Benji liked it. "What are you needin', Ben?"
Benji approached, setting his smashed phone on the counter. "Got anything' new?"
"Sure." The older man turned around and began rummaging beneath the worktop. Retrieving a brand new phone, he set it on the counter.
"A couple came in here, right? A dark haired woman, a man with a beard?" Benji asked, leaning against the counter and picking up the new phone. He swapped the sim cards, before handing the broken one to Reggie, who tossed it into another box at his feet. The old man nodded, a slight frown on his face.
"Yeah, about twenty minutes ago, I'd say. Why?"
"Did they leave an address?"
"Of course they left an address." Reggie chuckled, shaking his head softly, but at the same time, opening up the ledger in front of him. "If you're thinkin' bout robbin' 'em, he paid nearly four hundred in cash. I'm sure he'll have lot more stashed away somewhere."
Benji smiled. If anybody else had said that, he would have jawed them, but this was Reggie, and he knew Benji better than he knew himself. It was how Reggie's business worked. Sell expensive shit, then have some yout steal it back. Nobody ever suspected the kindly old man who'd sold it to them in the first place. "Lucky for them, I ain't interested in that today." Reggie pushed the ledger towards Benji, pointing to the latest entry. Turning on his new phone, Benji waited for it to load up before saving the address. Even now, he couldn't get her face out of his mind. "Charlotte," he murmured, reading the name written in Reggie's familiar scrawl. The old man tilted his head.
"Why are you so interested, hm? I know that look on your face."
"And what look is that, cuz?"
Reggie smiled. "A man on a mission. Is there anything I can help with?" He shut the ledger, and Benji pocketed the phone.
"Nah, I'm good. I could use another burner though." Reggie nodded, turning and rummaging in the box. He returned with an old Nokia, something that would have been popular back in the early 2000s. "Thanks. I'll catch you later, yeah?"
"Stay out of trouble," Reggie called behind him, and Benji's laughter followed him on the way out. Outside, he headed down the street, debating what to do. He wasn't even sure why he was so bothered about what happened to the woman. This was London, the East End; people got hurt every day. People got beaten, people got stabbed. Life was shit. And yet the panic in her eyes, the way she'd looked at him pleadingly... He should just leave it, he knew, but it didn't stop him finding his car, getting in and jabbing her address into the SatNav.
--
Back at Charlotte’s, Nick had commandeered her bedroom, and now his laptops were set up on her vanity table, his phone lit up on the wooden surface beside him. Charlotte was preparing dinner now Tristan had returned, and he’d been up here for a few hours now. Sourcing everything he needed from various Clouds and back up systems on one laptop, the other running through London’s police database. Finally, it pinged, and he found emails from that very day discussing that night’s policemen’s ball. It was being held close to the station, in an old Victorian building, and Nick wondered... would she be there?
It took him longer to access the CCTV network at the venue, but when he finally snuck in, he was rewarded greatly. It only took three camera searches to find her; Rosa, looking almost unrecognisable in the gown she wore. She was sat eating beside Rivera, looking completely out of place in such an upmarket occasion. He zoomed in on her face, fists clenching. He needed to make her /pay/. He knew he shouldn’t go, but after half an hour of watching her, he couldn’t resist. He wanted to see her in the flesh. On the way home, he’d made Charlotte stop so they could buy him fresh clothes and more painkillers, so he pulled on the new jacket, hood big enough to shadow his face.
Shutting off the laptops, he began to install a tracker on his phone as he jogged downstairs. Charlotte was just serving up Tristan’s dinner, and the boy fell quiet when he walked in, eyes instantly falling to his plate. Nick ignored him, as Charlotte stilled, pan still in hand. “I need your car. I’m going out. Do you have a spare key? I don’t know when I’ll be back.” For the first time, she didn’t protest. There was a tired resignation in her face that told him he’d finally gotten his way. Charlotte was well and truly in his control and she knew it. She set down the pan, taking a set of keys off the hook and handing it to him.
“I’ll leave some dinner in the oven,” she told him, turning away to pour Tristan some juice. Pushing the key into his pocket, Nick turned and left, the front door slamming loudly behind him.
In less than an hour, Nick was sat in the dark rafters above the dance hall. The lights had been lowered now the eating was done, most people of the dance floor, the rest milling in groups around the bar. That’s where Rosa was, right now, drinking a martini. His eyes had been fixed on her ever since he’d gotten in; a maintenance door and a long set of ladders had given him easy and unnoticed access, and here he sat, waiting for an opportunity. For what, he wasn’t even sure yet, but the gun dug hard against his hip from where it sat in his waistband.
—
Benji sat in his car and stared at the house a few driveways down. The area was a little more up-kept than he was used to, blooming flowers in flowerbeds and neatly trimmed bushes, not a lick of graffiti in sight.
Help me.
The lights were on downstairs. The car from earlier on a gravel driveway, a path, a red front door. There was a boys bike discarded on the front lawn. A large potted shrub stood by the front door. Everything was quiet, picturesque and seemingly perfect.
Help me. Benji had been about to get out when he saw the front door open. The man stepped out, Benji catching a flash of his face before he pulled the hood up and over, hiding himself away. He shut the door, then paced to the car, unlocking it and getting in. A moment later he pulled off the drive and disappeared off down the street. Benji stayed put until the car had disappeared around the corner. Glancing back at the house, he saw her; a pale face peering out the window, before she quickly drew the curtain shut. It had to be now. Getting out of the car, Benji shut the door and then crossed the road. He felt out of place, and hoped none of the neighbours were peeking out their curtains. Making his way up the path, Benji reached the door and hesitated. Dampening his bottom lip, he thought back to the fear in her face earlier. The way she’d turned back to him, desperate for even a stranger to help. To do something.
Help me.
Benji knocked, not too loud. It was quiet for a moment, before it opened a crack, and she looked out. For a moment, Benji could only stare, as she opened the door to reveal herself further, the disbelief evident in her own face. Those eyes holding him to the spot, the beauty of her making his heart race. What the fuck was wrong with him? “Uh...” Remembering why he was here, he glanced around, before focusing back on her. “I ... You needed help. So I found you.”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Dec 10, 2021 9:39:43 GMT -5
It had been a while since Pete had drunk, yet it seemed to slip down like the purest honey. His throat welcomed it, his lips tugging into a smile as it surfaced back good memories. The first time he had ever drank hadn't been in The Abbey, but a side alley on the way to school; scruffy, twelve year old Pete had stolen a can of Fosters from Steve and fled with it as if it were gold. At the time it had tasted like gold, untainted and intoxicating, but now his pallet was more refined. Heineken or Numbers (Kronenbourg), or even a Peroni.
He hadn't been drinking for her -- for Lara. His beautiful, warm and patience wife.
It still seemed somewhat strange to say that she was his wife; an impossibility he had dreamt of for so long, it didn't seem real. The moment he had laid eyes on her, Pete had joked he would wed her, and looking at his own silver band, it felt satisfying to say he had followed through. There was something inexplicably mesmerising about her, that he had never quite been able to place. Uniquely pretty, not like the other women. Big eyes, the longest lashes; a smile so genuine it could break your heart. Just looking at Lara and Pete Dunham wanted to take on the world to save her. To have her.
For the briefest of moments he had understood the workings of Max Sullivan. Beneath his vindictive and sadistic traits lay the foundations of love, and then obsession. Pete would kill for Lara, without reason, without hesitation. The difference between the two began when Max knew he would also unflinchingly kill Lara herself. Why? Power. Pete required love and acceptance, and that was enough for him. Lara choosing to stay with him, have his children and hold his hand was enough validation for a lifetime. Max Sullivan needed control, and when someone didn't replicate your intense feelings, manipulation and threat became the only way forward.
Being contradicted belittled you as a man, which Max did not want. And succumbing to his demons had made Pete feel less of a man, a husband and protector, so he understood.
Pete didn't want to control Lara and never believed he even had the right to do so. It wasn't her fault he hadn't been enough. People were not objects, and as he lay awake in the hospital, he had realised that was all Max thought they were. Pawns in a game he was undoubtedly planning in his head. Some were prettier than others, but they all played a purpose they could not stray from and Lara had run from hers.
Sometimes he saw the same inflictions in Dermot. He was more warming, and tolerable, but still a structure lay within. Had Max planted that there? Conditioned Dermot into thinking he had to be a certain way, without even realising. That he had to consistently protect his brother, because he was his brother. Family was family, even if they were psychopathic and irrational. You had to agree with them, save them, walk beside them eternally. Even if it meant destroying your own life. Pete loved Steve, but family did not mean perfection, or self destruction. You did not have to forgive someone just because your blood ran the same shade of red.
The hurt Pete had felt when he discovered Dermot had been lying to them all was overwhelming. He had wanted to drink, hard. Wanted to find the two of them and crush them from existence for their betrayal but Lara had stopped him. A small hand on his arm as his fists clenched. Inches from stepping out the door, his jacket zipped up and determination on his face. Charlie and Kimmy had been around a traitor, a murderers accomplish. How had he been so foolish to let that happen? Welcoming the Irish cunt into his home as if he had earned it.
'I'll fucking kill 'em.' he had seethed but seeing the worry pinch her soft features had made him stop.
Pete Dunham would have killed for Lara, if she hadn't had said no.
So he hadn't drank since the hospital, because his inhibitions would melt and the anger would surface. But Pete was nervous, and exhausted, and it was a fucking party after all! What was the worst thing that could happen in their sanctuary?
And then Jock Sullivan walked through the door.
All of them hesitated, their breath still as the broad Irishman stepped over the threshold. Nora was by his side, examining each one of their expressions with softness. She wanted him to be welcomed, and knew it was a dangerous decision. Would she betray them too? Over his shoulder, Bovver physically tensed to the point Pete thought his pint glass might shatter.
'Why didn't you tell me?' Pete whispered as he glanced down at Lara. Of course she knew, so why hadn't she said?
Time sped up when Swill stormed his way in, releasing the thick awkwardness for a moment. He clambered onto a nearby table and fed them a clumsy speech with a clumsy grin. Pete wasn't listening to what was being said, though. Lara had moved away to hug Nora and Pete found himself staring silently at Jock. The first time he had been in The Abbey, Jock had been threatening them with menace in his eyes as he'd trashed their home. The last, warning them Max Sullivan was back, only to receive a polite 'fuck off' and spit at his shoes. Pete hadn't wanted to believe it because they didn't deserve it. Not again.
They had all been completely wrong about who to trust, however. Dermot was adamant his cousin was a liar, so they had taken his kind features as gospel. How foolish did they look now? Looking Jock up and down, Pete considered everything he knew and decided Jock was safe. He hadn't tried to cover up the return of his nihilistic cousin and instead attempted to warn them, trying to debunk the lies even if it meant losing everything. Someone who knew, just like Pete, that family was not always deserving of protection.
Putting out his hand, he waited for Jock to shake it. 'You've got some balls.' his face was expressionless until a small smile formed and he shook his hand strongly.
The two girls were already at the bar, so the men followed across. Pete caught sight of a pissed off looking Bovver and wasn't sure how to handle the situation. He had been in a volatile state for what seemed like years, trusting none of the Sullivan's and only settling his heart on the one woman who had spent the last three years living with one of them. Ryan's sister might as well not have existed, because the heartbreak from that romance was merely fleeting in comparison. Not so long ago, Bovver had tackled Dermot so hard he'd almost broken his nose during a friendly game of family football. What would he want to do to Jock?
'I know you didn't come 'ere for a fight, but please, don't give him a reason to want one.' Pete murmured as he glanced at Jock before patting him on the back and moving away.
Pete had had a few drinks already today and knew it was hitting him heavier than normal. Lara hadn't said anything, though. Just looked at him from beneath long lashes, a gentle warning there if he pushed it too far. He was in a safe space, and their relationship was in a healthy place. Jock was here, alone. It was fine. Swill was having fun -- fucking dancing on the table! Pete winced as Swill slipped and landed with a thud, before quickly jumping up and resuming his birthday singing.
'Bruv.' Pete slid onto the stool beside Bovver, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him around. He was hanging his head, dragging on his cigarette as if it were a life line.
'If Isla catches you doing that, we're both done.' Terry nodded at the cigarette as he walked past, towel over his shoulder.
'What she don't know can't hurt 'er.' Pete winked, in response to the new joint owner of The Abbey. Every time he thought he was floating, change came to drown him.
A few days ago he and Bovver had been sat, talking; Pete was drinking a cordial, the piss already ripped for his sobriety.
'Next thing she'll been fuckin' banning football.' he'd spat, flicking ash into an empty glass on the table. Pete had come to hear the news on the firm, but instead it had turned into a light of things in life that were pissing him off. Isla was one. 'She's not even that 'ot.' Bovver had added, but it was a lie.
The problem with Isla George was she was pretty, and feisty. A thick, Scottish accent showed she came from the land of 'no fucks given' and already she had tried to kick Swill out for throwing up in one of the potted plants. He obliviously winked at her, stumbling onto the street with admission he was 'leaving anyway'.
'You good?' Pete asked, turning his back on the raucous party. 'Look at me.' he demanded when Bovver pulled a sour face, glancing over his shoulder. 'Look. At. Me.' he repeated, sterner this time and Bov's eyes fell onto his face. 'Are you the Major, or what?' he asked to which Bovver gave a hot reply. 'Then set a good example, and just celebrate the finest fuckin' member.' he pointed over to Swill who had taken a large chunk of cake with his fist. Alice was looking at him with a sad face for destroying her masterpiece but when he grinned, she merely giggled and cut herself a slice.
'I'm drinkin' tonight.' Pete gave Bovver a cheeky look and was transported back to the old days. 'One time only. So do you want to miss that opportunity, by being a soppy cunt?' he teased. 'Another round, Tel.' he waved at Terry and then looked back at his friend. His best friend. 'I know what you're thinkin' and I know you're in charge, but I trust 'im. I trust Nora, don't you?'
But Nora had also trusted Dermot, and where had that got them?
At the other end of the bar, Nora was picking up her glass of rose with a small sigh. It brought back memories, being here, the kind she didn't really want to recall. Of her and Bovver outside by the beer barrels, his face so close to hers she could almost taste him. The flirting and the games the two of them would play as she was stuck with unforgiving Malachi. He was gone now, though. So was the past. Surely things had moved on?
Jock said something and she turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. 'What?' she asked, an apologetic smile on her face. 'Sorry. I zoned out for a minute.' sipping her wine, the large glass was empty in moments so she grabbed another. 'Actually, can I just have the bottle?' she asked and Terry handed it over with a smile.
It was strange, how much had passed and yet still stayed the same. The Abbey, a constant. Pete and Lara, them too. Something that had stayed strong throughout all of time and turbulence. Part of Nora believed she had leapfrogged on a few too many people to get to where she was now. Bovver, Dermot... had she been cruel, or was that life?
'I used to live with Swill.' Nora smiled as she and Jock moved over to their own table. George and Aoife were at the bar, chatting to Steve and Shannon about something. They looked happy. 'For a while, before I met... Dermot.' the mention of his name made her stomach flip and she cursed quietly. 'He's lovely, if just a little bit stupid.' she went on about Swill, looking at him fondly. For all this quirks, he was still kind. 'Have you heard from Rosa?' she asked with a small laugh. Meeting Jock's quizzical gave she shrugged. 'I used to hate her so much.' she admitted. 'Just like you and the boys. So, I'm sure things will change.'
The party progressed, with alcohol and cake getting passed around the room. Alice stepped up to say a welcome and thankyou to everyone, but a large hiccup from her second glass of wine had her in hysterics so she couldn't finish so Dave decided to take over
He stood up on a chair and adjusted his party hat so it sat perfectly in the centre of his head. Clearing his throat, he looked across the room before landing his eyes on Swill. The two beamed at each other like a married couple.
