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Post by katherinesullivan on Feb 4, 2022 10:37:36 GMT -5
Sometimes Nora wondered if she had used Bovver, the same way Malachi had used her.
At the time it had felt the right thing to do, yet the more she thought about it, the more she realised it had been the safest option, not the truest. This wasn't to say she didn't love Bovver, because she had ... just... in a different way. They had both been lonely, and there was nothing worse than two lonely people coming together. It didn't always fix the hole, just masked it for a while. Their relationship hadn't had with it the depth that others had -- like Jock. And, sadly, like Dermot.
Bovver had done a lot for her, and perhaps for a while that was why she had stayed. Albeit the night he had beaten up Malachi had made her skin crawl with disgust, not satisfaction. Then came the Tommy Hatcher saga; the blood, the nightmares, the unsettled man in the emotional cage of a boy. As much as Nora had sought sanctity with Bovver, he was also craving it from her and she couldn't give it to him whilst they were both still broken. Ems had appeared, and it had seemed good for a while, but Bovver's fascination with her dwindled and Nora wondered if she had broken him.
Perhaps it had been a bad idea to bring Jock here...
Her hand was on top of his, and it felt warm and sure and for a brief moment Nora was not afraid to show the world who they were. Then Bovver appeared.
'Oi.'
Fuck
Nora looked up at Bovver who only caught her eye for a second before sliding it onto Jock. Her stomach was whirring with sickness at what could happen. She thought about how Bovver had already attacked Malachi and Dermot. Seeing Dermot tied to that chair still brought her nightmares. So what would he to do Jock? Then she thought about Malachi, specifically Malachi's death and her heart stopped as she furrowed her brow, examining Bovver's face. Could he have.... ?
'Nobody fuckin' invited you. You ain't wanted 'ere, mate.'
Jock stiffened but she noted that he didn't overthrow the table and pummel Bovver into the ground, so a small victory was here, if only briefly.
Across from them, Dave stopped talking to Alice and slowly placed his pint down. Why did this always fucking happen? A few weeks back they had been on the tube on the way to a match and someone had looked at Bovver in a way he hadn't liked. In the space of two seconds Bovver had punched the stranger so hard his front tooth had shattered, and he hadn't even been a football fan!
'You're wrong, Pal.'
It took all of Nora's strength not to say something. Flashing an apologetic look to Swill, Nora swallowed.
'Nora wanted me here, so I'm here.'
That was a nice, calm response Nora thought.
'So I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.'
Nora gave a small gasp. But how else would she have expected Jock to react?
'Make me.'
Then Bovver pushed himself closer to Jock, leaning with a sturdy hand on their table and she knew something was about to go wrong. Why had she done this -- invited him. Why had she come? The hair on her arms stood up, her nails digging into the edge of the table as she looked between the two. The only sound was the low hum of the jukebox in the distance and the cheery song it played was a stark contrast to the tension around them.
Jock's response was strangely calm and the confusion was evident on everyone's face. Pete was watching the scene, having inched closer the second he saw Bovver wander over. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating, with the alcohol streaming through his brains, but no. Bovver was being Bovver.
'Bruv.' Pete murmured as he filled the gap between them. He was now only an arms reach away from Bovver, but it seemed a world away as Bovver hunched, prepared for a fight. His shoulders were tense. 'This isn't the place, alright?' he whispered, only to receive an elbow in the chest.
'This is why you should've fuckin' told me!' Pete snapped at Lara, perhaps more angrily than he should've, before Bovver suddenly exploded and threw himself at Jock.
Why didn't Lara learn? How many years had they been together, and somehow letting Nora invite Jock had been a lovely surprise? It had ignited an anger in Bovver the boys had only just managed to dampen. Too busy grabbing Bovver, Pete didn't see the hurt in Lara's eyes, or the way she turned away after he had abruptly shoved her aside. He was too busy trying to hold back his friend.
'Outside.' Pete hissed in Bovver's ear as his friend attempted to wrestle himself free. Pete might've been retired but running around after children had kept him in check. He'd started taking up running and weights; anything to keep away the darkness. 'Now.' Pete demanded, managing to drag Bovver away. Dave and Swill looked on but Pete merely shook his head at them.
The cool air hit them as they both stumbled outside and Pete felt himself sway a little unsteadily as Bovver finally shoved him off.
'Are you serious?' Pete snapped as he ran a hand through his hair.
'What the fuck, Pete?' Bov snapped and Pete rolled his eyes.
'Don't act like that.'
'You takin' his side? He shouldn't even be allowed in there. What the fuck!'
'Says who?' Pete asked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He was supposed to have quit months ago, but drinking made him crave the nicotine badly. 'Says fuckin' who, Bov?' Pete repeated. 'Do you own The Abbey? Just let it be, Bruv.' he murmured, knowing Bovver wouldn't listen. Couldn't back down like that 'I already spoke to you about this earlier. It isn't about Jock, is it? If you still care about Nora, then put her first and put this bullshit behind you.' shaking his head, he flicked ash on the floor before offering Bovver the packet. 'Take it from me. Lara will kill me.' he exhaled the smoke with a gentle sigh.
'That Irish cunt doesn't care one fuckin' bit what you do to him, because you mean nothin to him, Bruv. But he does care about Nora, which is why you're lucky he didn't blow your fuckin' head off in there, alright? But he didn't do it, for her sake, not yours.' he scoffed at the disbelief in Bovver's eyes. 'Look, whatever. Think whatever you want, but right now, Jock is being the smart one and you're looking like the twat. So don't come back inside for a bit.' as he stubbed his cigarette on the pavement, Pete turned to go back inside.
He could feel the heat of Bovver behind him and spun, grabbing his collar. 'Calm down first, Bovver. Not for me, for her.' he hissed.
Inside, Nora was still facing Jock, her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating gently through his shirt, and had been surprised it hadn't increased. He was laughing.
'Don't look at me like that.' he said and she lowered her judgemental eyebrow slowly. 'I was a good boy.'
'You could've not told him to fuck off, though.' Nora murmured, even though a small smile pulled at her lips. 'Thank you.' she added, leaning up to give him a gentle kiss.
Part of her wanted to go outside, to see if Bovver was okay, but would that have made it worse? Then as Pete came back in, she saw Isla slide out. Nora didn't know much about Isla George, just that she was ridiculously attractive and feisty.
Running a hand through her hair, Isla wondered what she had gotten herself into when she'd taken over this pub. She had been told it would be hard, but it was also ridiculously popular, and she loved a challenge.
'Hey.' she called as she saw Bovver skulking away across the road. He didn't turn so she yelled again, her Scottish accent thick. 'Do you smoke?' she asked, and when he turned back, she waved a spliff in the air with a wink. 'If you stop acting like a raging arse in my pub, I'll split it with you.' as Bovver approached she gave a small warning glance. 'And don't try anything, okay? I've already got your blonde friend in there drooling over my bartop every Wednesday morning, I don't need you to add to that.' she spoke of Swill, albeit a fond smile tugged at her lips. Swill was cute, she supposed.
Isla and Bovver didn't really speak, just enjoyed the silence and the spliff. 'Sometimes you just need a moment.' she murmured with a satisfied sigh. Bovver grunted in response.
They weren't bad boys, not really.
Suddenly Swill had appeared in the doorway and Isla glanced over her shoulder. He looked thoroughly offended to see she and Bovver were sat on the curb, and she gave a small laugh at the mention of it being his birthday. Clambering to her feet, Isla passed the spliff to Bovver and shook her head.
'Foolish boy.' she sighed before leaning forward and kissing Swill. It was a hard kiss, as she fell into it slightly but all the same it was strangely nice. 'Happy Birthday, Simon.' she patted his chest when they pulled apart and headed back inside.
Back inside, Nora let go of Jock and headed over to Pete. 'I'm sorry.' she murmured and he shrugged his shoulders, raising a hand for Terry to take his order.
'It's fine.'
'I didn't think... I... well, I didn't think.' Nora admitted and Pete smiled.
'Do you want something to drink?' he asked and she shook her head.
'I've still got a bottle of wine.' she glanced back at Jock. 'I'll speak to you later.' she smiled, squeezing his arm.
Ordering another round of beers in, Pete felt himself ease slightly as the party slowly built back up. After ten minutes had passed and Lara didn't appear, Pete went in search. Knocking on the womans toilet door, Pete announced himself before stepping in. It was empty, and surprisingly a lot cleaner in here. There was a diffuser on one of the window ledges, and pretty hand soaps on each sink. Then, the end stall door opened and Lara appeared. She looked as if she had been crying.
'Are you okay?' Pete asked and she narrowed her eyes at him. 'What... oh.' he recalled yelling at her in the heat of it all and suddenly felt terrible. 'I'm sorry, Lar. I was just trying to make sure no one got hurt.' shrugging his shoulders pathetically, Pete stepped towards her. When she noted how much alcohol he had drank, he shrugged again. 'It's a party.' he tried. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her in close, forcing her to look at him. 'Hey.' he smiled, laughing as she pouted. 'Hey, I love you.' he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. 'And did I mention how fuckin' gorgeous you look tonight?'
Running his hand down her back, Pete let his hand rest gently on her ass and smiled as she gasped a little. Leaning down, he stole a kiss and smiled when she reciprocated it.
'I love you, Lara Dunham.' grabbing her waist, Pete pushed her backwards into the cubicle and slammed the door behind them. His lips found her neck, kissing down the warm flesh and over her collarbone, tugging down the strap on her dress. She smelt amazing. If one thing Pete could never understand, it was how lucky he had gotten with her. Lara's hand sought the hardness over his jeans and Pete moaned, nipping her neck so sharply he left a mark. 'Fuck.' he moaned, feeling her palm him wantingly.
Just as he undid his belt buckle, Pete heard someone come flying into the bathroom, followed by the sound of young giggles and then a deeper voice. George was dragging a tipsy Aoife into the closest cubicle, already trying to pull her dress around her middle.
'Fuck.' Pete whispered and both he and Lara gave a gentle laugh. Pressing their foreheads together, he sighed. 'Let's leave them to it.' he murmured, taking her hand and as both of them left, George and Aoife were none of the wiser.
Slowly everyone settled back into the spirit of the party.
Bovver didn't come back in for a while, and when Isla did, Swill gave her a mooneyed gaze and tripped over his own feet.
Nora would be the first one to admit that her relationship with alcohol was perhaps not the best, but then she would argue all the depths of her life had warranted this association. It was somehow a fun character trait when Jock or Max drank, but if it was a woman then it was different. She looked up at Jock as she finished a glass of wine and raised an eyebrow slowly.
'You want me to stop?' she asked, then glanced down, feeling foolish. Of course he did, but Jock would never be the one to tell her what to do.
When she did it to him, it was different and sexy. When a man did it? Demanding and domineering. Placing her glass down, Nora wrapped her arms around Jock's neck and swayed slightly to the music. Her hips brushed against his with a teasing smile. Whilst they danced and enjoyed one another's company, they missed his phone buzzing on silent in his back pocket as Carter stood in the police station, stunned. Jock spun her and Nora giggled, careless, unaware.
Dave and Alice took to the dance floor, showing off some impressive swing dancing they had learnt over the last few months. Swill wanted to blast them for it, but he was quite impressed. Pete held out his hand to Lara and gave a cheeky wink, before tugging her close. 'Let's dance, Mrs Dunham.' he nuzzled her neck with a satisfied sigh and the world still momentarily at peace.
Thirty minutes before this, across London, Carter and Rosa entered his flat. His reassurance to her was gentle and Rosa threw herself into his arms. He was still angry, his body vibrating with rage and pain. He felt her pain, her humiliation. He felt the suffering of a thousand women across the world, all in the same situation, trapped, disregarded, unprotected. If Carter could do one thing, he would prove Rosa was not a liar. She was a survivor, and Brian Shaw needed to be showcased like the pig he was.
Carter's love for her in that moment had multiplied. He felt as if his heart had tripled in size with how much he ached for her. He was a great empath, and seeing her go through that meeting had stung him.
The sex came hot and unexpected. Rosa's fingers unbuttoned his shirt in seconds as his hands flew to her hair, the curls falling gently down her back. 'Eres hermosa.' he whispered, his lips finding her neck and biting down. You are beautiful. Lifting her as if she were weightless, Carter placed Rosa on the counter and let himself settle between her legs. The dress ruched up around her waist and his fingers felt hot on the warmth of her thighs, such soft, delicate skin. Skin others had tainted, and he felt a sense of privilege to be trusted. Rosa had no requirements to allow any man into her life, and yet she wanted him. She wanted him.
A groan left his lips as he slid himself inside of her, his whole body electric. They fucked, and it was like neither of them were there. They had gone somewhere else in the mist of euphoria washing over them. Both of them knew something bad was coming, but chose to ignore it in those heated moments. When he came, Carter felt lightheaded and had to steady himself on the counter, his face buried against the crook of Rosa's neck. He couldn't breathe, and neither could she.
A while later they both went to bed, Rosa taking his large hand with her own and taking control of their evening. If she hadn't had acted quickly, Carter wasn't sure what he would have done. He wanted to go back outside, find Brian, finish the job. His knuckles were starting to sting as the adrenaline dampened and he suddenly felt uncomfortable and unsure.
'Thank you for believing me.' Rosa's voice brought him back down to earth. They were in bed now, wrapped around one another so tightly as if their life depended on it. Rosa's head nestled on his chest, his arm tight around her. The scent of her shampoo clung to him, the faintness of her perfume reminding him of the night. How she had smelt when they had first entered, and no doubt what Brian had sensed when he leaned in close to whisper his greeting.
'Nobody else does.'
Carter glanced down, trying to control his anger as Rosa honestly opened to him.
'That's what he told me, Carter. That nobody would ever believe me. But, you do. You never doubted me once.'
'I will never doubt you, Rosa. Ever. Whatever you say to me, I'll believe it, always.'
Love made you foolish and perhaps a little blind, but Carter knew Rosa well enough to know she would never have anything to gain from a lie. In her life, whatever accusations Rosa spoke, she would always be challenged or contradicted or doubted. Why would she do that to herself unless it was true? It was exhausting and unfair, and Carter only had to take one look at Brian to know who was. What kind of man he was. They never looked like you expected, like the films or the news depicted them. Most of the time predators and abusers were normal, well off men in good paying jobs with power and glory bubbling around them.
'What happened in there?' Rosa asked and she had turned to look at him now. He wasn't going to lie, but he felt somewhat foolish to admit the truth.
'I lost it.' he admitted, staring across the room. For a moment, Carter couldn't find the words and Rosa understood, waiting patiently. 'I knew it had happened to you, and I knew it upset me, but I always thought I would be a better man when it came to it. The bigger man. But then I saw him and I just...' biting his lip, he looked down to see her wide eyes and he shrugged his shoulders.
'I know you don't need more drama in your life, Rosa. For fuck sake, I just wanted us to settle down. When I saw you so distraught, I just couldn't not give him what he deserved. So, I walked over to him and I headbutted him.' a small laugh left his lips, somewhat in satisfaction but mostly due to the disbelief of his actions. 'Then I just kept hitting him, really hard. In his face, his ribs. I have seen so many people like him, Rosa, and been allowed to do nothing and when I saw your face in my mind, I lost all control.' he swallowed, shaking his head. 'Lo siento.' he whispered. I'm sorry.
'What if you get fired?' Rosa asked and he could hear the panic in her rising, so he gently kissed her forehead. 'You can't lose your job over me.'
'It's not just you, Rosa, but you made me see I should've made a stand a long time ago. If I can't, then what's the point in me?'
They were no words left to say for a moment. Both of them were whirring with possibilities of what would happen. A man like Brian Shaw wouldn't keep this stunt to himself and the entirety of the force had seen Carter's apparently shameful actions. The world was going to crumble, and a fresh war was to begin.
'I love you, Carter.' Rosa's voice was quiet in the dark. They shared a soft kiss and Carter felt his chest hurt. 'Thank you for making my life worth living.'
When Carter managed to fall asleep, his dreams were erratic and unnatural. Rosa was a young girl and he was in her bedroom, but she couldn't see him. Brian was sat on her bed, big and broad and out of place in such a small and pink room. His weight made the frame creak and bow slightly, his feet parted as he patted his lap.
'Come, sit.' Brian demanded and Rosa stood in the corner shaking her head. She looked small and frail, all gangly limbs and long hair. She was barely a teenager -- she must've been ten or eleven. 'Come, girl.' Brian repeated and Rosa continued to shake her head in terrified defiance.
Brian stood up then and made his move towards her, his thick shadow swallowing all of the light in the room and casting a timid Rosa in darkness. Carter wanted to reach out to her but he couldn't; his cries of desperation were evaporated like hot water. Brian laid his hands on her shoulders and almost engulfed them in his grip. Rosa began to cry as he undid his belt and pulled down his trousers, forcing her hand onto his cock.
This melted into another dream Carter briefly believed to be reality. He and Rosa were in the kitchen, and he was making dinner. She was sat on a stool sipping a glass of wine and she was laughing and the sound reverberated peacefully in his skull. As Carter turned away to finish the meal, the happy sound suddenly stopped and he turned to see Rosa sat in silence. Her face was suddenly filtered with pain, her hands clutching her chest.
'Rosa?' Carter asked and his voice sounded distant. Blood started to bloom over her white top and Carter instantly dropped the pain he was holding to run to her. The closer her got, the more the figure in the background became apparent and there stood Brian Shaw, a knife hilt gripped firmly in his hand, the blade settled into Rosa's back.
'If I can't have her, no one can.' his voice was deep and booming and made the ground shake. Then the door startled to rattle, the handle turning left and right, accompanied by a heavy bang. The whole apartment shook to the point his eyes were vibrating in his head. Rosa fell to the floor link a limp ragdoll and as Carter bent to catch her, he jolted awake in bed, his heart racing.
The banging continued but before he could acknowledge it, the bedroom door was kicked open and armed officers filled the room like flies.
What had he done?
Carter felt sick and swallowed, prepared to give himself over to them peacefully, when an officer dragged him onto the floor and handcuffed him. The knee in his back was unnecessary and sharp and Carter knew this man carried respect for Brian.
'Carter Rivera, you are under arrest for the assault of Superintendent Brian Shaw...'
'Rosa, it's okay.' Carter murmured, blanking out the rest of the speech, the very same speech he could reel off without hesitation. When he saw the fright on her face however, he wrestled with the officer, only to have two more stick to him as if he were a wild animal. 'You know me!' he yelled, struggling to hold them back. 'Rosa, look at me! It's okay.' his voice was muffled as they pulled him into the corridor, purposely blocking his line of sight.
It was only when he was almost out of the door that Carter saw Robbie enter the bedroom and his blood began to boil. Wrestling harder than before, he kicked and swung out, only to get restrained harder.
'You're a dumb bastard, Rivera.' one of the officers murmured and Carter finally resisted as he was ducked into the backseat of a police car. He knew it did no good to fight, and he hadn't intended to until he was bombarded.
'Make sure she's safe.' Carter murmured as the door was slammed in his face. An officer jumped in the front seat, choosing to ignore him. 'Hey, Logan. You know me. Make sure she's --'
'Robbie is her brother, Carter. I'm pretty sure she's a lot safer with him than she is with you. You broke Shaw's nose and almost fractured one of fuckin' his ribs.'
'Buena.' Carter murmured and the officer glared at him in the rear-view mirror. Good.
The drive to the station was quiet and Carter's head was spinning. He knew the routine; he would be taken in, fingerprints taken, locked in a cell for a while before being questioned. Brian would no doubt press charges and he would lose his job, but at least he could get back home to her. Why was Robbie on Shaw's side? Had he caused this ambush? What was he doing with Rosa now? In this moment of dizziness, Carter was reminded why it was never beneficial to fight for the truth, because this world was dark and destructive and didn't care for it. It was going to be a long night.
When he got to the station, they checked him for all his personal belongings before taking his fingerprints and slinging him in a cell. Exactly what he had expected. It wasn't as if he hadn't been on this side of the wall before; when he was younger he had been cautioned, once, and the officer on duty had slung him into one of the dank rooms to teach him a lesson. It had been difficult to get a job on the force with that minute blotch on his name, but he had managed it. The only other times he had been in here was to intimidate or interview a suspect.
An hour or so passed by.
'Why did you do it, Rivera?' Logan was back and staring through the grate on the door. Disappointment clung to the younger officers face and Carter hated it.
'Do what?' Carter asked and raised an eyebrow. His wrists ached where they had purposely tightened the cuffs that bit too much.
'Attack a superior officer for no reason.'
Carter wanted to yell, scream, kick the door down and acknowledge this blatant lie but he didn't say anything. Anything he said could be used against him, and he had already tripped himself into this position, he didn't want to fall any further.
'When do I get my phone call?' Carter asked, just as Logan went to turn away.
'You want to call your lawyer?'
'No.'
'You should.' the two stared at one another for a moment before Logan unlocked the door. Slipping the handcuffs on him he lead Carter to the phone and leaned on the wall beside it expectantly.
'You should call your lawyer.' Logan repeated before sloping off.
Carter thought about calling Rosa, but he didn't yet. He wasn't sure why. He wasn't even sure where she was, or what Robbie was doing. Instead he called Jock Sullivan. He had memorised that Irish mans number in case of an emergency, and hated himself for it. Rosa had been adamant he was her saviour and had been a blurry beam of light in her life, and she needed that direction now more than ever if Carter couldn't be there. 'Come on.' Carter murmured as the line continued to ring. The longer she was left with Robbie, the worse things were going to get. 'Come onnnnn.' Carter begged and the line briefly connected before the answering machine whirred into play. 'Mierda.' he swore before taking a deep breath.
'Jock, it's Carter Rivera. Please hear me out, I don't have long. Rosa needs your help. I'm in a spot of trouble, and I don't trust anyone else with her but you. Do you understand? Not even her brother. No one. Get to her as soon as you can, I'm worried she's going to do something stupid.' hanging up the phone, Carter glanced around before picking up the phone again.
Rosa didn't answer either. Where was she? Trying to keep calm, Carter left her a voicemail too before Logan reappeared, swinging the cell keys.
'Rosa, baby. I never thought I would say this, but if you can, get to Jock. I know Robbie is your brother, but I need you safe and I need you not to come down here, okay? Te quiero. Te quiero.' he repeated. I love you. 'This isn't your fault, I promise. I do not regret doing a single thing for you, okay? Everything will be okay. Everything. I promise.'
When he entered his cell, Carter turned around to say something, anything, but instead was confronted with another officer. Then another. The three of them stared down at him without an inch of remorse on their face. One had a baton down by his side, one a taser, and Logan cracked his knuckles to reveal four very sharply cut rings on his hand. Carter knew each of them, however not very personally. They were the broad shouldered, beefy men who swung their badges in clubs to get attention. The ones who believed that being an officer of the law granted you the same rights as a God.
'Boys.' Carter murmured, glancing down at the restricting handcuffs. 'This doesn't seem fair.'
Back at the Abbey, Nora took Jock's hand and lead him over to a quiet booth. All the dancing had her breathless. 'Are you having fun?' Nora asked, leaning over to kiss him. The alcohol had gone straight to her head, and without thinking she pulled herself onto his lap so she was straddling him. Everyone else around them was in their own world, and she couldn't see Bovver anywhere; not that she cared about his opinion right now. Jock felt warm against her and she felt charged.
'Admit it.' she whispered, placing his hands on her bare thighs. When he agreed, she smiled. 'You know what we were saying earlier...' her voice was a whisper as she leaned in close. His aftershave smelt so good and his smile was making her giddy. As Jock shifted, his phone fell out of his pocket and down the back of the seat, both of them unaware. 'What if we made a baby now.' she laughed, rolling her hips.
Carter had been in a lot of fights in his life. Most of them had not even been initiated by him, but they had been finished by his hand. Carter didn't really understand physical violence; it was messy, unnecessary and screamed unintelligence. People like Jock Sullivan believed that being handy with a fist meant a lot, but it had taken years of self control for Carter to realise that it didn't.
Men who hit other men, or women, or children -- how hard was that?
Growing up where he had in the concrete jungle of London, violence had been leering on every doorstep and it was something he'd had to chase away. The all consuming urge to hurt those that hurt others, especially those he loved was a difficult one to subdue. After his dad... well, he had momentarily given into the blaze of brutality but it hadn't solved anything, merely absolved his grief and instead made way for unbridled fury.
The circle of life was fully present in the midst of street life, and if you knocked down one, there would always be another. Someone would always be stronger, brimming with power and arrogance, seeking you out to wonder where you got the audacity being such a small little runt in a much bigger pen. Violent men grew like the heads of medusa and Carter had only just managed to get out in time.
This has been his first mistake for what had seemed an age. Not that the desire to pummel someone didn't arise; it was always there, under his skin like a raw itch he couldn't quite reach. The more he had heard about Rosa and Brian Shaw, the more Carter understood he had merely been walking through life with blinders on. He saw crime every day; saw hurt, injustice and incredible pain on the murky streets, but somehow it had become something unreal. Something that wasn't happening to him and that his impulses forced him to stop without consideration.
Somehow, such an intense and up-close job became impersonal and inhuman, but there were better ways to resolve it then breaking someone nose.
At least Rosa was safe, Carter told himself as the three men entered his cell. Right?
'We've got a message for you.' one of the grunted.
Across town, Charlotte sat on the edge of the bath as the water steadily ran. She heard Nick walk up the stairs, his boots creaking ominously, but he passed her and the breath filled back into her lungs. It was a strange feeling to be so terrified of someone who had once made you feel wanted. Charlotte wondered if that was why it was so hard for women to leave abusive relationships; it didn't make sense and the emotions overlapped and contradicted themselves. Perhaps the fear was false, the back of a palm against your face accidental, because between that darkness you saw shimmers of the kindness, the love you craved.
Sometimes she could look at Nick and just see a man; a handsome, rugged one with persuasive lips and strong hands. How were you supposed to know, looking at him, that he was reckless, sadistic, volatile? In brief glances she could see the man she had first met, who offered her a drink and a smile, his touch warm on her lower back as he lead her outside. A gentleman, almost.
It was naïve of her to think that this persona would arise and conquer the one that loved to make her suffer, but she held hope for it, for Tristan's sake.
Lowering herself into the bath, Charlotte felt the tension sink from her shoulders, the scolding water welcoming. Everything ached, all the time. Her jaw was stiff from clenching her teeth and her hands cramped from squeezing her palms. It was different now, though, not all the pain unwanted. Her thighs felt sore from clinging to Benji's waist, her neck flushed where he had kissed her, heavy and heated. She smiled at the thought of him and buried herself beneath the bubbles; he would be her saviour.
Carter was knelt on the floor, doubled in pain as Logan aimed a hefty blow to his ribs. His hands were still cuffed so he fell sideways with a grunt, humiliated. Spitting blood onto the concrete floor, Carter looked up at the three of them and shook his head. One of them had shoved the taser roughly into his neck and the jolt had sent him to his knees and he hadn't managed to get up since. In training, in the beginning, they put you through a test to ensure you could handle tasers or pepper spray and it had been fine, something he never thought he would genuinely have to overcome in the future. How wrong had he been?
In a matter of minutes Carter had accepted a boot to his face, stomach and chest. He was winded and outnumbered and wondered what Rosa would think to see him so fragile on the ground. Then, seeing her face at the back of his mind, he seemed to find his strength.
In the distance he saw one of the officers closing the cell door before Logan stepped into his line of sight. 'I thought you were better than this, Rivera.' he mocked, staring down at him as if he were a wounded animal. He raised his foot for another strike when Carter took his chance and kicked Logan's legs from beneath him; the man fell to the floor like a tonne of bricks giving Carter chance to find his feet.
'Better than what?' Carter asked as he backed himself against the wall. 'You?' he raised an eyebrow, quickly turning his head when the other officer extended his baton with a dissatisfying crack. They were smirking at him like goons. 'I'm more of a man than all of you in here.'
'Oh yeah?'
'Yeah.'
'Not man enough to get your own bird, though.' the one with the baton snapped. 'Had to steal little Robbie Croft's sister, and she ain't even that pretty, she's a drugged up whore.'
'Watch your fuckin' mouth.' Carter seethed. 'Do you have any idea what it was that Shaw did to her, when she was just a little fuckin' girl?' he looked at all three of them expectantly. Fuck, his ribs hurt as he stood awkwardly in the corner. How ironic.
'Gave 'er what she deserved.'
Carter propelled himself forward with a yell and took the man down, both of them wrestling on the ground like animals. His hands cuffed, Carter was slamming his clenched fists down in desperation but couldn't hit where he wanted. Head still ringing from the night before, he did the only thing he could and crashed his temple into the mans and felt his world spinning. Disorientated, he felt someone grab his arms and pull them up above his head, below him someone was holding his feet. He kicked like a chained horse, managing to send Logan flying.
'Brian Shaw is a dangerous man.' Carter yelled, his words cut short as someone stamped on his forearms.
Pain seared down his left arm and his fingers suddenly felt numb; something must've been broken. The baton collided with his already bruised ribs and Carter gave a gasp, the breath leaving his lungs in a gulp. Another blow and he tried to curl himself up, to protect the undamaged bones but he couldn't move. Logan was holding his ankles and the other man pressing down onto his shattered forearm.
It felt like hours before the beating stopped and they moved away like inky shadows. One by one they left out of the cell, until it was just Logan staring at him. Blinking through bruised eyes, Carter felt the spit land on his face as Logan wiped his bloody hands on his shirt.