'I have known Swill for far too many years.' he started with a grin. 'I'm actually surprised he's even lasted this long.' the crowd gave nods and grunts of agreement. 'Swill is clumsy, haphazard and gullible; he's impulsive and a little bit fuckin' crazy. But he is also one of the kindest, most genuine, expressive and loving people I have ever had the fortune to meet.' everyone clapped at that moment and Dave stopped to catch his breath. 'I think I'm already a bit pissed, mate.' he called out to Swill with a laugh. 'I will make this brief, because I know we're all dying to have a good party, but me and Alice just wanted to ask you somethin'.' reaching down, he grabbed Alice's hand and she gave a warm smile.
'We know Freddie isn't a baby anymore, but he still needs some good role models in his life, so... Simon Wilkins, would you do us the honour of being Freddie's godparent?' he beamed.
Nora turned to Jock then, smiling like an idiot. She didn't know why she said it, but something about the speech had warmed her heart. 'Do you want children?' she asked.
At the other end of the pub, Pete was shaking his head but smiling. 'Why didn't we make him our kids Godparents?' the question was answered as Swill charged towards Dave and took him down on the ground with a yell of glee. That was why.
Since Carter had been a Police Officer, he had never found interest in the Ball. It seemed both pretentious and terrifying. A whole party dedicated to them just doing their job? He didn't want a celebration, Carter had always just wanted to go home, drink a fine whiskey and sleep. Maybe a day off, or a gift card, like other businesses. But when he saw Rosa coming towards him in what he could only describe as the most spellbinding gown, he suddenly had a reason to go. A purpose, not only for life, but for this party. Someone he could have on his arm and show off to the world; to impress them with how beautiful and fiery she was.
He also knew that it would build confidence in Rosa that she deserved. Other people would look at her, smile, pass compliments. None of them new her past or her secrets; none of that mattered. She was a woman there in her own rights and Carter couldn't wait for the evening to begin.
'You look beautiful,' he promised her, not failing to notice her anxious tell. Taking her hand in his own, he squeezed it gently. 'We're going to have an amazing night.'
Only one other time had he ventured to the ball and quickly he had regretted it. The women who spent most of their days wrapped up in shirts, ties and stiff trousers had both figuratively and literally let their hair down and wanted some fun. They spent the whole night pawing at him, pushing themselves close and drunkenly telling him what they thought of him. Over the years, the venue had become more refined and past mistakes ensured people drank less and remained more composed, but Carter was cautious.
The venue was big and luxurious, and stepping out of the car, it felt like their two worlds were finally colliding. Rosa was no longer a secret.
Carter was wearing a crisp, white shirt with a black tuxedo and complete with matching bow tie. He felt smart, and ready to take on anything. They both looked good, and they both looked like they belonged together. 'You smell amazing.' Carter whispered as he kissed the side of Rosa's neck, lingering a little while longer. Sweet, like roses and vanilla.
The two of them walked up the steps and into the building, the sound of a quartet hitting their ears. For the briefest seconds, he wondered if Robbie would be here, and if he would cause a scene. Carter decided that wouldn't be the case; albeit Robbie had reacted negatively, there had been no intended malice, even if it had been inflicted. Carter had been firm with his wording to Robbie of what to do, and what would happen if he intervened. He hadn't rang, or visited their house, so why would he throw his secret sister into the air at a public venue?
Reaching out, he took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Handing one to Rosa, he smiled. 'Did I say how beautiful you look?' he repeated, unable to help himself. Her hair was perfect and silky, her lips plump and her eye makeup a sultry shade. One of his hands found the small of her back and he pulled her in close as the two of them surveyed their surroundings. There were endless rows of tables laid out with name cards and floral placements. The chandelier above them clinked and cast shimmering fragments on the parquet floor. A gentle hum of conversation flowed around, but the venue was so large it didn't seem claustrophobic or deafening.
'Let's circle around and get a feel for the place.'
Carter lead Rosa around the room, smiling at a few faces and stopping every now and then to shake someone's hand. Robbie didn't seem to be here, but it didn't matter. Perhaps he never came, just like Carter hadn't until today. Nodding at a passing officer, Carter reached out to grab a fresh drink when someone's hand brushed his, as they'd both gone to claim the same glass. There was a small laugh and he turned to see a blonde woman in a sparkling aqua dress smiling at him. Her hair was cut short, framing a structured face. Melanie gave a purr and took the last glass from the passing waiter.
'You'll have to get your own.' she teased Carter, glancing to the side of him when Rosa turned around. She had been facing away, looking at the musicians in awe when she had heard the voice. Carter could see the goose bumps rising on her arm as caution set in. 'Who's this?' Melanie asked and Carter let his arm fall back around Rosa, to show her he was with her, and also to hold her back if he needed to.
'This is Rosa Croft.' Carter answered before Rosa could give a sly response. 'Rosa, this is Melanie.'
'Just Melanie?' she pouted and then reached out a hand, which Rosa did not take. 'Melanie Goodwell.' she lowered her hand with a purse of her lips. 'Croft, as in Robbie Croft?' she pressed on, her flirtatious eyes now daggers as she settled them on Rosa. 'He's such a handsome little boy, isn't he?'
'Barely a boy, Mel. He's not much younger than you.'
'I like my men more my age.' she let her eyes rake Carter up and down. 'How old are you?' she asked and saw Rosa practically ready to lunge.
Melanie loved to rile anyone up, which was perhaps the reason she was single and worked in the administrative office alone.
Holding Rosa tight, Carter said their goodbyes and lead them away from the scene. Melanie had already found interest in someone sat down, but all the same he knew it had upset Rosa. Stopping by the bar, Carter ordered two more drinks and leaned forward with a sigh. 'Don't look at me like that.' he murmured as Rosa flashed her eyes. 'Is it my fault I'm so irresistible.' he teased, pulling her in close when she started to argue. 'I'm joking. Soy todo tuyo. Yours.' he kissed the top of her head gently.
There was the sound of a gong ringing in the distance and they both turned to see someone on the stage holding a microphone. 'Dinner is served.' the man called, a French ring to his accent. Suddenly the whole crowd surged towards the tables and Carter grabbed their drinks, leading Rosa towards the seating chart.
Luckily Melanie was nowhere near them, yet they couldn't help but hear her grating laugh from across the room.
The table cloths were pristine white, the plates gold with stunning centrepieces and candlesticks precisely placed. The first course was gazpacho, a cold soup made from a mixture of root vegetables. Next it was scallops, served in stunning shells. Looking over at Rosa, Carted gave a smile as she thought hard about which was the correct cutlery to hold. 'Outside, in.' he mouthed and flashed a wink. 'Are you having fun?'
The entrée came out and Carter had gone for confit duck whilst Rosa went for the chicken. 'I'll try some of yours, if you try mine.' he offered.
It was as if they were alone in the room after a while, the two of them chattering, smiling, and tasting the new foods they had never bothered exploring before. On one side of him was an old man who Carter was pretty sure had retired that year. On the side of Rosa was one of the station security guards and his wife.
'Nice to meet you.' he smiled at Rosa, a mouth full of food. He wore big rimmed glasses and have a soft face. 'I'm Roger, and this is my wife Valerie. Are you Mrs Rivera, we haven't seen you before?' he asked and his own wife elbowed him in the side.
'Don't be presumptuous dear.' she murmured, noting the lack of wedding ring. 'You're ever so pretty and our Carter is nice, isn't he?' she gave a smile to Carter who turned at the mention of his name.
'So when are you proposing, eh?' Roger asked and all of them gave a gentle laugh.
Roger and Valerie had been married for thirty years, and their happiness still shone out of them like moonbeams. Love was contagious and Carter found his arm sliding around the back of Rosa's chair as the four of them chatted into the night. Dessert came and it was an assortment of cheesecake, Eaton mess and sorbet. Carter felt like his shirt was going to pop with how much he had consumed through the night. Sitting back, he loosened his bow tie a little and gave a content sigh.
'I'm done.' he breathed, letting his thumb rub Rosa's shoulder.
Most people had gotten up to dance, or order some more drinks so the seating around them was empty. Tugging Rosa close, Carter kissed her lips slowly. It had gone well, so far. 'What would you say?' Carter asked, searching Rosa's eyes. She was looking at him with slight confusion tugging her brow. 'If I asked you to marry me?'
Charlotte was not stupid.
Years working for a Law firm, she had learned a thing or two. She could balance a phone in the crook of her neck, type an official statement and also stir a coffee whilst stapling a mountain of paperwork. It wasn't multitasking, it was just being efficient and capable, Charlotte thought. They always made jokes in the office of how high strung she was, but could not deny she was good at her job. When she had been pregnant with Tristan, most of them in the office had offered a sympathetic gaze, consistently asking if she needed help, a break, some water, or to take her leave early. Naturally she was small in stature, thin but with wide hips. Five months in and Charlotte popped as if she were carrying twins and her boss had asked if she wanted to start working from home.
'I can do it.' Charlotte had assured him, struggling to pull in her office chair as her bump protruded.
'We don't doubt you can, Char.' his tone had been patronising, a hand on her shoulder and she'd rolled the chair over his foot with a grunt.
Not only was she large, hot, uncomfortable and ladened with work, she was also single. That was really where the judgement came and fell. Where is the father, why are you not married, how are you going to do it alone? If Sheila in admin could have seven dachshund and it was deemed acceptable, Charlotte believed she could raise one single child on her own.
A big case came through during her second trimester, and the summer was unbearably hot. She was not happy to admit it, but Charlotte had become very obsessive with ensuring everything was done, otherwise she could not leave the office. She was due to take her maternity leave in the next few weeks, but this case was heavy and important, and the money from it could buy Tristan things she desperately needed. Tristan, she had decided one day as she'd rubbed her stomach and the name had caught her eye on a finished file.
Everything had to be finished before six, labelled, stamped, tied with a rubber band that perfectly matched the binder it was in.
The inbox had to be empty, the mail tray had to be completed. The crumbs that found their way around the desk had to be hoovered and then the blinds needed dusting. Again. Now the floor was dirty, again. No, now a new email came in.
As the last few days progressed, things started to get complicated. Folders had to be filed a certain way, the pencils in her pot had to sit in a certain position and all the postits on the screen had to be in perfect symmetry. The nurse had diagnosed her with obsessive compulsive disorder and Charlotte had laughed nervously, chewing at her nails.
'I've had it before.' she admitted and the nurse smiled.
'Yes, it doesn't normally come from nowhere. It is merely heightened when we're anxious or stressed.' a small pause and Charlotte looked up to meet her soft gaze. 'Are you doing okay, Charlotte?'
'Is Tristan not okay?'
'He's fine.' the nurse reassured her and so Charlotte nodded her head.
'I'm fine, we're both fine.'
A few weeks after he was born and it dissipated; no longer a desperate itching at the back of her skull if something was out of place. There was no time to organize such chaos, as the minutes spent drinking in his perfect face would have been wasted straightening a book.
It happened a little at school during her exams. Charlotte would wear a rubber band on her wrist and ping in consistently until her skin grew raw. What would happen if she didn't ping it enough times? Nothing, she knew; she wasn't crazy. But it would tick in the back of her mind, unfinished, incomplete; a mess. Now it was starting again, thanks to Nick Walker. How many times had she cleaned the kitchen, and yet it still felt dirty. There was a drop of blood, a miniscule fragment of claret that had splashed somewhere she couldn't see, Charlotte was sure of it. When Tristan went to school she would turn the whole place upside down and pour bleach in every crevice.
Nick, however, had other plans.
'I need you to take me out.' he practically demanded. 'I need hardware. Some other things.'
'No, I --'
Nick took a step towards her and Charlotte swallowed the rest of her words, flinching despite herself.
'Get your fucking coat.'
The car journey was tense and Charlotte wanted to be sick. What was she doing? What were they doing? Reaching up, she used her sleeve to polish the rear view mirror and gave a brief smile at the sheen. That had been annoying her for the last five minutes. They began to drive to a part of London she had never frequented before, not by choice, perhaps merely in passing to the nicer areas. It seemed derelict and depressed, if she was honest. Feelings she could relate to now.
'In here.' Nick snapped and Charlotte pulled into a parking space, gripping the steering wheel hard. Was that blood under her nail? 'Come on.'
Charlotte turned her head to look at Nick, an eyebrow raised. That was blood under her nail. She needed to clean it now.
'I can wait --' she protested, unsure why she ever tried to deny him what he wanted.
'Now.'
As they headed to the store, Charlotte began to pick at her nails desperately to get the tiny amount of dirt from beneath the bed. She felt irritated.
Why did the world have to beat her down?
Everyone thought they knew best what she wanted. Everyone doubted what she could do and instead forced their ideas onto her. Charlotte had never been promoted, but she always got the best feedback, the highest ratings, the best satisfaction from both Lawyers and clients. She was fast, yet accomplished. She wasn't ugly, or strange; normal, a little more than average in looks she would perhaps offer. But no one ever complimented her, or praised her, or congratulated her for what she had achieved. No one said 'wow' or smiled in a genuine way. Her management bored down on her, manipulative, draining; just like the bullies at school, just like Nick Walker.
Why did he get to tell her what to do? Without her, he would be dead. Without her, the business would crumble.
'I need an address or I can't help you.' The elbow in her ribs brought Charlotte back to life and she looked up, confused.
'What?'
Nick growled at her to do as the man said, and sighing Charlotte gave her address to a stranger before they left. The place smelt strange, like plastic and cigarettes. It was making her skin itch. Agitated, Charlotte nodded when Nick declared he was done and stormed ahead of him back to the car. She could leave him, if she wanted. Jump in the car, lock the doors, grab Tristan and just vanish. Yet she couldn't. Leaving would be like failing, and the uncompletedness of failure would drive her insane.
'What the fuck is your problem?' Nick grabbed her wrist and Charlotte hissed, trying to take it back.
'Get your hands off me!' she insisted and struggled to pull away, stumbling a little. 'I need to leave. I'm done.' exasperated, Charlotte could feel herself wanting to spiral. 'I've done everything you asked of me. This was just a favour, last night... I don't owe you anything.' he had left blood all over one of her pristine towels and it was rotting slowly in the washing basket. He was tarnishing everything. Why had she ever accepted his smile the first night they'd met? Believed he was worth a risk.
'Listen here, you little bitch.' he was close to her now and her heart was racing. 'We're done when I say we're done.'
The anger had quickly melted into fear, and Charlotte had once again regretted speaking her mind. Speaking the truth, that she was exhausted, and fed up of this situation. Even when he wasn't around, she waited nervously for the times he would return. ' Nick, please --' her words shook and Charlotte knew the trembling of her voice had satisfied him.
'I'm not asking you, Charlotte, I'm telling you.'
Over his shoulder, she could see a figure walking towards them. No one ever came. No one today had time to stop and intervene in something that didn't concern them. Partly through fear and partly through selfishness. Nick was pulled away from her in seconds and the breath seemed to leave Charlotte's body in disbelief.
'Wanna take your hands off her, yeah?'
Charlotte couldn't move. Nick looked like he was in pain, had heard a small wheeze as the stranger shoved him. He was taller than Nick with broad shoulders and dark skin, marled by two scars on his face.
'I was just talking to her.'
Nick sounded calmer than he looked and Charlotte looked between the two of them, unsure what to do. Was this an opportunity to run?
The two of them began arguing, voices low and deep. Nick was trying to remain calm and collected, but this stranger seemed to know his plan and the falsities in his words.