'Do anything like that again, and he'll kill 'er.'
'Fuck. You.' Carter seethed through the pain before Logan gave a final kick to his face, knocking him unconscious.
In his dreams, Rosa was there again. She was grown now, looking like she did only hours before he'd been arrested. And his mum was there, and his dad too. They were all looking at him, concerned, and they crouched down to see him as if he were only an inch tall.
'Are you okay?' Rosa asked and Carter looked into her beautiful face and felt safe.
'You're pathetic.' his dad snapped and Carter slowly turned to him, sick in his stomach. He hadn't pictured his dad since was a kid, and seeing him now made him feel haunted. He looked just like the photograph they'd balanced on his coffin at the funeral.
'Leave him be.' his mum simpered, that warm smile on her face. 'Mi hijo.' she soothed. My boy.
His word dissolved like oil in a puddle and suddenly he was in a different room. He could hear crying in the distance and tried to walk towards sit, but the further forward he went, the longer the room stretched. It was Rosa, he could hear her calling his name through the tears and the sound of slapping flesh. Carter yelled and yelled but his lungs were heavy like lead and nothing escaped. He persevered forward, his body stiff as if he were trudging through quicksand and lower and lower he got, until the ground swallowed him whole.
When he awoke, he was still laid on the floor of his cell and the pain came back in a hefty blow. A yell left his mouth, a gargled cry of despair that went unnoticed as blood dribbled from his lips. His ribs felt like he was made of matchsticks and his forearm throbbed; he just wanted Rosa. He wanted to be in her arms, in their bed, happy and safe. He wanted her to be safe, and he knew he couldn't do anything about there here. Carter longed for her to be smoothing his hair back as she hummed a gentle tune, his head nestled on her stomach to listen to the rhythm of her heart.
He could feel tears stinging his eyes, words spinning around in his head. As long as Rosa's safe, as long as Rosa's safe, as long as Rosa's safe.
Then another voice entered his head; do anything again and he'll kill her.
Fuck.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Feb 25, 2022 3:37:30 GMT -5
He should have just left.
Benji knew it. Maybe Charlotte knew it too. But, it didn't change the way the night went. Benji had been with plenty of birds in his time, but none of them were like Charlotte. He was used to easy girls; girls with short skirts and shorter tops, plastic nails, plastic lips, lashes like spider legs. Charlotte was classy and elegantly beautiful. And it even went beyond her beauty. There was an aura about her he wasn't quite used to. Something he felt pretty damn attracted to. Then, he realised what he was thinking and flushed. Fuck. What was wrong with him? They didn’t even know each other, and this could be dangerous.
Not for him. For her.
Benji listened as she spoke about how she’d met Nick, and he could kind of see it. He wasn’t some ugly cunt, he was handsome, he guessed. A few charming words and she’d been like putty. Benji had seen that plenty of times before. “I regret it. 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...” Charlotte trailed off, glancing away, and Benji felt a physical ache in his chest. In that brief moment, she looked so lost and vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to hunt down that Nick and show him what happened to filthy little predators like him. It was then, after a few minutes silence, that Benji offered up his choices. He wasn’t quite sure how he was already so involved, but he was and he didn’t even care.
“It’s not that easy.” She spoke softly, finger running around the rim of her glass. He followed the motion, eyes dark. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pushed the phone over the expensive wooden table. She picked it up, turning it over in her fingers. “Tell me about you. Then I’ll decide if I want to call you.”
So he did. The hint of a smirk on her lips made him smile. As if she was daring him to prove he was worth it, and it was surprising how easy the words spilled once he got started. He’d never been this open to people he didn’t know, but there was something about Charlotte, something so honest, that he found it ridiculously easy to talk. About his daughter and the troubles there, about where he’d grown up... he didn’t go into too much detail about what he did now, but part of him was sure she wouldn’t care. That nothing he did was as bad as what Nick had, and was, putting her through. He spoke about his mother, and this made her smile, no doubt thinking of little Tristan upstairs. Sons should look after their mothers, that’s what he’d been raised to believe, and he still paid her rent to this day. She’d raised him single-handedly and against all odds, working several dead-end jobs just to provide for him. He was grateful for that. There were plenty of other kids on the estate who had gone hungry.
“A mummy’s boy,” Charlotte said, and Benji chuckled, draining his glass.
“One hundred percent. I have a lot to thank her for.” Charlotte was pretty understanding when it came to his daughter, as much as it ashamed him to admit he wasn’t a true part of her life right now. It was tough, not being able to see her happy little face in the mornings. She was a ray of light in an otherwise dark and miserable world, where everything was against you from day one. All Benji had known was struggle. He didn’t want that for her. Charlotte pulled a photograph out of her purse and handed it to him, and he saw a younger Charlotte, the little pink newborn nestled in her arms. It made his heart pang. Fuck, he needed to see his daughter.
“No parent is perfect,” she told him with a small smile, and he nodded in agreement, allowing her to refill his glass. “I would do anything for Tristan, but sometimes that puts us in bad situations.” She’d reached out to take his hand, her thumb trailing his palm softly, and he responded by giving it a light squeeze. Even though there were virtually strangers, he couldn’t deny this strange connection between them. He wasn’t spiritual, or religious, by any means, but his mother was and he knew what she’d be saying right now. Something along the line of reincarnated souls and past lives. Benji wasn’t quite sure he believed that shit, but he couldn’t otherwise explain what he was feeling now. They had fallen quiet, watching each other, Benji just enjoying the contact of her skin against his. It was nice. He quite liked it, and he felt cold when she eventually drew away to tell him about her own background. "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. I thought London was everything, and yet to London I was nothing but a speck on the pavement." Charlotte gave a small laugh, and for a moment, there was a small genuine smile on her face. It caused a spark to ignite in the pit of his stomach. Right then, he vowed to see that beautiful smile again. She glanced at him, a glint of humour in her eye. "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." Shaking her head, she set down her glass. "I think perhaps I've had too much."
"No. I get it. London has a way of chewing people up and spitting them out." He chuckled darkly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yet at the same time, I could never leave. I'd rather struggle here, survive here. London is..." His brow creased, and then a small smile spread as he looked back at her. "...She's an untameable mistress."
They spoke for a little longer, but it was getting later, and even though Benji had no qualms about Nick coming back, he didn't want Charlotte to have to worry. He'd come to find out the truth, and she'd been honest. She had his number. And he knew this wouldn't be the last time he saw her. He wouldn't let that happen. Maybe that's why what happened next played out. An inner knowing that this wasn't to be goodbye, not really. They were in the hall when he closed the space between them and kissed her, his hands cupping her face. And she tasted so fuckin' good, port and spearmint. To his delight, Charlotte responded to his kiss, sighing softly as she leaned into him. Reaching up, she placed her hands on his, as they parted, both trying to catch their breath. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted as her eyes searched his. "I'm sorry," he murmured, fearful for a moment that he might have crossed the line. But Charlotte shook her head.
"Don't be." She surged against him, kissing him back, more heated and frantic than before. Benji growled, fingers tangling in her dark hair as he pulled her close, lips clashing. The hand still cupping her face tightened around her jaw a little, as his body crowded hers, and there was no stopping them after that. She tugged impatiently at his waistband, as Benji began to kiss her throat, teeth grazing the soft skin beneath her ear. As Charlotte pushed at his jacket, his lips found hers once more. He'd backed her against the wall, his jacket at his feet, her hand now slipping beneath his hoodie and the mere touch sent a shiver down his spine. Fuck. She felt amazing, her own skin soft beneath his palm. Clothes finally discarded, he slid his hands up her warm thigh, lifting her with ease. Charlotte tightened her legs around him, and he paused only to admire her. Breasts filling the lacy material of her bra, revealed because one of the straps of her dress had fallen down her shoulder, boasting sun-kissed skin, smattered with freckles. He kissed them.
Beautiful.
"You fuckin' stunnin'," he murmured against her lips when he lifted his head to kiss her. And then he was sinking into her, feeling her wet and hot and it made him ache. He needed her unlike he'd needed anybody before. She gave a cry, and he hastily covered her mouth with his hand, muffled her sounds. The sex was hot and fast, a sudden release of emotions neither were expecting. Her teeth sank into his palm when she came, body shuddering against his, and he could feel how aroused she was. He came soon after, face pressed into her throat to try and muffle his groans. Whether they’d actually been quiet or not, he wasn’t sure. It smelt like sex. She smelt like him, and it was so fucking sexy. Still trying to catch his breath, he lowered her onto her feet, a small grin pulling at his mouth. Wow.
“Benji...” Christ, the way she said his name... She seemed a little unsteady, her flushing darkly as the post-sex clarity hit. Nothing changed for him though. He would never have changed that. He felt no shame or regret, bending to retrieve his top at the same Charlotte did. They lightly bumped heads, then apologised and laughed. He redressed quickly, shoving on his hoodie and pulling giant big jacket on top. Looking at Charlotte, he let his tongue swipe his lip, tasting her. “You should get going, though. Just... you know... in case.”
Benji noticed the visible change in her; she seemed to withdraw at the thought, arms slinking around herself, that lost look returning to her eyes. He sighed softly. He didn’t really want to go, but then that wouldn’t make him any better than that cunt. It angered him that Nick had taken advantage of her kind nature, had tarnished an outside beautiful soul. Benji would make sure he paid.
“I'll call you...If I need you, I mean.” He smirked playfully at her quickly added addition, before a yawning Tristan appeared at the top of the stairs. He was rubbing his eyes and looking at them blearily, each step slow and unsteady as he made his way down. When he reached the bottom, Charlotte picked him up. The boy looked at him, sleepiness giving away to curiosity.
“Are you staying over?”
This flustered Charlotte. “No, honey. Benji has to leave.”
“Because the bad man is coming back?” came Tristan’s reply. Benji felt his stomach drop. Instantly taken back to when he was young, when his dad was about, harassing his mum and drinking too much. He’d been a scared boy too. And now, as a man with a child on his own, Benji found it hard to justify the beatings, the anger spilled into a young boy. Defenceless, terrified and confused. Tristan didn’t understand. And men like his father, like Nick...
Pulling himself out of his dark thoughts, Benji looked at Charlotte, but her gaze was fixed on her son. “Let's get you a snack. Say goodbye.” Tristan waver, and Benji gave him a nod and a smile.
“Goodbye, little man.” He slipped out, letting the front door click softly shut behind him. His breathing was still unsteady as he headed back to the car, and he could still taste her on his lips...
---
Benji drove home. He barely took in the surroundings, his mind lost in thoughts of the day. When he'd stepped out his front door that morning, he'd never have imagined it would have ended like this. To have stumbled across Charlotte, to have actually been able to find her. And then this evening, the feeling of her body wrapped around his, his fingers on her jaw, her nails digging into his shoulder...
He lit a cigarette and smoked it.
Lucien was waiting for him at home. Not that he was surprised. Benj went into the living room and rolled his eyes when he saw him sat there. “Bruv. You scared the shit outta me.”
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been bellin’ you for ages.”
“I was dealin’ with some shit.” Benji threw himself down on the sofa beside him, running a hand over his face. Lucien looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for more details. Lucien had been his best friend since they were both in nappies. Growing up on the estate, next door neighbours, always having dinner around each other’s flats. They were inseparable, and had been for years. They ruled these streets together. So Benji couldn’t lie to him, even if he’d wanted to. “I... met a girl today,” he finally said. “A woman. A real classy one too. Not posh like those Chelsea birds, but... classy, man.”
He glanced at Lucien. “Why were you tryin’ to get hold of me for anyway? Something happened?”
---
Nothing was going to fucking plan. Nick had spent a good couple of hours stuck in the rafters at the policeman’s ball, watching as Rosa danced and laughed with that gumbo below. It angered Nick in way he couldn’t explain. How dare she laugh and smile after what had happened to him! After what she had caused! The gun was cold against his hip and he wanted nothing better than to rip it out and put a few bullets in each of their skulls.
Then drama had ensued and Rosa had been whisked away by her brother. Nick had watched with faint amusement as Carter beat some older man into a pulp... Wait. Something stirred in Nick’s memory. Rosa had reacted badly to this stranger, as he had witnessed from his advantage point high above them. A cop. Was this step-daddy? His eyes followed Brian as he left, flanked by two thick-set men. Very interesting indeed and something for Nick to look into later.
He left not long after, unseen by anyone. Drove home, thinking over what he had seen. With the old pervert back in her life, Rosa was bound to spiral. Any bit of stress and she would spiral. He knew too well. Knew her too well. She’d destroy her own relationship with Carter without him having to do a thing. And Nick would be there to pick up the pieces, as always. He just had to be patient.
Arriving at Charlotte’s, Nick kicked open the front door and slammed it loudly behind him. Dumping his bag by the door, he paced towards the kitchen. Charlotte was in there, looking at him as he entered, and the worry flashed onto her face. Good. At least somebody appreciated what he was capable of. And if Rosa thought she’d seen the worst... well, she didn’t have a clue yet. Tristan was still up, despite the late hour, and he raised an eyebrow at her. He boy watched him silently, dark eyes narrowed. Little shit.
“You were gone a long time.” Charlotte’s voice was quiet as she spoke.
“Why are you still awake?” He snapped. As if it was his house. As if he had a right to tell her what to do.
“We couldn't sleep. But I'm going to take him to bed now and have a bath.” He watched as she picked Tristan up from the table, passing him towards the door. Nick turned his head and watched her go before he looked around. Pots washed, sides cleaned... nothing out of place. Five knives still in the block. He relaxed, shrugged out his coat and tossed it over the back of the chair. His chest was killing him, so he popped three pills before heading upstairs. The bath was running when he made his way towards his room. He paused, glancing through the crack in the door as Charlotte leaned over, swirling bubbles into the water. He was half-tempted to go in, take a little pleasure for himself tonight...
But too much had happened. He had things to do. She could wait. Carrying on through to the bedroom, he shut the door and went to turn on his computer.
—-
“This is why you should’ve fuckin’ told me!”
Lara flinched, as if the words were bullets. Looking up at Pete, she caught the flushed and furious look on his face a moment before he grabbed Bovver and hauled him away from Jock. It made the pit of her stomach drop. Did he really think this was /her/ fault?! It was Bovver with the problem! He was the one who couldn’t let the past lie. Heat flushed in her face, especially when Alice caught her eye and looked away, and she turned back to the bar and downed the rest of her wine. This evening didn’t seem to be going well for anyone. And Lara just really wanted to go home.
Outside, Bov scowled at Pete, his words ringing in his ears. Put Nora first. Why didn’t anyone understand the fucking agony? Everything he was doing was for her! Because as long as she was with Jock, or Dermot, or any other one of those bastard Sullivans that seemed to come out the woodwork like fucking cockroaches... she was in danger. And it was as if he was the only one who could see that. And Pete...
“If you still care about Nora, then put her first and put this bullshit behind you.”
Pete of all people should have understood that. After everything that had happened with Lara and Max, that year of total bloodshed. They’d lost Keith, for fuck sake! For a moment, Bov stared at Pete as if he didn’t know him. As if he wasn’t his lifelong best friend, as if they weren’t fucking brothers. Ever since Max Sullivan had come into their lives, it had been one tragedy after another; the man was poison. And he’d poisoned this city, these streets, the moment he’d stepped into it. Lara, Pete, Nora, Bov... all of them were fucking tainted. Pete lit a cigarette, then offered him the packet. “Take it from me. Lara will kill me.” Bov took begrudgingly, not sure if Pete was just trying to lighten the mood. Slipping the filter into his mouth, he lit it, then leaned back against the low brick wall to smoke.
“The Irish cunt doesn’t care one fuckin’ bit what you do to him, because you mean /nothing/ to him, Bruv. But he /does/ care about Nora, which is why you’re lucky he didn’t blow your fuckin’ head off in there, alright? But he didn’t do it, for her sake, not yours.”
“You think I couldn’t take the cunt?” Bov asked sourly, and Pete scoffed.
“Look, whatever. Think whatever you want, but right now, Jock is being the smart one and you’re looking like the twat. So don’t come back inside for a bit.” Pete stubbed his fag and stood, moving to leave, but Bov was also suddenly on his feet, following, feel that anger bloom again. But beneath the anger, he felt humiliation, and panic. Because Pete was right. His oldest friend turned to him, hands up, stopping him in his tracks. “Calm down first, Bovver. Not for me, for her.”
Bov didn’t follow the next time Pete walked away. Angrily, he tossed down his cigarette butt and paced the small path. A moment later, the door swung again but he didn’t bother looking. It wasn’t going to be Nora. And he was right. “/Hey/.” Lilting Scottish, a slight edge of hesitancy. He made no move to raise his head. “/Do you smoke?/“ With a sharp sigh, Bov turned to face her, eyes guarded as he watched her approach. It wasn’t as if he’d never /looked/ at Isla. She was an attractive woman, with a confident and strong attitude. But Bov wasn’t in the mood for any shitty lectures on behaviour in /her/ pub, and already he had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.
He noticed she was holding a joint though, and he couldn’t hide his surprise. “/If you stop acting like a raging arse in /my/ pub-“ Cue eye-roll. “-/I’ll split it with you./“ ... Ah, fuck it. Bov approached her and she cast him a wary look, before telling him not to get any ideas. “/I’ve already got your blonde friend in there drooling over my bartop every Wednesday morning, I don’t need you to add to it./“ Bov scoffed, but a strange smile had appeared on her face, almost affectionate, eyes distant. Bov was pretty sure she wasn’t thinking about /him/. Hey sat down together in the curb between two cars, a rusty Volvo and an even shittier Punto. Neither made much attempt at conversation once they got smoking, but oddly, it didn’t feel even the slightest bit awkward. Isla had an aura that made you feel as if you’d known her for years, even if she had only been around five minutes. It felt like that anyway. It felt like everything was changing and Bov couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“Sometimes you just need a moment.” Isla murmured after a while, and Bov glanced at her, giving a small nod of agreement. It was sort of... all right. Sitting here. Her leg was quite close to his, but not touching. Bov resisted the urge to relax his knees and feel her against her. But then Swill appeared, breaking the comfortable silence. Bov stood from where they’d been sitting on the curb. He pouted at the pair of them. “You gettin’ high without me? It’s /my/ birthday, you know, you fuckin’ cunts.”
“Foolish boy.” Isla rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she stood. She handed him the spliff, then made her way towards the doors. When she reached Swill, she surprised them both by kissing him, her hand patting his chest when she pulled away. “Happy birthday, Simon.” Swill just gaped in shock when Isla went back inside, looking at Bovver, not even blinking. Fuck, was he even /breathing/?
“You alright, son?” Bov asked, unable to keep the smirk off his face. Swill exhaled slowly.
“I think I’ve got a boner. I’ve gotta get back in there.”
Bov watched as he dashed back inside, and briefly, Bov caught a glimpse of the scene, a tiny snapshot that made the blood in his veins freeze; Dave at the bar, Alice’s arms around him, Aoife and George making out in the back booth, Swill trailing after Isla like some love sick puppy. And Nora, kissing Jock, his arm tucked around her waist, the brightest of smiles on their faces as they broke apart. Swallowing hard, Bov turned away, strode off, phone already to hand. He’d taken the number off Lara’s phone months ago, for a rainy day. For the /perfect/ moment. And that moment was now.
The call connected.
—
Dermot sat alone in the Hilton Hotel bar and checked his phone for the thirtieth time. Nothing. No missed calls, no texts that she was running late. Picking up his glass, Dermot knocked back the rest of the whiskey, felt the burn all the way, and pushed away from the table.
Nora wasn’t coming.
It was a heavy weight to carry. A small, maybe stupid and naive part of him had honestly thought she’d come. That she’d want to listen to what he had to say, that she’d perhaps forgive him. That maybe, just maybe, they could have started again. Because Dermot regretted this more than he’d regretted anything in his life. He regretted betraying her, for his own brother of all people. The one person who just couldn’t stay dead. He’d broken her heart and still, he’d expected her to come. He was an idiot. Nora was never going to forgive him. That much was clear.
Dermot had lost track of how much he’d drank. The whiskies had blurred into one continuous drink, until the room had gotten murky and his head had begun to spin. He needed to go home. The problem was, Dermot didn’t even know where home was anymore. He couldn’t go back to the house he’d spent three years making a home with Nora. He couldn’t go back to the penthouse; he couldn’t face Max just yet, and he felt odd there, almost like a spare part.
His phone started to ring. In his haste to answer it, he nearly dropped it, not even checking the caller I.D. “Nora?”
A low dark chuckle filled the line. “You wish. Guess again, bruv.”
God, Dermot would recognise that voice anywhere, and it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear. In fact, he would have been happier never hearing it again. “The fuck do you want?” He slurred, Irish accent thicker now he’d been drinking. Bov laughed.
“I’ve got summing for you to see. Bring yourself down the Abbey. You won’t regret it.” The line went dead.
This could easily be a trick. Dermot knew it, deep in his bones. A chance for Bov to jump him, mug him, whatever it was these dirty chavs did around these parts. Fighting, scrapping, it was in their blood and they thrived off it, like bees on nectar. Dermot stood there for a moment, phone still pressed to his ear, a battle of wills going on inside him. He should head back, or maybe book a room and crash in the hotel. He should have. But he didn’t. Ten minutes later, he was speeding down the motorway, cutting through London, heading straight for the Abbey.
—
Jock watched as Bov was forced out the door by Pete, and let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Little cunt. If Nora hadn’t been here, he would have smashed Bovver’s face into the table as soon as he’d approached. But then he caught sight of Nora’s face and a chuckle escaped; eyes wide, looking slightly horrified. He titled his head, remarked on how he’d been a good boy. In fact, he was feeling pretty darn good about himself.
“You could’ve not told him to fuck off, though,” she replied, though a small smile pulled at her lips. Jock’s grin widened.
“I was being polite!”
She leaned forward, giving him a soft kiss on the lips, and he felt his heart judder a little. In front of everybody, too? He wasn’t complaining; in fact, a weirdly proud sensation bloomed in his chest. The fact that Nora felt comfortable enough, happy enough, to tell the world they were together... it was a big step. For her. For both of them, really. It was all-consuming, like fire, this love he had for her, and as he looked into her eyes, he knew then that he wanted to give her the world. /Would/ give her the world. She was his entire life and whether it be this crummy little craphole in the backend of London or back at his country manor, it didn’t matter as long as he was with her. As long as she was happy. That smile on her face was worth more to him than anything.
When Pete came through the door, thankfully alone, Nora left the table and headed to the bar to speak to him. Jock glanced at the door, half-expecting Bovver to stalk back in with half a brick or something, but he never materialised. Maybe that should have rung a different bell. Maybe he should have been more cautious. Maybe that would have changed the things that were to come, the ties that would be severed, potentially forever. Instead, Jock chuckled, picked up his beer and finished it.
——
Lara gripped the white basin in the bathroom and sobbed. She could hear he music loudly, the bass thrumming through the walls and the floor, masking her upset and her tears for anybody to hear. Running the tap, Lara took a few deep breaths to try and calm herself. He was just drunk. Just drunk, that’s all.... so why was he so unrecognisable? The push, the snapped words, the fury in his eyes that had left them hard. In an instant, the panic had hit. And for a tiny second, all she’d seen had been Max. When Pete had wrestled Bov out, Lara had downed her wine at the bar and headed straight for the toilets. She’d been grateful nobody had followed - or even noticed, she thought depressingly. Her hands were trembling a little as she doused her face with ice cold water. She needed to get a grip. This was /Pete/. Pete would never hurt her. He wasn’t Max. /He wasn’t Max./
Turning, she headed into the stall to get a tissue, and was dabbing her eyes when she heard the knock and the door creak. Lara hesitated until she heard Pete’s voice, stepping out of the cubicle and looking at him. He was clearly too drunk; swaying a little, holding the handle more to keep himself upright than anything, his eyes unfocused. He frowned at her. “/Are you okay?/“
Did he seriously not remember? Lara glared at him.
“What... oh.” She saw the realisation make impact, slowly but surely. Swallowing hard, she looked away. She caught sight of her own wrist; there was a small bruise on the lump of bone caused by catching her arm on the door handle at home. There was once a time when it was littered with finger marks, from all the times Max had gripped her and pulled her and dragged her... Fresh tears stung. “/I’m sorry, Lar./“ That single word made her look up. Lar. Max’s name for her. She could have drunk thirty vodkas tonight and still, that single word would have sobered her as easily as it had now. “/I was just trying to make sure no one got hurt./“ He shrugged, and it reminded her strongly of Charlie, when he was trying to offload blame for some thing or another. “Did you spill this milk, Charlie?” Shrug. “I was just trying to help Kimmy.” “Charlie, did you break my flowerpot?” Shrug. “I was just trying to aim around it.”
A shrug said everything and nothing in one simple roll of the shoulders.
Pete moved towards her, though he didn’t even have to get close for her to smell the beer. “You’re drinking a lot tonight, Pete.”
“It’s a party,” he sighed. Then he reached out and grabbed her arm; not roughly, but not exactly gently either. Pulling her against him, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. And she did. Lara searched those azure blue eyes and tried to find it; that spark, that feeling, anything but this horrid numbness. “Hey. Hey, I love you.” He kissed her nose. “And did I mention how fuckin’ gorgeous you look tonight?” His hand ran down the small of her back and Lara allowed herself to relax against him, eyes shutting briefly until he grabbed her bum. Gasping, her eyes shot to his and she saw that cheeky smile, and her husband finally shone through. He dipped his head, catching her mouth, and Lara let herself fall into the kiss, the security, the sureness and the familiarity. This was her husband and she had nothing to be afraid of. “I love you, Lara Dunham.”
“I love you too,” she murmured against his mouth as he backed her into the cubicle and slammed the door behind them. The were all over each other after that, Pete’s lips at her throat, sucking and marking olive skin as Lara pushed desperately at his shirt, almost tearing the buttons off in her haste. She reached lower, feeling his arousal, her own want stirring inside of her and accumulating between her thighs. But just as they were fighting Pete’s belt, the door crashed open and giggles filled the air. Lara froze, body seizing, fearful for a moment that they’d been busted. But then she realised the whispered voices were Aoife and George, and a moment later, the door to the cubicle beside them slammed shut.
Awkward.
Lara looked at Pete and Pete looked at Lara. “/Fuck/,” he whispered and they both broke out into quiet giggles. What a sight. He still had her pinned against the wall and the straps of her dress were hanging low. “/Let’s leave them to it./“ As carefully and as quietly as they could, the two fixed themselves and left, hand in hand, and big smiles on their faces.
—- For a time, all was peaceful. They drank, they danced, he held her in his arms and marvelled at her smile and her beauty, both inwards and outwards. Some kind of angel, a breath of fresh air in his life. Maybe these were things Jock didn't necessarily deserve, but tonight, he was thriving because of it. Pete and Lara returned from the toilets not long after Aoife and Pup had snuck in. Or, tried to look as sneaky as two young 'uns drunk in love can be. And in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by the other dancing couples - including Swill and Isla - Jock knew he'd always cherish this moment. These weren't his people. but for some reason he couldn't fathom, they were Nora's. And he could respect that.
"Are you having fun?" Nora's words were soft, as she leaned up to kiss him. Whatever fear they'd had had melted away, but the alcohol had certainly helped. They'd moved off the dancefloor now, returning to their table, Jock taking a seat, ever so slightly breathless. He gave her a rogue grin when she suddenly slid into his lap. Hand falling to her waist, the other reaching to cup her jaw, Jock leaned in and gave her another heated kiss. After a moment, she guided his hands to her bare thighs, deliciously creamy flesh peeking where her dress her ridden up. Her thighs were hot beneath his palms, and he could already feel himself getting aroused. Maybe they could take a leaf out of Aoife and Pup's book and sneak into the toilets... "Admit it," she whispered, her eyes dark, their gazes locked. Fuck, she was so beautiful.
"I'm having fun," he smirked, voice just as quiet, barely heard over the music. "I'm not opposed to making it more fun."
"You know what we were saying earlier..." Nora leaned in, her breath ghosting his ear lobe and causing a shiver to run down his spine. Briefly, he shut his eyes and savoured the smell of her perfume, her warm breath on his cheek... She rolled her hips and his fingers tightened on her thighs. "What if we made a baby now?"
Jock pulled back a little to look at her. She didn't look like she was joking. A small grin involuntarily pulled at his lips. "You serious?" The music faded, and in the space of the last beat and Nora opening her mouth to reply, a voice cut through the room. A familiar voice. A voice weaved with confusion and disbelief. A voice that made Jock's heart sink right to the pit of his stomach.
"Is this a fuckin' joke?"
He saw it in Nora's eyes. He saw it in the way the blood ran from her face. In the space of a heartbeat, nobody moved at all. And then suddenly Nora was on her feet, unsteady, turning to face Dermot with wide eyes and Jock was on his feet, looking at his cousin. Someone - perhaps it was Dave - turned the music off before it could burst into the next song.
Dermot stared between the two of them. His normally bright hazel eyes seemed darker, stormy. His lips were parted and he stood still in the middle of the pub. Nobody seemed to know what to do or say, but finally his darting gaze settled on Jock, and Jock felt himself tense, bracing himself for the attack he knew was coming. But, then Dermot laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. It was slow and deep, a laugh of realisation, something on the brink of being crazed. It matched the look in his eyes. "Oh, wow. Fuck me, Joshua." Dermot shook his head, the disbelieving smile still in place. "Really? Oh my God." He took a step back, surveying them both as a whole, hands on his hips. "Fuck me."
Lara, who'd been standing silently beside Pete, took a step forward, though her hand didn't leave the grip of her husband's. "Dermot-"
He looked at her and she saw the brief flash of pain there, a look which for some reason made her feel guilty as hell, maybe even dirty. But, Nora was her best friend! What kind of person would she be if she didn't support her friend's happiness? "Just don't, Lara," was all he said, before looking back at Jock. "You didn't waste much time, did'ja, Josh? Um? I mean, what was it? A day? Two days?" Then, his eyes widened in realisation, and finally, he looked at Nora. "No. Before? Before. It had to have been." And like pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even realise he was playing, it all fell into place. His eyes darted back to Jock. “That’s why you left. Wasn’t it. I... I knew something was wrong but I didn’t realise...” Raising both his hands, he ran them over his face and turned away. Neither denied it. Neither said a fucking thing. And all this time... all this time he’d been battling this demon, this secret, trying to keep everything perfect, trying to keep everyone happy and safe, and all this time they’d been behind his back. All this fucking time they’d been /feelings/ and he’d been oblivious to it all. The alcohol he’d consumed suddenly wasn’t enough to combat this pain, this knowledge, and he turned back to look at Nora, the devastation evident. “How long, Nora?” He forced himself to ask. “How long have you been in love with him?”
She seemed to stumbled over her answer, words muddled. Dermot stepped towards her, but Jock side-stepped in front, blocking him, mostly out of reflex. A flush rose up the back of his neck. Dermot stared. “The fuck are you doing?”
Dampening his bottom lip, Jock squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet Dermot’s dark stare. When you knew somebody for so long, when you’d grown up with them, there were certain tells and traits that you grew accustomed to. With Max, it was his mouth. His smirk, when he’d done something he knew he shouldn’t, when he had a plan up his sleeve nobody knew about. When he knew a secret nobody else did. With Dermot, it was his eyes. When he was happy, they shone bright and mischievous. When he was sad, they were reminiscent of a scolded dog. And when he was angry, they were dark, almost black, as if it held all the world’s storms, all the black clouds and thunder, in his irises. Right now they were black.
“What the fuck are you doing, Joshua?” He repeated, voice low and threatening. “You think I’m going to hurt her? Me? Do you think I wanted any of this?!” His last words came out a shout. He gestured wildly to the pub, stared around at all the faces, that crazed look back in his eyes. “I made a fucking mistake! I made a mistake that I regret with every inch of my fucking soul. But I did it because I fucking love you and I would never...” He was looking at Nora now, swaying slightly, chest rising and falling in an effort to contain his anger. “How could you do this to me? Nora? After fucking everything? I nearly died for you, and for what? So you can turn around and fuck my cousin?!”
“Don’t fuckin’ speak to her like that,” Jock growled, stepping forward. The entire time he’d been trying not to react, trying not to make it worse, but he’d seen the hurt in Nora’s face at his words, and that was all it took to tip the scales. Dermot, clearly, had been waiting for this reaction. In two strides, he stepped forward and punched Jock right in the face. As Jock fell against the table, glasses smashing, the others were finally promoted into some sort of action, as Dave and Pete both raced forward. They weren’t quick enough. Dermot laid into Jock, boot connecting with his ribs with enough force to crack them. He fell hard above Jock, knee in his sternum, fist planting him squarely in the mouth. He tasted blood. Someone was screaming. Was it Nora?
“Fight back, you fucking cunt!” Dermot spat. “Tá tú ag fucking marbh dom, níl aon rud i gceist agat dom, an dtuigeann tú? Táimid ag fucking críochnaithe!” /You’re fucking dead to me, you mean nothing to me, do you understand? We’re fucking done!/ Finally, the weight shifted as Dermot was hauled off. “Táimid críochnaithe!” Shoving Dave off, he glared at Jock, as he slowly sat up, picking glass from his shirt, blood running down his face. “And while we’re at it... while we’re getting all this out of way...” Dermot pushed Pete back as well, but made no other attempt to lunge for Jock. “Why don’t you tell her what really happened to Malachi, huh?”
And then there was Lara. In front of him, hands on her chest, guiding him - or more shoving him - towards the door. Dermot didn’t look at her though, his eyes fixed on Jock, a smirk so similar to his brother’s slipping into place. “Don’t forget to tell her, Josh. It’s a good fucking story.” And finally, he allowed Lara to push him out the door.
—-
Rosa was used to life going wrong. It was so normal for her, so natural for all those good things to evade her, that it didn’t even feel like a surprise anymore. From the minute she’d been born on this god-forsaken earth, things had been difficult, every day a struggle and a fight to survive, to live and battle another day. Every small fraction of goodness she’d gained by brute force, fingers clawing at the misty edges of happiness, hoping to steal a little for herself. So why would now be any different? Now she had tasted that happiness, as pure as sunshine and as sweet as fruit, why wouldn’t Life take it away again? Taunting her, giving her a lick of what was possible, and what she could possibly never have. It was cruel and tormenting and Rosa hated it. She hated it all. The men in the black flak jackets, forcing Carter to the floor, two holding guns, the others piling above him, forcing his arms beneath his back.
Rosa fought. She scratched and screamed and tried to reach him, but there were too many. Too many hard-as-flint faces blocking the small room, and when she went to throw herself across the bed, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Carter!”
“Rosa, it’s okay.” Even now, he was trying to reassure her, and still, she tried to understand how it all went wrong. The couple of hours between the party and now had been bittersweet, and she still felt the warmth of the bed, the warmth of /him/, his whispered words still seeming to echo in the room above their heads. But these men knew nothing of that. Knew nothing of the love they held for each other. “... I just wanted us to settle down. When I saw you so distraught, I couldn’t /not/ give him what he deserved... you made me see I should’ve made a stand a long time ago. If I can’t, then what’s the point in me?” Those were the words he’d whispered in the darkness, but she’d lingered on one thing long before she fell asleep. He’d just wanted them to settle down. And Rosa had really really wanted that too.
“You know me!” He shouted, only for two more men to join the fray; there was six or seven in the room alone. Brian really had pulled out all the stops. “Rosa, look at me! It’s okay[/i].” But she couldn’t even catch his eye as he was bundled out the bedroom and down the hall. She cried his name again, watching the flood of dark jackets leave the room. And then there was Robbie, his face pale, looking like that uncertain little boy he had been all those years ago. Rosa slapped him with all the force she had, the handprint blooming instantly on his cheek, angry and red.
“You bastard!”
“Rosa!”
By the time she reached the front door, the police car was pulling away. She went to step forward, to chase after it, when suddenly someone blocked her path and forced her back into the house. His face was a mess of congealed blood and grazes, his eye socket lumpy where Carter had shattered it. Bruises bloomed like dark shadows over his face. A gun hung from his right hand. But the worst of it all was that he was /smiling/. Brian grinned at her, showing his blood-stained teeth. Rosa backed up into the hall, panic hitting her like a sledge hammer. There was a vase on the unit at the side of her and she grabbed it, holding it out in front of her like some kind of shield. Brian’s chuckle was low and deep and it sent a chill down her spine. No matter how many years passed, he still had to power to change everything, to take control. To keep Carter from her and to keep her family from believing her. “Get away from me!” she screamed.
Robbie appeared out the bedroom, gaze darting between Rosa and Brian. And he didn’t jump to Brian’s defence like she’d expected him to, but moved instead to stand in front of her. “What are you doing ‘ere?” He asked lightly, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side, his wrist brushing the taser stuck in his belt. Robbie asked as if he was asking about the weather, about how the day went. Just a simple, why you here?. Brian looked at him, then at her. Then he chuckled.
“Work, Robert. Tying up some loose ends. Probably something I should have done years ago.” He kicked the front door shut behind him and Rosa noticed Robbie tense. Her brother raised his head.
“Did you do it, Brian?” He asked quietly, forcing the older man to hold his stare. “Rosa ain’t lying, is she.” Not a question, but a statement, and Rosa felt the rush of relief quench her. He believed her. “You was supposed to look after us.”
“Oh, boo fucking hoo,” Brian spat, face twisting a little as he realised he wouldn’t get the support he’d expected off Robbie. For years, he’d managed to keep that boy in line, keep his idolising, kept doors open for him when there wouldn’t have been any. Some council estate poverty brat who probably didn’t even know who his own father was? Didn’t he see how far Brian had gotten him? The kid had power, he had authority, and now he thought he could shit all over that? “Rosa was fucking gagging for it and she knows it. She was the one who chased me.”
“I was a child!” Rosa cried out, the despair like a heavy weight, threatening to drag her right down into the sea. “I didn’t... I didn’t even ...!”
“You were a whore just like your mum. And you haven’t changed.” Brian’s eyes flashed darkly, and Robbie straightened, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Rivera will soon realise he’s wasting his time. He’ll soon realise you ain’t worth half the shit he’s dealing with right now.”
Robbie had been silent for a few minutes, processing the fact that Rosa had been telling the truth this whole time, processing the fact that Brian hadn’t even bothered to deny it. And the realisation hit a few seconds later like the dawning of a new day; he’d admitted it because the two of them weren’t getting out of here alive. As if he’d read his mind, Brian lifted the handgun and turned it over, watching the way the light reflected off the cold metal. “Where do we go from here?” Robbie asked, voice surprisingly calm, eyes on the gun. Rosa had frozen, gaze also fixed on the object. Was this how it would all end? A single bullet between her eyes and her truth lost forever? It all made sense now. Getting Carter out the way, so he could deal with his problems in peace. Because this was a big problem. Carter knew the truth and once the truth was out, it was only a matter of time before the world came crashing down. Brian’s world. This was damage control. He wasn’t going to let that happen. After, he would probably deal with Carter the same way, get rid of any repercussions that had come from Rosa opening her big mouth.
She wished Robbie wasn’t here. She wished he hadn’t come. If he was back at the station, he probably would have been spared all this. Could have gone on living his life, oblivious to what really happened, could have gone on believing Brian was the great man he’d said he was. “What happens now, Brian?” Robbie said again, louder, the anger there, swirling beneath his words. Brian looked up, still smiling.
“We set the world to rights, Robbie. We fix things.” And then it all seemed to happen at once. Brian raised the gun, aiming it straight at Rosa’s face. Robbie lurched forward, already reaching for the weapon, and Rosa screamed and ducked. The gun went off, the bullet smashing into the coving. The two men wrestled briefly before the gun went off again and Robbie fell hard, crashing into the wall, blood spraying across the magnolia paint as if someone had shaken a bottle of pop and opened it. Brian stumbled back, eyes darting from Robbie and Rosa, the gun still gripped in a fist. He raised it again and Rosa leapt up, the vase flying from her hands and hitting his face. It smashed, cutting him, causing him to fall back and hit the floor. In the space of a heartbeat, Rosa looked at Robbie, the sob choking her; blood pooled from beneath his jacket, spreading across the marble floor. Brian was groaning, stirring and crunching glass as he rolled on his side. Body going into autopilot, she jumped over him and ran for the front door. Yanking it open, the shot rang loud and clear. Without looking back, she ran. Barefoot, racing down the street with her hair flying behind her. Street instinct kicked in. Get off the main roads. Stay hidden. Find somewhere safe.
Reaching the next high fence, Rosa leapt up, gripping the edge and hauling herself over. Agony burned though her thigh when she landed and she looked down, saw the blood running down, coating her leg from the bullet wound in her thigh. She hadn’t even realised she’d been shot. Numb, she pushed herself up and ran through the garden, until she reached another side-street. She was still wearing her flimsy nightie, but she barely felt the bite of the cool night. Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt sick, the terror seizing her in a vice-like grip and not relenting.
She needed Jock. Now.
——
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Post by katherinesullivan on Mar 9, 2022 9:05:23 GMT -5
Being at the Abbey sometimes reminded George of how much had changed. Not that this place had drastically transformed, but more what in him was different. Albeit the memories had been unpleasant, he couldn't stop thinking about all the years in The Kings Head. Shoulder to shoulder, George sat his scrawny teenage body between a bunch of broad, consistently angry men. They never really spoke about life, just football and women; not ones they had had, or could get, but ones they dreamt about after they went home to their cramped apartments and wanked over. They would look at him like he was crazy for not joining in. 'I'm thirteen.' George had struggled once and they'd all laughed at him, called him a freak and a weirdo.
A few weeks later and it was his fourteenth birthday. Mark had forced him to come down to The Kings Head and after reading a postcard from his mum, George had gone. It had only been a year ago when she had abandoned them for another family in Spain, and although it stung, the postcards were welcomed. Not that they ever said much, but it was better than nothing at all.
Happy Birthday to my favourite man. I love you always, my treasure. Love, Mum.
Man. It seemed strange, the word rolling on his tongue as he and his dad walked down the ever familiar streets to the pub. Man. George didn't feel much of one; he felt tall and awkward and a little bit apprehensive about life. His voice had deepened, hair had started to grow in strange places and looking at pretty women made it warm down there. Perhaps he would feel more of one if Mark treated him like he was.
A perfectly timed hand clapped him around the back of the head and George looked up, narrowing his eyes at his dad.
'Get inside.' Mark grunted and George rubbed his neck as he stepped over the threshold. It smelt like beer and stale peanuts and it was only 11am.
The place wasn't buzzing with excitement, but a few regulars were littered here and there. In the corner, Tommy Hatcher sat with a cigarette to his lips, a pint in his other hand. Catching George's eye, he winked.
What was going on?
'Are you George?'
Turning around, George looked up to see a blonde woman staring at him. Her hair was bleached and long down her back, her eyes rimmed with kohl, making the icy blue of the pupils stand out. She had a lot of lipgloss on plump lips and was wearing a white dress with a chunky red belt around the middle. He wasn't sure what to say, but when she smiled it made his stomach swirl with excitement. She must've been at least ten years older than him.
'Yes.' was all he managed and he felt his cheeks tinge pink. Swallowing, he looked at the floor nervously.
It wasn't like girls at school weren't interested in him, but he was afraid. Terrified that someone would leave him, the way his mother had. Adamant there was something wrong with him because the NTO consistently pummelled into him how useless he was. Why would any girl want that?
'Happy birthday, George.' she purred.
The rest was all a blur, after Veronica, he would later find out she was called, took his hand and lead him to one of the rooms upstairs. When he left, hair dishevelled, everyone in the pub gave him a round of applause and against his better judgement, George grinned. He was a man!
Looking down at Aoife, George smiled as everyone danced and drank around them. He had never been afraid of Aoife leaving him, even after that one night of error, she hadn't waivered. That didn't mean she hadn't given him hell for his actions, and George had spent months paying for it, but Aoife never gave him any reason to doubt himself, or to doubt her love for him. From the very beginning they had been genuine with their feelings and there was no reason for games; the older he got, the more George had come to realise that it was his mother who had been the problem, not him. He was good and always now strived to be good for Aoife.
Kissing her neck, he nuzzled the soft flesh there with a smile. 'Come with me.' he murmured.
Taking her hand, the two of them wove around Swill and Dave dancing and it was strange how different the atmosphere here was. The conversations were of more than football and fantasies; people here had lives, families, jobs. The GSE were not afraid to admit their vulnerabilities in that they were human. Yes it could be used against them, but it also made them strong. The defiance to not be afraid to live their life, and love who they loved. Football was created to unify people, to join different cities and countries across the world. Fans had one common factor - they loved their team. Players didn't want wars over them, they wanted unity, they wanted support. Growing up surrounded by the NTO, the world had seemed dark and limited and it was easy to see how his dad had become so narrow minded.
George promised himself and Aoife he would not end up like that.
The two of them stumbled into the closet cubicle and George moaned as Aoife bit down on his lower lip. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't pristine, but it was heated and George wanted her now.
Even watching her dress this morning, George couldn't keep his hands from her. There was something so empowering about Aoife; her confidence and kindness, it all overflowed and he wanted to drink it up. Kissing her neck, George pushed up Aoife's dress so she could wriggle her underwear down. Her hands were all over him, unbuttoning his shirt with ease. 'Impressive.' he breathed, claiming her lips. His mouth followed down her neck to the valley of her breasts, pushing the material aside so he could tease a hardened nipple. In moments he lifted her up around his waist, sliding into her with such force that a loud cry left her lips and he wondered if anyone had heard. Aoife's hands were around his neck as she threw her head back with each thrust he drove into her; she was wet and hot and it was sending him over the edge already.
When they were done, both of them took a moment to steady themselves and he kissed her forehead gently. 'I love you.' he managed, breathless. Aoife smiled at him and kissed his chin.
'Your hair is a mess.' she told him as she straightened her dress and he rolled his eyes.
'Some girl just couldn't keep her hands out of it.' he told her.
When they left the toilet, hand in hand, they had expected something crazy, but not a brawl.
George felt his pack instantly straighten as he watched the scene before them unfold. Jock was fighting with someone... was that..
'Dad?' Aoife's yelled beside him but before she could do anything, George had turned around and grabbed her waist.
Dermot was pummelling his fists into Jock with such force that the blows seemed to reverberate around the room. Everyone was yelling; Alice was screaming.
George had always found Dermot to be a contradiction of sorts. George idolised him, but also somewhat feared him, how he could switch moods in seconds. An ability he had no doubt gotten from his charming brother. He could still remember the first time he had met Dermot, after dropping off Aoife at home. What should have been an easy and exciting opportunity to introduce himself had turned into a black eye and a bloody nose. Dermot had not hesitated in punching the strange boy in the face who had brought his daughter home, and at the time George had understood, and believed if he was a father he would have acted the same way. Now, however, it seemed that this violent persona had always lived inside and Dermot was merely struggling to conceal it so well.
Picking Aoife up, George turned around and kicked open the fire exit. He didn't want her to see this, or to even attempt to comprehend the situation, he just wanted her out.
George had been to a match with his father once, and seeing him break someones jaw had burnt into the back of his mind for years. It wasn't necessarily the action, but the one doing it that hurt. Seeing someone you adored, and someone who had raised you, acting like an animal was difficult. He could hear the pain in Aoife's voice as she called back for her dad, screaming as if he was the one in trouble, when it appeared Jock was surprisingly losing the battle.
When they got outside, George placed Aoife on the ground but had to hold her back from racing inside. 'Look at me.' George called but she was ignoring him, adamant to find her way back inside. 'Aoife! Look at me!' he grabbed her jaw and could see she was breathing heavily. The euphoria from moments early had fuelled her panic and she looked terrified. 'You can't help him. Pete will sort it out, okay?' she was shaking like a leaf. Pulling her close, George suddenly felt very sober. 'Have you seen him act like this before?' George asked slowly and Aoife turned to look at him.
'You serious?'
Moments earlier and Nora was straddling Jock, a suggestive look on her face. Was she serious? The idea of getting married and having children with Dermot hadn't been a possibility. She had been secretly taking birth control throughout their whole relationship but wasn't sure why. Perhaps she knew they weren't to be together forever; perhaps she had hoped it would end sooner that it had. Seeing the trauma Lara had been through with Charlie and Max... it wasn't something she wanted to risk. Having a child with someone with such a dark past wasn't a smart move, yet was Jock any more of a brighter future?
She didn't have time to answer him, however, as a voice cut through everything. The music dissipated into nothing and the happy chatter around them died.
'Is this a fuckin' joke?'
Nora felt her blood instantly run cold and for a moment she couldn't move. Her heart thumped aggressively against her ears and she wanted to throw up. It was a horrid sensation, knowing you have betrayed someone. The music was cut off as Nora got to her feet, legs feeling like jelly. There hadn't been many occasions she had heard Dermot sound upset, but this was one of them. Disbelief, anger and hurt evident on his face as she turned to him. He looked drunk, exhilarated from whatever had had been downing at the hotel, and the heartache she had just caused him. Nora had almost forgot he had been waiting for her.
Why couldn't she speak? Swallowing, Nora couldn't take her eyes from Dermot's face and when he laughed, low and dark, it scared her.
'Oh, wow.' Dermot was looking at Jock, shaking his head. 'Fuck me, Joshua. Really?'
Nora was transported back to the house, when she stood in the threshold of the living room and berated Dermot for lying to her, for breaking her heart, fully aware that moments before she had been fucking Jock on the kitchen counter. The hypocrisy of it all made sick rise in her throat; Dermot had looked as broken then as he did now.
'Dermot-' Lara called his name and Nora turned to her, scrunching her brow.
The silence in the room was astounding and Lara turned away, a look of hurt flashing on her face. She was her friend, what did Lara owe to Dermot? In the midst of all the panic, annoyance crossed Nora's face for making Lara feel at fault.
Why couldn't she seem to speak? Nora knew that despite what Dermot had done, there was no justifying what she had done. Dermot was obviously distraught about his mistakes, but Nora had relished in hers and Jock was getting the blame.
'You didn't waste any time, didja, Josh? Um. I mean, what was it? A day? Two days.' Dermot turned to look at her and Nora felt tears prick her eyes as she shook her head. 'Before?' he asked and she swallowed, turning away. He was working it all out in real time, piecing together all the little things they thought had been discrete, which were now obvious, gapping flaws.
She wanted to cry in the realisation of her selfishness. Seeing Dermot drunk and upset made her feel vile; he might have lied, but he lied to protect his family. He had never betrayed her in the same way she had. Despite all he was juggling, to please everyone, Dermot had never swayed for someone else. Could she have stopped it, though? How she felt for Jock; how Dermot felt for her? A cruel as it felt to prolong their lies, it had felt crueller to end them.
She could feel everyone watching them, frozen. Were they judging her? She would have; she was disgusting. None of them had said anything, but no doubt all wondered what was happening - why she was with Jock. Why she was unashamed. Dermot was talking to Jock, disbelief in his voice, but his words melted as her heart pounded.
'How long, Nora?' the sound of her name brought her back. Dermot was looking at her expectantly. 'How long have you been in love with him?'
'I d-don't know.' Nora answered and then swallowed, knowing that was the wrong answer. That her answer wasn't that she didn't love Jock. Dermot was looking at her in a way he never had before and it felt horrid. 'I don't know.' she repeated. 'I don't know what happened.'
He stepped towards her then and Nora wondered if he wanted to hold her or hurt her. She had seen what had happened on the boat, and knew full well what Dermot was capable of. Did he hate her? After all those years being sure, for a brief moment she felt threatened and Jock stepped between them as if he had sensed it.
What was there to do now? How foolish had she been to think this would've worked out okay for them all. First Bovver, now Dermot; it looked like she wanted to anger everyone, to absorb the attention and the drama. Why hadn't she thought this through? Why did she never think things through?
'What the fuck are you doing, Joshua?' Dermot spat and Jock squared his shoulders, bracing himself.
Clenching her fists, Nora hated herself for how weak she was being; how frigid and petrified she stood.
'Do you think I wanted any of this?' Dermot's voice boomed and it made Nora jump. He hadn't wanted any of this. How many days had he been trying to piece things back together, whilst she continued to tear down his work.
As he looked around the room, Dave caught Dermot's eye and found himself putting Alice behind him. How had they gotten here? Then he stretched his mind back to the beginning, to the club, the fire; where he had been left for dead. How was this going to end, was the more tricky answer. Ned and Swill were watching the situation unfold, preparing themselves for anything but currently unsure what to do. Dermot was volatile like a rocket and none of them knew what to expect. Had never really seen him act like this, apart from when confronted with Bovver.
'I made a fucking mistake!'
Dave looked away as Dermot bared his soul to them all, knowing well he didn't owe any of them an explanation. When they had all discovered Dermot had been lying, they had felt foolish, but forgiving. It was easy to make bad judgements when someone you loved was involved, and he had appeared repentant despite the continuous lies. Perhaps he hadn't had a choice, they thought, then again everyone had a choice. Had they all gone soft in their old age? Dazed by love and family, they had forgotten that in the depths of it all was rivalry.
'How could you do this to me?' Dermot was swaying as he spoke and Nora swallowed, a tear running down her face.
He looked broken, and even if she wasn't /in love/ with him, she loved him. He was struggling to control his anger and she wondered if that was for her benefit.
'Nora?' here name on his lips made her heart ache and she gave a cry, struggling to find the words.
'I-I...'
'I nearly died for you, and for what? So you can turn around and fuck my cousin!?'
The breath she had been holding in left her body then and Nora felt as if she wanted to pass out. 'Dermot --'
'Don't fuckin' speak to her like that.' Jock growled as he stepped forward.
Then everyone suddenly found their speed.
Dermot lunged at Jock, sending him flying into the table besides them and Dave and Pete jumped into action. It was as though she were in a movie and everything around her had sped up, whilst she remained frozen to the spot. Glasses shattered around them as voices began to swell into madness. There were many things Nora sadly regretted in life, but this was the worst. She had never hurt someone like this -- not even Bovver. As much as he pined for her, Nora knew it was because his life was empty. Dermot had success, a family, a daughter -- Aoife.
Nora spun around as Aoife and George came out of the toilet, but in the same moment George was carrying her outside, away from the destruction.
'Grab Dermot.' Pete demanded as he and Dave looked at each other. 'I'll get Jock.' but Jock was barely even fighting. He took the blows as if they were nothing and as Pete watched the scene unfold, he realised who had orchestrated it all. The one person who wasn't here. Bovver.
Behind them, Alice was screaming as Dave got elbowed in the face and stumbled back, momentarily dazed. Nora wasn't doing anything, however. She was silent, just watching the scene with glazed eyes.
She was thinking of the boat, and how she had saved Jock. How they had all been terrified Dermot was dead, and she hadn't felt as frightened as she had when seeing Jock being strangled. Perhaps she should have known then, to end it but it seemed wrong to end it with someone who had barely made it back alive. Then Jock had left...
Dermot was spitting dirty Irish at him and Nora understood, to an extent, what was being sad. Did you need to be a translator to know it wasn't good?
Dave grabbed Dermot under the arm and tried to pull him back, but he shrugged him off. Both of them were covered in blood and beer. Stood between the two Pete put out his arms to defend Jock as Dermot straightened his shirt. Neither of them were acknowledging anyone around them and the fight was obviously over as quickly as it had begun.
'And while we're at it...' Dermot went on, pushing Pete aside as he attempted to interject. 'while we're getting all this out of the way...'
'Dermot, I think it's done.' Pete muttered but Dermot waved his hand away as he glared down at Jock.
'Why don't you tell her what really happened to Malachi, huh?'
'Malachi?' Nora asked, finding her voice again. Swill had been trying to move her away from the fight but she wouldn't.
Then Lara was moving between them all, pushing Dermot back as if he were weightless and he didn't resist. 'Thanks, Lar.' Pete murmured as he saw a vicious smirk slide onto Dermot's face. Somehow he knew that Lara could handle herself. Perhaps he should've been more worried; hindsight was a wonderful thing.
'Don't forget to tell her, Josh. It's a good fucking story.' Dermot yelled before he was forced outside. In those last moments, he hadn't sounded like him; the anger and the hurt had slinked into darkness, horrifyingly matching the tone of Max.
Nora looked down at Jock, confusion and upset on her face, unable to recognise what had just happened. Isla brushed past her to kneel beside Jock, a first aid kit by her side but Jock was ignoring her, his eyes on Nora.
'Jock?' she asked.
'Nora, sit down.' Pete urged as he moved towards her. 'You're in shock.'
'You broke my table.' Isla murmured as she dabbed, not so lightly, at a cut on Jock's face.
'Jock?' Nora repeated as she shoved at Pete. Why wasn't he saying anything? 'I'll ask Dermot then.' she snapped, suddenly finding her fire. Struggling past Pete again, she headed for the door but he grabbed her middle, pulling her back to him.
'He's just trying to get to you.' Pete insisted as Nora kicked and writhed against him. Whether there was any truth to the words, Pete wasn't actually sure, but he wanted peace and he was definitely too drunk for this.
'I think one of your ribs is broken.' Isla murmured as Jock tried to move and instead fell back in pain. 'He hit you pretty hard.'
Nora recalled the day she found out Malachi was dead as if it was yesterday. She had felt wrong for feeling relief. It was difficult to morn the loss of someone you had never truly known, and the fractions she had known, had been vile. At the same time, he was dead and death was final and death was scary. So many people had died in the last few years, what it became difficult to comprehend what that truly meant. She had held Dermot a little tighter that night, thinking over what she had been told and what had happened. It had been in the newspaper but not because he was important, but because it was unusual and the papers always showcased loss like it was necessary, and not just profitable. The whole world didn't know his name, and most people wouldn't even recognise he was gone. Nora did.
She'd had nightmares about it for the first few nights, to the point she had slept on the sofa and called Jock. He had answered, but they didn't speak. Somehow knowing the silence was his was reassuring. When Dermot realised she was gone, he came downstairs to join her and they had whiskey in coffee and fallen asleep curled up.
Never had she presumed Dermot or Jock knew anything about it. A few times she had questioned Bovver's sanity and if he was capable, but it seemed implausible. Bovver only attacked those in her life and Malachi had been long gone from it before he'd died.
'I think we need an ambulance.' Isla called and Nora and Pete glanced down at her. 'I'm going to call one.'
Jock argued but they all knew he needed help. The way Dermot had struck him hadn't been light, but she backed off from dialling 999.
'Let me go.' Nora demanded and cautiously Pete released his grip. Stepping away from them, she grabbed a bottle of wine that had been sat on the bar and took a big gulp.