'Is he botherin' you love?' the words were directed at her and Charlotte hesitated, chewing her lip.
No one had ever fought for her before, especially not someone she didn't know. Was this a test, she hesitated for the briefest of seconds. Had Nick sent this man here to test her loyalty? Seeing the pain on his features disproved this theory quickly. Charlotte could see the bloody 'S' in the back of her mind now, minutes from becoming infected on his otherwise perfectly sculpted stomach.
'We need to pick up our child.' Nick hissed and Charlotte felt both fear and anger burn inside. Tristan.
The man got close to Nick then, closer than before, practically nose to nose. It was intense, and the protection Charlotte felt from him was overwhelming. If she had seen him on any other occasion she perhaps would have been scared, but he seemed sincere in his need to help her. Help anyone.
'Lady.' her head tilted to the man again and she felt ridiculously like a marionette throughout it all. 'Is this cunt botherin' you?'
Bothering? Charlotte thought. It depended on the definition. Torturing, kidnapping, abusing and using? Yes. However she had put herself in this position.
'He was bothering me.' Charlotte finally said and she could see the anger and betrayal in Nick's eyes. Had he expected that? Did he know she could throw him away like this? Suddenly the power was in her mouth and it tasted sweet. Now was the opportunity to tell her story, and yet she couldn't. 'But no more than usual.' she added and saw Nick's shoulders sink in relief. 'I'm fine.' she added to the strangers unbelieving glance.
Soon she was back in the car, a nervous heat climbing back up her neck. Nick felt smug about the situation, praising her for learning, when all Charlotte could think about was the actions he hadn't seen. Help me Charlotte had mouthed, unsure why. How contradictive and pointless. They were driving away now. Help me how?
When they got home Nick seemed too interested in his new purchases to scold her. He took her room as his office, no doubt damaging more bedding and furniture in his way. They had stopped to get him some clothes, painkillers, essentials. It was like having a teenager, she thought as he disappeared in unthankful silence. She was making dinner for Tristan when Nick re-emerged and she froze at the sound of his steps.
'I need your car.' he demanded and Charlotte sighed. 'I'm going out. Do you have a spare key? I don't know when I'll be back.'
Charlotte didn't say anything as she went and grabbed the key, handing it to him. The control she had believed to have on him obviously no longer existed as he wasn't afraid to leave her alone. She could call the police or change the locks. Would she?
'I'll leave some dinner in the oven.' Charlotte finally decided on, turning away from him and not acknowledging the smug look on his face.
When Nick left, Charlotte saw the relief flood on Tristans face and she hugged him hard, her face pressed into his hair. He smelt like coconut shampoo and she loved it. the fact she put him in danger every day made her feel sick, but she would work hard to protect him, just like she had to raise him. By herself. Always by herself.
'Shall we listen to some music?' Charlotte asked and smiled, ruffling his hair as Tristan guzzled down his turkey dinosaurs and beans. The radio blasted out some of his favourite songs, and in the midst of all the insanity it was welcoming. Charlotte had even forgotten how much she wanted to scrub the floors, as she smiled at her son and danced around the table.
A short while later, as the two of them were washing up, someone knocked at the door. Charlotte dried her hands on the towel Tristan had draped over his shoulder and told him to stay where he was. They barely had visitors, and when they did it was never good. The music still spilling out of the kitchen, Charlotte headed to the door with caution. There had been a spyglass on the inside, however it had been smashed when Nick had practically kicked down her door. Who could it be that was worse than Nick, she reassured herself and pulled it open slightly.
The smallest slither of the street lamp fell in on her and Charlotte squinted outside. She had a potato peeler in her hand, unsure what she was planning on doing with it. The man on the doorstep just stared at her as if he had knocked on the wrong door; both looking at one another, unsure. It was the man from the carpark. Help me.
'Uh...' he stumbled and Charlotte could only blink in response.
Help me.
'You needed help. So I found you.' his voice was deep like velvet and Charlotte couldn't think.
'Fuck.' she whispered before slamming the door in his face. Fuck. Stepping back in the hall, Charlotte spun around in frustration, her fists balled. What a stupid thing to do, what a dangerous thing to do. Pacing up and down she tried to remain calm but Tristan had jumped down from the table and was staring at her.
'Mum?' he asked and Charlotte's head shot up.
'Hey, baby.' she smiled and headed towards him. Handing him the potato peeler she pushed him back into the kitchen, kissing his head. 'Can you finish drying up for me, hey?' she asked. 'And turn the music down a bit.'
Shutting the kitchen door, Charlotte ran a hand through her hair before opening the front door again. The man was still stood there, but he looked uncertain and Charlotte regretted making him feel bad.
'Sorry.' she murmured, glancing at the quiet street behind them. 'I...' hesitating, she watched a neighbour putting out their bins and quickly grabbed Benji's hand. 'Come inside.' she urged, tugging him without waiting for a response. Shutting the door behind him, Charlotte gave a heavy sigh and leaned against it.
Help me.
What was she going to do? What could he do? What would Nick say? Fuck. Chewing her lip, Charlotte didn't know what to say. Another stranger was in her house. Good going, she thought with a roll of her eyes. Another strange man to inflict pain when she least expected, or deserved it. He looked so tall in her small hallway, yet his demeaner was cautious and it made her laugh a little.
'You shouldn't be here...' she struggled, then shook her head. 'I mean, I know I let you in, but...' rubbing her hands together, Charlotte tried to think of a plan. Pulling the latch across, she turned back to Benji and gave a grimace. 'That's not for you...' she insisted. It was rather for keeping Nick outside. In such close proximity, Charlotte couldn't help but inspect his features. His lips were big and full, no longer throwing curses at Nick but pulling into a small smile. Rubbing a hand over her face, she turned into the living room and grabbed herself a glass from her drinks trolley. It was an antique trolley filled with unique glasses and a bottle of port she barely touched.
One drop and anything could happen. It was how Tristan was conceived.
'Fuck.' Charlotte whispered and looked up as Benji followed behind her. 'Sorry... Shit. I mean...' downing the drink, she gave a hiss and slammed the glass down. 'I don't know where to start.' she admitted and realising the blinds were open, she quickly went around and shut them all. 'Are you superman or something?' Charlotte asked in disbelief. 'I know I said... but I never thought...' she had taken her makeup off earlier and could tell Benji was looking at the bruise on her cheek. 'My sons in the other room and that man... Nick... he's gone out.'
What was she doing?
'He'll be back soon, I think. You shouldn't be here when that happens.' looking around the room, she let her eyes settle on him and felt a weird sensation in her stomach. 'Maybe you should just leave.' moving towards him, Charlotte frowned when he didn't back away. Did he not think she was crazy? Did she want him to leave? 'He's not my boyfriend or anything.' she found herself saying, fidgeting with her nails. She had only recently had them done and they were already ruined. 'I'm really sorry to have wasted your time... I think, yeah...' she couldn't seem to look at him anymore.
Chewing her lip, the two looked at one another for what seemed an eternity before a loud bang in the other room startled them. Racing for the kitchen, Charlotte pushed the door open to see a bowl shattered into pieces on the floor. Tristan was stood on a stool and had been trying to put the clean things away when he'd dropped it. His face was pulled into sadness and he burst into tears before Charlotte could say anything.
'I'm s-s-s-sorry.' he wailed as she picked him up, his little legs wrapping around her middle. 'I-I was just trying to help.' his face was puffed with redness and Charlotte's heart ached.
'It's okay, baby.' she soothed him, walking up and down the room. 'You did a good job, okay?' looking behind her, she could see Benji had stopped to pick up the pieces and she stopped to watch him. 'I'm just going to take him upstairs and I'll be back in a minute.' Charlotte said before leaving the room.
This didn't look good to her son, to have different men walking in and out of his life like this. Charlotte hated herself for it, because as much as she was independent, he was a boy, and boys liked a figure of authority. Running his hands under the bathroom tap, she sighed, kissing his neck as he rubbed the soap in.
'I'm sorry for how things are at the moment.' Charlotte told him, grabbing a towel to try his fingers. 'You'll let me know if you're ever not okay, won't you?' she asked and Tristan nodded, turning around to hug her tight.
'We tell each other everything.' he reassured her. Pulling back, he looked up at her with big eyes. 'Who is downstairs?' he asked, hearing the clattering from the kitchen.
'Does he scare you?' Charlotte asked, looking sad but Tristan was shaking her head.
'No.' he admitted, quite cheerily. His crying had stopped as soon as it started. 'He isn't like the other man.'
Hanging the towel back up, Charlotte wasn't sure what she was going to do. 'I'm going to talk to our guest, so can you stay up here? I'll leave your door open.'
Tristan nodded as he jumped up on his bed and Charlotte padded down the stairs. She could smell his aftershave in the hallway and it was nice. Stopping, she caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror and sighed. Her hair was in a messy bun, her cheeks were red and flustered and she wasn't even wearing a bra. Was it any wonder she was single? Something about this handsome stranger seemed to scream that he didn't care for looks and that was just as well because Charlotte didn't have the energy today.
Stepping into the kitchen, she smiled to see him sat at the table, fiddling with a toy dinosaur Tristan had left. 'Hey.' she greeted as Benji turned to face her. 'You didn't leave then?' she had picked up the bottle of port on the way in and placed it on the table before sitting opposite him. Tristan was right, he wasn't anything like the formidable Nick Walker. 'I'm Charlotte, by the way.' she poured him a drink and gingerly caught his gaze.
Fuck, here we go again, Charlotte.
Luke Winter's would potentially agree he was an arrogant cunt.
It wasn't like he hadn't earned it. As he'd protested to Max, it hadn't always been this easy. The ones who really made it, had had to scratch through the concrete, judgement and shit to get there. People like fucking Lawrence were useless; their money only got them so far, and their poncy naivety would get them killed quick. Not that Luke could complain too much, if it wasn't for that bent wanker he wouldn't be where he was now. In Max Sullivan's apartment.
For a long time Luke had considered buying a gun on the roadside and blasting Max into oblivion for humiliating him. Then he'd realised exactly who he was dealing with, and the boarding school had taken away all hopes of vengeance anyway.
A few days ago, as he'd laid awake, Luke had pictured Aoife Sullivan. Recalling how he'd had her laid on his bed, dress hitched around her waist and his name in her mouth.
'Irish.' he would call her with a smirk.
He hadn't even known who she was related to at the time, or he had and not cared. Luke had just been drawn in, her long legs and doe eyes like a dreamy vortex. Dipping his hand into his waistband, his eyes fluttered shut as her figure danced on the inside of his eyelids. Why had he ever deleted that video? Aoife pushed against the wall of an alley, head thrown back as she was fucked by George Turner. Though, in his head, it was Luke doing the fucking, and he wouldn't have been as gentle.
His lips on her neck, one hand covering her mouth to stifle her moans as he thrust deep.
He thought about a lot of women and girls; people who were flickered into his view and then out again, uninterested. Lara Dunham had cropped up once or twice in the midst of his research and he imagined her pert cupids bow lips around his cock. Then this new girl, obviously a junkie, Rosa Croft. Blue veins streaking otherwise surprisingly perfect skin, laid out like a doll on a wooden floor, legs parted. You could see the thin lining of her underwear, delicate lace and suggestion.
Luke came, warm and hard in his hand and knew then that he had to get into this family. This life. Lawrence and Brian Shaw were big men, but with small dicks. Max Sullivan had the money, the power and the sexual prowess to bring down the world. Max had had his fingers dipped in the Millwall honeypot once, Luke had heard. About the same time as his uncles demise, so the thought the two were related had crossed his mind, but not enough to warrant friction.
Tommy Hatcher had been an unstable hard-nut and someone was going to have cut him down sooner or later.
Max Sullivan could, and had, had any woman he wanted. Luke was desperate for that control.
Watching the woman leave the apartment, Luke envisioned what had happened in the room opposite and his mind began to whir. He figured Max was the type who would choke a woman so hard she could see the stars when he came. His roughness was welcomed, not only for his looks, but his money, his air or unshakeable confidence. Arrogance. No one would even consider walking in on him fucking someone and dare to lay a finger on his muscled back. No one.
'Charlotte who?' Max asked and Luke turned his head slowly to him.
'Some milf.' Luke smirked, catching Max's gaze. 'Charlotte Foster. An IP address has been located there, looking up for news reports on Nick Walker.' he sipped his whiskey. 'Coincidence?'
Charlotte was sat on the landing the night before, her phone to her chest as she desperately searched the news for what had happened. Who had sent this demon to her door with their unfinished work.
'He's slacking.' Max murmured, eyes narrowed. 'Or its a trap. A man with his dark history wouldn't be so easily found after what dearthair did.'
'Dermot did what?' Luke asked and Max felt his jaw tense. He knew fucking Irish?
'You're cocky, leanbh.'
'Remind you of someone?' Luke was happy with how their rapport was going, but Max wasn't seeing the humour there.
Slamming his glass down, he filled the gap between them in seconds and had Luke held by his collar against the wall. This boy was both infuriating and intriguing him. How many times as a child had someone held Max in the same position? Confidence dripping from his face, mingled with the droplets of blood; unafraid. Luke had the same sureness in his features, and Max wasn't sure what to do with it.
'You're nothing like me.' Max hissed, his face pressed against Luke's.
Luke didn't react, merely let himself hang an inch or two from the ground, his arms limp. He knew Max needed him too much to dispose of him already. 'I want to be.'
Did Luke want to be like him or be him. Replace him. Overthrow and betray him. Max glared at him, fists still tight on his shirt.
'Your uncle wasn't anything special.' he hissed. 'It takes more than a fuckin' attitude to become a King.'
'Mhúineadh dom.' Luke whispered and Max dropped him, stalking away with a frustrated sigh. Teach me.
'What was my niece doing at your party all those years ago?' Max asked after a moment, the silence filling the room making his mind blur with static.
Luke straightened his shirt collar, looking up. 'Growing up.' he replied. 'I think we all grew up that day.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Dec 15, 2021 13:04:20 GMT -5
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pete’s words made Lara glance up; they were stood by the bar, Nora and Jock having just walked in, and she could only flash him an awkward smile in return, shifting closer and letting her hand rest against his broad chest. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, taking a moment to look to where Nora and Jock were talking to Aoife and George. “I thought it would be better if I didn’t. And I was worried about how you’d all react.” She pulled her gaze back to Pete, searching his azure blue eyes. “She’s happy, you know. And that’s all hat matters to me.”
Both she and Nora had come a long way in the past three years. From frightful girls to women with a life worth fighting for. They’d grown so much, in ways people couldn’t see with the eye. From dependence to independence, to knowing who they were and knowing exactly what they wanted. Who were any of them to say that Jock wasn’t perfect for Nora? That there was a light in her face Lara hadn’t seen before? Nora’s eyes carried a spark that brought her to life in ways that Lara hadn’t imagined. She knew that despite what Dermot had done, he’d helped her grown and find her feet. Jock, however, had seemed to have set her free.
Lara moved away to free them both, hugging Nora extra tight. Truthfully, she’d never had a best friend before. Not a true tell-them-everything, closer-than-sisters type of friend. Moving a lot as a child had always kept her from making these attachments, but there wasn’t a day when the pair of them weren’t checking up on each other with a text or a quick phone call. Maybe it was lasting damage from the past relationships that had nearly killed them, the urge to check on each other a safety mechanism. Whatever the reason, Lara was just grateful to have her in her life.
Everyone fell quiet when Swill took to the table for his speech, and Lara couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head fondly. Walking into this pub four years ago and given her something she’d never expected: a family. She knew she could rely on every person here, that they’d practically lay down their lives for those they cared about. It wasn’t just forms and football, but something deeper. A bond, a connection. A brotherhood. In that moment, she understood why Pete had gone back. Why he’d been so easily tempted. He’d always have their back, just like they’d always have theirs.
Behind her, Jock felt uneasy. He didn’t want to say anything to Nora, but the moment they walked in, he regretted it. The surprise in their eyes had soon turned to mistrust and caution, a couple of them leaning close to mutter to each other. Jock’s back straightened, tension making his shoulders bunched. But at the same time, he’d /promised/ Nora. He was here for her, and he’d be damned if he was going to let some scruffy chavs make him look bad. After greeting the few faces Jock did like, Lara approached and embraced Nora tightly. Jock gave her a small smile, before George pushed a pint into his hand. He winked, grateful, knocking back a few gulps of the refreshing cold alcohol. He’d never felt so out of place in his life. As Swill made a speech about how they should all be grateful for his existence, Jock had to smile. Swill was the only one of the group so far to even smile when he’d passed outside the pub, so that had to be a good thing, right?
“You’ve got some balls.”
Jock looked up as Pete Dunham appeared beside him. Jock was only a few inches taller than the blonde, whose hair had gotten a little longer over the years and had even grown himself a beard, though it was a lot better taken care of than Jock normally had his. He didn’t say anything, just watched Pete warily. He’d promised Nora he wouldn’t fight, but if it came to defending himself... Then, surprisingly, Pete smiled and reached out to shake his hand firmly.
“I know you didn’t come ‘ere for a fight, but /please/, don’t give him a reason to want one.”
Jock followed his gaze towards where Bovver stood at the bar, slumped over it, back to them. Even though he couldn’t see the other man’s face, he knew he was scowling. “No offence, but your friend doesn’t need a reason to fight.” Jock met his eye when Pete turned back to look at him. “I’m here for Nora. And I’m not going to let her down.” He paused, then smirked. “Promise.” Pete patted him back before drifting away, and Jock sighed, heading back towards Nora. Lara was talking to Aoife and George, but Nora stood a little apart, glass of wine to hand, her eyes distant. “Everything okay?” He asked, and she looked up at him, jolted from her thoughts.
“What?” she asked before giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I zoned out for a minute.”
“Just checking you’re okay,” he replied softly, as she pushed her glass towards Terry for a refill. Then she gestured for the wine in his hand.
“Actually, can I just have the bottle?”
Jock tilted his head, but said nothing. Nora has been drinking every night since Dermot had left. The panic attack earlier had been the only indication that she was struggling. She’d seemed to take the betrayal surprisingly well, keeping herself busy by rearranging the furniture, or buying new pieces all together. Had that all been a front? Was she trying to look like she could cope so he wouldn’t worry? He watched as she topped her glass up to the rim, then turned to lean with his back and elbows against the bar. They stood quietly for a few moments, while Terry refilled his pint, and then they both made their way to a table by the window.
“I used to live with Swill,” Nora announced, and he looked at her, seeing the thoughtful smile on her face. Swill? He hadn’t known that. Once again, he glanced at the man who was parading around the pub with his princess tiara wobbling on his head. Then, he chuckled.
“Really? That just have been interesting for you.”
“For a while, before I met... Dermot.”
His name hung in the air like a bomb neither of them really wanted to touch. Sometimes, Jock wished he’d been the first. The first to lay eyes on her, the first to save her from the man who was intent on destroying her. He’d only ever heard of Malachi, the man who used to belittle, degrade and abuse Nora. A man of high standards, a man close to the top of society. CEO of some company or other, or perhaps just a lackey, he didn’t know, nor cared. He’d never set eyes on the man - until that night. Driving in the dark and the pissing rain. On the way to stop Dermot doing something very stupid... Thunder had rolled as the two had stood on the embankment, staring down at the car in the ditch, half-submerged by water. Dermot had looked at him, hair sodden, droplets of water rolling down his face. “She can never know.”
“He’s lovely, if just a /little/ stupid.” Jock snapped to the present, looking over at Nora with a soft smile when he realised she was still talking about Swill. Picking up his glass, he drank some of it, before Nora asked him about Rosa. Jock nearly spluttered on his drink. She laughed at the bemused look on his face. “I used to hate her so much.”
“I know,” Jock smiled. It had only been a matter of a month, if that, but Nora’s dislike for Rosa had been clear from the start. Had it been jealousy? What had gone through her head when she saw him turn up after three years with the wildcat in tow? Even he had to admit, part of him had done it on purpose. Had been eager to see Nora’s reaction when he showed up with another woman. He’d have to ask later, when they were somewhere more private.
“Just like you and the boys. So, I’m sure things will change.”
Jock snorted into his pint glass, unable to keep the rugged grin from stretching across his face. “Oh, you’re sure, are you, woman? Let’s just see whether or not I get glassed in the face tonight before we make any firm decisions.” Everyone was called to attention then, the pub falling quiet as a woman took to the centre of the room, hair red enough to rival Jock’s. However, she couldn’t speak for laughter, wine sloshing from her glass, so Dave took her place instead. The way he and Swill looked at each other made Jock question who the actual love interest was here.
Over by the bar, Lara was still on her first glass, hardly touched. Pete was standing with an annoyed looking Bov at the bar, Nora and Jock sat at a table by the window. Behind her, George held Aoife close, nuzzling her ear. Pulling out her phone, Lara switched on the nanny cam. Hana, the babysitter, was cuddled up with Charlie on the sofa, his thumb jammed in his mouth as they watched Blue’s Clues in the TV. He was cuddling his favourite monkey, head resting on the teenager’s shoulder. On the other cam, she saw Kimmy asleep in her cot, arms stretched out peacefully above her head. Lara’s heart ached fiercely. Part of her wished she was still home, Charlie cuddled up beside her. Locking her phone, she pushed it back into her bag and forced herself to focus on what Dave was now saying.
“...Swill is clumsy, haphazard and gullible; he’s impulsive and a little bit fuckin’ crazy. But he is also one of the kindest, most genuine, expressive and loving people I have ever had the fortune to meet.” Lara clapped with the others, a smile pulling at her lips. Dave was right and Swill was all of those things. He never failed to make any of them laugh and through everything, he’d been there with nothing but love, support and unwavering loyalty. For some stupid reason, she felt herself getting emotional, tears stinging her eyes. “I think I’m already a bit pissed, mate,” Dave called out to Swill and they all laughed. “I will make this brief, because I know we’re all dying to have a good party, but me and Alice just wanted to ask you somethin’.”
Pete appeared at her side, his arm slipping around her, and they both watched as Dave took Alice’s hand. Lara’s eyes widened as she waited to hear what they were about to say. “... Simon Wilkins, would you do us the honour of being Freddie’s godparent?” Swill, who’d been sat guarding his birthday cake, gaped. Blue eyes wide, he stared at Dave for a long moment. “Me? You really mean that?”
Pete glanced at Lara, a small smirk playing on his face. “Why didn’t we make him our kids Godparent?” At that moment, Swill barrelled across the room and tackled Dave to the floor pretty hard. Lara chuckled, raising an eyebrow as she looked back up at Pete. They both dissolved into laughter, and Lara slipped her arms around him and hugged him tight.
“God, I love you, Pete.”
Beaming, Swill looked down at Dave where he was straddling him on the floor. “Mate, I love you, man. That speech was fuckin’ beautiful and I would be /honoured/ to be Freddie’s goddaddy. Oh, man, I’m so excited!” Climbing to his feet, Swill turned to the rest of the pub. “Drinks are on meeeee!” Turning to the jukebox, he turned the volume up really loud.
At the table, Jock was staring at Nora, pleasant surprise on his face. She was smiling, a look in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, her words still ringing in his head. Do you want children? If he was being honest, he hadn’t thought about it before. There’d never been anybody vaguely important in his life that he’d wanted to raise children with, and children themselves were a big deal. Life changing. His life had always been unstable, unpredictable, just going where the wind took him. But now? With Nora, he could imagine everything. Exploring the wilds of Ireland with their own children tumbling and playing at their feet. Little creatures entirely dependant on them. He’d have the chance to be a father, and he’d be good, he knew. Like his own had been. And Nora would make a wonderful mother, he would never doubt that. Caring, kind, loving and protective.
Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his, his smile warm. “I do. Do you?” Before she could answer, shadow fell over them and they both looked up to see Bovver. He was clearly drunk, gaze unfocused and swaying a little as he looked between them. Instantly, Jock went still, on edge, waiting. If Bov attacked now, he’d regret it, Jock would make sure of it.
—
"You smell amazing."
Carter's words were a soft whisper against her throat as he dipped his head, the act causing a shiver of delight to run down her spine. In the taxi on the way to the Ball, she'd been nothing but a bundle of nerves, a complete anxious mess. She was wearing an eye-wateringly expense gown, something she'd never ever have seen herself wearing before. Carter had also insisted she go to the nearest salon, assuring her that she deserved to be pampered, and now she had fresh, silvery blonde highlights, her hair pulled up into a bun with loose curls framing her face. She'd opted to do her own make-up, settling her smoky eyes and a lighter lipstick than the red she normally wore. This was huge and new and different to anything she'd done before. A Ball? It just sounded so ridiculously fancy, and she was Rosa Croft for goodness sake. But, merged with the nerves was a shimmering excitement. Carter had invited her. She'd be the woman on his arm tonight and nothing could have made her happier.
Another thing she hadn't before tonight was that her cravings had gone. The anxious itching remained, but the urge to use, the never-ending need for a high... Completely disappeared. It was like Carter himself had replaced her fix and now she just couldn't get enough of him. For the first time in a long long time, the future was looking bright. Maybe just this once, things were actually turning out all right. All she had to do was get Robbie on side and then life really would be perfect. Now, they made their way up the stone steps into the venue, Rosa felt like she was having the best high of her life. She felt like a Queen and Carter looked so handsome in his tux that it made her stomach flipflop just looking at him. There was no way this night could go wrong and Rosa made a mental vow to enjoy the night for what it was; she and Carter becoming official.
Their relationship had felt so private until now. Just the two of them in his home, luxuriating in each other's company, learning more about each other, exploring each other. Now they were going to face the world as a couple and Rosa couldn't have been happier. Carter took two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter, handing Rosa one with a grin. She grinned back, playfully clinking their glasses. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look?" He asked her softly, leaning close so she could hear him over the quartet. Rosa smirked at him. "Maybe, once or twice. I ain't opposed to hearing it again though." Carter's arm was warm as he slipped it around her waist, bringing her close, the two of them looking out to survey the room. It was so bloody posh. Every table, and there were a lot had some elaborate decoration, mainly huge bunches of flowers in various hues. A huge chandelier gleamed overhead, the light reflecting off what looked like thousands of tiny diamond. A small stage had been erected, a podium added and the Metropolitan Police Department flag hanging at the back. There were a lot of people too, all dressed impeccably, and she caught herself admiring the gowns of a few passing women. One women wore a cascading red gown, the deep red corset making her breasts look huge. Another woman wore an almost translucent pink gown, the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Rosa didn't want to sound vain, but she was pretty certain she had the best gown in the room.
"Let's circle around and get a feel for the place."
Rosa nodded, glancing up at him with another bright smile. She looped her arm through his, sipping her champagne and enjoying the way the bubbles fizzed on her tongue. She allowed Carter to guide her, and it was soon made clear that Carter was a popular member of the force. Everybody who spotted him broke into wide grins, breaking from their conversations to shake his hand, always dropping Rosa a compliment, which had her cheeks burning pink in no time. This whole evening felt something like a dream. Every time Carter introduced her, she caught the proud look on her face and her love for him grew each time until her chest physically ached. God, she loved him so much. They paused to get fresh drinks, Carter reaching for a passing waiter's tray.
Rosa glanced towards the band, in awe at the way they played the instruments. A recorder in primary school was the furthest she'd ever gotten with music and it amazed her how they could create such magical sounds. "You'll have to get your own." Rosa heard the voice and turned. Bobbed blonde hair, a sharp face with a pointed nose and chin, her aqua dress glittering with her movement. The woman's laugh was high and girlie in a way that instantly made Rosa's back straighten. Then, she purred. Actually fucking purred, her eyes fixed right on Carter's face. Her entire body went cold. This woman, whoever she was, was beautiful. Even the perfume Rosa could smell was much more expensive than her own. She finally seemed to notice Rosa, giving her a brief once-over in an almost-disinterested way, though the fake smile remained plastered on her face. "Who's this?" Carter slipped an arm around her and Rosa felt slightly better, though she still wanted to wipe the stupid smirk off the woman's face. She'd only been in her presence for ten seconds and already Rosa was on guard, trying to work out if she was friend or foe.
"This is Rosa Croft. Rosa, this is Melanie."
Ugh, why did plastic bitches always have the same dull names; Tiffany, Britney, Vivienne. To Rosa's utter distaste, Melanie pouted. Gross. "Just Melanie?" She held out a freshly-manicured hand, the nails the same colour as her dress and studied with tiny turquoise jewels. Rosa made no move to take it, instead staring at the woman coldly. Melanie slowly lowered her head, her fake smile dropping a fraction. "Melanie Goodwell," she said, pursing her lips. Then, something flickered in her eyes and she titled her head. "Croft, as in Robbie Croft?" Rosa didn't like the look on her face and there was a noticeably nastier look on her eyes now. "He's such a handsome little boy, isn't he?"
Rosa tensed a little, but still chose not to say a word. The woman was clearly looking for some sort of reaction. Who the fuck was this bitch? She resisted the urge to look at Carter, not wanting to look weak for a single moment. If Melanie wanted a fight, she'd get one.
"Barely a boy, Mel. He's not much younger than you."
"I like my men more my age." Melanie let her gaze travel the length of Carter's body, before her thickly-lashed eyes met his. "How old are you?"
Bitch. Rosa went to lunge, but Carter tightened his hold, keeping her close to his side. "Have a good night, Mel," he said pointedly, before leading Rosa away. When they reached the bar, Carter leaned against it with a soft sigh and she shot him a glare. “”Don’t look at me like that.”
“Have a good night, Mel,” she scowled. “What a bitch. She has her eye on you.”
“Is it my fault I'm so irresistible?” he teased, pulling her close when she opened her mouth to protest savagely. “I’m joking. Soy todo tuyo. Yours.” Rosa relented as he brought her close, kissing the top of her head, and she allowed herself to relax against him. She had nothing to worry about, she reassured herself. Carter was here with her after all and not Melanie the hoe. “Yours,” she murmured softly. As the bartender served them fresh drinks, a gong sounded throughout the window. They turned, watching as a man took centerstage with a microphone in his hand.
“Dinner is served!” He was French and somehow, that just made this whole place seem even more fancy. The crowd began to surge for the seats, the din of chatter growing above the band. Carter took her hand, scanning the seating chart until he found their place. She was pleased to see Melanie was not seated with them, thank god. She wasn’t sure if she could handle another few minutes in her presence without giving her a black eye. The idea of her pawing over Carter was just... gross! Taking a seat at the table, Rosa glanced around. The table cloths were the purest white, so white she didn’t dare touch it unless it left a mark. The plates were gold and there were way too many knives, forks and spoons for one person. Their first course came, delivered on huge silver trays by several smartly dressed stewards, and she stared at the concoction in her bowl. “Hmm, the gazpacho smells delicious,” a woman next to her said, and Rosa blinked at the bowl a couple more times. Gazo-What?
After that, they were served scallops, still in their shells, and Rosa was starting to wonder when the burger and fries were going to come out. Didn’t anybody eat anything normal here? She glanced at the woman beside her, trying to figure out which fork she was using, and when she looked back, Carter was smiling at her. “Outside, in,” he mouthed, winking. “Are you having fun?” She rolled her eyes though a playful smile rested on her lips. “I think so. Not sure why there’s so much cutlery though.”