No one spoke for a while and it was eerily silent again as Alice and Dave tried to clean up the destruction. Nora sat at the bar sipping her wine, a glazed look in her eyes; she felt exhausted. Isla had cleaned Jock up as well as she could and disappeared into the back room to clean herself up. Pete sat in the corner, head in his hands whilst Swill sat next to him, munching on left over cake.
'Why would he say that?' Nora said out loud, not to anyone in particular. Jock managed to move over towards her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. 'About Malachi. Why?' looking up, she studied his face and all the cuts and bruises from Dermot's hefty punches. 'Are you okay? I heard what he said to you.' That they were done, that Jock was dead to him. Jock's only family and Nora had severed it. 'You need to get your ribs looked at. Let me drive you.'
'No one here is in the right state to drive.' Pete laughed from the corner and Nora sighed; he was right, she was still drunk. She was wondering where Lara had gone, and Dermot. Had he attacked her? Had he kissed her? She didn't know what to expect anymore. Should she have gone after him?
Her mind was spinning, seeing the hurt on Dermot's face and now thinking back to the picture in the papers of Malachi's car. Was her life a game to some vindictive puppet master, and if so, why? What had she ever done wrong? Was Dermot lying to hurt her? Perhaps, but the itch that something hadn't been right with his death had always been there.
Pete watched the scene before him and wondered what they could have done to stop any of this. Lara had invited Jock and Nora, Lara had invited Max into their lives... could anyone really be fully to blame for this situation? Bovver had called Dermot, and Bovver had caused this fight, but maybe it needed to happen. All the same, he wanted to find his friend to see the damage he had done.
'Tell Lara I'll be back.' Pete murmured as he pulled on his jacket. 'Swill, keep an eye on her, alright?' he looked down at Swill with a serious expression. One that said, if anything happened to her, he would pay for it. After everything she had been though, Lara knew how to handle a volatile situation, and in this one, Dermot wouldn't hurt her. A woman's touch was perhaps best. He may have looked like Max in those brief moments, but he wasn't.
Finishing the rest of the wine, Nora looked back at Jock and sighed. She couldn't be mad, or confused or angry when he was in pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly she was scared of the truth. 'Let's go to a hospital.' she murmured, reaching out to take his hand despite the unsureness in her chest. 'I need to get away from here.'
Pete made it to Bovver's apartment quicker than he thought he would; a taxi had been perfectly waiting outside for him. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or what he was going to do, but after their talk earlier, Pete was pissed off with how his friend had acted. Who was Bovver now? The GSE wasn't to be run by someone who couldn't tell the difference between personal and business, otherwise he was no better than Tommy Hatcher was. Taking the stairs two at a time, Pete hit his fists heavily on the door, knowing too well that Bovver had left to save his own skin. No answer. Pete hit heavier and heavier to the point one of the neighbours opened her door a crack to see what was happening.
'Mind your own.' Pete murmured and the woman stuck up a middle finger before disappearing back inside.
Bovver had always been so volatile and it had been useful in the past, when they were young, when they didn't have families. When other people weren't involved. It had been difficult for Pete to hand over the title of Major, but it had felt right at the same, and now it felt like one of the worst decisions of his life. Bovver was spiralling and causing scenes whichever way he turned; he was giving the boys a bad reputation, they were always late, they were always losing. What was he playing at? As much as today had not been to do with Bovver, it had happened /because/ of Bovver. His judgement was lacking and Pete was fed up.
When Bovver finally opened the door, Pete didn't even wait for it to be open an inch before he kicked it in his face and sent the dirty blonde flying back. 'You're done.' Pete yelled, shutting the door with a slam behind him as Bovver steadied himself.
'The Firm, being the Major, it's over.' Fuck, he was angry.
'Do you have any idea what you've done tonight?' he demanded, pacing around the floor like a caged lion. 'Who you've pissed off? Because it wasn't just Dermot, Bruv. You gave Max the ammunition he has been waiting for, for years. The one thing stopping him from getting to us, was his brother. Now you've gone and shattered his fuckin' heart, there's no stopping either of them. Did you think it was your place to tell their secret? Huh! They'll come after Nora and Jock, and you. Max will come after Lara and my fuckin' kids! Do you have any fuckin' idea what you've done, you selfish fuckin' prick!?' Pete swiped out at the table, sending the bottles on their flying. 'We don't want to see your face at the Abbey again, you hear me?' Pete seethed and when Bovver approached him, his back still up from earlier, Pete grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall.
The two of them wrestled, but Pete won, pinning him hard. 'My family is at risk because of you. Because you don't know when to quit. Well fuckin' realise its time, before you make me do something I'll regret.'
The taxi to the hospital was quiet. Isla had given Jock some painkillers to get him moving and Nora had gone outside to hail them a lift, not seeing Dermot or Lara on their way. She felt bad because she felt numb and confused. She should have been hugging and kissing Jock, supporting him, but he was too stubborn to ask for her help and she was too confused. Had she fallen for someone who kept secrets just as much as the first? Moments ago they were talking about children and now...
'This is your stop.' the driver announced and Nora opened the door, jumping out and running to Jock's side to open his without a word. They both headed into the reception and she signed him in, passing a ticket number to him.
'They'll call you when there is someone available.' she murmured, glancing at all the people around them. It was always full here, of people who were intoxicated, scared, tired, old. People with broken fingers, weird rashes, dodgy legs. London hospitals were overrun and understaffed and she felt a heat rise up her neck. 'I'm going to get some air.' she added when Jock opened his mouth. 'I'll... I'll be back.' she reassured him, giving a small smile before turning away.
Stepping out into the air, Nora wasn't sure why she was going where she was, but before she knew it she was outside the cemetery.
Nora hadn't been to the cemetery since she had heard. It seemed weird and wrong. There had been a moments hesitation on the day of the funeral when she had stood by the gates and watched the hoards of people, mostly women, in black dresses and fascinators, walk towards the hole in the ground. How many of them really knew him? Did Nora really know him? For a while she thought only she knew the true him, the vindictive, narcissistic Malachi. Then she wondered if she had merely brought out that side of him, forced him to hate and berate her, and he was in fact a generally nice person. No one else had claimed they had an issue of abusive and distrustful relationship with him. Perhaps it was her fault.
Places like this with their morbid tombstones, chipped from the ever changing British weather and moss covered names always gave her the chills. It was always cold, but there were always flowers; daisies, daffodils in the spring, ivy and rosy red berries in the winter. People were constantly passing by, replacing offerings to the dead, riding their bicycles, sitting on the benches to an enjoy a moment of silent from the craziness of the real world. The living world.
Standing before his grave, Nora felt the dizziness in her head momentarily stop. Malachi Jensen. He had been twenty-six when she last saw him, and twenty-nine when he had died; almost thirty. It was strange how so much fear for a person could disappear once they disappeared. It was all temporary. Dermot, Jock, Bovver -- all of them had almost died. Here she was scrapping by as if nothing mattered, letting them take the brunt for her. Nora suddenly felt a pang for leaving Jock in the hospital and wanted to turn around but couldn't.
'No one will ever love you.' his voice was in her heard as she knelt down on the grass before the granite headstone. 'You're pathetic! You know people always ask me why I'm with you, and I don't have an answer. I must be fucking crazy!'
She was laying on the floor in a ball as he stood over her, yelled at her. The room always seemed to shake when his voice echoed, but now the earth felt impossibly still. She recalled him pinning her against the wall of their room, the life almost leaving her bones when Bovver kicked down the door... kicked down Malachi as if he were nothing.
When Malachi had stopped her at the hospital, his voice bitter and dark, his hand on her upper arm like a vice; Dermot had appeared as if guided by an angel and instantly defused the situation, protected her, terrified him. It was only Jock who hadn't experienced the wrath of Malachi, so what was Dermot talking about?
'If only you could tell me what happened.' Nora murmured and then gave a small laugh at the stupidity of it all. He had been right, about how pathetic she was; fickle, perhaps. Or had she just been finding herself, and it had taken those relationships to discover what she truly needed and deserved.
Being on morphine gave you the most dreamless, peaceful sleep you could ever imagine. They say if you don't dream, you haven't fallen deep enough; REM, or rapid eye movement is a phase of sleeping that allows you to dream vividly and wake feeling relaxed. Carter barely felt relaxed, yet waking up from the sedation felt like heaven. Staring at the ceiling, he watched the lights above him, one of them blinking; on, off, on, off, it cast him in shadow and light with each click. His eyes moved to the left and the window outside, then to the right to see someone watching him. He wasn't in the police station anymore, it was a nurse.
'Mr Rivera?' she asked and he blinked a couple of times in unison with the flickering light. 'Mr Rivera, can you hear me?'
His mouth suddenly felt like cotton wool and he rolled onto his side to see a glass of water waiting for him and gulped it so desperately it spilt down the sheets. 'Where am I?' he asked and his voice croaked.
'You're in Lewisham Hospital. You've fractured your radius bone, or rather your forearm. We needed to set it for you.'
Carter looked down to see a bandage wrapped tightly around his left arm and two of his fingers taped together; broken.
'You've also got three severely bruised ribs, one fractured rib, a broken nose and a nasty black eye.' she turned to look at him, peering over her paperwork. 'Do you remember how this happened?' She was looking at him as if she knew something more. Like when you interviewed a beaten wife and knew it was the husband, but when asked to confirm she stated otherwise. Her eyes looked soft and it hadn't come back to him until then.
'Rosa?' he asked, suddenly panicked and the nurse raised a confused eyebrow.
'I'm sorry?'
'Here he is.' the door to the room opened and a sheepish looking Ollie walked in. 'How is he doing?'
The nurse turned to Ollie and suddenly seemed to transform into a jelly; her cheeks tinged pink and she gave a nervous giggle. 'He's doing as well as he can. I was just asking him what happened, do you know?'
Carter looked at Ollie and the two held one another's gaze for a moment. He couldn't say the truth, he knew, so Carter laid himself back into the sheets with a sigh. Do anything again and he'll kill her.
'Nasty fall.' Ollie murmured and the nurse was apparently so dazed by his appearance, she accepted it. 'He's always been clumsy, haven't you, Carter?' he looked across the room but Carter refused to meet his gaze. 'Never thinking about what you're doing.' he added, his tone a little darker. 'Can you give us a minute? Why don't you get us a coffee, and something for yourself whilst you're at it.' he smiled, handing a fresh twenty-pound note to the blushing brunette.
When she left, Ollie hesitantly moved towards the bed and sat himself on the edge. Carter had gone back to staring at the flickering light, it's irritancy less than acknowledging the man beside him.
'Carter --'
'So are you in Shaw's pocket to?' Carter spat and finally lowered his gaze. His right eye was swollen, the lid pink and puffy around his face. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable. 'How many police are on the door? Three, four?'
Ollie swallowed and looked at the ground. 'It's just me.' he finally said as Carter managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. 'I'm the one that brought you here, don't you remember?'
Carter could feel a fuzzy part of his brain struggling to remember anything past the last blow to his face. 'No.'
'But you still need to come back to the station. Shaw said he would drop the charges if you just let it go.'
'Let it go?' Carter hissed, shaking his head in disgust. 'This isn't about me, it's about Rosa!'
'She's safe!' Ollie exclaimed. 'She's safe, Robbie has her and she's safe, but not if you keep this going.'
'Can you hear what you're actually saying?'
'I'm just trying to help...' Ollie struggled and Carter rolled his eyes.
'Do you believe her?' he asked and Ollie acted as though he hadn't heard. 'Do you?'
'Carter --'
'Yes or no, Ollie! If Robbie sent you here, then you know what happened, don't you?'
Ollie didn't say anything for a moment. His head hurt and he just wanted to keep his head above the water. 'You can take bail,' he went on, ignoring the glare he was receiving, 'but you need to leave your passport with us so you can't leave the country. Until you stop... whatever this is, Shaw can bring your ass back in and get you put away, for real this time.'
'Leave.' Carter hissed and Ollie furrowed his brow in confusion.
'W-what --'
'I said leave!' Carter snapped and shoved Ollie off the bed. 'Salir! Nino idiota!' he went to get out of the bed but his ribs panged and he hissed, holding his side. 'Leave me, Ollie. My passport is in my work locker. Just take it and fuck off.'
Ollie hesitated in the doorway before hanging his head. Why was he being made to feel shame for something he couldn't control? As he left he took a cup of coffee from the returning nurse with a sad smile.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Mar 21, 2022 9:42:54 GMT -5
The cold night air was a slap to the face when Lara succeeded in getting Dermot out the door. This was bad. In all the years she’d known him, Dermot had never gotten as angry as that. The sudden act of violence had been shocking. Dermot himself felt lost. Like a void had opened up beneath his feet, taking his whole world with it. Everything he had known was gone, like ash, like dust, disintegrating on the wind. And all he could see was Nora and Jock and all their moments of betrayal. Sat on his lap in the pub, kissing in their home, in bed together... how many times had they fucked behind his back when he’d been desperately trying to hold everything together? And they all knew. Everybody sat in there had known, and had accepted it. Bov had known.
Bov had rang.
Briefly, he tried to reason why that was. The miserable bastard couldn’t be happy about anything for anyone, and the only reason he would have called would have been self-beneficial. He’d called to destroy things, and that wish he’d got. And Dermot was left looking like a fool. “Dermot...” Her voice made him look up. Lara was standing there in that thin blue dress, shivering a little despite the warmth of the evening. Her eyes were wide, fanned with dark lashes, and for a moment he wanted to kiss her roughly and ruin her perfect lipstick and make her cry. He needed her to feel the pain he was feeling.
The emotions were raw, intense and completely foreign. Susie had been right. She’d always been right. Dermot was losing his mind.
“I’m the one who stopped him taking Charlie!” He flung the words so suddenly at her that she flinched, harsh words puncturing the air. “I had no idea what Max had planned until he called me and told me he had him. I drove straight to meet him to make sure that damn boy was safe. I persuaded him to give Charlie back.” Tears shone in his eyes and he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I fucked up, Lara. I never wanted any of this to happen. I wanted to keep you all safe! From the start, that’s all I wanted.” She tried to talk, but he ignored her, spoke over any protests. He didn’t want to hear them. Couldn’t. “And for what? What was it all for, huh? I’ve lost everything.”
“I know, Dermot.” Her voice was sad. He couldn’t bear it.
“I need to get out of here.” He was already fighting to get his keys out of his pocket, but Lara shook her head, moving closer to grab them. Telling him he was in no fit state to drive, her eyes fixed on his. As if he cared at this point. He had nothing else to lose. She slipped the keys from his hand and got into the drivers seat before he could stop her. Scowling, he stalked around to the passenger side and got in. He didn’t care where they went, he just needed to get away from here. Away from Nora and Jock, away from the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been ripped out. He wasn’t sure how easily it would be to escape the last one. They squealed away from the pub, her hands tight on the steering wheel as she repeatedly glanced in the rearview mirror.
“How could she do this to me?” He asked, breaking the silence a few minutes later. He was staring out the front window, but his eyes were distant, lost in memories past. They’d planned to get married. Their wedding had been only a couple of months away. Had Nora ever wanted to marry him? Or had she just agreed because it was easier? They didn’t speak again until Lara pulled up beside the River Thames. The water rippled in front of them, reflecting the bright lights of the city, a thousand fireflies dancing across the surface. It should have been a beautiful night. It should have been the type of night where he and Nora would go out, get a chippy and sit on a bench somewhere. Set the world to rights. They always spoke deeply, intimately. He knew her dreams and her passions. Her fears. Her past. They’d spoken about her mother, and his, and their families. They’d created a future together. A future that was now in flames. How had everything gone so wrong?
He looked at Lara. She was staring ahead, shoulders tense. Dark locks in a high ponytail. There was a silver slide in her hair which reflected the streetlight above them. “How long have you known?” He asked, emotion making his throat thick. He shifted in his seat to face her, desperately trying to catch her eye. “Lara. Please. Just tell me what you know.” Because in a way, he understood if Lara had wanted to punish him. The shock of potentially losing her son to Max would have reopened scars she thought were healed and buried. If she’d wanted to make him hurt, this had been the best way to do it. That he could understand.
But he didn’t understand Nora. And he didn’t understand Jock. His cousin. His brother. Dermot sat back in his seat, trailing his thumb over his bottom lip. “The day Max died,” he said, voice low, though they both knew full-well Max didn’t die. “On the boat... I could never understand why Jock suddenly wanted to leave. I found them in the bedroom together, when I got back. Aoife was hysterical. George looked relieved. But those two... they were shocked. As if they’d seen a ghost. And now I know why...” he gave a dark laugh. “Who knows what I almost walked into. It all makes so much fucking sense...”
—
The laugh that left Aoife’s mouth died pretty rapidly when she and George headed back into the bar. Her whole body was buzzing from the sex, the feel of his hands still imprinted on her skin. After the stress of long, arduous days in the medical field, it was nice to finally relax and let loose. This night should have been perfect. However, Aoife should have known a long time ago that life was far from it, and that it always had a way of kicking the shit into your face. Like now.
Her dad, pinning Jock amongst jagged pieces of a broken table, smashed his fist into her uncle’s face. “Dad?” The cry left her lips automatically, just before George seized her around the waist and lifted her off his feet. “George, no!” It was too late. He kicked open the fire escape and took her out into the back alley, leaving the chaos behind them. “Dad!” All she could hear was the sickening sounds of every thud Dermot’s fist made. As George settled her on her feet, she did her best to push past him. They struggled, Aoife trying to get back inside and George holding her back.
“Look at me. Aoife! Look at me!” He took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. She needed to get back in there! She needed to stop it! And she couldn’t help but feel responsible. Seeing Nora and Jock come in together had been a surprise, but Aoife looked too deeply into it. They were friends, and Nora was going through a tough time. They all were. Ever since the truth about Max, and her father’s role in it all, had come out, they’d all been reeling. Trying to patch up reopened wounds as best they could. Jock had done nothing but try and support her, but it was obvious Dermot didn’t see it like that. How had this even happened? When had Dermot come in? What had he seen that had made him flip? Her breath was coming in short, sharp pants, but George slipped his hand further up her jaw and she tried to calm herself down. “You can’t help him. Pete will sort it out, okay?”
The panic gave over to a trembling nausea. George pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, giving her the security she needed. All she wanted was to get back in there and see how much damage had really been done. If someone was injured... George’s next words caught her off-guard. “Have you seen him act like this before?” His words were slow, as if he’d been choosing them carefully, and she looked up at him, a frown creasing her brow. She shook her head, then paused, a memory resurfacing like a shark from the deep.
“... Years ago, maybe. I was eight and we were in town.” Her frown deepened as she recalled each detail of the memory. “I can’t remember what happened, but there was this other man. He was asking Dad for something... Dad was trying to walk off, ignoring him; probably because I was there.” Anxiously, Aoife pushed her hand through her hair, eyes darting to the door they’d just left. The shouting seemed to have died away. “I don’t know why, but the man tried to grab me. Said something about my mam. I don’t know. So my dad...” She trailed off, forcing her gaze back to George. “He dragged the man into the nearest side-street and did him over. And I just watched.” She could remember now, sitting in the car on the way home and staring at the busted knuckles of her dad as he gripped the steering wheel.
After George had comforted her, he suggested they leave, but Aoife couldn’t. Not until she knew what was going on. Reluctantly, he let her through, but Dermot was already gone. Isla was patching Jock up as best she could, and Nora was pacing, a mixture of confusion and hurt and anger on her face. “Jock, you need to go to the hospital,” Aoife chimed in, when he refused what the others were saying. Eventually, Nora took him, and Aoife and George left. It was a quiet ride home back in the taxi. Darkness had submerged the city, and it had retaliated by emitting thousands of tiny lights. She imagined how it looked like from space, like the pictures she’d seen; all those tiny flames, which would extinguish, one by one, by daybreak.
—-
Aoife couldn’t get hold of Dermot all night. She spent the morning trying to call him, sending countless messages, but there was nothing. George had left earlier to start his shift, kissing her softly and telling her not to worry. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.” But would he? How could George be so certain? Still, she had no choice but to leave for work just before lunch, with still no reply and a heavy heart. The ward was busy and chaotic and a good distraction from her worries. A+E was always an adventure and you never knew what you were doing to get on any given day. The first thing she did was try and find Jock.
“He discharged himself in the early hours,” Debbie Parner told her, scanning the computer screen. “Couple of fractured ribs and a bruised nose. Fell over, apparently.” She looked up. “Why, do you know him?”
After that, her first patient was a six-year-old with a broken arm, after falling off his bike at speed. He sat forlornly on the bed, legs swinging, grazed knees evident. His mum was beside herself, eyes red and still in her pyjamas. “He let ‘imself out this morning. There’s a hill, see, he likes to bike down it. I’m making a coffee, next thing I ‘ear is this terrible scream.” She shuddered, looking at her son. “I’ve never run so fast in me life. And we’ve been waitin’ ‘ere four hours!”
Next she tended to an elderly woman who’d fallen at home and fractured her hip. Her face was violently bruised and swollen from hitting her head on the side unit when she went down, but she seemed cheerful enough as Aoife pressed gauze against her brow. She dealt with a broken finger, a man who’d been bottled by a group of youths, and another who had sprained their ankle getting out of a taxi. While it was still moving. Some people were just impatient.
By the time tea break rolled around, Aoife was more than ready for it. She’d make a quick brew, then try and call her dad again. As long as she just heard his voice, she’d know he was okay... Her mind was slow to react to who she was seeing until she was practically face to face with him, her entire stomach sinking to her feet. Luke Winters. Wearing expensive clothes, his aftershave strong enough to cover any clinical bleach smells she was used to. He must have seen her coming as he was already smirking, one eyebrow raised, a relaxed air about him as he pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. There was a rucksack slung over his shoulder. She gave him no time to talk, but glanced at the door he had just come through. Dr. Ramesh’s office. Confused, she looked at him. “What are you doing here?”
—
It was the expression on Dermot’s face that punctured Jock’s heart. Not the beating. Not the kick that cracked his ribs. And not the Irish that had been spat at him. It was that look a moment before Lara pushed him out the door which felt like a red-hot poker sinking into his chest. There was nothing but anger, malice, and that unnerved Jock more than anything. He didn’t look like Dermot at all.
Don’t forget to tell her, Josh. It’s a good fucking story.
His words were still hanging in the air, thick, like smoke after an explosion, followed closely by a single word, sharp as a gunshot.
Malachi?
Jock couldn’t look at her. He could taste blood. His face hurt. Each breath felt like fire. But none of that measured up to the pain in his heart. Isla appeared, first aid kit in hand, but he ignored her, forcing himself to look at Nora; confusion and upset marred her features, dark eyes wounded, and he could see her trying to work it out, and struggling. “Jock?” Her voice wavered. Pete stepped forward.
“Nora, sit down. You’re in shock.”
“You broke my table,” Isla murmured, a little rough as she began to clean his face of blood. Jock scowled and moved his head away, at the same time Nora shoved Pete away.
“Jock?” Again, she was looking at him for answers, answers Jock never thought he’d have to give. None of that had been his fault. He’d never even met the man before that day! If Dermot hadn’t gone after him... “I’ll ask Dermot then!” Nora swung around to march out the door, but Pete was quick to grab her, hoisting her back. Jock tried to get up, then fell back with a sharp groan, ribs twanging and reminding him of their pain.
“He’s just trying to get to you,” Pete said, trying his best to reassure her, and Jock wished desperately that that was the truth. Isla reached out and touched Jock’s side. He hissed.
“I think one of your ribs is broken. He hit you pretty hard.”
“No shit,” Jock muttered back, trying and failing to get up again. He was a coward. He should be telling Nora the truth right now. But the words just wouldn’t leave his lips, wedged in his throat like a stone. Maybe it would have been better if Dermot had killed him.
“I think we need an ambulance,” Isla said, as she got to her feet, blood already staining her hands. It soaked into his shirt, running down his face in a constant gush of claret.
“No. No ambulance.”
“I’m going to call one.” Isla ignored his protests as she turned and headed for the bar.
“I said no ambulance!” His words were snapped and harsh, and even though she narrowed her eyes at him, Isla just shrugged as if to say, suit yourself then, you Irish bar-destroying bastard. Nora was still fighting against Pete, who was refusing to let her go, and with Swill’s help, he managed to get to his feet. As Nora headed to the bar for another well-needed drink, Jock flashed Swill a bloody, and apologetic, smile. “Sorry about your birthday.”
“Ain’t a birthday without somebody gettin’ their face smashed in, is it?” Swill replied; he was only half-joking. After that, the bar seemed to descend into an icy silence. Dave and Alice did their best to clean up the mess; the table had completely gone beneath the weight of both men, legs skewed at odd angles, wood splintered. Jock was lucky not to have to a shard of table thrust through his back. What a fucking terrible end to the day. How had Dermot even known they were here? Unless... unless somebody had told them. The name came to mind and he couldn’t even doubt it; Bovver. The blood had finally stopped running and he could feel the tightness of his injuries as they began to dry and clot. He made his way over to Nora, one hand pressed to his rib cage.
“Why would he say that?” Nora’s voice made him slow, but she wasn’t looking at him. She gripped the wine bottle and stared at the optics on the wall behind the bar. “About Malachi? Why?” She did look up then, meeting his eye, the mixture of emotions hard to read. “Are you okay? I heard what he said to you.”
Jock shrugged softly, leaning his good side against the bar. “I’m fine. I’ll survive. What about you?” God only knew what she was thinking right now. That this was a mistake, that they shouldn’t have done it... or perhaps, that Dermot had well and truly lost it. Feeling the frustration growing, Jock wished that they were home, where they could talk in private. That all this could have been done in private; they’d both known Dermot would have found out eventually, even if neither of them had actually spoken about it. Nora didn’t answer. Instead, she took another deep gulp of wine.
“You need to get your ribs looked at. Let me drive you.”
Luckily Pete said what Jock was thinking, a small humourless laugh escaping. “No one here is in the right state to drive.” Nora sighed heavily, but didn’t argue. It was around that time that Jock realised Lara still hadn’t returned, and shortly after, Pete excused himself. Jock watched as he left, the pub doors swinging shut behind him. Nora finished the wine, sighing again when her eyes grazed his. He knew he must have looked a mess, but he didn’t care a bit for that right now. He just needed to know Nora was all right. And... she needed to know the truth.
“Listen-“
“Let’s go to a hospital,” she said quickly, getting to her feet, and Jock got the feeling that she was trying to shut him up. She stood, sliding her hand into his, though he saw her uncertainty and it made his heart ache even more. Fuck. He’d ruined everything. “I need to get away from here.” Jock nodded. He felt exactly the same. Isla returned in fresh clothes, all signs of blood gone, insisting he took some painkillers as Nora went outside to hail a taxi. All too soon, they were in the back, every pothole making his ribs scream. Jaw tense, he barely held it together. It was all there on the tip of his tongue. The truth. The whole fucking truth, as well. Nora was unnaturally silent on the way, barely looking at him, arms folded over her chest, or fiddling with a loose thread on her jeans, or spinning the ring on her finger. Anything to keep herself distracted.
Jock didn’t break the silence.
When the taxi finally pulled up at the hospital, Nora jumped out and hurried around to his side to open the door. “Thanks, pal,” he muttered to the driver, passing him a twenty pound note before letting Nora help him out the card. Fucking hospitals. Jock hated hospitals; they smelt bad and there were always one too many questions. Jock’s arm went around her shoulders, hers around his waist as she guided him inside, and he savoured the moment; the scent of her perfume as it caught the breeze, the warmth of her through her dress, the way she fit perfectly beneath his arm. Things he might never experience again. In the reception, he leaned against the wall as Nora went to the reception desk. Fight back. Dermot’s words rang in his head, the anger on his face burned into the back of Jock’s eyelids. He would never have fought back. If anything, he’d deserved every grievous injury; that’s the only reason he hadn’t tried to defend himself.
He looked up as Nora approached, holding a ticket. She handed it to him. “They’ll call you when there’s someone available.” As she looked around, he glanced at the number. 129.. He was probably going to be here a while, judging by how packed the waiting room was. He opened his mouth, but once more, she cut him off. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll... I’ll be back.” Jock didn’t protest, but instead, watched her walk away in silence. For some reason, he didn’t think she was coming back...
A few hours later, Jock was sat on a hospital bed, a bandage as tight as a fucking corset wrapped around his chest. Nora hadn’t returned. He hadn’t expected her too. Part of him knew she knew the truth. Deep down. She just wasn’t ready to hear it. He’d had a hand in Malachi Jensen’s death, despite having met the man before that night. He knew things, of course; snippets Nora had admitted over the years, things Dermot had told him... if anything, Malachi had deserved much worse, but that had been out of his hands by the time the man was dead.
Buttoning up his blood-stained shirt, he grimaced as the nurse finished putting the last stitch in his brow. “How’s it looking, nurse?”
“Let’s just say, you’ll have a handsome scar.” She smiled, setting the bloody needle down. “All done.”
Jock grunted and slid off the table. Good. Now he could get out of here. He left the room with one thing on his mind; finding Nora. But where’d she gone? To find Dermot? To get the truth about what really happened? He’d realised not long after Nora left that he didn’t even have his phone on him, and frankly, he had no idea where it had gone. “...Salir! Nino idiota!” Jock recognised that voice. He slowed as he passed a ward to his right. “Leave me, Ollie. My passport is in my work locker. Just take it and fuck off.” A moment later, the door opened and a young black man walked out; he might have been wearing civvies but he stank of police. Jock watched him go, before slipping into the ward.