The entrée was something she was more familiar with, which was chicken. Now this she could eat happily. Shame there was no Nando’s sauce to go with it. Carter offered her a piece of his duck for a piece of her chicken, and she chewed the duck thoughtfully. “Never had duck, but that was quite nice,” she admitted with a smile. Maybe this posh food wasn’t all so bad. They got talking to the woman and her husband sat beside Rosa, an older couple, whose first impression you got was that they loved each other very much. The husband gave Rosa a bright smile, eyes glittering beneath his big rimmed glasses, his face soft and kind. He introduced himself as Roger, and his wife as Valerie.
“Are you Mrs Rivera, we haven’t seen you before?” Rosa’s cheeks instantly went red and she couldn’t even look at Carter, though no doubt he was wearing a playful smirk. Valerie elbowed her husband.
“Don't be presumptuous dear. You're ever so pretty and our Carter is nice, isn't he?” Rosa noticed that she glanced at Rosa’s hand, confirming the fact that they definitely weren’t married, but Rosa couldn’t deny that she might have thought about it once or twice over the past few weeks. Valerie smiled at Carter, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Roger looked between them, the identical glint in his own eyes reflecting the boy he once was.
“So when are you proposing, eh?”
Their table descended into gentle laughter, Rosa flashing Carter a small smile, though she didn’t press him for an answer. Things were still new, the days early, and neither needed or wanted to rush things. Carter’s arm was a comfort as he rested it over the back of her chair, the four of them chatting until all the courses had been served. Rosa barely touched her tiramisu, feeling about ready to pop. Roger and Valerie had already moved off to dance when Carter announced he was done, leaning back in his chair, his thumb teasing her bare shoulder. Rosa grinned playfully. “Honestly, I think I’ve put on a stone, but that was really good.” Carter gently eased her closer, kissing her in the softest way, which sent fireworks straight to the pit of her stomach. How had her life turned so completely perfect? Nothing could ever get her down now and for the first time, Rosa was truly happy for the future.
“What would you say?” Rosa frowned in confusion, but her eyes widened with his next words. “If I asked you to marry me?”
Inside, she did an inner scream. Was he actually suggesting it or was he just teasing her? Sometimes it was hard to tell. Rosa gave him a careful look, smirk teasing her lips. “I’d say we’re having burgers and fries for our wedding meal and none of this posh shit.” Grinning, she leaned close and kissed him again. “Well, I wouldn’t say no...”
Rosa glanced up as somebody approached, her stomach flipping when she realised it was Robbie. He looked really smart, smarter than she’d ever seen him, in his tux and black dicky bow. He gave a hesitant smile as he reached the table, taking the vacated chair beside her. “Almost didn’t recognise you. You look good.”
“So do you.” Rosa gave him a small smile as she shifted around to face him, her hand falling to Carter’s knee. “You scrub up well.” There was a small awkward silence as the two siblings appraised each other, before they both blurted out their apologies at the same time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry with you-“
“I’m sorry, I was just surprised-“ They both laughed, and Robbie reached out to take her other hand, before standing to hug her tight. “I miss you, you prat.” He met Carter’s eye and gave a him a smile. “And you. Can’t have you flaking’ out on me like this now ya railin’ my sister. It ain’t as fun without you.”
“Oh, cheers.” Ollie had come up behind Carter, patting him on the shoulder. “But he’s right, man. Boys night out next week, you coming?”
“Of course he is,” Rosa smirked, flashing him a grin, her dark eyes glittering. It would be nice to see the girls again, and the pair of them had barely left his apartment in weeks. It would be good for both of them. Not long after, they decided to dance, Carter taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor, as Robbie made for the bar with Ollie. She was a little surprised her brother hadn’t brought a date tonight, and it suddenly hit her how fast things were changing. Robbie wasn’t a child anymore. He was a man, a man who’d just embarked on a lifelong career. A man that wanted to do good in the world. She felt guilty for completely shitting over his dreams instead of supporting him like the big sister she was supposed to be. Like the big sister she’d been before. And she vowed then that she would be that girl again, that girl who fed him and clothed him and helped him with his homework. And she could do it, be normal, before she had Carter’s love. He had his support. His honesty, his openness, his understanding. He made her laugh every day. He clasped her hands when she was anxious and itchy, and he never ever gave up on her, even when she’d tried to hide.
Rosa was truly and utterly in love with him. Leaning up, she claimed his mouth, hands cupping his jaw as she tried to pour all her feelings into the kiss. Breaking away, she searched his eyes and she felt the understanding pass between them as he smiled and pulled her close. And then he dropped her into a dip, laughing, before bringing her up, and they began to dance again.
Sweaty and breathless with laughter, Rosa and Carter slowed to a stop; they’d only danced to three songs, but she was already feeling worn out. Somebody approaching caught her eye as she glanced over Carter’s shoulder, and her delighted smile slipped off her face quicker than butter off a hot plate. “No. /No/.” Releasing Carter, she went to step away, but then the man was there, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close with a hoarse chuckle. He looked the same, just with more lines. The same cold blue eyes. Sandy blond hair now peppered with grey, that same leering smile on his face.
“Rosa Croft,” he murmured, as she froze entirely beneath his grimy touch, her heart pounding violently against her ribs, and she couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be... “You remember me, don‘t you, girl? Brian? I was in your life for long enough.” He chuckled again, completely oblivious to Carter standing beside him. “Come, give us a quick peck.” He leaned in, and Rosa slammed her palm into his chin, his teeth clashing as she knocked him backwards, and Carter was picking her up and leading her out...
Except that didn’t happen. Rosa couldn’t move a muscle, as Brian leaned in and kissed her firmly on the cheek, his whiskers scratching her skin, stinking of the same aftershave he’d worn when she was fifteen. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to breathe, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything, but stand there in complete shock. Carter was saying something, but it was like he was at the other end of a train tunnel. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
She exhaled, then lifted her gaze to Carter’s. When she spoke, her voice was trembling, but it was loud and clear to the few that surrounded them. “It was him... he... /him/.”
—-
"Fuck."
Benji hadn't really been sure what to expect. At most, an explanation as to what the fuck had been going on with her and that dickhead, but it certainly wasn't to have the door shut in his face. Charlotte had stared at him in utter disbelief, lips parted in surprise as she took him in. And then she slammed the door with a soft curse, and he saw her shadow move away from the frosted glass. Stumped, he didn't move from the spot. Glancing up and down the quiet suburban street, he began to regret even coming here. Fucking white people and their drama, man. If the mandem could see him now... if Lucien could see him now, he'd never let Benji live it down. Sighing, he was just about to step away from the door when it opened again, Charlotte's pale face reappearing. The music in the house had been turned down, and he looked uncertainly at her as he waited to hear what she was going to say. If she didn't try and get him arrested for stalking or some shit.
"Sorry. I..." Charlotte fell quiet, glancing over the road, where he could hear the shifting of a wheelie bin. Charlotte seemed agitated, reaching out to grab his hand, and he was surprised at how hot she felt to the touch, her hand so small and delicate in his. "Come inside." Stepping over the threshold, Benji took in the hallway as she shut the door behind them, leaning back against it with a heavy sigh. He could feel how on edge she felt, and it was making him equally as nervous. Was it because he was here? Or because the other guy could come back? He still wasn't sure what exactly was going on here and it ws almost surreal that he was now stood in her neat and tidy hallway, a little boy's trainers lined up beneath the coat hooks. Woman's coats and children's. No men. Even the photos of the walls didn't depict the guy from earlier. He clearly wasn't a member of the household, and not the child's father at least.
Realising he still hadn't said much, Benji dragged his dark gaze from the dinosaur trainers and met Charlotte's gaze. In the soft orange flow of the hall light, she looked beautiful; high cheekbones and full-lips, the alluringly sharp corners of her eyes. Jesus, what was wrong with him? A few minutes in the presence of a good-looking woman and he was like a fucking dog. Benji glanced away, shoulders still bunched as if afraid this was some kind of set-up. What was he doing here? He found himself thinking again. This wasn't his world... Charlotte's incredulous chuckle made him look back at her, shaking her head. It seemed like this was a little crazy for the both of them. "You shouldn't be here..." She began, then trailed off as she struggled to find the right words. He knew that much though; that he wasn't supposed to be here. He felt so out of place it was almost laughable. He was used to blocks of flats, grafitti and the lingering stench of piss in stairwells; of druggies and gangster's and the violence which created life on the streets. Every day surviving.
Here? This middle class home with the dark wooden flooring, freshly mopped, the smell of pine cleaner and floral air freshener. There wasn't a single mark on the walls, the ornaments and photoframes were gleaming and dusted. Benji felt like he was mucking up the hall just by standing here, in his trackies, trainers and big coat. To many people, he cut an intimidating figure, but for some reason, he didn't get his sense of wariness and caution from Charlotte. Not towards him, anyway. But, he'd seen in clearly in that car park, when she'd been pressed against the car by... that man. "I mean, I know I let you in, but..." She rubbed her hands together, as if she were cold. Turning, she slid the latch across the door, then glanced back at him with a grimace. "That's not for you..."
Benji nodded, understanding. He'd been right to wait until the man had left, but it was clear that she was afraid of his return. Especially if Benji was still in the house. Charlotte approached him, slowly, studying his features, probably trying to discern exactly why he'd come to her rescue. And how. He hoped she didn't ask too many questions, because a magician could never reveal his secrets. Plus, Reggie would probably break his nose if he did. Charlotte paused, eyes still fixed to his, and he offered her a small, if hesitant smile. For some reason, it was important that she wasn't afraid of him. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable in her own home, but then he guessed she probably wouldn't have let him in otherwise. She passed him, arm brushing his, and he turned and followed her into the living room. Again, it was neat and tidy, and stunningly decorated, like on the kind of shows you'd get on TV in the lazy weekday afternoons. Pouring herself a glass of some posh looking shit in a rounded bottle, he took the moment to look around; a three-seater sofa and an armchair, a small blue beanbag and a large wide-screen TV mounted to the wall. A toy box sat beneath, all the toys away, the lid on.
"Fuck." She cursed again, then glanced at him as if she'd briefly forgotten he was there. He wondered what she was thinking about. "Sorry.... Shit. I mean..." She downed her glass in one, impressively. Benji's eyes followed the movement of her tongue swiping alcohol off her bottom lip, then felt the heat creep up his neck as he realised what he'd done. Slamming down the glass, she looked at him. "I don't know where to start," she admitted, voice low. Then, she caught sight of the window, hurrying to start pulling down the blinds, her actions fearful. It made his chest ache at the obvious fear in her actions. "Are you superman or something? I know I said... But I never thought..."
She'd turned her face away, and that's when he saw it. The bruise on her cheekbone, one he hadn't noticed earlier. Had it been there earlier? Hidden under make-up? Or was it fresh? Had he punished her when they'd gotten home? It looked sore, blue and purple, no yellow to show age. It was definitely new, and Benji felt the anger begin to churn in his chest. "My son's in the other room and that man... Nick... he's gone out."
That man. Not her boyfriend, or partner. No. That man.
"He'll be back soon, I think. You shouldn't be here when that happens." A slight tremble to her voice. Benji dampened his bottom lip, then moved closer to her, feeling the strong urge to reach out and touch her. Instead, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, his eyes never leaving her face. "Maybe you should just leave... He's not my boyfriend or anything." Benji's brow puckered a little, as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. She seemed a little erractic, as if still trying to convince herself he was really standing there. Just what had that guy put her through?
"It's okay," he said softly, in an attempt to calm her, and partly to just say something. Anything. He'd been in some sort of dumb-struck state since walking through the door, the two of them not knowing what to do with themselves. He'd only been focused on finding her, not on what he'd do once he was here.
"I'm really sorry to have wasted your time... I think, yeah..." Charlotte wasn't looking at him anymore, fiddling with her nail, and without realising, he came closer, until he was less than an arm's reach away. She finally looked back at him, their eyes locking and for a long moment, they could only stare at each other... Until a loud bang broke their reviere, Charlotte instantly pushing past him and racing for the kitchen. Benji followed, seeing the small boy in the kitchen from over her shoulder. A bowl was shattered on the floor, and he was stood on a stool, bottom lip wobbling. As soon as he saw them, he burst into tears. Benji lingered back; having another stranger in the house was probably pretty daunting to the little boy. He looked a lot like Charlotte, with his shaggy brown hair and dark eyes, the same button-nose. He wailed, as Charlotte picked him up and held him tight, and Benji looked away, his own daughter coming to mind. God, when was the last time he'd been able to hug her like that? It felt as if it had been years. She soothed him with soft words, before looking behind her and catching Benji's eye. "I'm just going to take him upstairs and I'll be back in a minute."
He nodded, stepping aside to let her past. He watched as she carried him up the stairs, then moved into the kitchen. He found a dustpan and brush under the kitchen sink, taking a few minutes to sweep up the broken shards of bowl and dumping it all in the bin. He heard the floor boards creak overhead as he moved about, so he took a seat, picking up a discarded plastic dinosaur. It wasn't long until he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and a few moments later, she appeared back in the kitchen. For some reason, just the sight of her made his breath catch, and he felt warmth burn up his chest and bloom into his face. Her hair was in a bun, loose tendrils drifting around her face. She looked tired, and he wondered when he last time she’d had a decent night sleep was. She gave him a weak smile. “Hey. You didn’t leave then?” She’d brought in the port with two glasses, setting them down in the middle of the table as she sat opposite. He shrugged softly.
“I won’t leave unless you want me to.” She eased out her chair and sat down, filling both their glasses. He watched the dark red liquid slosh against the side of the glass, already staining it. Glancing at the label, he saw it was port. Damn. He’d have to be careful or he’d be fucked after a few glasses. He much preferred getting high to drinking, but he wasn’t about to turn it down. Plus, if Nick did return, it would give him to strength to kick his arse if he had to.
“I’m Charlotte, by the way.” She caught his eye, looking almost sheepish, and Benji smiled, holding out a large hand.
“Benji. Benji Johnson.” She smiled back, shaking his hand, and he let his thumb brush her knuckles. Then, he picked up his glass and sniffed it. “Fuck. This is some strong shit. You drink this often?” Judging by the dust on the bottle, maybe not. He took a sip, trying not to wince, before setting the glass down. He sat back in his chair and studied her for a long moment, really searching her face. “I want to know everything... I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but you were scared enough today to ask for my help. A stranger. Even while knowing that I’d probably not be to ‘elp.” Benji paused, eyes never leaving her face. “It’s obvious this cunt ain’t nothin’ to you. He ain’t your man or no ting. I don’t see a single photo of him. I see nothin’ that tells me a man lives here at all. So who is he? Why the fuck is he botherin’ you?”
He listened as Charlotte began to explain. Hesitant at first, but then the words were spilling and he gained the whole story pretty quick. What had turned out as a one night stand had resulted in something a lot more horrifying. She’d seemed embarrassed to tell him she’d slept with Nick, but he just shook his head softly to show her it didn’t matter. “It seems to me like we’ve got two choices.” Not her, we. Whether she knew it or not, he was invested now. Something about her plight had triggered some protective instinct that he couldn’t turn off. “If you want, I leave and let you handle it. Maybe he’ll get bored and move on. Maybe worse if he decides to go through with his threats.” He wasn’t trying to scare her, but he felt honesty was best here. He knew some sick people and this Nick would fit right in with that crowd. “Or you let me deal with this. He’ll be out of your hair by the time your son wakes up in the morning.” Simple as, in his eyes. Charlotte didn’t look as convinced though, and he sighed softly, pulling an old model black phone out of his pocket. He pushed it over the table towards her. “It’s a burner. I saved my number on it. Think about it, then let me know. If you don’t want to see me again, just dump it somewhere. If you do...” Benji trailed off, not specifying what she might want to see him for.