“Thought I heard your miserable fucking voice,” Jock smirked from the doorway. Rivera looked up at him and Jock let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. What the fuck happened to you?” Then he blinked, as Carter demanded to know why he hadn’t answered his call. “I lost my phone, prick. And I‘ve not had a perfect evening either, if you haven’t noticed.” His smile faded, a dark look settling as he straightened and moved further into the room. “The last time I saw you was with Rosa. Where is she? Is she hurt?” He demanded, before listening to Carter explain. They’d been at some posh do, when a face from Rosa’s past had shown up. Jock’s face, if possible, darkened even further. He’d heard about Brian Shaw; Rosa had been reluctant to open up, but every now and then she’d get sad and drunk and tell him shit, shit that no child should ever have to suffer through. When Carter explained about the fight, Jock couldn’t help but nod, impressed. To be honest, the man was surprising him. Stepping up, defending Rosa’s honour.
Then, Carter went on to tell him what happened when he was taken into the cell. Beaten, by his own colleagues. Briefly, Jock pitied the guy. There was a reason why everybody hated the corrupt bastards, and it seemed Mr Goody-Goody here was only just seeing the Met for what it was; a stinking pile of shit, where coppers made just as much money off the drug, sex and human-trafficking circuits as the criminals did.
When Carter finished by saying he’d had no idea where Rosa was, Jock glanced away, tongue dampening his bottom lip. Nora was safe, at least for now. If she needed space, he could respect that. Rosa, however, wasn’t, and they needed to find her fast, before anybody else did. Moving to the bed, he picked up a neatly folded white tee and grey joggers from the side table. He tossed them on Carter’s lap. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’re bailing. Come on.” It took Carter a few difficult minutes to get dressed, while Jock kept checking the corridor for nurses. Moving back to the bed, trying to ignore his own pain, he helped Carter out. “Let’s go.”
Together, they made it out the ward. Hey must have looked a tight sight. Both bandaged and beaten. Both struggling to stand upright against the protest of their ribs. Carter’s forearm was broken. They’d really done a number on him and Jock was surprised the guy could even stand. They were in the reception when the doors burst open and three paramedics ran in, wheeling a gurney. A body lay on top, head in a red brace. Carter saw the face before he did. Robbie Croft looked dead, the whole right side of his face covered in blood. Shot in the head? Jock barely managed to hold onto Carter. “Rosa needs us,” he reminded him gruffly, before the two of them limped out the door.
—
The banging on the door made Bov start. He'd been in a beer-induced stupor, sprawled on the beaten old sofa he'd had since he'd first moved in. Confusion set in, briefly, before he recollected the events of the night; Swill's birthday, Nora and Jock at the pub, Bov calling Dermot... Whoever was at the door kept on hammering, both fists by the sounds of it; Bov debated ignoring it and pretending he wasn't in... Dampening his bottom lip, he pushed himself to his feet, scattering a couple of beer cans. Unlocking the door, he'd only just started to open it when a sudden kick sent it flying open. Bov stumbled back, a dark scowl twisting his face as Pete stormed in.
"You're done." His shout rang through the small flat; he was absolutely furious. Bov hadn't seen him this angry in a long time. Pete slammed the door shut behind him, as Bov straightened, shoulders back, ready for the fight. He didn't regret what he'd done. Not one little bit. "The Firm, being the Major, it's over."
"Oh, you make those rules, do you, bruv?" Bov barked a humourless laugh. "Give it a rest. You don't 'ave a say around 'ere anymore."
"Do you have any idea what you've done tonight?" Pete spoke over him as if he hadn't heard him, pacing the floor in front of him. "Who you've pissed off? Because it wasn't just Dermot, Bruv. You gave Max the ammunition he has been waiting for, for years. The one thing stopping him from getting to us, was his brother." At this, Bovver felt himself bristle. So Dermot was a hero now, was he? After everything? After all the lies and the sneaking round? Bov should have killed that lanky cunt when he'd had the chance. "Now you've gone and shattered his fuckin' heart, there's no stopping either of them. Did you think it was your place to tell their secret? Huh! They'll come after Nora and Jock, and you. Max will come after Lara and my fuckin' kids! Do you have any fuckin' idea what you've done, you selfish fuckin' prick!?"
Pete turned, swiping clean the coffee table; one of the empty vodka bottles cracked as it hit the floor, the overflowing ashtrays spilling fag ends all over the floor. Pete turned to face him, eyes blazing. "We don't want to see your face at the Abbey again, you hear me?"
Fuck that. "You don't get to tell me shit, Pete," he growled, stalking forward, but Pete grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back into the wall. Blood pumping, the anger coursing through his veins like fire, the pair wrestled, roughly but briefly. Pete won, one arm pressed against Bov's chest, the broader man's weight working for him. Bov was seething, eyes wide as he fought to get a knee up. "Hey, fuck you, Pete-"
"My family is at risk because of you. Because you don't know when to quit. Well fuckin' realise its time, before you make me do something I'll regret."
Finally, Bovver managed to shove him off, giving him another rough push in the shoulder. He was breathing hard, trying best to keep his boiling anger under control. Pete was his best friend, but it looked like there was a choice to make. And Bovver knew what it was going to be; for him, anyway. "You think I give a fuck? Huh? As far as I'm concerned, bruv, all those Sullivans can fuckin' rot. I'm comin' for them and nothing you say is going to stop me. Fuck the GSE. Fuck you, for fuckin' ditchin' us in the first place. You're a fuckin' coward, Pete," he spat, unable to pull his gaze from his old friend's. "You might be afraid to confront Max, but I ain't. Dermot, Jock, Max... all of them are gonna pay." He paused, considering his words, and when he spoke next, his tone was like ice. "Nora chose her side. You need to really consider which one you're on. Y’know, while you’re playing Daddy to the psycho’s kid. Because you're either with me or against me, Pete. And I don't give a fuck either way. This is war, and I ain't stepping down."
He moved to pick up a half-empty can from beside the sofa, draining it, then scrunching it in his hand. He looked at Pete, no expression in his face, his eyes; completely numb. "The Sullivans are going down, son. I did Hatcher. I can do this too."
---
It was late. Dark. There was nobody about. Nick only ever came at night, when he wouldn't be seen. When he wouldn't draw suspicion. The wound on his chest was throbbing and preventing him from getting any sleep, so he'd slipped out not long after Charlotte had finally gone to bed. Absently, he touched his own chest through his jacket as he approached the grave. It looked nearly brand-new; somebody was obviously taking good care of it. Her parents, he presumed. White marble, engraved with roses and birds. Natasza. He let his fingers trace the name. Everything had gone wrong from that night. Her dead body in his back seat, Rosa throwing up noisily in a bush.
Every plan since then had failed. The girl had haunted his dreams. Still did. He'd nearly died at the hands of an Irish gangster. Was this all down to her? Was this all a concoction of some spiritual revenge he didn't understand? Did he even believe in any of that shit? "Fuck you," he whispered to the grave. "Just leave me alone. Leave me the fuck alone."
Nick froze when he heard a noise. He'd assumed nobody was about, but he'd definitely heard a snatch of a woman's voice. Fear shot down his spine and tightened his insides. Was it the girl? Straightening, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and slowly headed towards where he'd heard the noise. She materialised out of the semi-darkness; the light at the entrance of the church cast a dull yellow glow over her kneeling form. Nick could just make out the name on the smooth marble; Malachi Jensen. Killed last year. Husband? Brother? The woman must have heard him, or sensed him, as she looked over her shoulder, and suddenly, Nick was looking at the woman in the window. The woman, who'd been with Jock Sullivan. Dermot Sullivan's woman.
All thoughts of the girl and her ghost went from his mind. Because he'd just been handed a golden pass. He knew it. Nora didn’t. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, gently, all the while his heart hammering. Dermot had played his card; the S on his chest proof. Now Nick could have his revenge and it had practically fallen at his feet. “Was he family?” He added, nodding at the grave. He glanced back the way he had come. “I just came to see my daughter. I prefer to come at night. Feels more... private, you know?”
Already, he could see Nora tied and bound. He could already taste the fear that were come off her; the terror in her eyes, the sweat beading her brow, the gag in her mouth muffling her words. Would he send Dermot a picture, or leave him to sweat, wondering where she was? Where would he even take her? He needed to think fast. “Sorry, you must think I’m a right weirdo,” he chuckled, rubbing he back of his neck. “I don’t normally come across other people here, and I heard a noise, and honestly, I was just checking to see if there was a ghost. I’m James, by the way.”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Mar 23, 2022 9:39:09 GMT -5
Luke had enjoyed his time with Max, even if it did make him feel both exhilarated and exhausted. There was a power that exuded from him which both created and sapped energy; it was intoxicating. But Luke was no poof, he wasn't overwhelmed and drawn in, in that sense. Max was a confident, powerful man and Luke wanted to be just the same. Unlike Lawrence, Luke wasn't enticed by a well tailored suit in the same way.
Max had been reluctant at the start to say much to him, and even if he wouldn't want to admit it, the Irish had been an interesting touch. Luke had even been impressed with himself, it was such an intricate language that it hadn't been easy. But she made it easy; Aoife made everything easy. The girl in the photos also made it easy, he thought, as he'd slipped one of the polaroid's beneath his pillow before bringing them here. One wouldn't be missed, would it?
They'd parted on a mutual understanding that he could be trusted and would be back in a week with further updates. Now it was a few days later and Luke was on the way to the club; not just Sullivans, but the club within the club. Where both the most sophisticated and dangerous people of London went; the smugglers, the dealers, the thieves, the men with teslas and private jets and four mistresses. The men Luke wanted to be -- Luke should be if only they didn't keep knocking him back down. The women who wore six inch Louboutin and tight dresses, a multitude of expensive rings on each finger. Mostly divorced, with a toy-boy on their lap, or a small dog, or on some occasion a very pompous looking child.
'What is that doing here?' a man in a cravat turned up his nose to a small, ginger child sat on their mothers knee. He did have a hideous, self-righteous look on his face, but he was harmless.
'I could say the same for you.' the mother spat and both glared at one another before going their ways.
No fights here, that was the rule. Never bring your personal problems or vendetta in here; if you did, you were out.
Luke moved past the people standing and slightly swaying to music; on big, round tables with candles were men with their meaty paws on the laps of pretty women. Waitresses with their breasts pushed up, their legs long and their lashes even longer. Women who didn't want to be here, but made a good show of pretending they did.
The bartenders flicked bottles over their shoulder as if preforming a circus stunt, twisting their arms as the liquors flew behind their back, under their arm, high in the air.
'Hey,' a voice purred as a blonde woman poured a pint. She was flashing a mischievous look his way and Luke smirked. Hetty. He had been there, done that.
Luke loved it in here, only the elite of the elite could be granted entry, and you had to have a special card to gain access. Max had decided that he wanted to cater to all classes, he just didn't want them to mix. So you could have your barely eighteen year olds stumbling upstairs and causing drama, and your more sophisticated customer downstairs. Waitresses would humour you, but not spend the night with you. At the back there was a section with three poles, thick and sturdy through the low ceiling. On the evenings there were dancers wrapping their bodies in mind-bending ways around the cold steel.
This was where he met Brian Shaw. This was also where Luke got his next job.
'A hospital?' Luke had scoffed, an incredulous look on his face. Surely that was where Brian needed to be, he had thought, but dared not murmur. So there he was, standing outside the hospital, very aware that somewhere inside was Aoife Sullivan. It was if the world was desperate for them to be. Or at least, to fuck.
He was here to meet Dr Ramesh, to collect a new supply and to bring it back to the club without a word. It was no different to the days of him and Lawrence supplying, yet somehow it felt more thrilling. People around him were dying, living, being born, and he was taking what they needed to give to those who could do without. To potentially create new problems for this already cramped hospital, creating junkies and giving girls the opportunity to overdose. But Luke didn't care, not one bit.
'Morning, ladies.' he swaggered into the reception as if he owned the place. A nice black suit, a white shirt, opened a couple of buttons down. His hair was slicked back and the sun had made the freckles on his face prominent.
There were two receptionists, one was younger, and one mid-forties and only mildly interested by his handsome face.
'How are we?' he asked, leaning on the counter and smiling down at them. Luke really did appreciate Gods gift of the female form.
'I'm okay.' the younger one leaned on her palms and smiled at him with dazzling brown eyes. 'How can we help you, are you hurt?'
'Only my heart, if you keep looking at me like that and don't let me leave with your number.' he winked and she giggled; the usual back and forth game he was mildly entertained by but they loved. 'I'm here to see Dr Ramesh.'
'Appointments only. Do you have an appointment?' the older one drawled and Luke turned his eyes slowly to her, still keeping the smile on his face.
'What's your name, beautiful?' he asked, but before he could even finish his words she glanced at the clock and stood up.
'I'm taking my break.' she announced and Luke dampened his lower lip.
'Is that an invite?' he called as she rolled her eyes and walked into the back office. Letting his gaze drop down to the younger receptionist, he couldn't help but find her innocence appealing.
'What about you?' he asked and then glanced down at her name tag. 'Samantha?' he asked and she giggled again. 'Samantha, can you please point me in the right direct for Dr Ramesh?'
Just like that he was knocking on the office door, a rucksack slung over his shoulder and her number in his pocket.
Dr Ramesh looked down at him, glanced left and right down the corridor before pulling him inside. The office was filled with books and binders on the left side, a table and two chairs on the right and an examining bed in the back. On the table were a load of muddled up papers, a pen that had leaked ink and a half eaten apple.
'You know what they say --' Luke nodded his head towards the apple but Dr Ramesh looked less than interested in his joke. 'Not that you have to worry about finding a doctor in a place like this.' he glanced around and walked over to the small window, peered down on the carpark outside. 'Which one is yours?' he asked.
David was watching Luke with an uncertainty. 'You're not the normal guy.' he said and Luke glanced over his shoulder.
'Is it the BMW? The one with the tinted windows?'
'No--'
'Okay, the Porsche then? That's swanky as fuck.'
'No--
'Is it the --'
'It's the Mazda CX5.' David spat, cutting across his ridiculous question. 'The dark blue one.'
'That's an interesting choice.'
'It's--'
'Inconspicuous?'
'It's what my wife wanted!' David finished and Luke nodded with a smirk.
'So what do you spend your money on?' Luke asked but David turned away.
'Right. May I take a seat?' Luke sat down in the brown leather chair before he had a chance to argue. Swivelling side to side he laced his hands on his lap, the bag down by his side. 'So, you know why I'm here?'
'What's with the games?' David looked suddenly stressed and Luke was finding the tension fun to play with. 'I-I've got work to do --'
'Why do you do this, Dr Ramesh? Or, can I call you...' he picked up the name plate on the desk. 'David?'
'What? Why did I become a doctor?'
'No, why did you become a bent one.' Luke asked and David took a stride towards him, chest puffed out. Standing up, Luke met him and was a good few inches taller than him.
The two measured one another for a few seconds before David rubbed the back of his neck and stepped back. 'I never intended for this to happen.' he murmured, the disappointment evident in his voice and Luke felt a moments pity, before boredom crept in.
'I don't need to know your story. Just put the drugs in the bag.' he handed the rucksack to him and watched as he opened one of the locked cupboards, filling it with an assortment of narcotic goodies.
Turning back to the desk, Luke looked over the scribbled paperwork, the picture of his wife and son in a nice wooden frame. Was he fucking someone on the side? Was that even his son? Luke always sought out the negatives, the lies, in situations. There was obviously some reason Dr David Ramesh had ended up here.
'Pleasure doing business with you.' Luke nodded as he zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. That was easier than he thought.
Stepping out into the hallway, the buzz of people talking, wheelchairs squeaking, monitors whirring hit his ears. Glancing down the hallway he watched the nurses walk by with their unflattering scrubs, their squeaky trainers, and in the midst of all the chaos, she was there.
Luke couldn't help but smirk as she blindly headed straight for him. When she came to a stop the panic in her eyes made his insides roar. The way she always seemed both shocked and delighted to see him made his dick hard; she didn't want to be happy he was here, she didn't /want/ to want him, but Aoife had to admit there was something inside of her that loved this thrill. She wasn't scared of him, of upsetting him, ignoring his calls or throwing away his expensive gestures. She was intrigued, she was aroused, she was interested. Luke could bet anything that the feeling she got when she saw him was triple of that dull acceptance when she saw George fucking Turner.
'What are you doing here?' she asked, almost rudely and Luke feigned hurt.
'That's no way to greet a patient, Lucky Charm.' Luke grinned. 'Aren't you concerned for me?' he tilted his head to the side and examined her. Still pretty, even in her scrubs; hair plaited, eyes big, lips plump... 'You've got a little something...' he scratched his own neck to indicate the mark on her own. A hickey? How juvenile, how... unfair. 'You never did return my call.' he went on, grabbing her arm lightly when someone rushed past, to pull her out of the way. 'Have a drink with me.' he urged, ensuring all softness in his voice was genuine. 'Now. In the canteen. I've heard coffee from a machine isn't actually that bad.'
Aoife looked unsure. She wanted to say no, but she didn't.
They were down in the canteen, the bag by his side once more. This was risky, he knew, but what did Aoife know? What did anyone else here think? They saw his strong demeaner, his handsome face, expensive cologne. It was a bag, he was here on a visit, he wasn't a threat; he didn't look like a dealer, a thug or a bad guy.
'Things are moving up in your world.' Luke announced as Aoife came back with two coffees in a Costa cup. 'You get spoilt here, hey?' he flashed a smile over his cup and loved how she couldn't hold his gaze. 'How is your friend, by the way? Rosie?' he nodded when Aoife corrected him. 'Right. I'm glad she's doing better. And what about you?' she looked up at him then and he smiled.
Whenever he looked at a woman, Luke had the great ability to be transported back to a time he had loved with them. Aoife on all fours, drunk, desperate for him...
'You look well. Is Turner still treating you well? That isn't from his fist, is it?' he asked, nodding at the bite mark on her neck again because he liked how it made her cheeks flush.
When she asked why he was here again, he shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't want to talk about it.' he settled on, not sure of his alibi but knowing he couldn't tell the truth. 'It's... personal.' he added. Would she ask more, would she be interested? Did she care? 'I don't like to tell people my personal problems, as they have a habit of leaving, you know? Better to keep myself to myself.'
Would she take his bait? Would she pity him? Would she want to know more? No, she didn't do any of those and he wasn't surprised. She was quite abrupt and he was impressed at her fire.
'I don't expect you of all people to care, Aoife.' saying her name felt personal and sincere. A nice touch. 'I know you still think of me as the bad guy, but I'm not.' he shrugged his shoulders. 'I told you that in the club, but I perhaps this' he gestured to where they were. 'ending up here is what I get, for what I did to you...' he looked away, shaking his head with a sad look on his face. 'I should just leave...' going to stand up, he felt every nerve in his body tense at the hope of her stopping him. Of her voice begging him to stay. Was that her hand touching his arm...
'I can't believe I'm going to say this, Aoife. But... I've never felt so alone... since the diagnosis...' Fuck, what was he doing? 'I wish I had someone like you to turn to, but I ruined that... didn't I?'
He had seen in the office, on Dr Ramesh's table, that he was dealing with a patients tumour; a big, thick lump that grossly resembled a slice of cauliflower nestled inside his chest. Did he know any more than that? No. Did he need to? No, because it had made Aoife change how she looked at him and he would keep up this lie to keep her interested. Luke had realised a few weeks ago that Aoife loved strays, or anyone that needed fixing, really. Turner had been like that in the beginning, but now he was stale and trained and boring. Luke could have been the most perfect man, and he practically was, but because he didn't need anyone or anything, Aoife wouldn't want him. So the only way to get her was to lie; to make himself seem momentarily weak and vulnerable and how better to do that, than to fake it?
'My dad has small cell lung cancer. They're saying a few months... but, I'm not sure. So, I came here to talk to someone. To get... help.'
Lara constantly felt like she was on the edge of something. She could never settle at the moment; not at home, not with Pete, not at work... something was always there like a scratch on the back of her eyes. You could feel it, and every so often see a glimmer, but when you looked in the mirror, nothing. Pete said it was all the years of having to watch her back that she didn't know how to relax. He had assured her he would be here to protect her and nothing would ever happen again. She believed him. Believed that he believed it was true, that he would and could do anything for her, but that wouldn't stop the nightmares, or the truth. Max Sullivan was still alive and Pete suddenly had a drinking problem.
No one had ever really considered Dermot in the midst of it all. Sure, he had been involved, but Max had taken all the glory and the distraction. Lara wondered what Dermot's childhood must've been like. Max the wild child, Jock the rebellious cousin and Dermot trying to keep them all together like a human life-raft. Lara could relate all too much to the toll it put on you, having to always keep it together, trying to do your best and then... not. First for her mother, trying to pretend she wasn't broken inside at the prospect of losing someone so close, having also lost so much of their time together due to bad decisions. Max, to be exact. When he had teased her down the drainpipe and away from home. Unaware of the complications, the repercussions, the regret she would later feel.
Laying in bed, with her two children beneath each arm, Lara had to remind herself that being there had gotten her here. If she hadn't had made such foolish decisions, then she wouldn't have such precious children. But it wasn't just her life that had been affected by it all, by her bringing Max here. Jock, Dermot, Aoife, Pete, Nora... all of them intertwined and occasionally toxic.
Max would've found his way into someone's life, whether or not she knew them, she thought. If not her and Pete, then another couple, another innocent woman. Though the more the years went on, Lara had begun to doubt how innocent she had been in it all.
'Dermot...' his name slid off of her tongue unsurely and Lara raised her eyes to him.
They were outside and the sudden cool breeze was making her flesh pimple. What was she going to say? Did Dermot know about her, when she was younger? When she and Max ran wild and free together?
'Dermot, are you--'
'I'm the one who stopped him taking Charlie!' his words were loud and caught her off guard, and the guilt that had been lost in the momentum of it all settled on her chest.
'I know, Dermot.' Lara whispered.
How could she forget? The memories of that day made sick rise in her throat. How did they always forget how volatile and selfish Max was? How had she not been a better mother, more protective, more aware? How she had been stupid enough to even let him... she shook her head, the feel of Max's hands on her body like a ghost. She hadn't had a choice.
'I need to get out of you.' Dermot suddenly sounded anxious as he struggled to find his keys.
'You're in no state to drive, Dermot.' she frowned, taking the keys from his hand and finding it strange how warm his skin was against her fingertips.
Heading towards his car, she opened the drivers seat and turned the key. Dermot hesitated for a moment before sitting in the passenger seat opposite.
It was a nice car, big, roomy, smooth leather interior and steering wheel. Organised; a packet of gum and some painkillers in the side dish, a fresh air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Dermot was like her, in that respect; even if the world was falling apart, he had to make it appear as if it were together.
She wanted to turn the radio on, or play a CD, but kept her fingers tight on the wheel. Where was she even going? Where did he even want to go?
'How could she do this to me?' Dermot said after a few minutes and Lara signed a little, keeping he eyes on the road.
How soon was their wedding, Lara thought. Nora hadn't spoken about it in months. Nora hadn't been Nora for months. Sometimes it made her sad to think how distant they had all become, but then life got in the way.
'People are very complicated.' Lara murmured and they didn't speak for the rest of the drive.
Lara pulled up the car after a while and slowly switched off the engine. London had always been a big dream for her, and now she was here it seemed to swallow her like a whirlwind. There were certain places where she could find calm, and besides the River Thames was always one of them. The big, Victorian streetlights dotted along the pavements; a bench every so often with an intricate dedication on a gold plaque. In the spring the hanging baskets on the black railings were filled with snowdrops and tulips, and in the winter brightly coloured pansies. There were always fairy lights hanging on the railings and around the lampposts, it was like the front of a postcard.
As they both got out of the car, they headed towards the railings and looked down into the murky water. A few boats bobbing up and down in the distance. There was something peaceful about the sound of the water slapping on the sides; a far cry from the loud, chaotic music they'd been pumping in The Abbey. For a brief moment, Lara wondered why Nora wasn't here, resolving her own mess. Then again, as Pete had reminded her, she had been the one to invite them both. The recollection of the anger in his voice made her shiver and Lara wrapped her arms around herself.
'How long have you known?' the pain in his voice made Lara swallow. He was looking at her with desperation. .'Lara.' she winced at her name, although it sounded so nice on his tongue. 'Please. Just tell me what you know.'
'Not that long.' Lara found herself saying, knowing it was a lie. She had known for years, but... never really believed it. Nora was always changing what she felt, as if life was a game of roulette. 'I didn't know it was so serious, but I didn't keep it from you to hurt you. I kept it from you because it wasn't my secret to tell.' she shrugged and turned to him.
The anger that had contorted his face not so long ago had since slunk into sadness. Dermot was so different to Max, not only in personality but looks, too. Max was dark, rough, rugged features and even darker eyes. Dermot had light brown hair, a strong jaw but soft, handsome features; polar opposites. And she could see Aoife in him too, but only when he smiled.
'I think you of all people know what it's like when you have to keep something a secret and you don't know what to, because you know the damage it could do.'
Dermot sat back on the bench and rubbed his lower lip with his thumb; such a strangely erotic sensation Lara found herself turning away from.
'The day Max died...' Dermot started and Lara didn't correct him. It was as if he did die that day, to reborn with something much worse. 'On the boat.... I could never understand why Jock suddenly wanted to leave. I found them in the bedroom together, when I got back...'
Lara chewed her lip. Nora had told her about that; about the first kiss.
'Who knows what I almost walked into. It all makes so much fucking sense...'
'Hey!' Lara found herself reaching out to take Dermot's hand without thinking. Her voice was strong, and she wasn't sure why she was defending Nora's silly choices, but heaven knew she had made a fair share of her own. 'It wasn't like that.' she finished and then let go of his hand, though leaving hers only a few inches away from him. 'Looking back on things... it's easy to presume the worst, but you know it wasn't like that. She was happy you were safe, just like we all were. Nora took it upon herself to look after George and Aoife like she was their mother. With Susie... she was there for you, and only you.' glancing over at the water, Lara wasn't sure what more to say.
'I never thanked you.' she settled on, still looking away. 'For everything you did for Charlie. It couldn't have been easy knowing what you did about Max.. and... I-I don't blame you. I know too well what he can be like.' she finally turned to Dermot with a sad expression on her face. 'I spent years doing everything he wanted me to do, even if I didn't agree with it. I've made so many mistakes... done so much I'm ashamed of, but... don't let him take everything from you. I almost let him ruin me, and for what?' she gave a small smile. 'Who knows what would've happened if we hadn't all been pushed into these decisions, but.. it's happened now, and I'm sorry, about Nora.'
Dermot was watching her in such a way it was making her head spin. Pete looked at her like that, but most of the time he was drunk or horny and he hadn't been the same since the last match. Dermot had no reason to watch her in such a way, that the genuineness of it all made her cheeks flush.
'She does love you, you know? But, she loves him too and I'm sorry to tell you that.' hanging her head, she looked at their hands, still inches apart. She wanted to reach out and touch his, reassure him, feel its warmth and weight in her palm. 'Do you think you really love her? Or, do you think you just wanted a distraction and got swept up in it all?' Lara asked after a while, having let the question sit in her chest. 'Max can make you feel so desperate for anything other than him, that sometimes I wonder if...' if I settled for someone I didn't really want, she was going to say but didn't. 'Sorry, that was a bad question, you obviously did love her, I'm just being stupid. Ignore me.' she moved her hand away from his just as she felt them touch. 'I think that one wine went to my head.' she murmured, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind her ear.
Nora hadn't really expected anyone to be here. As she knelt on the floor before Malachi's grave, she wondered how many visitors he'd had. The headstone looked expensive and clean, not even a stray splatter of bird poo ruining its smooth marble. There were some small flowers patted deep into the earth, which looked like pansies cocooned within their bud; long lasting, resistant, both things Malachi believed himself to be. He had never believed in a heaven or a hell, so where was he now?
Malachi Jensen had always been of the belief that there was nothing more to life. How could there be? If there was a God, he couldn't accept it. He saw Mormons, Buddhists, Catholics, all wandering the street with their promises of answers but he never found any there. What was the point in doing good if you had no certainty it was going to be returned? Might as well live selfishly and enjoy yourself whilst you could. He didn't want to give up alcohol or sex or drugs, and he didn't have time to pray weekly, let alone daily. This world was fast paced and if you stopped to apologise for every minute wrongdoing you would never get very far.
Nora had always thought he didn't believe in hell because he knew it was where he was destined. Now she hoped otherwise.
There was a difference between wanting to harm someone for their cruel actions, and then wanting them to be harmed in their grave. She didn't want him to be punished now, so hoped, as he had hoped, that there was nothing more. He was at peace for the first time in his life.
There was a snap of a twig and suddenly her flesh pimpled and Nora glanced over her shoulder.
'Are you okay?' he asked and Nora hadn't realised until then there was a small tear on her cheek.
'I'm fine.' she murmured and stood up quickly, dusting the grass from her knees.
'Was he family?'
Nora turned back to the grave for a moment, and wondered how she would've felt if he had been. If she'd stayed, settled, gotten married.
'An old friend.' she replied, wrapping her arms around her middle.
'I just came to see my daughter.'
Nora felt her stomach flip in guilt, as if she had no right to be here. She certainly hadn't cared for him as much as a father his own child. It seemed almost false to come to his grave for answers, knowing in life he would never have offered any.