She asked him about himself, and Benji tilted his head, taking a few more sips from his drink. It was getting easier to swallow now, but it still tasted unlike anything he’d drank before. He felt almost alien and ... classy. “Well, I’m from Hackney. Was born there, my mum raised me. She was a single mum as well, you see.” He offered her another smile. “I know how tough it can be. I put my mum through the ringer when I was growin’ up. Even now, really. But, he seems like a good kid, your son. What’s his name?” He paused a little to drink some more port, feeling the warmth of it in his stomach. He could feel it in his head too, and he found talking to Charlotte easy and comfortable. He almost forgot why he was even here.
“... I have a daughter too. Tasha. She’s six. I uh... haven’t seen her in a while.” He looked away, frowning into his glass. “My ex seems to think I’m a bad influence, and... in some ways she’s probably right. But it don’t make it any easier. Being kept apart from someone you love.” Damn, the port was hitting more than he thought and he looked up apologetically. “Sorry. I know we ain’t here to watch man mope.”
Charlotte reached out and touched his hand, and for a moment he could only stare at her. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he was tempted to lean across the table and kiss her... Benji dragged his gaze away. “Um... what about you? I mean, you ain’t from round here, are you?” He listened as she spoke about her life, and he found he didn’t even get distracted, savouring each words and the shapes her mouth made when she spoke. Later, the moon high in the sky outside, Benji chuckled, finishing his third glass.
“... I should go. But I want you to promise. Ring me. If you need me at all, ring me. I’ll be close by. Trust.” Benji grabbed his coat and pulled it on, not bothering to zip it up. He slightly regretted the last glass of port, because he was definitely a bit further out than tipsy right now, but he noted the slight look of disappointment on Charlotte’s face as he said that. He didn’t really want to go. He knew Lucien would probably be wondering where he was. There was probably a hundred miss calls on his phone in the car. But he didn’t want to leave Charlotte’s side. Not without knowing she was safe. She followed, arms wrapped around herself, as he made his way to the door. She stopped and let him walk ahead, and he wasn’t even sure what to say.
Benji slowed as he reached the door, then turned back to look at her. “... Fuck it.” Striding back towards her, Benji reached up to cup her face, body crowding hers as he kissed her. And it was *wonderful*. His hand slid up her face to nestle in her hair, the other still lingering on her jaw. She seemed startled, and he pulled back a little, searching her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, before he kissed her again. —
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jan 26, 2022 10:53:51 GMT -5
It had been a good evening so far, a nice evening. Carter didn't need someone to pretend they liked the pretentious food or the garishly expensive décor, he just wanted somebody to laugh with, who'd wrinkle their face as they failed to enjoy the gazpacho, much rather craving a nice take away burger. That was the thing about Rosa, she didn't struggle to impress anyone, because she didn't care what they thought.
Well, she did but that didn't stop her opposing and upsetting them.
It was a trait Carter wished he had mastered years ago, although he reminded himself that just because Rosa acted a certain way, it didn't mean she wasn't feeling the opposite. Her rage and upset consistently internalised into darker manifestations, such as the drugs, alcohol; that persistent scratching that always looked sore and made him wince. It was strange how the human body worked and acknowledged things. How someone could tell you they're fine, and next moment they would come out in a rash, or a bout of nausea. Your body was a fighting machine, constantly pushing you, protecting you as it processed a multitude of emotions.
Sometimes if he stopped and thought about it all, it became overwhelming and his head spun. How ironic that humans had the skills to do so much, but not to comprehend how.
Looking at Rosa, Carter sometimes thought how?
How had she believed so little of herself for so long? How had she stepped into such a dangerous and destructive world, yet come out of the other side soft. Not soft... malleable? Perhaps, resilient. Yes; strong, incredible, invincible, with overpowering and overwhelming beauty so indulgent. It was just there, the obvious heavenly aura that floated around contrastingly delicate and harsh features. Perfect skin that didn't need highlighting with endless products; strong, arched brows, a cupids bow puckering lip. Everything about her was honest and open, and that w as how she got so hurt. Because she was just so fucking pure.
'What would you say, if I asked you to marry me?'
The question hung almost like a proposal and Carter felt a pang of excitement laced with nerves.
She would say yes, he hoped.
Yes, because she loved him, but then potentially no because Rosa was worried about upsetting him, endangering him... some self-sacrificing feat she didn't need to do. Not for him. Carter felt a little like a prince charming, offering to take a gentle flower out of the wilderness to protect her. And he would do that, but not because she was helpless, but because in fact, Rosa Croft was saving him. Helping Carter realise who he was and what he wanted, and that a life lived saving others was futile if you didn't get to enjoy your own.
Without Rosa, Carter could easily become a robotic, repetitive shell. Ignore the long lashes flashing at him and he walked past in his uniform; denying invitations to the balls, to any social gathering and just doing what he felt designed to do. Forgetting that people were created with the purpose of soaking up every minute, and in his short time with Rosa, Carter had tasted life as if it were the sweetest honey on earth.
Carter looked at Rosa, his whole heart now in her hand.
'Id say we're having burgers and fries for our wedding meal and none of this posh shit.' a small smirk as she knew she was teasing him. It was the answer he wanted, though.
Then Rosa kissed him again and Carter savoured every second of it. 'I wouldn't say no...' her breath was barely a promising whisper.
Footsteps started towards them and Rosa looked up, suddenly the startled woman he had met at the start. It was Robbie who came to stand before them, looking more done up than Carter had ever seen him. Usually his shirt wasn't buttoned to the top, and he was a slacker for polishing his badge and hat. His smile was cautious, and Carter watched him steadily.
'Almost didn't recognise you. You look good.' Robbie greeted his sister and the tension dimmed slightly.
As if Rosa knew, her hand fell to Carter's knee and he instantly felt calmed. She wasn't aggressive, ready for a fight; she was happy with where they were, with how it had gone with Robbie, even if at the time it had felt catastrophic. Not holding back her love for him, for the sake of her brothers feelings.
The interchange between the two siblings was interesting to watch, and Carter did so in silence. They hugged and it seemed genuine and sweet and for a moment Carter wondered if he had been too harsh before.
'And you.' Robbie turned to Carter and he stood up, a slight smile on his face. 'Can't have you flaking out on me like this now ya railin' my sister.' a small laugh. 'It ain't as fun without you.'
'Crude.' Carter joked and shook Robbie's hand with both of his own.
Ollie appeared behind them, a mention of a boys night hovering on his lips and Carter instantly turned to Rosa. 'My social life was never so active until I met you.'
Plans were made, a few jokes here and there and it was if nothing had happened. Then they were dancing.
Rosa spun, her dress swirling at her ankles, beautiful colours flashing to those around. Her hair brushed his face when they held one another close, the sweet taste of her lipblam on his when they kissed. She smelt like the shower they had shared before coming here; the scent brought with it the reminder of her curves, how smooth they felt as he ran soapy hands up and down her sides. It was bliss; it was what he wanted, forever. Nothing could go wrong. What could go wrong?
'No.'
Rosa's voice caught him off guard and Carter let her slip away, brought back to realisation.
'No'.
'Rosa?' the fear in her voice made dread strike him like lightning. A man had advanced towards her, took her hand and pulled her in as if they were old friends. He was certainly older than them both, more of a father figure. His mind whirring, Carter tried to register who he was. Then he thought....
The man leaned in and kissed Rosa on the cheek, to which Carter put a gentle hand on his shoulder. A bit much, no?
'Do I know you?' Carter asked, trying to pull Brian back.
Rosa was looking into Brian's face as if she were a startled deer. He could barely make out her pulse, but when he could, it spiked erratically against her neck.
Rosa Croft didn't do Police, she had made that very adamant the first time they had met. The fact her brother was on the squad was enough to rile her up with disappointment - so who was this?
Carter pieced together all the fragments of past conversations to try and understand this interaction. Something, he knew, wasn't right. It wasn't a strange, drunk man, getting a little too handy at a party -- it was someone who believed he had the right to touch her in that way. That he had earned it, had a right to it, from... past experiences...
'I think you need to give her some space.' Carter turned to Brian, examining every inch on his face and suddenly disliking it very much.
Don't make a scene, he thought. When Brian didn't move, Carter stepped forward, filling the gap between the two of them. 'Now.' his voice was deep and sure, and Carter didn't need to know who this man was to hit him.
His instinct to fight was marled with his need to protect her and when Brian moved away, Carter turned back to Rosa. She was trying to speak, her words strangled as if her voice box was fractured.
'Hey...' he looked down, reaching to take her hand.
'It was him...' Rosa's voice was shaking and Carter knew something was seriously wrong. That his first instinct, his first guess at who this man was, had sadly not been wrong. 'Him.' she repeated.
My mum’s ex-boyfriend, the copper. He raped me when I was fifteen.
Carter didn't know what to do. His blood felt like lead in his veins.
And for a while after.
Endless nights Carter had laid awake, angry at himself that he hadn't been there to protect Rosa. That he hadn't met her sooner. So furious at what a man could do, and how easily he could get away with it. Part of his anger at Robbie was for letting this happen, for not being awake enough to see the truth. But little boys can so easily get infatuated with those they think are living their dream. A nice car and a shiny badge did not make you a good person and sometimes little boys needed to grow up.
It gave me nightmares for a while.... Then I met Nick...
'Robbie.' Carter yelled, holding Rosa close to his chest. Robbie was in the corner, laughing as he downed a beer and Carter yelled again, his voice booming. A few people around him stopped talking to see what was happening. 'Robbie, take Rosa outside.' Carter demanded, not even waiting for a response. Shrugging off his jacket, he placed it around Rosa's shoulders.
Nick started me on the smack. It took the nightmares away.
His mind was spinning.
Carter didn't need to know more, to clarify, to speak to the man. Carter didn't need to calm down as someone around him was hissing. Carter needed to seek out justice, vengeance, a melodramatic fraction of him seeking violence. He thought about his neighbour, as a boy, who had been killed and abused by her boyfriend. Of the endless strings of women, and men, he saw attacked by people they knew.
Statistically, you had a ninety-percent chance it was someone you knew. Someone in your family; someone you trust. A small, unsure Rosa had put her trust in this pig and he had taken her innocence and her voice for it.
Robbie was saying something but Carter shrugged him off. 'Just do what I say and fucking take her outside, Robbie.' Carter cut him off, his eyes flashing darkly before he disappeared into the crowd in search of Brian.
This was something Robbie would not understand. His sister dating his best friend had been a challenge enough, but now to know the man he had held on a pedestal for years was a predator? It would be as if Rosa was taking everything from him. That was what usually happened; denial, disbelief, anger at the victim not the perpetrator. That was why they barely every spoke up, until it was too late.
Carter found Brian in seconds and didn't even say a word as he grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. He always tried to tame this part of him, well aware it existed and needed feeding. So he fed it in the gym, with the protein shakes, the dumbbells, the treadmill. The punchbag may as well have had his fist carved into it, he hit it so hard. Desperate to crave the animal inside of him. The animal so many men didn't control; men like Brian.
He was well aware this would reflect badly on his job, and everyone here would form an opinion on him they were not entitled to, but Carter was tired of Rosa being taken for granted. If it wasn't Nick Walker, it was this man; if not him, then another. Carter Rivera wanted Rosa to be his wife, and the lack of respect these people had for her made his blood boil.
So, Carter didn't just punch Brian, he headbutted him so hard that he fell directly on top of the table he was stood by. It's legs creaked and cracked, breaking under his weight. The commotion around him turned to to static as he stared down at Brian, the man's head cut open.
Carter then proceeded to pummel his obnoxiously large body, blows finding his ribs, reaching deep. Brian wasn't as weak as he had anticipated, and the fact this man had such strength only spurred on Carter more. This force Brian had, had pressed down on a helpless child. How must she had felt?
A blow to his head and blood flew from Brian's mouth like a fountain, but didn't stop him getting one back. Fuck, his jaw stung.
'Touch her again and you'll not live to see the next day, lo prometo.' Carter hissed his promise. 'Estas muerto.' he spat down, just as Ollie and another man grabbed his arms and dragged him away.
You're dead.
'What the hell?' Ollie exclaimed but Carter shrugged the two of them off. There was no explaining this. Who would they believe? 'Man, what the fuck was that for?'
'I'm leaving.' Carter snapped, looking up to catch Melanie's interested gaze. 'Enjoy the show, Mel.' he murmured, heading for the exit.
When he got outside, Carter could hear Rosa before he could see her. She was arguing with Robbie who refused to let her inside. Striding towards them, Carter pulled Rosa close again, his heart beating so heavy he thought he would pass out. He hadn't felt rage like that in long time. 'I've got it from here.' Carter breathed.
Then, when Robbie asked why he had blood on his face, Carter felt Rosa pull back to look.
'Have a good night, Rob.' Carter murmured, hailing a taxi. 'There'll be some revelations for you in the morning, that's all I'm saying.'
When Robbie tried to cut across him, Carter merely shook his head, opening the taxi door for Rosa. 'Not tonight. Go see Melanie. Go get pissed and listen to their stories about me. You can make your own opinion on it all later.'
He didn't know what to do, or feel, but all Carter knew was that he wanted to get Rosa safe. They were home in what seemed like a second and Carter took Rosa inside, neither of them saying a word. He had wiped the blood from his head on a silk handkerchief and angrily let it blow out of the window. What a waste. Turning on the kitchen light, he loosened his tie and headed straight for the whiskey. Pouring a shot, Carter downed it and then poured another two. Handing one to Rosa, he finally took a moment to assess how she was doing.
The whole ride home he had held her so tight he wondered if she could even breathe. She hadn't asked anything and he couldn't seem to find the words.
'Rosa.' Carter sighed. She looked so beautiful and fragile and it broke his heart. Fuck, his head didn't feel too good either, it was throbbing from the force now the adrenaline was sinking. 'Before we talk, if you want to, just know you are safe, okay?' he said slowly. 'Tu eres mia. Seguro, with me.' Safe.
‘I won’t leave unless you want me to.’
She really didn’t want him to, and she didn’t know why. Charlotte felt perhaps a little foolish for being so easily lead by a handsome face, especially seeing as that was how she had ended up in this situation. A glass too many of alcohol, a gentle smile promising love yet only taking. This man seemed different somehow. No ulterior motive — no need to be here, no point to prove. He’d been genuinely concerned and answered Charlotte’s faint cry for help. Something about that notion seemed impossible; a selfless being in the midst of a self-centred world.
Carter had been kind enough, but his interests very obviously had taken him elsewhere and Charlotte knew it had been a mistake to lead him here that night, for Nick.
This stranger had no fear of Nick Walker, however.
What would happen if he came home now?
‘Benji.’ His name sounded kind as he said it. ‘Benji Johnson.’
They shook hands and his palm was warm and big in her own. Her mind flashed to shaking Nicks hand all those months ago, but he had held hers tight; enforcing his control over her in the first second of their meeting. A foreshadowing for her downfall.
‘Fuck.’ Benji winced as he down the drink and Charlotte gave a small laugh. ‘You drink this often?’
‘No.’ She admitted. ‘I try not to drink so much, for Tristan’s sake, but sometimes…’ she finished her glass with a sigh. ‘It’s the only thing that’ll do.’ She finished.
There was a moments silence then as they both studied one another. Charlotte felt a strange stirring of nerves and for a while only looked at his hands around his glass. This man was a stranger, yet the uncertainty she felt wasn’t fear, it was something greater. Benji was watching her and she let him drink her in, blemishes and sleep deprivation and openness. Did he like what he was looking at? Why did she want him to?
‘I want to know everything…’ he finally found his voice and Charlotte looked up. The skin on Benji’s face and neck, some of it scarred, shared a thousand secrets. What had happened? ‘I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but you were scared enough today to ask for my help. A stranger. Even while knowing that I’d probably not be able to ‘elp.’
Charlotte chewed her lip. Never before had she asked anyone to help her. She carried enough debt on her shoulders and didn’t want to add to that. He went on about Nick and she frowned.
‘So who is he?’ Benji asked, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Why the fuck is he bothering’ you?’
Charlotte wasn’t sure how she managed to find the words, but she did. Not even doubting Benji’s interest or fearing judgement. The air between them felt free and the weight from her chest lifted with every sentence she spoke.
‘It was a long time ago.’ Charlotte shrugged. Too long ago. Nick had been kind and Charlotte had been drunk. Now, she realised, he had spiked her drink but back then he had been her hero. Even now she saw the handsome features in his face before the darkness; it was why she continued to help him. ‘I wanted someone for Tristan, to help him, to set a good example.’ It all seemed so stupid now. Nick Walker was the perfect example of what not to become; wasted potential and charm. When she reflected on their relationship there had always been more pain than passion and the lack of self worth she’d had, had burnt up into ashes by the time he was done.
‘I regret it.’ Charlotte admitted. The sex, at least. ‘But I tell myself not to, because these things make us who we are, and I like to think I’ve learnt from my mistakes…’ she glanced away, swallowing the rest of her words. Had she fuck.
Benji didn’t force more from her, and it was reassuring to just sit in silence for a moment.
‘It seems to me like we’ve got two choices.’ He said and Charlotte poured two more glasses of port. We. The singular, minute word made all the difference. ‘If you want, I leave and let you handle it. Maybe he’ll get bored and move on. Maybe worse if he decides to go through with his threats.’ They looked at one another, aware there was no falsities to his words. Nick was a threat, and there was no other way of putting it. ‘Or you let me deal with this.’
Charlotte gave a small scoff of disbelief. She appreciated the gesture, so much so it made her heart swell. ‘It’s not that easy.’ She whispered, shaking her head as she ran her finger over the rim of her glass.
Benji placed a phone on the table and she stared at it as if it were a foreign object. An old, black brick like phone she hadn’t seen the likes of in years. From his next words, Charlotte only heard a few. ‘I saved my number on it. If you don’t want to see me again, just dump it somewhere.’
The thought of him leaving made her heart race. Why was she so foolish? Why was she so hooked, constantly grasping for attention? Was this another mistake? Looking between the phone and Benji, she didn’t say anything.
‘If you do…’ Benji added and the suggestion hung above them like honey.
There were not many things Charlotte did for herself. Most of her decisions revolved around her son and what would benefit him, but picking up the phone, she felt a moments selfishness but no regret.
‘Tell me about you.’ Charlotte gave a small smile. A subtle subject change to slice the tension. ‘Then I’ll decide if I want to call you.’
Her insides squirmed at the smugness in her voice. Was she flirting? Fuck, Charlotte. Keep it together. Benji went on to tell his background and Charlotte smiled. ‘A mummy’s boy.’ She grinned at the mention of his upbringing.
She wondered if, in the future, Tristan would do the same for someone who needed help.
‘What’s his name?’ He asked and Charlotte found herself grabbing her purse from the side. Inside she had a picture of herself, years ago when Tristan was barely a few months old. He was wrapped in a blanket in her arms, the two of them touching noses.
‘Tristan.’ She handed him the photograph. ‘Do you have any children?’
‘I have a daughter too.’ He went on and Charlotte could imagine it now. Him, at the breakfast table, plaiting his daughters hair and singing some reggae music in the early morning. ‘I haven’t seen her in a while.’ He admitted and she felt a pang of sadness for him.
‘That must be tough.’
‘My ex seems to think I’m a bad influence… and in some ways, she’s probably right.’
‘No parent is perfect.’ Charlotte gave a small smile and found herself reaching for his hand. She could see it in his eyes, the love he had for his daughter and the remorse for his past mistakes. ‘I would do anything for Tristan, but sometimes that puts us in bad situations.’
They both watched another as if waiting for something. Longing for something. Her thumb smoothed over his palm and it felt nice. The port was making her chest warm and the relaxed feeling in her shoulders was welcomed.
‘Uhm… what about you?’ Benji asked and Charlotte pulled her hand away sheepishly. ‘You ain’t from round here, are you?’
‘I’m actually from Downham, a village in Lancashire, but there was nothing there for me, so I moved to London when I was twenty.’ Charlotte recalled it now, how fresh faced and naive she had been to believe London was the place where miracles happened. ‘I thought London was everything, and yet to London I was nothing but a speck on the pavement.’ A small laugh. ‘Yet I still love it. I work a 9-5 job as a secretary for a man I loath, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I feel both inferior and yet part of something so grand living here.’ Placing her glass down, she shook her head. ‘I think perhaps I’ve had too much.’
Living in the countryside she had truly believed London would change her life. It had, in many ways, but it had also brought with it numerous problems living in the middle of nowhere had not taught her to handle. Like what to do with men like Nick Walker, for instance.
After a while, the conversation slowed and Benji was pushing away from the table. ‘I should go.’
Oh.
‘But I want you to promise. Ring me. If you need me at all, ring me. I’ll be close by. Trust.’
Trust.
The way he spoke seemed so poetic, and yet his voice was rough and raw like the streets. She did trust him — was that a mistake? Arms tight around her middle, Charlotte followed Benji to the door and wondered what would happen after this. Where was Nick? Tristan was asleep upstairs and the house suddenly seemed so quiet. She wanted to do something… say something… stop him from leaving, but fought the urge. Then Benji was turning back to her and her heart skipped.
‘Fuck it.’
He filled the space between them in seconds, his warmth covering her body as he kissed her. Charlotte felt her skin come to life with static, his strong hand on her jaw. Benji felt certain and sturdy, his full lips requesting hers. She could taste the alcohol on his breath and she sighed into his touch. How long had it been since someone had kissed her like this?
Placing her hands over his, she pulled back a little so she could catch her breath.
‘I’m sorry.’ Benji murmured and Charlotte shook her head.
‘Don’t be.’ She kissed him back, suddenly hungry for his touch.
There had only been a few men in her life. So few Charlotte knew she could count them on one hand, and yet somehow she had fallen pregnant. How did that happen? She knew loads of girls whose legs never closed, and yet they continued their life freely. Not that she would change having Tristan for the world, because he became her world, but something about her just brought with it bad luck. At one point in her life Charlotte had wondered if she was cursed. Nick had punched her for the first time, and it stung more than she could ever have imagined. His knuckles were bruised for days after.
Was this her fault? Was this result of not forwarding those stupid chain emails when she was younger, or was this just what she deserved? It was easy to feel worthless, when those you gave yourself to didn't value your worth. If she was better, perhaps they would be kinder. That was what she had believed for a long time. Now Benji had stepped into her life and in a matter of hours Charlotte knew she would risk everything, just to see. See if he could offer more than the others in his warm toned features.
Sometimes she would sit at her desk and make eyes at any man that walked past. She was a hopeless romantic, unaware and unsure of what love actually was but desperately seeking it in tall silhouettes. Craving someone to hold her, like she always held Tristan. A figure to promise everything would be okay, and she would be safe.
Trust.
Charlotte kissed Benji back, feeling breathless and lightheaded. His hand gripped her face and she winced a little, the weight pressing on her bruised cheek but in a matter of seconds it was forgotten. She found herself scrambling for his waistband as his lips kissed her neck, the feeling electric.
Benji had no reason to hurt her, to play with her, to use her. This could've been a set up, she had momentarily feared, but for what gain? Listening to him talk about his childhood, his daughter, it all seemed to real to be a trap. Pushing off his jacket, she let her hands trace up his stomach beneath his hoodie and momentarily lost herself in the hardness of his chest. He was so solid, and here. Forcing his jumper hastily over his head, Charlotte kissed him hard. His hands were on her thighs, pushing up the thin material to feel the warmth of her skin.
Benji lifted her, her back against the wall as she wrapped her thighs tight around his middle.
For the first time in a long time, Charlotte felt wanted. Not for any other reason than lust. Although she had been terrified in the car park, the moment her eyes had settled on Benji she felt something stir. He had the face of a man that could be both threatening and reassuring; a healer, a saviour, an ally. As much as she had no doubt he could be ferocious, she felt reassured he would not harm her. Seeing him bring Nick down a peg had been satisfying and strangely erotic.
Their breathing was heavy and as Benji slowly slid himself inside of her, Charlotte couldn't help but let out a cry. His hand covered her mouth, stifling her moans so Tristan wouldn't hear. Besides them, the latch had been taken off the door and the fear Nick would return barely even crossed her mind.
They fucked and it felt empowering. Charlotte bit down hard on his palm when he came, and Benji buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, both trying so hard to be quiet, but the euphoria overwhelming. Damp with sweat, Benji slowly lowered Charlotte to the floor and she swayed a little, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.
'Benji...' Charlotte murmured, her cheeks flushed as she adjusted her skirt.
What had just happened?
Feeling flustered, she bent down to hand him his top and they lightly clashed heads. 'Sorry.' they both said in unison and laughed despite themselves.
'You should get going, though.' Charlotte said when Benji was fully dressed. 'Just... you know... in case.'
The weight of her situation fell back onto her shoulders and Charlotte felt angry about it. Why couldn't this just be it? Tristan and Tasha could be friends, Benji and her could go on dates... head spinning with the ruined possibilities, she sighed. 'I'll call you.' she promised him. 'If I need you, I mean.' she added quickly.
And just like that, a sleep Tristan appeared at the top of the stairs and she took it as her way out. He padded down each step with blurry eyes and Charlotte swung him into her arms.
'Are you staying over?' Tristan asked and Charlotte felt her cheeks flush, a deeper pink than before.
'No, honey. Benji has to leave.'
'Because the bad man is coming back?' he asked and glancing away, she wasn't sure what to say. Yes was the only answer.
Benji was looking at her and not Tristan and she felt like a giddy child. 'Let's get you a snack.' Charlotte smiled, purposely keeping her gaze on her son. 'Say goodbye.'
Benji opened the door and for a brief second, Charlotte wondered what would happen if Nick was there. But he wasn't. The street was silent.
After he had left, Charlotte sat Tristan at the kitchen counter and fed him some crisps, a juice box clenched in his hand. He was humming happily to himself, and so she disappeared into her own world. Still breathless, she ran a hand over a warm patch of skin on her neck he had kissed and let her eyes shut. What was she going to do? What were they going to do?
Just as the thought entered her head, the door was kicked open and Nick returned.
From where she stood in the kitchen, she could see him down the hallway and he looked just as annoyed as ever. Dread filled her stomach and suddenly she felt ashamed, as if she had done something wrong, knowing full when she hadn't. What she and Benji had done was deserved, but Nick would make her regret it if he found out.
'You were gone a long time.' Charlotte murmured, turning her back to him. She wanted to be sick. 'We couldn't sleep.' she replied as he asked why they were still awake. 'But I'm going to take him to bed now and have a bath.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Feb 4, 2022 5:20:32 GMT -5
Why had she brought him? Bov stood at the bar with his back to the rest of the group, glaring into his pint, as he listened to the Irishman laugh over something with George. When he’d heard the news about Dermot and Nora’s split, a small flame had been reignited within him. A slither of hope that perhaps she might want him back. That they could pick up where they left off, as if the past few years hadn’t happened. He’d had it all mapped in his mind; buying her a drink, offering her a shoulder to cry on. Instead, she’d arrived at the party with that ginger dickhead in tow, and to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure how it made him feel. Jealous, yes. Irritated, yes. And confused. Very fucking confused.
Bov sank the rest of his pint, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, before he shot a scowl over his shoulder. Swill was doing some grand drunken speech, slurring his words, and Jock and Nora had moved to a table by the window. Bov watched them for a few moments. Were they... a thing now? They weren’t acting like a couple, but they’d arrived together, and Jock was like her shadow, drifting from bar to table behind her. And even though they weren’t holding hands or kissing or none of that shit, they kept looking at each other; lingering looks with small teasing, knowing smiles. Bov wasn’t as thick as he looked. There was something going on there. He could feel it.
Unable to help himself, he pushed away from the bar, ignoring Pete’s sharp look. It was okay for him. He already had it all; the hot wife, the kids, the nice house and garden. The only thing he was missing was a fucking dog. He didn’t have to spend every night alone, full of regret and longing for something he once had but had now lost. Waking up angry and depressed and wondering what the fuck he was doing with his life. Drinking a day every day. The GSE was the only thing Bov had left. And now this jumped up fucking ginger dickhead thought he could swan into /his/ pub and act like none of the history had happened? Fuck that!
Bov headed straight for the table, catching sight of them reaching towards each other, her hand settling on his. They both glanced up as Bov’s shadow loomed over the table, and he saw the look of surprise in Nora’s eyes. It quickly gave way to uncertainty. Dampening his bottom lip, Bov turned to Jock, one palm on the table as he leaned in close. “Oi. Nobody fuckin’ invited you. You ain’t wanted ‘ere, mate.” He saw Jock’s eyes darken, a look of restraint on his face as he stared back at Bov. He slid his hand free of Nora’s, reaching up to idly scratch his beard.
“You’re wrong, pal,” Jock replied softly. “Nora wanted me here, so I’m here. This isn’t your pub.”
“Oh, right?”
“Right, so I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.”
“Make me,” Bov hissed, eyes alight with venom. A smirk slid onto Jock’s face and he leaned forward, his face only an inch from Bov’s.
“I would fuckin’ love to, believe me. I’d love nothing more than to take you outside and beat your scrawny arse into a pulp. But that’s what you want, isn’t it, you scruffy little chav. You want my reaction to justify starting a fight. Well, you ain’t having it, pal. So back the fuck off.” At that moment, Pete appeared, Lara close behind, eyes darting between them, worry evident. Pete leaned close to say something to Bov, but Bov shook him off. Then he shoved Jock hard in the shoulder. Jock stood quickly, chair clattering back, and then it was chaos. Bov launched himself forward, Pete grabbed his waist and hauled him back, and Nora stepped in front of Jock, a hand pressed against his chest as she stared up at him, silently pleading with him not to react. Jock could feel the tension and anger boiling inside, but one look at Nora and he sighed heavily and looked away. Fucking prick. As Bov was bundled outside by Pete, Jock suddenly laughed, running a hand over his face with a shake of his head. Reaching down, he pulled Nora close. “Don’t look at me like that. I was a good boy.”
Outside, Bov scowled as he shoved Pete off, stumbling a little on the pavement. He was clearly drunk, taking a moment to right himself. “What the fuck, Pete? You takin’ his side? He shouldn’t even be allowed in there! What the fuck!”
—
When Rosa was fifteen, she wanted to be a nurse. More specifically, a midwife. Her neighbour had recently had a little baby girl, and Rosa had been in complete awe as she’d held her. Marvelling at the tiny button nose and the pursed lips and the delicate little fingers and toes... “I’m going to be a midwife,” she told her mum that same night, only for Rachel to laugh.
“You? A midwife? Fuckin’ ‘ell, Rosalie, you gotta ‘ave brains for that. You’d never make it.” She plucked the cigarette from her mouth, ash falling to the floor as the smoke encircled her face. “You’ll ‘ave to get into college first, then Uni. Christ, girl, you ain’t even done your GCSE’s yet.” She laughed, giving her cigarette another few chuffs. “It’ll be a chip shop job for you, girl, believe me.” Rosa had known it was stupid of her to mention it to her mum and had slunk away, red-faced and in a bad mood. Brian had been sat in the front room, eyes fixed to the football on TV, where Millwall were currently hammering Chelsea.