'I prefer to come at night. Feels more... private, you know?'
'This is actually the first time I've been.' she admitted, unsure why. 'I should come more.' a beat. 'I'm sorry about your daughter, by the way.'
He was an attractive man, she thought. Tall, with brown hair, dark hazel eyes and a darker beard. For some reason, she imagined him being the type of man Rosa would like. Where was Rosa nowadays?
'Sorry, you must think I'm a right weirdo.' he chuckled and the sound made her smile a little. 'I don't normally come across other people here, and I heard a noise, and honestly I was just checking to see if there was a ghost.'
'You're no more weird than me for being here this late.' she replied, the small smile still in place.
'I'm James, by the way.'
'That's my brothers name.' Nora said without thinking and then shook her head, cheeks tinged pink. 'Sorry. I just haven't spoken to him in a while, either. I'm realising a lot being here.' glancing at the ground she realised just how much she had become entangled in her own problems that she had managed to neglect those around her. 'He's not dead, he's just... in America.'
The wine from earlier was making her head foggy and she looked behind them at a bench on the pathway. 'Do you mind... ?' she asked, walking towards it and sitting down. The dress and boots had been a good idea for the party, but now she felt like an out of place hooker on this bench and wondered if he thought the same.
'I was at a birthday party, but... it ended abruptly and I needed some space.' why was she talking to this man? This stranger as if he wasn't a threat? Turning to face him as he sat down, she examined him for a moment before looking at his face. 'I'm not sure why I'm telling you everything.' she gave a small laugh. 'I should perhaps get going.' as she went to stand Nora swayed a little before sitting back down. 'Or not.'
Pulling a small flask from her handbag she unscrewed the lid slowly, hearing Jock at the back of her mind.
'You sure you need to pack that?' he would ask and she would raise her eyebrows at the hypocrisy of it all.
'When we met, you were always drunk.' she would reply and he'd smile and kiss her neck.
'Now I have you, I don't need the devils juice.'
Taking a sip she held it out, offering to James. 'In memoriam.' she said.
Carter was already pissed off. He felt betrayed and in pain. The only one good thing about his interaction with Ollie, was that he knew Rosa was safe.
However, safe with Robbie didn't really reassure him.
What the fuck was going on?
Which side was Robbie even on? Carter always thought he could judge a situation and a person well, however ever since Rosa's appearance, Robbie had not been the man he'd thought he was. Lying about having a sister, lying to his sister, not wanting him near his sister and then allowing what had happened when she was younger... disbelieving of her cries of truth. And now... working for Brian? He had been there, in his flat, as the officers had grabbed him and beaten him into the patrol car. Not saying a word of defence. And Olly... and how many others, back in the station? The ones who had done this to him...
So as Carter stewed in his hatred for the injustice of it all, the last thing he wanted to hear was Jock Sullivans voice.
'Thought I heard your miserable fucking voice.' Jock was smirking and Carter wanted to punch him square in the jaw. 'Holy shit. What happened to you?'
'Are you fucking serious, gringo?' Carter snapped, disbelieving. 'Why don't you try answering your phone once in a while?'
Jock was the reason Rosa was with Robbie, and for that Carter hated him. How many times had she called this Irishman today and he'd declined, floating through life unaware.
'I've lost my phone, prick. And I've not had a perfect evening either, if you haven't noticed.'
Carter took a moment to look him up and down. He was holding himself with the air of a damaged rib and his face was black and blue. Brian? Robbie?
'The last time I saw you, you was with Rosa. Where is she? Is she hurt?' he demanded and Carter found himself telling him everything. For some strange reason, he felt Jock was the only person he could really trust now.
Told him about the party, and how beautiful Rosa looked. About Robbie's stance on their relationship and how they were in a relationship; this felt strange to say to Jock and he awaited a disapproving grunt but he didn't come. Then how the life had drained from her beautiful face when she had seen...
'Brian fucking Shaw.' he spat the name and saw in Jock's face he recognised the name. 'Not only is he a bent superintendent, but he's also a paedophile, a fucking child molester!' he saw the disgust in the Irishman's face. 'You knew?' he asked, but decided not to argue that case now. 'She looked petrified, I've never seen her so scared and he just waltzed up to her like... like...' he couldn't find the words for the audacity of it all. 'So I went for him. Headbutted him, hard, broke his nose and one of his ribs. Would've killed him if...' looking at Jock he shook his head. 'I shouldn't have done it, but I made sure Rosa was safe before I did. I would never want her to see that side of me.' a moments regret easily washed aside with the anger inside.
'So Shaw got me arrested. And not just that, but got three of my own colleagues to beat the crap out of me in my cell.' he scoffed and then winced, a cut on his face pulling. 'I see why Rosa was wary to trust me, now. Any of us. Everyone is just out to save their own skin. Her brother... I...' running a hand over his face he sighed, the weight of the story sitting on his chest. 'She's apparently safe, but I don't believe that, not until I see her with my own eyes. But I don't know where she is, I'm sorry.' he looked at Jock with genuine disappointment. 'Sorry I couldn't protect her like you could.'
He knew some of the stories; how they had constantly been on the move, how Jock had always had her back. Never let her get hurt and never put her in danger.
Jock suddenly threw a change of clothes at him and Carter looked down.
'Hurry up and get dressed. We're bailing. Come on.'
Jock paced up and down in the doorway as Carter struggled to shift on the change of clothes. His skin felt sore and tight, his ribs crying out in agony, but his desire to protect Rosa spurred him on.
Both of them must've looked a sight as they exited the hospital, battered, bruised and bandaged. It was an unlikely alliance, but Carter was glad he was no longer alone. He had never been so afraid of losing someone like he was Rosa, so he needed all the help he could get. Focusing on the pain, Carter didn't see the paramedics at first, trying to keep his head down, but as they swept past him he felt the air leave his body.
'Robbie?'
There was blood everywhere, his head tight in a brace as they wheeled him directly to the emergency room. His heart jolted, fearing the worst for Rosa and wanting to know more so he pulled away to follow him but Jock held him back. The two wrestled briefly before one of the receptionists raised an eyebrow and Jock lowered his voice, a hiss in his hear.
'Rosa needs us.' he reminded him as Carter watched the gurney disappeared through the double doors.
Rosa wasn't safe, Carter thought. How the hell could she be, after that? Was Robbie dead? Was she dead? He felt lightheaded and sick but swallowed back the fear.
When they both got outside into the bitter air, Carter moved away and leaned on the wall for a moment to catch his breath. 'I feel...' he shook his head. He felt like shit. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out two pen type items, plastic and thick. 'I snagged these.' he held one out for Jock to take. 'Adrenaline.' biting off the cap, Carter sucked in a large breath before stabbing himself in the leg. The rush was like nothing he had ever had before. His heart suddenly pumped tenfold and his eyes grew wild, pupils dilated. For a while the pain would hide beneath the adrenaline kick and he welcomed it with a satisfied moan. 'Let's get Rosa back.'
Nora hadn't forgotten about Jock, she just wasn't sure what to say. What to do. She and James sat on the bench and listened to the wind blow around them, the sound of sirens in the far distance as he spoke about his life. Across the city, Pete was leaving Bovver's apartment with disappointment and disgust on his face. The GSE was disbanded, the party was a disaster. Who knew where Lara was, or Dermot, or Aoife. Everyone had scattered, everyone was fending for themselves. Tonight had been a night for selfishness. Chewing her lip, Nora rubbed her arms as the breeze picked up when James offered her his jacket.
'I've never seen you before.' she said as he slipped it around her shoulders. It smelt of expensive aftershave and she liked it. 'Sometimes I forget how big of a place London is, it's so easy to get lost.'
She glanced back down across the numerous graves; endless lives lost before them. 'Do you have a wife?' she asked. 'You said you had a daughter, so...' downing some more of the vodka in her flask, Nora winced, resenting how bitter and hot it always tasted.
She imagined James walking his daughter to school and all the single mums swooning at his feet as he passed.
'I'm a school teacher. I teach History and Art to children who don't care.' she smiled all the same. She loved her job. Putting her hands out before her, she stared at the empty space on her left finger where the engagement ring should've settled.
Should she have questioned Dermot more, in the beginning? And Bovver and Jock? Should she be doubting this man before her? He was a grieving father, so he said; she was a grieving friend, so she lied. The sadness in her stomach gave way to the lashings of alcohol and the mixture of liquor and wine was starting to make her feel wavy. It had been exhausting, yet she knew most of the badness had been her own creation. She didn't want to make those mistakes again, or at least didn't want to bring someone else into them. Leaning back on the bench, she tipped her head up to look at the stars and smiled at their silver blinks of reassurance. You didn't really see the night sky in London, for the fumes and the bright lights, but here in the dimly lit cemetery you could see a few peaking through.
'Do you think they're up there?' she asked, voice quiet. 'My friend and your daughter?'
Probably not, and if they were they were no doubt judging her decisions down here.
Carter didn't know why he did it, but he went to his apartment first. He knew she wasn't going to be there, but he needed to see what had happened. Why Robbie was potentially dying on an operating table. When they arrived, the door was practically off its hinges. There was glass and blood all throughout the entranceway and smeared up the walls. He could hear police sirens in the distance, on their way to inspect the carnage, but even as Jock begged him to leave, Carter kept moving forward.
In the kitchen there were two wine glasses, both empty but with the red merlot stain and one lined with the lipstick Rosa had worn that night. Items were still shoved aside where he had fucked her against the kitchen counter and in the hallway towards the bedroom, her dress lay crumpled where she'd stripped herself from it like a second skin before getting into her nightdress. He could smell her in the air, between the metallic scent of bullets and violence. Her sweet soap and perfume making his fists clench.
'How could he do this?' Carter asked, his voice so low Jock didn't even hear him. He was standing in the doorway, ready to make a quick exit if they needed to. 'Bastarda.' he hissed.
The sirens grew louder and Jock demanded they leave so with one last look at their home, they fled the scene just as the police rounded the corner.
'Do you think she would have gone to yours?' Carter asked in hope. He had told her to after all. Somehow all the distrust he had had with Jock had vanished; there was no real envy or judgement, he also seriously doubted he had anything to do with any of this now. The only thing that did frustrate him, was Jock had never gotten Rosa into such a dangerous situation.
'I never intended any of this to happen.' Carter said as they drove to Jock's home; the Irishman was driving so quickly he wondered if they would make it alive. 'Since the moment I met Rosa, I swore to do everything I could to protect her. And not just because it's my job, but because she's special. Diferente from all the others. And... if I have to kill Shaw to keep my word, I will.' he glanced over at the Jock and the two held one another's gaze for a moment. They both knew Carter wasn't bluffing.
Carter believed he would be an officer until he was old and frail; would have a retirement party, receive a badge of honour for his duty, a giant cake, a bunch of cards. Everyone in London would know him, praise him. He was to be a selfless bachelor, saving the world one small crime at a time. Then Rosa had been catapulted into his life and suddenly those things seemed so meaningless in the grand scheme of it all. Love made you realise there was more to life than routine, and there had certainly been no straight path where Rosa was involved.
Now Carter had seen the truth and didn't want to be associated with such lowlifes anymore.
His dad would have turned in his grave to see where he had ended up, so he was going to prove to him he was worth so much more. 'Mírame papá.' he whispered.
When they pulled up to the large house, Jock looked like he was checking for someone and seemed disappointed with the outcome. Before the vehicle had even stopped Carter was jumping out and rushing to the door, the pain in his ribs fleeting with the buzz from the adrenaline. As he got to the front door he could see a bloody handprint on the handle and pushed it open without hesitation.
'Rosa?' his voice echoed through the otherwise quiet house, even when Jock told him to be quiet. 'Rosa!' Desperation as he stepped inside. His heart was racing so much he could feel it pressing against his eardrums.
There was a shuffling sound in the other room and he put a hand out a Jock appeared behind him; both of them listened intently but couldn't decipher what it was. Nodding towards the living room, Carter had never felt more vulnerable and unprotected without a weapon by his side.
Counting down, he swung into the doorway, unsure what to expect, but feeling his insides drop when he saw Rosa laying in a bloody heap. She had made for the sofa but was laid on the floor in a ball, one of her legs outstretched with blood pooling around it. She had managed to rip some of her nightdress and tied it around the wound as a tourniquet, but had obviously fallen unconscious shortly afterwards. Running to her side, Carter got down on one knee and placed a hand beneath her head.
She looked so weak and bare, the once sexy lingerie making her vulnerable and unprotected in such a situation.
'Hey.' he whispered, tears pricking his eyes. 'Are you okay?' her eyes rolled back in her head as she struggled to focus. Her whole body was shaking. 'I think she's been shot.' Carter called over his shoulder to Jock.
Scooping her up as if she weighed nothing, Carter carried Rosa through to the kitchen. His ribs were suddenly beginning to pang heavier and the pressure of her against his arms was making his fracture sting. Swaying a little, he passed her to Jock who put her on the kitchen counter. Opening up every cupboard around them, Carter searched for anything that could help them. There was soup, bread, endless boxes of cereal (lucky charms, really?), until in one of the high cupboards was a green canvas bag with a white cross on it. Attached with a safety pin was a note: Dad, you will no doubt need this, love Aoife x
Unaware of the sentiment, Carter slammed the bag down and started to go through everything desperately. His hands were shaking. He could hear Jock trying to rouse Rosa on the table, his hands touching her face now covered in her own blood. There was an actual tourniquet in the bag and he rushed over, clipped it around her thigh and pulled it tight. Rosa gave out a cry of pain, grabbing Carter's arm and for a moment his world stopped.
'We've got you.' Carter reassured her, looking up at Jock with desperation in his eyes.
In the bag were also some blankets, tweezers, bandages, numbing cream and antiseptic. Carter had done a first aid course before, but this was something different. The pain was coming back for him and he leaned on the counter for support.
'How are you holding up?' he asked Jock who was boiling the kettle to sterilise the tweezers. He felt almost ashamed for the amount of pain he was in.
Jock handed him a bottle of whiskey and Carter nodded in thanks before taking a large swig. 'Do you know what you're doing?' Carter asked.
They were on either side of Rosa, Carter holding her hand tight and Jock pressing down on the bullet wound to find the exact point of entry. He gave a sarcastic remark to which Carter shrugged; what other choice did they have?
Rosa was still writhing around on the table, her skin burning up. Taking a teatowel from the side, Carter rolled it up and pulled down Rosa's jaw. 'Bite on this, baby.' he whispered, putting the material in her mouth to ensure when she no doubt screamed that she wouldn't bite her tongue.
'I trust you, gringo.' Carter murmured, looking up at Jock who suddenly looked nervous. The Irishman took another swing of whiskey 'for luck' and reached in for the bullet.
Rosa's scream was muffled by the towel but all the same it made Carter's heart ache; she was writhing in agony, squeezing his hand to the point he could feel it up his forearm. Holding her shoulders down he tried to get her to focus on him but her eyes were squeezed shut against the pain, tears pooling at the corners. Jock was searching for the bullet for what seemed hours before he managed to pluck it out and threw it in the sink with a satisfying clink.
'Was that it?' Carter asked and Jock nodded, wiping his brow. Turning to Rosa, it looked as if she had fallen unconscious again so he gently slapped the side of her face. 'Not the time to sleep, Rosa.' he murmured, struggling to rouse her. 'Look at me.' he pleaded, suddenly thrown back to the flat and his arrest, begging for her to find him in the crowd of officers.
Look at me Rosa. It's okay.
'Baby, please.' he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. He felt sick and heavy and everything ached; his bones wanted to collapse and his head felt fuzzy.
'Tu eres mia.' he whispered, kissing her brow. 'Estas seguro.'
You are mine and you are safe.
Shaw hadn't been at the apartment, and they hadn't seen sign of his escape. Where was he? Had he shot her -- or had Robbie? Was Shaw even injured? His body not being there, cold, had disappointed him. But he wouldn't be so lucky next time, that much Carter was sure.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Mar 30, 2022 3:46:33 GMT -5
“People are very complicated.”
Lara’s words were soft when she spoke, and Dermot couldn’t help but agree, falling quiet, the pain still evident in his face. Eventually, she pulled up beside the River Thames and cut the engine, both staring out the windscreen. It was creeping towards midnight, yet the city was as alive as it was twelve hours ago. It never stopped. It never slept. Not like the tiny village where he’d been raised, where the only light after nightfall came from the fire burning in the grate, or the rows of candles Mam lined on the windowsills. From his bedroom, far off in the distance, he’d been able to see the tiny lights of the local town, peeking from above the marshland and the rolling emerald hills. He had a sudden and severe longing for his homeland, the pang in his chest overpowering anything else he was feeling at that moment.
They got out the car, silent as they made their way over to the railings. Dermot leaned his arms on top, staring down into the dark sloshing water below. They stood quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the slap of the water against the wall below, the lights of the city distorted on the choppy surface. Lara shifted, slipping her arms around herself, and without thinking, he shrugged off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. Then he asked her the question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue since they’d got out the car, desperate to know how long Lara had known the truth.
“Not that long,” she replied, just louder than a whisper. Her eyes were fixed to the water. “I didn’t know it was so serious, but I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you. I kept it from you because it wasn’t my secret to tell.” Lara gave a soft shrug and turned to face him; small frame encased in his large jacket, ponytail caught in the collar. Part of him wanted to gently fix it, but he didn’t move. He understood where she was coming from. If Aoife had come to him, telling him she liked somebody more than George, would he have told George? Probably not. If anything, Lara had just been a good friend, an ear and a shoulder for Nora when she’d needed it. When she’d felt like she couldn’t come to Dermot. He hung his head, blinking away tears. After a minute, he moved to sit down on the bench, and Lara sat beside him, though she angled herself away. Dermot glanced at her. Hands on her lap, back straight, eyes fixed on the fairy lights that entwined the railings. Laughter could be heard a few streets away. Someone in the distance was singing. Life rolled on. Lara spoke.
“I think you of all people know what it’s like when you have to keep something a secret and you don’t know what to do, because you know the damage it could do.”
She was a voice of reason and Dermot could only listen. Hands hanging loose between his knees as he leaned forward, eyes fixed ahead. He dampened his bottom lip. “I don’t blame you, Lara. So don’t think for a moment that I do. And...” He sighed, sitting back and looking over at her. Ridiculously, he noticed how pretty she looked beneath the orange glow of the Victorian streetlamp behind them. “I’m sorry for tonight. For losing myself like that.” It was happening more and more often. First Nick, now Jock. Who would he hurt next? And next time, would he even be able to stop? “I don’t blame Nora either. Or him.” He scoffed the word lightly; he may not blame Jock as such, but he definitely resented him. There could be no forgiveness now. “I blame myself. For protecting the only person who didn’t need it.” The one who didn’t deserve it. Max.
Thinking about Max made him think about the day on the boat. So many of them had been close to death that day. Aoife, George, Nora, Jock, Max. Himself. Only the two remaining members of the O’Neill family hadn’t left the boat that day; one whose blood stained the deck and the other, who was found caught in the Channel four days later. Bloated and rotten, with a stump leg and half his face blasted off. He remembered that day clearly; the image on TV of police cars and barriers, body of unknown male found running across the bottom of he screen. Nora had turned the TV off, and neither had spoken about it since.
Apparently there was a lot they hadn’t spoken about.
Like when had she fallen out of love with him? When had she decided that they weren’t enough? That he wasn’t enough? Because you didn’t need to look anywhere else if you really were happy, if you really were in love. Or was it possible that she really had loved the both of them, for different reasons? If so, then only the news of Max’s return had tipped the odds into Jock’s favour. Nothing else. Dermot was still better in every way, yet that one mistake, his one flaw, had cost him everything.
“Hey!” When he expressed these fears, Lara reached out and touched his hand. The sudden warmth was startling; so warm and soft, yet firm, a gesture meant to hold him steady, to stop him crumbling. To show support. I’m here. Dermot looked at her and wondered, not unkindly, why she was here. Why she was the one to force him out the pub, after she’d so fearlessly approached him. What woman would, when a man was in such a rage? He knew the answer to that; through Max, she learned to survive with that kind of rage, that kind of malice. She’d learnt the impossible steps of unpredictability, had danced with Death and lived closely with the Devil. And she’d survived. She was stronger than they’d released. Perhaps, maybe even more than she realised. Lara was the only other one here who understood the true cost of loving Max Sullivan.
“It wasn’t like that. Looking back on things... it’s easy to presume the worst, but you /know/ it wasn’t like that. She was happy you were safe, just like we all were.” Lara had moved her hand away, but he could still feel her touch like an imprint, burnt into his skin. “Nora took it upon herself to look after George and Aoife like she was their mother. With Susie... she was there for you, and /only/ you.” Lara fell quiet for a moment, and he sensed she had more to say, so he kept quiet. She watched the rippling water. “I never thanked you. For everything you did for Charlie. It couldn’t have been easy knowing what you did about Max... and... I don’t blame you. I know too well what he can be like.”
Dermot nodded, meeting her sad blue eyes, that sadness echoed in the downturned corners of her mouth. “I spent years doing everything he wanted me to do, even if I didn’t agree with it. I’ve made so many mistakes... done so much I’m ashamed of, but... don’t let him take everything from you. I almost let him ruin me, and for what?” Lara gave him a small smile, though it did little to ease the pain in her eyes. “Who knows what would have happened if we hadn’t all been pushed into these decisions, but... it’s happened now, and I’m sorry, about Nora.”
It was as if he was hearing himself. She echoed the thoughts and fears he tried to keep buried deep, her words ringing strong and clear with the truth. As much as he hated to admit, Max was poison. Would their lives had been better without him in it? But Dermot’s problems stemmed further than his brother, and he knew his own father was at the heart of the blame for all of this. So many lives shattered and ruined thanks to one man and his terrifying rage.
Dermot didn’t want to be like him.
And at the same time, as he was realising how alike he and Lara really were, he was also noticing how beautiful she looked in that particular moment. The slant of her eyes, the way her lashes fanned, the shadows highlighting her cheekbones and the curve of her full bottom lip... it must have been the drink. He knew it was the drink. But it didn’t stop him staring.
“She does love you, you know? But she loves him too and I’m sorry to tell you that.” Lara hung her head, almost ashamed to admit that truth, and for the first time that evening, the anger ebbed. He didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it. But he understood. And to force his love on Nora would make him no better than any of the other men in his family. She was looking at their hands, still inches apart, and he looked too. He wanted to feel that warmth again, to distract himself from the agony of his broken heart. He wanted to kiss her and forget, all selfish things, but part of him wanted to be selfish. Wanted to take what he wanted and fuck the consequences. It was how Max had lived his whole life. Lara’s next words made him glance up, brow creased, trying to figure out exactly what she meant. “Do you think you /really/ love her? Or, do you think you just wanted a distraction and got swept up in it all? Max can make you feel so desperate for anything other than him, that sometimes I wonder if...” She trailed off, a sudden flush catching her cheeks, as if she was about to say something she knew she shouldn’t. A truth she wasn’t ready to admit to herself. And he knew exactly where she’d been going with it. Settling for the first thing they’d seen. Flustered, she quickly backtracked. “Sorry, that was a bad question, you obviously did love her, I’m just being stupid. Ignore me.” Dermot had just reached for her hand when she moved it, their fingertips grazing and he could tell she’d noticed by the sudden straightness of her back and the colour building in her cheeks. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not quite looking at him. “I think that one wine went straight to my head.”
Don’t do it, Dermot, don’t do it. A thousand scenarios filled his mind the second he knew what he wanted to do. So many consequences, an even bigger fallout than what had happened tonight... In one movement, he shifted closer, hand reaching to cup her jaw. He angled her face to his, noting the surprise, and something else, something he couldn’t quite read. The countless whiskies were burning through him, encouraging him, and without letting another doubt enter his mind, Dermot leaned close and kissed her. A firm kiss, a kiss that was desperate for her response. She was so still beneath him, and he tightened his fingers gently around her jaw. Please. Please kiss me back.
—
Aoife should have known it wouldn’t be long until she saw Luke Winters again. He was like a rash that wouldn’t go away, but to stumble into him in the hospital of all places... it kind of pissed her off. This was her place of work after all, and she had enough stress going on without adding his smarmy little face to the mix. And he was looking especially smarmy today, blue eyes fixed on hers as she stopped in front of him. Didn’t he get a big enough hint when she never even took his jacket home? His gaze wandered her now, from head to foot and back again, and Aoife gave a sigh and glanced away.
“That’s no way to greet a patient, Lucky Charm. Aren’t you concerned for me?”
As if. He was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, and frankly, she did not believe he was a patient at all. “What was it?” She asked sourly. “A blow to the head? Careful. It might have knocked some brains into you.” Luke tilted his head to the side and studied her face in a way that made her blush. Ugh. Why was she blushing? Maybe it was the fact that four years ago, she’d been on her hands and knees, desperate to please him. Biggest mistake of her life. His eyes lingered on her throat.
“You’ve got a little something...” He scratched his own neck to indicate, but she didn’t need him to tell her what it was. Her face went even hotter, as she remembered the marks left by George; her uniform obviously wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it. “You never did return my call.” He reached out, taking her arm and gently tugging her out the way as a few nurses ran past with a crash trolley. “Have a drink with me,” he urged her softly, holding her gaze and even if she’d wanted to look away, Aoife found she couldn’t. It wasn’t like Luke wasn’t an attractive man. He’d lost a bit of the youth to his face, leaving a sharp jawline and broad shoulders, which wore the clothes he’d bought well. But she was with George. She loved George, and she couldn’t quite understand why Luke was still persisting. Had she really left that much of an impression?
“I’m at work, I can’t just go out drinking.” Why was she even justifying it? A straight no should have done. “And I’m busy later.”
“Now. In the canteen. I’ve heard coffee from a machine isn’t actually that bad.”
Aoife smirked, though the humour didn’t quite brighten her eyes. “Oh, give it a rest. I knew you when you were just some chav in trackies selling drugs on the estate. You might not want to admit it to your new, high-society friends, but I know you’ve drank rank coffee out of a machine before.” Still unsure, Aoife glanced around before nodding. “One coffee. Then I have to get back to work.” She’d hear him out, whatever he was planning on saying. He’d obviously come here for a reason. When they reached the canteen, Aoife left him at a table and headed to the counter to order. A few moments later, she was returning with two coffees, lids fixed securely. Taking the seat opposite, she passed one over and studied him.
As she listened to him talk, relaxed and care-free as if they did this every lunch, she found her gaze roaming his features; the curve of his lips, the movement as he spoke, the way his lashes fanned his eyes. Eyes that were fixed to hers. “Spoilt?” Aoife scoffed at his question and blew into the stirrer slot in her cup. “I’ve been here for four hours and this is the first time I’ve sat down.” He mentioned her friend, referring to the spiking in the club, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at him. “Rosa’s fine. And I’m fine too,” she added when he asked about her as well. Fine was a major understatement. After the fallout with her dad, Jock and Nora, she felt as if her world was starting to crumble. It had been so long since she’d seen Dermot like that... and she was terrified that Max would take advantage of that and drag him to the dark side. She couldn’t lose anybody else, least of all her father. Of course she couldn’t tell Luke that though. And anyway, she had George. George who understood. George who had been through this himself.
“You look well. Is Turner still treating you well? That isn’t from his fist, is it?”
Luke’s words jolted her from her thoughts and she scowled, taking a sip of coffee to compose herself; her cheeks were burning again. “I think we both know it isn’t from his fist, Luke. Cut to the chase. Is there a real reason you wanted to see me?” They were never friends, even then. Why wasn’t he traipsing around, trying to impress Mabel or some other dumb bitch? “Or is it something else?” Luke was quiet for a moment, averting his gaze.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” So it was something else. But this answer only frustrated her; why the hell bring her here if he didn’t want to talk about it? His eyes slid to hers. “It’s... personal.” At this, her brow creased into a slight frown, and she stayed quiet, waiting patiently for him to continue. “I don’t like to tell people my personal problems, as they have a habit of leaving, you know? Better to keep myself to myself.” God, this was frustrating her more; part of her waited to comfort Luke, the carer in her wanting nothing but to do her best to help. Another part of her knew he was trouble, scum really, no matter how smartly he dressed. But... people could change. Couldn’t they? She’d thought her dad had changed and now look. She didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Why do you think I care?” she snapped, words a low hiss to keep those from closest hearing.
“I don’t expect you of all people to care, Aoife.” Her heart jolted a little when he said her name. “I know you still think of me as the bad guy, but I’m not. I told you that in the club, but perhaps this... ending up here is what I get, for what I did to you...” Luke looked away and she saw the shame flitter across his face. At the same time, her stomach clenched, wondering if he was sick or something... “I should just leave...”
“Wait.” He’d made to stand and Aoife surprised them both by reaching out to grab his arm. Embarrassed, she withdrew it as he sank back in his seat, looking a little more deflated than before. “Luke, what’s going on?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, Aoife. But... I’ve never felt so alone... since the diagnosis... I wish I had someone like you to turn to, but I ruined that... didn’t I?” Aoife didn’t even know what to say. Her heart was pounding at the word diagnosis, the fear and shame in his eyes enough to make her heart ache. All her previous worries faded to the back as she saw him sitting there so helpless. For the first time, it was as if she was really seeing Luke and not just the facade he put up. “My dad’s got small cell lung cancer. They’re saying a few months... but, I’m not sure. So, I came to talk to someone. To get... help.”