It had been two weeks since... that happened, and Rosa had done her best to avoid him. Spent most of the nights sleeping on friends’ sofas, unable to face being home. He looked up as she went to scurry past. “Rosa.” Stomach roiling, Rosa slowed in the hallway, looking in at him. He was watching her now, that leering smile on his face. His gaze ran the length of her body in a way that made her skin crawl.
His body pressing against hers, the weight of him crushing, his horrible hot breath on the side of her face...
“Your mum’s right,” he said, voice gravelly, as he eventually met her eyes. “Best not get your hopes set on some high-flying career, eh? It takes a certain type of person to handle those jobs. A type of person you aren’t.” Then he smirked, lowering his voice. “But we all know what you’re good at, don’t we.”
Every thrust sent waves of agony coursing through her, her cries muffled by his mouth, his tongue blocking her airway...
Rosa had never felt smaller and more worthless than she did in that moment. Not until now, that was. Now, in the middle of the dance floor, with Carter looking concerned and Brian looking so smug, Rosa just wanted to shrivel up and disappear. She felt like that terrified, disgusted fifteen year old all over again. Knees trembling and still fighting for breath, she watched as Carter put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away.
”It will be our little secret,” he whispered afterwards, yanking up the zipper on his jeans. Rosa lay on the damp floor of the dank windowless room, staring without seeing at the ceiling. “And let’s face it. Nobody would believe you anyway.”
Nobody would believe you anyway.
She’d carried that knowledge ever since. That no matter who she’d become or what she did, she’d always be the crackhead’s daughter. She’d always be worthless Rosa Croft with no hope, no prospects, no dreams. And nobody would ever believe her. Why would they? Brian was a copper, he had a badge, he had authority. But Rosa wasn’t a young girl anymore. She wasn’t naive. She wasn’t stupid. And Carter believed her. Brian was a predator and a rapist, and he was standing right in front of her. Old. Lined. Grey. Back then, he’d always seemed so scary and intimidating. She watched, almost as if she was watching a dream, as Carter pulled him away by his shoulder and turned to face him. Carter was frowning, dark eyes scanning Brian’s face. She couldn’t hear what he was saying though. It was as if she was underwater, her blood roaring in her ears.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Brian was saying something back to him, a sinister smile on his face, before he turned to walk away. Carter turned to face her and she stuttered the words, eyes searching his face for any sign that he believed her. Please, please believe me. “It was him... him.” Carter’s face was like stone, eyes flat and hard. But she knew he wasn’t angry with her. Far from it. He reached to take her hand, his own surprisingly hot. Dazed, she could only look up at him. Carter pulled her into his chest and at the same time, shouted for Robbie. He mustn’t have come the first time because he shouted again, louder, and Rosa buried her face into his chest and squeezed her eyes shut tight. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening.
“What’s wrong?” Robbie’s voice sounded close to her ear as he reached them and she could hear the confusion in his tone.
“Robbie, take Rosa outside.” Without waiting for an answer, he shrugged out of his jacket and slid it over her shoulders. It was warm and smelt just like him. She forced herself to find comfort in that, though her wrists were beginning to itch. Someone behind her hissed for Carter to calm down, but he was searching the room and she wasn’t even sure he’d heard.
“What’s goin-“ Robbie began to protest, but Carter abruptly cut him off.
“Just do what I say and fucking take her outside, Robbie.” And then he was gone, pushing through the crowd that was circling them. Suddenly panicked, Rosa tried to follow, to grab for him, but then Robbie was in her path, guiding her out with an arm around her waist.
“Robbie, no, wait-“
“What happened?” Robbie hissed, face flushed and looking annoyed. “Why couldn’t we just have a good night? Why does it always have to kick off with you?” He’d managed to get her to the door when she turned and pushed at him roughly.
“Brian’s here! I didn’t do anything, he just came over!”
“Brian?!” Robbie shook his head, looking bewildered. “What’s he got to do with anything?” Rosa went to force her way past him, but Robbie pushed her out into the lobby, grabbing her wrist and leading her out into the street. Rosa yanked herself away, furious, as she turned on him.
“Did you know he works ‘ere?” She demanded, tears burning her eyes. “Tell me!”
“Of course he fuckin’ works ‘ere, Rosa! Who do you think got me the job?”
It was like a punch to the chest. Rosa reeled back, horrified, tears falling as she shook her head. “But, you know what he did.”
“Oh, Rosa, for fuck sake.” Robbie ran a hand through his hair. “He never did any of that shit. You just never liked him, all years ago. You would have said anythin’ to get him out the house. I thought you’d be over that by now.” He looked at her, pity evident. “He was good to us, Rosa. Better than any of them other tossers that came around. He never did anything wrong.”
Wow. Rosa couldn’t even talk. She mouthed formless words, unable to stop the tears now they were falling. “...You’re callin’ me a liar?” Robbie looked at her almost desperately, and she could see he was stuck between wanting to believe her, and being unable to believe it.
—-
Rosa Croft. Brian had never actually thought he’d see her again. From a ruddy-faced rebellious teenager, she’d grown into a beautiful young woman, and Brian had spent a few good minutes staring at her before he’d made his approach. Her blonde hair was curled, pulled up, with loose strands framing her face. Her eyes were bright with the dazzling smile that opened up her face, and for a brief moment, his heart seemed to clench in his chest.
Brian hadn’t liked to admit how captivated he’d been by her, all those years ago. So young and fresh, feisty, so unlike her mother. The blonde hair and the blue eyes were where the similarities between Rosa and Rachel ended. He knew, if the teenager hadn’t been there, his fling with the old slag wouldn’t have lasted half as long. No. He’d stayed, and for that year or so, Rosa had been *his*. The first time had been as terrifying as it had been exhilarating. Driving her over to the dilapidated house that used to be his mum’s. Taking her down into the wet cellar, which stank of mould. Shutting the door behind them, the click echoing in the dark stone room. She’d tried to run, but there’d been nowhere to go.
“Do I know you?” Her partner was pulling at his shoulder, forcing Brian to take a step back. Yet he didn’t pull his gaze from Rosa, whose eyes were wide, all the colour drained from her face, until Carter put himself in the way. Forced to look at him, Brian gave him the same easy smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced pointedly at the hand on his shoulder.
“Officer Rivera, right? I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Superintendent Shaw.” And I’m a lot higher ranking than you, so be careful.
“I think you need to give her some space.”
At this, Brian laughed. “I’m just greeting an old friend. Rosa and I go way back. Ain’t that right, Rosalie?” He saw her flinch as if he’d struck her. She still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t done anything but freeze there like a statue. Carter closed the space between them, blocking her from view.
“Now.”
Carter was taller, broader, but Brian stared right back at him without fear, amusement dancing in his eyes now. “You want to remember who you’re talking to, kid. I’m your superior.”
“It was him.... him.”
Even though her words were uttered, they still seemed to ring around the room, over the music, drawing unwanted attention from those closest. Brian turned away and headed back towards his table, the panic in her voice trailing after him. Fuck. He shouldn’t have gone over. Part of him had known it had been a risk, but a darker part of him had wanted to see the look on her face, had relished in it. Reaching his table, he made eye-contact with one of his colleagues, Bruce Chapsworth. He was a broad man, nose crumpled from too many breaks over the years. He tilted his head, watching as Brian knocked back the rest of his pint. “Everything okay, boss?”
“Rivera is causing trouble.” Brian set his empty glass on the table and gave a tight smile. Already, he could hear Carter shouting for Robbie, but didn’t turn to look towards the commotion. Bruce just nodded, his own gaze on the ruckus. “He’s getting too big for his boots.”
“Fucking sergeants. Always think they’re the dog’s bollocks.” Bruce rubbed a paw over his face, before nodding shortly. “Here we go.” A second later, a hand landed on Brian’s shoulder, spinning him around. He’d expected a punch, the one thought going briefly through his head until Carter’s brow slammed against his nose. The crack vibrated his skull, blood spurting as he fell back, crashing against the table, the side of his head colliding with the collection of empty pint glasses. It collapsed beneath his weight, Bruce jumping back with a shout, but Carter gave him no chance to recover as he pinned him, punching Brian hard in the face. White sparks flared in his vision, each slam of the other man’s fist enough to make his ears ring. Somehow, he managed to get his own jab in there, catching Carter on the jaw as the two men furiously wrestled amongst splintered wood, cutlery, and shards of glass. His ribs took several blows, and Brian grunted, the air escaping him in one breath. All he could taste was blood.
“Touch her again and you’ll not live to see the next day, lo prometo,” Carter hissed in his ear. “Estas muerto.”
Suddenly Carter’s weight was lifted as Bruce and another young man yanked him back, each holding an arm. Brian sat up, chest heaving as he fought for breath, blood running down his face. He spat a wad of blood into the floor and forced himself to his feet, eyes fixed to Carter’s. The young man shook the others off, staring right back at Brian. He knew the truth. Brian didn’t doubt that for a moment. And now Brian would have to destroy him. He watched as Carter stalked off, glancing at Bruce as he approached. Snatching a handful of napkins from a loitering waitress, Brian began to dab his face, wincing as each tender injury became apparent; cut brow, swollen eye, broken nose, split lip... he’d lost a tooth and his ribs ached savagely with each breath. “You all right, boss?”
Brian gave a dark laugh, as the crowds dispersed and instantly began to gossip amongst themselves. He looked down at the blood-soaked napkins. “...These young ones have no respect,” he said finally, lifting to gaze to meet Bruce’s. “I think we should give him a taste of the good old days. The things that happen when you dare toe the line with a commanding officer.” He smirked. “I’m going to teach him a lesson he’s never going to forget.”
—-
“Get out of my way!” Angrily, Rosa went to stalk past her brother, but he blocked her path. Carter was still in there and God knew what was happening! Robbie hadn’t even answered her question and her upset gave way to fury. “Move!” Suddenly Carter appeared behind him, moving past Robbie to take her into his arms. Rosa clung to him, desperately trying to keep her sobs at bay.
“I’ve got it from here.” His voice rumbled through his chest.
“Why’ve you got blood on your face?” she heard Robbie ask, the uncertainty clear in his voice, and Rosa pulled away, gaze darting to Carter’s face. It was speckled with blood, a bruise already blooming on his jaw. He didn’t look at her, but hailed for a taxi.
“Have a good night, Rob. There’ll be some revelations for you in the morning, that’s all I’m saying.
Robbie shook his head in disbelief, but took a step back as a taxi pulled up beside them. “You can’t be serious. What the fuck ‘ave you done? Carter?”
“Not tonight. Go see Melanie. Go get pissed and listen to their stories about me. You can make your own opinion on it all later.” Carter ushered her into the taxi and Rosa climbed in, turning to look at Robbie out the window. Then Carter climbed in beside her and slammed the door shut, leaving Robbie to throw up his hands in despair. He shouted something as the taxi pulled away, but Rosa didn’t hear it. She watched as he turned and hurried back into the building.
Carter kept her close the whole ride home, his arm warm around her body as she held him just as tight. They didn’t speak. Rosa couldn’t. She couldn’t stop thinking about that first time in the cellar. The way the damp had soaked into her jeans. The horrid dank smell that hadn’t seemed to leave her nose for days. Curled up on the wet stone, shivering violently and sobbing silently. The resounding clack of his belt as he’d clipped it back around his waist, the rustling as he’d slid his flak jacket back on. She remembered how he’d slid his baton out, knelt beside her as he ran it up her side. He’d pressed the end beneath her chin, forcing her face up so she’d meet his eyes.
“Nobody would ever believe a filthy little chav like you, so don’t even think about opening your mouth.” A low dark chuckle. “Like mother, like daughter, eh? Though it’s not like that beaten old whore gives a fuck about you, and here’s a newsflash, Rosa. Neither does anybody else.” He’d smirked, tongue trailing his papery bottom lip before he’d stood, seizing her beneath the arm and hauling her to her feet. Her knees had nearly given way and he’d slapped her. “Look sharp, girl. And get fuckin’ moving.”
Rosa was jolted from her thoughts when the taxi pulled up and they returned home. She let Carter help her out, waiting as he paid the driver before leading her inside. Blood on his face, his collar, his sleeve. His knuckles were badly damaged and still bleeding. He’d tried to stem it with a handkerchief on the way, but they still looked bad. And of course, she didn’t need to ask him what he’d done. She could see it in her mind and she hoped Brian was suffering. It was only a tiny amount of justice, but it ignited a flame inside her that she didn’t think she’d had before.
They wandered into the kitchen, Carter turning on the light. Everything was just as they had left it. It seemed almost surreal. Only a few hours ago, they were here, getting ready, a bright future ahead of them. Now Brian was back, and Carter had done something bad, something that could jeopardise his career. And she felt a weird mixture of emotions she couldn’t even begin to describe; guilt interwoven with relief and gratefulness and anger that he’d done something so stupid for her. And an overpowering adoration that seemed to wipe out everything else.
He poured himself a whiskey after loosening his tie, downing it, and she noticed the slight unsteadiness of his hand, and she knew the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. He poured another two and pushed one towards her. She knocked it back just as quickly, relishing the burn which told her she was still alive, still here. Still fighting.
“Rosa.” He sighed, voice hoarse, finally looking at her for the first time since Robbie had escorted her out. “Before we talk, if you want to, just know you are safe, okay? Tu eres mia. Seguro, with me.” Rosa nodded, tears welling again, and unable to stop herself, she moved around the table and hugged him tight. Reaching up, she cupped his face, pulling him close as they kissed. And she let out a small sob, fingers sliding into his dark hair, hands already dropping to hurriedly unbutton his shirt. Carter’s hand slid up her throat to bury itself in her hair, and she reached up to loosen the pins, letting the blond curls fall.
In an easy movement, he lifted her onto the table, and as she pushed off his shirt, he bunched her dress upwards around the waist. The sex was hot and fast and frantic, her nails leaving marks on his shoulder as he murmured Spanish in her ear...
“Thank you for believing me,” she murmured, a little while later. She’d taken his hand and led him to bed, turning off the kitchen light as she passed. Now they laid together in the darkness, bodies entwined. It was always easier to talk in the darkness. “Nobody else does. That’s what he told me, Carter. That nobody would ever believe me. But, you do. You never doubted me once.” Biting her bottom lip, she looked up at him, just able to make out his features. “What happened in there?” She listened without interrupting as he explained what had happened and how he’d come to be covered in blood. “But, what if you get fired? You can’t lose your job over me.”
He put an arm around her, sighing heavily as he kissed the top of her head. After a few minutes, it went quiet again.
“... I love you, Carter,” she murmured, leaning close to kiss him softly. “Thank you for making my life worth living.”
—-
It felt like they’d only been asleep for ten minutes when the door burst open and shouts filled the room. Rosa woke suddenly to find police swarming the room, and for a moment, she thought she was dreaming. A big man with a squashed nose appeared beside Carter, hauling him out of bed and onto the floor. Kneeling on his back, the man cuffed him.
“Carter Rivera, you are under arrest for the assault of Superintendent Brian Shaw. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.”
“You can’t do this!” Rosa shouted, glancing around the room before scrambling off the bed. “Carter!” Three officers began to drag him out, leaving another officer in the room. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Rosa-“
Rosa slapped Robbie with as much force as she could muster. “You bastard!” Turning, she ran out the room, but by the time she reached the door, the police car was speeding away.
—
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