“Luke, I’m so sorry,” she replied softly, the concern evident. If that had been Dermot... she couldn’t imagine what he must have been going through. And alone too, without anybody to talk to. Brushing her fringe away from her eyes, she sighed softly and settled him with a look. “I honestly am. That’s a terrible thing for somebody to go through, and I understand how hard this must be on you.” Aoife was well aware that she’d switched to nurse mode, her words almost scripted to a point - but she really did mean what she said. Hesitating for a moment, she tried to talk herself out of what she was about to do, to no avail. “Listen, I don’t get off until four, but why don’t you pick me up after work? There’s a cafe down the road, we can grab something to eat. But only if you need somebody to talk to, Luke. I’m... I’m not playing games here.” But he was obviously hurting, she could tell by his face. “I assume you kept my number?”
Not long afterwards, they parted ways, with Luke agreeing to meet her. But, as she headed up the corridor back to her ward, Aoife began to feel anxious. Had she made the wrong choice? What would George think if he found out? Then again, it was just one meet up, a quick snack while he poured out his worries. Everyone needed a chance to destress... Aoife prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.
—
“That’s my brother’s name.”
So she had a brother? Nick didn’t move from the spot as Nora spoke, her soft voice cutting through the still night, and he wondered if there was more to the reason why she was here. Who visits the dead this time of night unless they had something to hide? She seemed a little uneasy, cheeks flushing pink even in the dull cemetery lighting. She wore a low cut dress and boots, a look she pulled off with ease. It took all Nick had not to let his gaze trail her legs. She gave him an apologetic look.
“Sorry. I just haven’t spoken to him in a while, either. I’m realising a lot being here.”
“Not all bad things, I hope?” He said lightly, hoping she’d take the bait and spill her worries. The more he could find out, the more he could use against her. Against them. All of them. Nora told him her brother was in America, which was good. No protective brothers to get in the way, to stop him from doing what he needed. And he needed Nora Samuels. Ever since he’d seen her in the window and taken that photo... she’d been there at the back of his mind, begging for attention. He still couldn’t believe he’d stumbled across her, here of all places. Good luck or divine intervention, he wasn’t sure.
Nora glanced at a nearby bench, then at him. “Do you mind...?” At first he thought she wanted him to leave, before realising she was inviting him to sit with her. He moved forward, barely making a noise on the grass, and sank down beside her, keeping a respectable gap between them. He didn’t need to make her nervous just yet. She looked down at herself, then spoke, as if she felt the need to justify her outfit. Nick hadn’t been complaining, so he simply smiled at her words. “I was at a birthday party, but... it ended abruptly and I needed some space.”
She shifted around to face him, a curious look in her face as she studied him. Really studied him. It made his stomach go tight and briefly, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss her, taste her, violate her with his tongue. The urge was almost overpowering. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you everything,” she added with a small laugh. A tired laugh, rather than a humorous one. “I should perhaps get going.” Nora made to stand, swayed, and sat again. He hadn’t realised she was drunk. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought. “Or not.”
“I can walk you to the gate?” He offered. Charlotte’s car was parked outside the cemetery, pulled up on the path at a jaunty angle. It would be easy to get her inside. Neither Jock nor Dermot would have a clue where she was. But where to take her? He couldn’t go back to Charlotte’s, she was flighty enough as it was. One false move would tip her over the edge, he could feel it. And then he’d have another problem on his hands. So where? Nora didn’t answer; she was pulling a small flask out of her bag, and he was glad she didn’t seem to notice the gleam in his eye. That’s it, keep drinking... She took a sip, then offered it to him, her eyes fixed on his.
“In memoriam.”
“In memoriam,” he murmured, taking the offered flask and taking a drink. Vodka. It burned down the back of his throat and he relished it; it would probably help numb the pain in his chest too. He handed it back. “I think losing someone you love... it makes you see things differently. Life differently. You judge yourself more. ‘Could I have done better? Could I have changed things? Could I have saved her?’” He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head, looking down at his hands, embodying the image of a man suffering the loss of his daughter. His brow creased, fingers laced together. “You get angry at the world. At God. You get to a point where you would do anything to switch places...” He wiped the corner of his eye, removing an imaginary tear. “Sorry, I... I never really talk about her. Not anymore.”
A small hand appeared on his, and his breath caught a little; Nora felt so warm, her palm so soft... he looked up and met her eye, noting the empathy in her face. After a moment, she pulled away, rubbing her arms to fend off the chill. Without hesitating, he slid off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders, pleased to see her snuggle deeper. She glanced at him again.
“I’ve never seen you before. Sometimes I forget how big of a place London is, it’s so easy to get lost.”
Too easy, he thought in agreement. And soon you’ll be lost too, and nobody will ever find you. Out loud, he said, “If it makes you feel better, I’ve never seen you before either.” He smiled at her, to show he was just teasing. “I would have remembered,” he added, then hoped he hadn’t pushed it too far. Nora was staring out at the gravestones when she asked if he had a wife. Nick shook his head. “Used to. Before... But she left me, after the accident happened. Charlotte, that’s my ex’s name. She hates me though. She blames me for what happened, but...” he trailed off, hesitant, and glanced at Nora again. “But I wasn’t the one driving. She was. Over the limit, way over. By the time I got there... it was too late. She blames me, but really, I don’t think she can forgive herself.” He feigned upset again and looked back at his hands as Nora comforted him. He could smell the vodka from here, and he noticed that they were closer now, her thigh nearly touching his. “Sorry, can we change the subject? W-What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a school teacher. I teach History and Art to children who don’t care.” Her smile told him she loved it though, a light appearing in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Now she held a hand out in front of her, admiring her bare fingers, and it took Nick a moment to realise what she was looking at; the small white band on her wedding finger which told him a ring had been removed recently. Now that was interesting. Had Dermot told her what he’d done? How he’d acted like some savage animal, how he’d nearly killed a man? Had she chucked her ring at him and fled? Was that why she was here now, drunk, alone?
Everything was piling up in his favour.
Nora lowered her hand and looked up into the night sky. “Do you think they’re up there? My friend and your daughter?”
Nick sat back, looking up, silent for a few moments as he studied the twinkling expanse of sky. No. The girl wasn’t up there. He knew that much. He knew because she was in his head, in his thoughts, flicking in his peripherals and lurking in the shadows of his home. She’d never left him. She was in his bones. “I like to think so,” he settled on finally. “I like to think she’s happy now. Undamaged.” Nora had more or less finished her flask, and it took her a couple of attempts to push it back into her handbag. Sighing softly, Nick stood, stretching out his legs. “It’s very late,” he told her. “Let me at least walk you to the gate. Do you think you’re going to be all right walking home on your own?”
He offered her his arm, smiling softly when she took it, and together, they walked slowly through the cemetery. It was pitch black in places, large tombstones looming upwards, adorned with marble angels. They found the path and followed it towards the gate. “I never got your name,” he said before they reached the gate. He could see his car from here. It was barely five steps from the gate.
“Nora.”
“Well, thank you, Nora.” He helped open the gate and let her go through first, grabbing her arm gently when she stumbled a little. “I mean it. I didn’t expect to see anybody tonight, and it was great talking to you. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back?” She made some excuse or another, he wasn’t really listening now. His mind was already ahead, planning and plotting.
She turned away from him, and Nick took his chance. One arm around her waist, the other clamped around her nose and mouth. She began to fight, to struggle, unable to breathe against his palm. Five long strides and he was at his car, slamming her against the side as he fought to open his boot. Nora was clawing at his hand, eyes wide, doing everything she could to get away. And the pain erupted in Nick’s chest as she caught him with an elbow, slipping from his grip. She ran. Nick chased. Less than a foot away, he knocked her to the floor, her body sprawling, the brick tight in his hand. He couldn’t even remember picking it up.
Nick gathered up her unconscious body and shoved her into the boot. Blood trickled down her face, but he could see her pulse beating hard in her throat. He slammed the boot shut, and less than a minute later, he was speeding away.
—-
Rosa wasn't sure when she passed out, but it was somewhere between entering Jock's house and stumbling into the front room. As she crumpled onto the rug, the world fading into darkness around her, Carter's face swam into view. Would she ever see him again? The love of her life, the one man who'd truly given her everything? Sacrificed everything? Who'd sensed her strength and seen the real Rosa beneath the facade. Behind the iron walls she'd built around herself. For the first time, she’d tasted real love, *true love*, how it was always meant to be.
Her mum had always hated her. Brian’s love had been overpowering and selfish and painful. Nick’s love twisted and sick and conditional. Until now, it was only Robbie and Jock that had held her together, grounded her in their different ways; Robbie’s fighter for justice, wearing his badge with pride. And Jock, enabling her but never letting her down.
And then Carter. His love so completely different to anything she’d felt before. A soul connection, a strange familiarity because your spirit already knew theirs. Rosa has never been overly-religious or spiritual, but that’s just the way things were looking right now.
"Rosa?"
Butterflies were dancing above her head. Two of them, of the babiest blue, beating wings she knew would be silky to the touch. The sun shone brightly, blindingly, and there wasn't a single cloud in the early summer sky. "Rosa!" Somebody called her name again. Giggling, she raced down the slope, long grass tickling her knobbly legs, shins patterned with the small bruises all children got. Her skirt was red, tartan, her favourite. Her Nanna had stitched her name into the hem. She missed her Nanna, she hadn't seen her in a while. At the bottom of the slope, the meadow flattened out, and she marched through wild lashes of daises and buttercups, through bunches of bobbing bluebells. A small pond appeared ahead, lined with bulrushes and thick waterweeds, the surface enladened with wide fat lily pads. Dragonflies darted to and fro, and far on the other side, a heron ducked its head into the water.
Robbie was close by, trousers rolled up over his knees, a net in one hand and a large squashy frog in the other. He looked up, a wide grin spread over his little round face. "Rosa! Got this one, look!"
Hurrying closer, Rosa gently eased the frog from his tight grip and inspecting it, stroking the top of its slick green head. It squirmed between her palms, desperate for escape. "He's so cute! Did you get any frog spawn?"
"Yeah, got loads." Robbie peered over his small red bucket, which was filled to the brim with sloppy frog spawn. They both moved to the edge of the pond, kneeling down so Rosa could release it. It splashed into the water and disappeared from sight with two powerful kicks of its legs. Straightening, the two siblings smiled at each other. Robbie’s eye was bruised from Rachel lashing out the night before. She’d been drinking her smelly wine and Robbie had got in the way. He was only three. Rosa was bigger, a big girl, but when she was all grown up, she was going to buy a house and take him with her. She just had to do a bit more growing yet.
“Come on. We need to get back.” She took his hand.
“We have to?” He looked up at her, hand clenched right around her fingers. Rosa nodded.
The meadow was gone. Rosa was standing in the kitchen of the first flat she ever rented, making lunch. A dingy little place, mould dampening the ceilings and the corners of the room. No matter how many air fresheners she’d sprayed, she could never get rid of that dank smell. It had seemed to follow her all through her life; her bedroom growing up, Brian’s dark cellar, now her first flat. Maybe she should have seen it as an omen.
It was only a one-bedroom flat. Robbie had the tiny bedroom that barely housed his single bed and wardrobe, leaving little room for anything else. Rosa slept on the sofa, usually falling asleep to the TV. It was cramped and mouldy, but they loved it. It was theirs. For the first time in their lives, they were free of their mother and life at that moment had been sweet. Rosa had been happy, and Robbie had thrived. Rosa wished she could capture this moment. Hold it forever, stay here forever, suspended.
“You ain’t ever gonna leave me, are you, Rosa?” Robbie had asked, a little later over their lunch. With her full-time job and benefits for Robbie’s education, he was looking a healthier weight with the regular meals. This pleased her. She smiled at him, cheese sandwich in hand.
“Never. I’m always gonna be ‘ere.” She wrinkled her nose and grinned. “You’ll never get rid of me!”
—
Across the city, Jock and Carter were just entering Carter's home. The stench of blood and gunpowder was undeniable, even before Jock saw the carnage beyond the broken front door. Sirens rang in the distance as Jock crunched through glass, following Carter through the hall. Blood smeared the walls, pooled on the floor in a way that told him a body had laid there for a brief time. Robbie, no doubt. So where was Rosa? "We need to leave." Carter moved through into the kitchen, ignoring any protest Jock had to make. Scowling, the Irishman glanced over his shoulder towards the open door. If those bent coppers found them here, they'd make easy scapegoats for whatever the fuck had gone on. It didn’t help that the adrenaline was still buzzing through Jock’s system; it had hit harder than anything in a long time and to be honest, he wasn’t quite enjoying the ride. His heart pounded hard against his bruised ribs, and though it had filled the pain, it was making him jittery. Still, he’d been impressed by the officer’s willingness to break the rules. “Carter!” He hissed again, glancing back over his shoulder.
He didn’t understand where the body was. Robbie had been pulled in, so where was Rosa? Also there was no police and that made him uneasy. Forensics should have been all over this already. There was a lot of spilt blood and it had pooled, meaning it had been there at least five minutes. But no other evidence of another body been laid out. Carter had filled him in on what had happened on the drive over, and briefly, he’d wondered if he was cursed. And everybody he loved, well that made them cursed too. And tonight... tonight, it had all happened at once, volcanic, explosive. Nora, Dermot, Rosa; everything was in ruin.
Nora hadn’t come back to the hospital, even though he’d waited long after he was discharged. Maybe it was lucky he had. If he’d left to find her, he never would have known about Rosa. Still, it didn’t stop the severe ache in his chest at the thought of her. He knew the mention of Malachi had affected her, knew that soon he would have to give her answers, difficult answers. Answers that could potentially change everything, again.
They left the house just as police were spilling around the corner of the street. Jock sped away before they were seen, tires squealing. He felt Carter’s gaze on the side of his face. “Do you think she would have gone to yours?” Sighing, Jock glanced at him with a soft shrug.
“Maybe. If she managed to get out. Worst case scenario is that he’s already gotten her.” That was his fear, deep down. That she hadn’t been able to escape, that the twisted old bastard had her somewhere. And there were a lot of hiding places in London. He rubbed his beard, frustrated. Rosa had told him about her past, in snippets here and there, but he’d pieces enough of it together to get a good gist. Brian would want her silenced for sure, especially after tonight. Carter was lucky to still be alive, Robbie was hanging in the balance and Rosa? Who knew.
“I never intended any of this to happen,” Carter said, tone laced with upset and frustration. Jock stepped on the gas, overtaking a few cars once they hit the motorway. “Since the moment I met Rosa, I swore to do everything I could to protect her. And not just because it’s my job, but because she’s special. Differente from all the others. And... if I have to kill Shaw to keep my word, I will.”
Jock looked over and met his gaze, knowing for sure Carter meant exactly what he vowed. This man would kill for Rosa and for the first time, Jock saw past the badge and the uniform and the stereotype. He’d kill, just like Jock would do for Nora. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” he said eventually, pulling off the motorway and hitting his side of the city. “I thought you were just a jumped up cock trying to take advantage. But, you’ve surprised me, I gotta admit.” They fell quiet as they got nearer to Jock’s house, and he was disappointed to see Nora wasn’t home, the driveway empty. Where was she? Had she gone to stay with Lara? It was well past midnight now and it looked like nobody had been home for hours. Before he’d even stopped the car, Carter was jumping out and racing across the gravel towards the door. Cutting the engine, Jock was quick to follow.
He was sure the house was deserted, but the bloody handprint on the front door had been somewhat of a give away. Carter was shouting her name, ignoring Jock when he told him to keep quiet. This could be a trap, a set up, and Jock wished desperately that he had his gun on him... Ahead of him, Carter heard a noise and burst into the living room. Jock was quick to follow, heart hammering against his chest and his blood rushing in his ears. Rosa was crumpled on the floor, a bloodied leg stretched out. It was clear she’d tried to tourniquet her own leg, yet there was enough blood pooled to make it a concern. She was dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe, lingerie beneath. Those bastards. Carter was knelt beside her and he lifted her with ease, murmuring to her. “I think she’s been shot,” he added over his shoulder as Jock came closer, anger fuelling him now. Those fucking bastards!
They moved her to the kitchen, Jock clearing the table so they could lay her down. She was semi-conscious now, slurring her words, weakly pushing them away. As Carter ripped apart the cupboards for medical supplies, Jock took a closer look at the wound before grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard closest. Going back to the wound, he tightened her tourniquet, her blood already staining his hands. Grabbing her face, he tried to wake her. “Rosa? Can you hear me?” Carter reappeared with the first aid kit, already spilling the contents onto the counter; finding a proper tourniquet, he replaced the torn bit of bloodied fabric and the wound stopped bleeding as badly. Rosa however gave a cry of pain, thrashing against the table. She grabbed Carter’s arm and briefly, the two stared at each other. Then she disappeared into the pain again, body going limp. “We need to do this fast,” Jock said, already reaching for the tweezers; they were long, glinting in the bright light of the kitchen. Jock had only done this a couple of times before; to Max, when the kid had been fourteen, and to his father, when he’d only been a boy. He’d never imagined having to do it to Rosa and he knew her life rested in his hands.
Carter was starting to look a little worse for wear. He swayed a little, grabbing the edge for support. Jock flashed him a look of concern; the last thing he needed was Carter passing out on him too. The other man looked at him; face drawn, brown eyes unusually dark... “How are you holding up?” Jock hadn’t told him exactly why he was injured, more than happy to allow the focus to remain on Rosa, and he merely shrugged, glancing at the tweezers in his hand.
“Better than you, by the looks. Don’t worry about me; I was raised on this shit.” He handed Carter the whiskey and he took a grateful swig.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, lowering the bottle and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He certainly looked like he needed it. Dampening his bottom lip, he moved to Rosa’s leg, hands either side of the entry point as he tried to figure out the best angle.
“I’my you hadn’t noticed, I’m no fucking doctor. But I have experience in the field, if that’s what you mean.” Rosa was coming to again, writhing against Jock and desperately trying to pull her leg away. She grunted, shrieked, and Carter soothes her once more before slipping the rolled up tea towel into her mouth. It was the best they could do and would at least prevent her biting through her tongue. Jock knew he couldn’t wait any longer. “You’re gonna have to hold her down. She’s gonna kick like a horse as soon as I started diggin’.”
“I trust you, gringo.”
Another look of understanding passed between the two men, and neither really knew them how much this night would bond them. Jock broke the look first, picking up the tweezers as he set to work. Rosa screamed. She thrashed and fought, sound barely muffled by the tea towel, and Jock pinned her leg hard just to keep her still. He hated this, having to hurt her like this, but he couldn’t let her die. Not now. She was a fighter, she had to fight. It felt like an eternity before he managed to extract the bullet, turning to let it clatter in the sink. He dumped the tweezers on the side, hands dripping blood over the counter and floor. He turned back to them.
“Was that it?” Carter asked, and Jock nodded, doing his best to now stitch the wound. It didn’t help with Rosa squirming so much, though she kept fading in and out of consciousness. When he was done, he poured the whiskey over the wound, drank the dregs, and went to wash his hands in the sink. Rosa would be safe, for now, but what about Nora? Where was she?
—
Like the meadow, the mouldy flat is gone. Rosa stands in Carter’s house, in his hall. The door is open behind her, broken off its hinges. Brian is laying on the floor, blood pooled beneath him. Shards of vase stick out of his face. His hand is reaching, fingers twisted and seized in rigor mortis. His blue eyes are pale, blind, his mouth open in a frozen cry. Behind him, Robbie’s corpse lies, rotten and bloated and buzzing with flies. His leathery skin literally crawls with maggots. Rosa retches.
And then Brian suddenly lurches upwards, grabbing her, his stiff clawed fingers tightening around her throat. And she can’t breathe and his horrible dead mouth is on hers and she can’t escape...
And then Rosa was screaming. The burning in her thigh had intensified and the light was bright, blinding, and somebody was gripping her hand tight... darkness came, a brief relief, until she felt the gentle slapping on her cheek. “Not the time to sleep, Rosa... Look at me.” Carter? She tried to say his name but it came out a mumble. Everything hurt. Was this a dream or was it real? Was Carter here? Was he dead too? Darkness came again.
“Baby, please. Tu eres mia. Estas seguro.”
When Rosa next woke, she was laid on the sofa beneath a thick blanket, her head on somebody’s lap. Fingers working softly through her hair, every now and then trailing her cheekbone or her jaw. She knew it was him before she even opened her eyes. Sitting up, she looked around, confused, turning to face Carter. He looked bad. The bruises and the cuts brought everything back. The ball, seeing Brian, Carter getting dragged away by the coppers... and Robbie, Robbie getting shot at the house... Rosa began to cry, reaching to touch his face, so afraid to hurt him more. Carter pulled her close, kissing her brow as she sobbed and sank into his chest. His strong arms around her, keeping her protected and safe. Reminding her that they’d survived.
Jock wasn’t here. It seemed they were alone. “Robbie’s dead,” she whispered, pulling away from his embrace, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “I saw it, Brian shot him. What happened to you? I-I was so scared I’d never see you again.”
—-
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Post by katherinesullivan on Mar 30, 2022 10:20:13 GMT -5
When she was younger, Lara would lay awake whilst Max was out and imagine being his wife. She had been young, naïve, and he was strong and dark and brooding. Why would she not want to be married to him? With Pete it had also seemed inevitable; perhaps it was just what she thought you did. You met someone, you married them, right? Max had once told Lara she only ever dealt in absolutes and he hadn't been wrong. She hadn't married him, having been absolute in the decision to flee from that error of judgement.
Not so long ago, Lara and Nora had been sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and Mariah Carey - Fantasy playing in the background. Nora was showing off her engagement ring, flashing it so it caught the light and flickered rainbows onto the ceiling. For an hour or two she had been ecstatic with the prospect of becoming Mrs Sullivan and then suddenly it got strange. As if she was living the life that Lara should have had.
'We would've been sisters.' Nora said, running her finger over the diamond. 'Can you imagine?'
'We practically are.' Lara had murmured, finding herself drifting into a daydream.
Was she envious, or was she cautious? How did she feel about Nora getting married to Max's brother? Would that change how she felt about Max? Would Max take them away from her? She chewed her lip as a tipsy Nora got up and danced around the room, almost sloshing wine on the rug.
'If I marry Dermot, what happens to Jock?' Nora asked after a while as she finally stood still.
'What do you mean?'
'Well, it's like, if you had married Max, you wouldn't be able to fancy Dermot you know? So then, me and Jock....'
Lara gave a spluttering laugh as she almost choked on your wine. 'He's your fiancé!'
'So?' Nora had asked. 'Don't you think he's attractive?'
Lara hadn't answered. Couldn't find herself to answer. Had never really considered it until she'd been asked. Dermot had always just been there.He was like her in certain ways; always there, always strong and kind. Had dealt with Max in the ways no one else could understand. Dermot was her mirror she had been looking in, never really seeing him until now.
When Charlie had been taken, Lara had found herself hating Dermot in that moment. He had come to her door looking broken with his hair a mess, lip bust and bleeding and emptiness in his eyes; the same look she had had in hers as she waited for her son to be found. She could still feel how hard she had slapped him if she pinched her palm.
Most of the words she had screamed at him seemed to be a blur, but she remembered telling him he would never be in Charlie's life again and she could still see the pain on his face. She had waved a knife as if it were nothing and Dermot had taken it from her, slammed it on the side and pressed her against the wall. Lara's breath was heavy and so was his as the two of them stood close together, his hands holding her wrists tight. In that instant she found herself drawing closer, wanting something she had never wanted before...
'I fucking hate you, Dermot Sullivan.' she had spat in her breathlessness. Hated him for giving her the kind of rush Pete no longer could.
It wasn't as if Pete wasn't handsome and strong; he was toned, he was gorgeous and generous and the children loved him, so what was missing? Max had messed her up, she decided in that moment. She didn't know what she should and shouldn't like because of him; it was nothing, it was all the years of mindgames catching up on her.
So why was she feeling the same sensation right now?
Suddenly back in the real world, Dermot shifted closer to her. Lara could feel the warmth of him against her side, could smell his aftershave; sweeter than Pete and Max, something gentle about it. As he turned her face she felt her insides light up and he eyes widened; what was he doing?
Then he was kissing her and Lara found her eyes fluttering shut. For a few seconds she didn't response, didn't know how to respond to it. For once, however, she wasn't comparing him to Max, but as his own entity. Dermot was tall, his jaw was sharp but his touch was both soft and sure.
It seemed such a parallel how he had acted in The Abbey, and how he was when Max got inside his head. How damaged had he made his own brother, and for what? Fun?
Lara had never found someone who understood the internal struggles as much as Dermot, and her heart ached for how he had begun to be unable to control it. When she was younger she would lash out, take pills; she knew just how much he was suffering. It seemed almost poetic for the two of them to come together, so she kissed him back.
Pete didn't even bother arguing with Bovver. What was the point? He had gone full psycho and there was no reasoning with him. Throwing Hatcher's death around like it hadn't been tormenting; as if Pete hadn't almost been killed over it! And Mark... any murder was wrong, and all of them had settled inside his stomach and swirled like violent monsters. Bovver was letting the monsters engulf him whereas Pete was struggling to hold them down, for the boys, for his family... for Lara.
Suddenly he felt disgusted that he had left her to deal with Dermot. For some reason he hadn't even considered any negative repercussions taking place, but then he saw how sad she had looked earlier in the back of his mind and wanted to get back to her.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Pete called Dave as he took the stairs two at a time to get out. Not so long ago, these stairs had held chanting men shoulder to shoulder, smiles on their faces and beer in their hands. Pete had stumbled up that top step on his stag-do and almost chipped a tooth as he faceplanted the floor. Swill and Ike had both struggled to get Bov's sofa in and almost pulled of one of the arms in their struggle. There were memories here, but the demons were closing in so thick it was hard to see clear anymore.
'Hey, are you guys alright?' Pete asked when Dave answered.
'Me and Alice are just clearing up.' Dave murmured as he balanced the phone in the crook of his arm so he could lift a chair up for her to sweep under.
'Is Lara back?'
Dave looked over at Swill who had opened up a bag of crisps and flattened them on the table, eating one at a time as if they were some delicacy. He recalled Pete telling him to keep her safe, and yet...
'Yeah.' Dave swallowed, glancing around at the devastation. 'Yeah, she's just popped upstairs with Isla, but I'll tell her to meet you at home, ey? It ain't nice to come back to this shithole.'
Alice thumped him on the arm for the swearword as he passed and he flashed an apologetic smile.
They chatted for a little while longer before the two said their goodbyes; without a word, Dave walked up to Swill and slapped him so hard on the back of his neck he started to choke on his crisps.
'Where the hell is Lara, you dopey cunt?'
'Swear jar!' Alice yelled from the distance as Swill and Dave both looked at themselves with concern.
Lara could practically feel Dermot's urgency against her lips as he kissed her. Please his touch tightened a little and she found herself momentarily sinking into it. She could taste the beer on his lips and the saltiness of his tears and it was strangely nice. Placing a hand on his thigh, Lara kissed him back gently at first before the realisation of it all hit her and she pulled back.
'I can't.' Lara breathed, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. 'Nora...' she found herself saying, and then scrunched her brow when it wasn't Pete she had thought about first. 'We can't.' she added, taking her hands to place them in her lap.
Her whole body suddenly felt very warm, his jacket around her shoulders making her feel safe and secure when she shouldn't. Should she?
What would Max say? Who gave a fuck what Max would say. Despite her words, Lara found herself leaning in to kiss Dermot again and it was charged with so much energy she felt her stomach flip. It had seemed nothing was making sense anymore, all logic and reason had disappeared and all that was left were impulses. Her tongue teased his and Lara moaned into his mouth when Dermot returned it, hot and heavy and desperate for affection.
'N-No.' Lara found herself struggling against his mouth, pushing him away. 'No, sorry. I...' when Dermot looked at here with sadness in his eyes, she tilted her head to the side and reached out a hand to touch his face. He let his chin sink into her palm and she held him there for a while. 'I want to. I really want to and I'm not sure why, but... I think you should just go home.'
Standing up before Dermot could do anything more, Lara jingled the keys at him and opened the car door.
What was she doing? What was going on? Reluctantly Dermot got back into the passenger side and halfway through the city she realised she didn't know where she was taking him.
'I don't want to take you back to his.' she whispered and Dermot nodded. He had been turned in his seat to stare at her the whole way; it made her feel nervous yet exhilarated.
'I recently got a little apartment, I'll tell you where to go.'
Silence settled on both of them as they headed to the apartment and Lara reached for the radio; Mariah Carey - Fantasy.
'I used to love this song.' Lara smiled to herself and she knew Dermot knew it was one of Nora's favourites too.
They finally pulled up outside Dermot's home and Lara leaned back in her seat to take a breath when Dermot asked her if she wanted to come inside.
'Yeah.' Lara found herself saying. 'Just to make sure you're okay.' she added.
————————-
Why had he lied? That was a stupid question — he knew why he had lied. He had been thinking about it the whole time the fabricated story had slipped from his lips. To get pity; to get to Aoifes heart. She had one, and it was big and it beat for him. She could deny it all she wanted, but Luke knew that Aoife was not a girl to be easily mislead. If she was, it was because the person doing the leading meant something to her.
Her relationship had grown stale; she was bored and Luke was enticing. George might have been taller, leaner and his hair did that ridiculous floppy thing that all girls seemed to like, but he was boring. Word had been George had cheated on her. What a cunt. Could she ever forgive him for that? They had argued, she had almostbetrayed him too, so they would’ve decided it didn’t count. It was fine. Luke knew that wasn’t the case. No one was fine once something like that happened. It would settle in your bones, and small flickers in your daily life would resurface the memory and taunt you.
‘Luke, I’m so sorry.’
The softness in her voice was reassuring and he understood why she was in this job. Why the patients loved her and she worked herself so hard she didn’t have time to wash her hair, or apply a full face of makeup. At his party she had worn thick, striking eyeliner that flicked up at the corner of her angel eyes. He had liked that. Where was it now? Where was that girl now?
She was in nurse mode now. She was accessing the situation and doing all she could to comfort. It wasn’t enough, though. Luke wanted more.
‘Listen…’
Luke looked up at her, feigning sadness to hide the malicious intent in his eyes.
‘Yeah?’
‘I don’t get off until four, but why don’t you pick me up after work?’
I’ll pick you up and fuck you against this desk, Luke thought but didn’t say.
‘But only if you need somebody to talk to, Luke.’ Ah, she was laying the boundary so he couldn’t cross it. ‘I’m… I’m not playing games here.’
‘Didn’t even cross my mind.’ Luke gave a small smile.
‘I assume you kept my number?’
‘Of course I did.’ Luke sipped at his coffee. ‘We’re friends after all, aren’t we?’
Aoife gave him the details to a small cafe and the small talk faded and the few minutes she had left ticked by. Then she was up and back to work and Luke was staring down at her coffee cup, a thin rim of lipgloss on the corner. He picked it up, brought it to his lips and sniffed it carefully; watermelon. Placing it back down, he pulled himself up, grabbed his bag and left.
What a productive day, Luke thought as he jumped in his car. A new purchase; practically off the conveyer belt in the distribution Center. A land rover defender in matt black, tinted windows in the back. It was big and boxy and owned the roads and he loved it. In no time, he was at the drop off point and passing the bag of goods to a familiar face.
‘Fancy seeing you here.’ Luke smirked at Lawrence. ‘You my bag boy?’ He teased and Lawrence rolled his eyes.
‘You took your time.’
‘I met an old acquaintance.’ Luke shrugged off. ‘Where’s Shaw?’
‘Dealing with something. Why, don’t you trust me?’
The two watched one another cautiously for a moment. Their relationship was unusual and sometimes strained. Did Luke trust him? No, but he didn’t trust anyone. He wasn’t foolish enough to hand himself over to anyone in this world; even Aoife would never have him in full. That was how weaknesses were formed and Luke had spent long enough building himself back up.
‘It doesn’t matter if I do or not.’ Luke shrugged again and pulled a cigarette from his back pocket. ‘Just make sure it all gets back.’
Heading home, Luke knew he had a few hours before he would see Aoife again. He wondered what she would tell George. If he would ask, or if he would be at work. Luke presumed, and almost always presumed rightly, that their shifts never aligned. That was why she had that grotesque love mark on her neck; it didn’t happen often, but when it did it was rough and ready, and they felt a need to try harder, leave a lasting reminder in case it was too long before it happened again.
Luke would leave marks on her every day if she asked and even if she didn’t. He imagined pinning her to the bed, arms held behind her back with one hand and slapping her bare ass with the other. Again and again, the skin red, then purple and blue. Sometimes the girls told him he was too rough, but they were just too frail. He had a feeling Aoife would like it.
He went to the gym, made a tuna salad, jumped in the shower. A rainfall shower, cascading down on him in hot, fat droplets. One hand against the wall, he let his other slowly move to rest on his member. Did he have a problem? He wanted to fuck someone at least three times a day; or to be fucked, or sucked or at least just kissed so hard he could taste them. Or was he just a man? What kind of man didn’t think about it that often? Wasn’t it a running joke how often men thought about sex and how often women instead thought of shoes, or some bollocks.
If he wasn’t seeing Aoife he would’ve called someone; one of his usual girls from the club. He teased himself gently, feeling his dick slowly harden, growing thicker in his palm. Then he stopped and finished his shower.
What would Max make of this? Would he be pissed? He had been quiet for a few days anyway. All the talk about Nick had sent him into a frenzy, and Dermot has spiralled lower than before, if that was even possible. It was times like this that Luke was glad he was alone. No siblings to nurture, no wife to pander to.
Shrugging on a blue shirt, he buttoned it up almost to the top, leaving a few buttons open and shrugged on some camel colours trousers. The smart kind, with a seam ironed down the front. A pair of white converse, an expensive watch, and a light beige coat. Fashion was easy now, and when you had money.
He’d dated a personal shopper once, and she had helped organise his wardrobe, right down to the boxers he wore. So he had settled on which lingerie was best suited for her ample breasts and they’d fucked in the changing rooms of Harrods. It didn’t last; they never did. Luke had even tried to date an Irish girl before, but she paled in comparison to the beauty of Aoife Sullivan.
Then it was time to meet her. Would she show? Would George turn up instead, tell him to back off and stay out of their life. Aoife would plead innocent, protect Luke because of his sad story and their relationship would be in shambles. That was okay, but Luke would rather George wasn’t there.
Sat outside the hospital, Luke added a spray of cologne to his neck and rolled down the window. A few other nurses left first, wrapped in cardigans and with their hair in an exhausted bun on their head. Then doctor Ramesh waddled over to his car, clutching his briefcase as if he had a secret to hide. Luke scoffed and caught his gaze, the doctor freezing like a deer in the headlights. They watched one another for a moment before he bundled himself into his car and sped off. So many people were ashamed of their mistakes, but you had to own them. What was the saying? You have to be wrong and strong.
‘Hello again, Aoife.’ Luke called as he saw her exit the hospital. Not lucky charm, even though his lips had desperately twitched to say those words. He also considered getting out and opening the door but thought against it. Aoife was an independent woman, and doing such an act might have the intent of chivalry, but she would deem it as him believing her incapable.
When she sat in the passenger seat beside him, he caught the scent of her perfume and he swallowed. She always smelt fresh. Watching her buckle her seatbelt, he wondered if she had stared at herself in the small mirror on her locker and purposely sprayed more perfume than necessary for him.
‘How was work?’ He asked as they pulled off. ‘It’s a hard job, I’ve got a lot of respect for you.’
Aoife shrugged off the question with a ‘it was fine’ kind of response, but he knew there was more. She needed to vent; no bitch about the inconsiderate patients and the long hours and uncomfortable shoes. ‘Tell me the truth.’ He glanced at her and could see her cheeks punched pink. Because of him? Luke gave a small laugh. ‘Which patient pissed you off the most today?’
It felt natural. Was it? Was she comfortable? As they drove down the road, Luke listened as Aoife told stories of her day, and he mildly listened, his mind constantly flitting elsewhere. Why had she wasted her talents in such a soul destroying job? No one valued the NHS, no one gave a fuck if their life was saved, for free. People were inconsiderate and desperate and greedy; Luke prayed on these attributes.
‘I heard your dad and his girlfriend broke up?’ Luke asked as the conversation slowed. ‘Did you put her through her paces?’ He joked and then gave a genuine smile. ‘How are you taking it? My parents aren’t divorced, but they should be. Love is a fucking hard thing.’ He laughed with a shake of his head. ‘Here we are.’ They pulled up to the cafe car park and both jumped out.
It was a small cafe, nothing too fancy. A place Luke would have happily avoided had he not been with her. A little bell jingled as they entered and a few people glanced up from their drinks to examine them before returning to their phones and sandwiches. A seat by the window was free and Luke stepped towards it before anyone else could take it. Was this their first date? The thought entered his mind and his mouth twitched into a smirk he had to dampen. It smelt like bacon and coffee and so forever he would associate that with Aoife.
‘What are you having?’ Luke picked up a laminated menu and turned it over in his hands. ‘You must be starving,’ he glanced over at Aoife who shook her head and then quickly nodded as her stomach grumbled. She looked leaner than before, no doubt from all the work and no play. ‘You got the coffee, so I can get this.’
A waitress came over to them and took their orders with a smile. She was pretty, her hair twisted into a ponytail, two tendrils framing her face. Green eyes watched the two of them as she scribbled down their orders and turned away with a swish of her hips.
‘I haven’t said it yet, but thank you.’ Luke said as he turned his attention back to Aoife. ‘For even giving me the time of day again. I know before… you were unsure, but I appreciate you doing this. You don’t know how much I needed it.’
Or had thought about it, dreamed and wanked over. It had actually started to irritate him how infatuated he was with her because he couldn’t explain it and when things didn’t make sense, they pissed him off. Taking his wallet from his pocket, Luke pulled out a crumpled picture he had put in there earlier. He had been in a drawer somewhere with all the other rubbish his mother had told him to take — she had called them memories.
‘Here.’ Luke handed the photograph to her. It was a young blonde boy sat on the bonnet of a land rover and a tall man stood beside him, a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a proud look on his face. ‘We had been pheasant hunting that morning.’ Luke explained. ‘Well, dad had. I just ran along side him with the biggest ear muffs on my head to stifle the sound of the bullets.’ It was true. What he had forgotten to add was that minutes before this was taken, his dad had slapped him in the face for catching a sparrow in his small hands and crushing it as if it were nothing. On his corduroy trousers were small prints of the birds blood where he’d messily wiped it.
‘Family tradition.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sure you have a few?’
The coffees came over to them and they had intricate patterns swirled into the foam. The beans weren’t high quality but it did the job. ‘Not sweet enough?’ Luke said and then winched as Aoife dropped a sugar cube into her coffee. ‘Sorry.’ He feigned being flustered, although the compliment had felt satisfying. ‘It’s just a reflex, when it comes to you.’ He admitted. ‘But I know where I stand.’ Luke then reassured her quickly.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on May 2, 2022 17:20:29 GMT -5
Lara kissed him back. It took a moment before she did, but she did, her body responding naturally to his, as if it were meant to be. Dermot’s kisses were getting more desperate, more frantic, yet he sensed her hesitance and forced himself to slow. To kiss her. To linger, to taste, his tongue sweeping hers and sending electricity fizzling in the pit of his stomach. The kiss lasted only seconds, yet the moment was less fluid and more treacle; time seem to slow and stretch, the world melting into nothingness. Her hand pressed against his thigh, burning hot through his trousers and sending all sorts of feelings coursing through him. Less than a heartbeat later, she pulled away suddenly, flustered, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
“I can’t. Nora...” Lara frowned, glancing away, hands tight on her lap. Dermot could barely catch his breath, eyes lidded as he stared at her. “We can’t.” He knew she was right, knew there were a million and one reasons why this was a terrible idea. That he was drunk, angry, wanting to lash out... it wouldn’t be fair to put Lara in that position, she was Nora’s best friend, she was married... yet none of that seemed to matter as the two came together again, Lara initiating, his hands sliding upwards to cup her jaw. He could taste wine and the very faint undertones of mint. Her tongue teased his, her soft moan spilling into his mouth when he returned it. “N-No.” And then once again she was pushing him away, her palm against his chest, and he let out a soft groan of frustration. Dermot’s head was spinning, he couldn’t think straight, and she had him feeling even more intoxicated than before. Just the taste of her was enough to arouse him, and he shifted on the bench, corners of his mouth downturned. “No, sorry. I...” Lara struggled to find the right words and instead looked over at him, reaching to touch his jaw.
Dermot leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping, the two just looking at each other. Everything was so fucked up and complicated, he didn’t even know which way was up anymore. He was floundering beneath the surface of the ocean, and whenever he tried to reach air, the undercurrent ripped him away again. Lara broke the silence, her words barely more than a whisper. “I want to. I really want to and I’m not sure why, but... I think you should just go home.” She stood before he could make any kind of protest, jingling his car keys, and after a moment he pulled himself to his feet. Lara was right; it was a bad idea and he was just hurting. Though apparently Lara was too, in ways he didn’t understand. He’d always assumed she was happy with Pete, yet tonight had painted a completely different picture.
They got back in the car and Lara started to drive, though neither seemed to have a destination in mind. Her hands were tight on the wheel, eyes darting to the rear view mirror every now and then, but never trailing to him. Dermot had turned in his seat, back against the door, unable to take his gaze off her. What was going on? What did this all mean? She’d always been beautiful, but why was he really noticing now? The heart-shaped curve of her mouth, the slant of her eyes and the way her lashes fanned, thick and dark. A necklace rested just above her cleavage, a small angel, and in some ways, he felt like she’d been his angel tonight. Removing him from the scene before he could do any more damage to Jock, or to Nora with his words.
Malachi?
He’d seen the confusion and pain in her eyes, the way she’d uttered his name, eyes darting from him to Jock, wanting answers, needing them. What was she doing now? What were they doing now? Had he told her the truth? Was she trying to find him? Guilt mixed with the regret and anxiety already toiling through him. He’d been so sure that he and Nora were forever, that they’d maybe have a child and get old and watch their family grow. He’d spent months envisioning their wedding day, he’d already brought an apartment that he’d been planning to surprise her with. A real place to call their own. Instead, his word had crumbled and he’d vented his pain by kissing Lara.
And she’d kissed him back.
“I don’t want to take you back to his.” Lara glanced at him and Dermot nodded. She didn’t need to say the name for him to know what she meant. Max. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t exactly want to see his brother right now either, not after tonight. What if Max found out about the kiss? How would he react then? He may have denied it to himself, but it was clear he still had some feeling or attachment over Lara. Everything he did was to hurt her, to draw her focus back and to stop her moving on. Was Dermot just as bad? Kissing her, keeping her involved. This family was toxic and they were all better off far far away. The Sullivan bloodline was nothing but a curse.
He gave her directions to the apartment he’d bought. It was scarcely furnished; the essentials, a bed. All ready for them to put their own stamp on; Nora had always impressed him with his tastes, and he’d hoped to please her with the blank canvas. It was a ground-floor apartment, spacious with two bedrooms, a study, an open-plan living room and kitchen, a large bathroom with a stand-alone tub. Way too much for one person. Silence had fallen in the car as Lara drove, and she reached out to turn on the radio, a familiar song playing. Some Mariah Carey hit that Nora loved. Already he could see her dancing in the kitchen and singing along, Aoife joining in as she fried bacon in a pan. Had it really not been that long ago? It suddenly felt like another life, foreign and alien. Lara smiled and it made his breath catch.
“I used to love this song.”
The song had long finished when Lara pulled up outside the apartment. She cut the engine, then sat back with an exhale. Dermot still hadn’t really taken his eyes off her face, dampening his bottom lip before he spoke. He didn’t know what he wanted, not really, but one thing was for sure; he didn’t want to be alone. “Do you want to come inside?” His voice sounded low and husky, Lara’s eyes darting to his. She held his gaze.
“Yeah,” she settled on eventually. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”
His heart was pounding as he led her inside. It was cold in the way empty, unloved houses do, before people bring life to a space. He flicked on the light in the hall, glancing at her with a soft, of wistful smile. “I was gonna surprise Nora after the honeymoon. It was kind of a work in progress.” Was. Because everything was past tense now, all the dreams and hopes for the future, all the plans and ideas and figuring-out-the-details. Would he sell the place? Or keep it for when things got too much? When he needed to recoup? So many questions. Dermot was fucking tired.
“I don’t really have much in,” he apologised, turning on the kitchen light and leading her through. A brand new sofa sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a luscious private garden. It would have been a place of privacy and security for the two of them.
Would have been.
Opening the wine cupboard, he pulled out a bottle along with two glasses. Another thing he’d been planning to surprise Nora with. He didn’t say anything to Lara, but he knew she probably assumed what it was for. Uncorking it, he let it settle for a moment before filling the glasses. “Drink with me.” He wasn’t so much a question as he pushed the glass towards her, then knocked his own back. It was sharp, fruity and it hurt on the way down. Good. He heard Lara protest, her hand on his arm as he went to pour a second glass. “I need this, Lara, I can’t...” Clenching his jaw, he set the bottle aside and turned to her, backing her into the counter. Arms either side of her, blocking her in. Dermot’s face was close to hers and he could feel her shaky breath on his face, could see her pulse striking rapidly against her throat. He swallowed hard, bringing his eyes to her lips, lingering, before lifting them to meet hers. He held her gaze, neither moving; Lara seemed frozen beneath him again.
“I’ve lost everything and there’s no going back,” he whispered, that desperate look creeping back into his face. “It’s over. It can’t be fixed. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry you were dragged into this, you’re so beautiful. He hurt you, he hurt you and I never even knew, how could I not see? Max... Max, he eats away at you, he eats away at you like fucking decay, Lara...” He cupped her face, his body pinning hers, searching her eyes. “Lara, he’s coming, you know? He’s going to destroy us all, one by one, and there’s nothing we can do about it. He always gets what he wants and I can’t save anybody, I tried, Lara, I fucking tried. You know that, right? I fucking tried, I did everything to protect you all, I did.” And then he was kissing her again, one hand sliding into her hair to keep her in place.
—
Aoife stared at her reflection in her locker mirror and sighed. She shouldn’t be doing this. All day, she’d been at war with herself. Luke Winters was bad news, he always had been and always would be. So why was she going? She couldn’t deny a part of her was intrigued, though she tried to convince herself it was all professional. She was a nurse, she was qualified to give him advice and help him. And not because she owed him, she was not in his debt, but... people changed. She’d changed. Surely Luke had, too? Surely they could put the past behind them? She fiddled with her collar, making sure it was covering the mark on her neck before she added another spray of perfume. For reasons she wasn’t quite sure of herself.
When she left the hospital, Luke was already waiting, sat in a large black Range Rover, the windows tinted, the engine running. His window was wound down, elbow propped, and he smiled when she approached. “Hello again, Aoife.” She didn’t respond, merely nodded at him as she made her way around to the passenger side. She climbed in - it was like boarding a tank - and shut the door with a heavy thud behind her. She found herself sinking in the seat a little as she pulled on her seatbelt, aware of his eyes on her profile, but also aware that anybody could see her getting into a strange car with a strange man. Was she making a mistake? What if George found out? Would he forgive her? She’d debated against letting him know. The last thing she wanted was for him to worry. Or become paranoid that something else was going on. Her hands were trembling a little so she clasped them on her knee. She was grateful when he pulled away, leaving the car park.
“How was work? It’s a hard job, I’ve got a lot of respect for you.”
Honestly, he didn’t know the half of it. She’d first joined because she’d wanted to make a difference. To change the world, to change somebody’s life. The reality had been a lot different; besides the A+E kids with the broken arms and legs, or the big bumps on their heads, you had the disease-ridden patients whose last days were on your hands. And on top of that, the druggies and the drunks that come in every weekend from fighting or needing their stomach pumped or to be saved from heroin overdoses. Those who needed stitches from deep gashes caused from wars over football. The teenagers that came in stabbed while their mothers screamed hysterically in the corridor... it was endless.
“It was fine,” she shrugged without looking at him, her hands tightening around themselves. Luke glanced at her, a soft smile on his face, eyebrow lifted as he asked for the truth. Aoife felt her face heat. Did he really want to know? His small chuckle sent heat through her.
“Which patient pissed you off the most today?”
Despite herself, Aoife found herself glancing back at him with a small smile of her own. She and George had a rule about work talk; they just didn’t do it. Between confidentiality and the fact that they’d end up spending as much time talking about their days as they would working them, they’d come to the agreement not to discuss it at all. That way, they could just enjoy each other during the times they actually got to spend together. George was working late, she probably wouldn’t see him until gone 10pm and that was if he didn’t have a last minute road accident to attend. Then they’d be looking closer to midnight.
So, being asked that, it was nice in a strange way. She didn’t have to fear putting too much on Luke, about saying something that might make him recall an accident, or a murder, or a death. It was a hard line to walk and it wasn’t easy. But she did it for love, because she loved George. She always had. “There’s an old woman, comes by the department a lot. Always thinks there’s something wrong with her, but there isn’t. It’s all in her head, but she refuses to see a psychiatrist. Today she thought her fingers were turning black. She’ll be in tomorrow with some other ailment, demanding we fix it.” And then it was like a dam burst and Aoife found herself telling him all sorts; how the junior doctors couldn’t tell a bandage from a tourniquet, how most of the doctors barely left their offices, and how short-staffed they were. She’d put in a sixteen hour shift last weekend, after a hen do went wrong and two women were hit by a taxi. Both survived, a little uglier for it though.
The conversation faded after a while, as they headed for the cafe. The air rippled in through the open windows, catching the ends of her hair and every so often, sending wafts of his cologne her way. She couldn’t deny it smelt pretty good. Luke cleared his throat softly as they pulled up at a set of traffic lights. “I heard your dad and his girlfriend broke up? Did you put her through her paces?” He was teasing, but his smile was genuine as she shot him a look. Things were... weird, that was for sure. So many lies and half-truths, it was hard to keep up. Plus, she hadn’t spoken to her Dad since that night at the Abbey. He hadn’t been answering his phone, though he had text her just to let her know he was still alive. She should be grateful for that at least. “How are you taking it? My parents aren’t divorced but they should be. Love is a fucking hard thing.”
“It’s...” Aoife hesitated, looking over at him again. “It’s hard because I can see both sides. And they’d loved each other so much, I guess I’d hoped they’d get past it, work it out together. Now nothing’s the same and I feel... out of my depth, I guess? I don’t know what I can do to fix it.” She wanted desperately for things to go back to the way they had been before, cooking breakfast in the kitchen with Nora and sharing a bottle of wine as they discussed their days; hers at the hospital and Nora’s at the school. She hadn’t seen Nora either and that made her feel guilty, for not doing more to check she was all right. “But you’re right. Love is really fucking hard.”
They pulled up outside the cafe, Aoife letting herself out before he could get any ideas. It was a place she came to often, when she needed a break away from the hospital to gather her thoughts. It was hard to think in the heavy bustle of the hospital, always on autopilot as she went from one patient to another. This place was like a little den of solitude with its watery coffee and could-have-been-cooked-a-little-longer bacon baps. Yet she wouldn’t have changed the place for the world. Luke found them a seat by the window, and she wondered if that was a bad idea. What if somebody walked past and saw them? Would it matter? They weren’t on a date. And Luke knew that. She hoped.
“What are you having? You must be starving.” Aoife has been planning to make it quick, but as she shook her head, her stomach gave to loudest rumble, much to his amusement. Huffing lightly, she scanned the menu.
“I’ll take a cucumber sandwich and a coffee.” He nodded, offering to pay as the waitress came over to take their order; she’d gotten the coffee after all, and she could hardly argue with him. She found she was too hungry to argue. Had she even eaten breakfast this morning? She couldn’t remember. She found herself eyeing up the waitress as she scribbled down their order; young, a reddish tinge to her brown hair, which was pulled into a ponytail. She was pretty. Why wasn’t Luke paying her more attention? He’d barely given her a second glance as she walked off towards the counter.
“I haven’t said it yet, but thank you. For even giving me the time of day again.” Aoife looked back at him, meeting his gaze which was fixed on her face. And he sounded genuine, looked genuine, a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth. “I know before... you were unsure, but I appreciate you doing this. You don’t know how much I needed it.”
Aoife nodded, fiddling with the edge of the menu where the plastic had come apart. “I...” She trailed off, then sighed, forcing herself to look up at him. “I wasn’t going to come, if you want me to be honest. So much happened in the past...” She shook her head, eyes falling back to the menu as she recalled that fateful night. Maybe she should have been more grateful that Max had burst in when he did; he’d stopped her from making a terrible mistake. “Listen, Luke, I was young and very stupid, okay? But when I saw you today, when I heard what you had to say, I... I knew I had to give you a chance.” Looking up, she met his gaze once more. “And I’m happy to help you. I never thought I’d say that, but if you need anything, if your dad needs anything...”
After a few moments, Luke pulled out his wallet, flicking it open. He withdrew a crumpled photograph and handed it over to her. She recognised Luke instantly, the same cheeky features, albeit a little younger. The older man must have been his father from the resemblance. She listened as he explained about the hunting trips they’d go on together and she could imagine it in her mind, Luke wearing oversized ear defenders as his dad walked with long strides beside him. It made her heart physically ache. She couldn’t imagine having her dad fall sick, to have nothing left but crumpled photos and faded memories. She couldn’t imagine how Luke must have been feeling now. “You look just like him,” she murmured.
“Family tradition. I’m sure you have a few?”
Despite herself, Aoife found a small smile pulling at her mouth. She tilted her head. “Poker, actually. How else was I supposed to know that American guy was bluffing? He has the same tells as my uncle Jock.” It seemed odd to joke about that night, that night which had left bad feelings for both of them. She still remembered her last image of Luke; face bleeding, on the floor, trousers down to his ankles, his friends running in to see the sight. To laugh, to tease him. She felt suddenly uncomfortable. That really must have been awful for him. Thankfully, the waitress arrived with their drinks and sandwiches, setting them in the table.
“Not sweet enough?” She’d been putting extra sugar into her coffee, for the nerves, when he spoke, though he looked flustered after the words had slipped free. “Sorry. It’s just a reflex, when it comes to you. But I know where I stand.” He gave her another small, but genuine smile before lifting his cup to take a sip. Aoife felt her cheeks warm, stirring the sugar in her cup before setting the spoon aside.
They are quietly for a few minutes and she could feel his eyes dart to her face every few minutes. She could sense he had a lot of things he wanted to say, but part of her wanted to avoid any heavy and deep conversations right now. She didn’t want to linger on the past too much. What had happened had happened and she’d like to think she’d grown a lot since then. Matured. Wised up to the world. Wiping her mouth on a napkin, she crumpled it and let it sit beside her empty cup. She’d been hungrier than she thought, had more or less devoured the sandwich in a few gulps, much to Luke’s amusement. “Your dad,” she finally said, crossing her arms on the table and looking at him. “Has the doctor given you any information on survival rates? Do you know whether or not it is terminal?” It was tough when it came to lungs; there was only so much doctors could do and it all depended on the type of cancer, where it was, how big it had grown. She knew she couldn’t offer any solid advice until she knew the facts, but she didn’t want Luke to go in unawares. “Have you... Have you considered the fact that he might die from this?”
She knew it couldn’t be easy for him to talk about, and when it looked like he was struggling, she automatically reached over the table and took his hand. This seemed to surprise them both, and she flushed darkly and offered a small shrug. “I just want you to be aware of all the facts. And... if you’re ever struggling, just give me a call and I’ll try to help the best I can.” Releasing his hand, she picked up her coffee and finished the dregs. She felt a lot better now she had something decent in her system. “Luke? Can I ask you something?” She hadn’t wanted to, be she felt she couldn’t end this meeting without asking. Without getting some kind of answer. “... That night. The poker party. I’m sorry it ended the way it did. I never knew Max was going to turn up, I never expected...” She sighed, shaking her head. “There were a lot of things I didn’t expect. And what happened between us was one of them. And I just wanted to ask you... What happened when I left? Where did you go? You just... vanished.”
Then came back, this new and improved Luke Winters, after years.
They stayed an hour before Aoife made her excuses to leave. Though, they weren’t really excuses. George may be home, may be wondering where she was. And she wasn’t sure yet whether to say anything or not. It wasn’t as if she had anything to hide but she didn’t want George to feel like he couldn’t trust her. “I am sorry for what happened and I hope... I hope we can move past that,” she said, as they stood outside the cafe. She hesitated, looking up at him. “Thanks for the coffee. And the sandwich. I appreciate it.”
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Post by katherinesullivan on May 16, 2022 9:43:46 GMT -5
What the fuck was she doing?
Lara seemed to experience waves of different personalities throughout her life. In her youth she was rebellious, of course, and hungry for love. Then washed over the sensibility, the need for a job and stability. Love returned, pinned her against the rocks and with it destruction and loss; then Pete, then marriage, then calmness, then... boredom. And now... rebellion was born again. What was the word for it? When you changed who you were based on who you were with? Like a chameleon, she guessed. Or someone who was yet to find herself, and saw no fear in change. Motherhood did bring with it an identity, but... something was lacking, and she hated herself for thinking it.
Pete Dunham had ignited passion inside her from the moment they'd laid eyes on one another, and yet somehow that had died. He still loved her, fancied and praised her but it had grown stale too swiftly. As much as Max was a narcissistic, volatile lunatic, their desire had taken a long time to dampen and even now the edges still flamed. Some people just excited you more than others and she shouldn't feel bad for feeling that way, and yet she felt sick.
Lara could tell Dermot was nervous as he walked ahead of her. What was he thinking? He was certainly still in love with Nora, but it was different for them; Nora had moved on.
Watching him walk away, Lara recalled the first time they had met, and the first time she had seen Dermot leave. He walked the same, shoulders broad and tight, his fingers anxiously stroking his palms as they clenched by his side. Max had been a bastard and Dermot had been protective of Lara, so young and innocent and --
'Have you lost your mind?' They were speaking in Irish, but Lara could vaguely understand. 'She's a child.'
Max laughed and it was bitter. They were in Max's apartment and Dermot had come around unannounced and they had been unprepared. How old had she been? Just eighteen, maybe.
'You're jealous.' Max had hissed and Dermot scrunched his brow, glancing over his brothers shoulder at her.
'What?'
'Tell me I'm wrong.' Max pushed and Lara glanced away, her cheeks heated, just like they were now.
'I was gonna surprise Nora. after the honeymoon. It was kind of a work in progress.' Dermot's voice was soft and low and she could hear the embarrassment there.
'Of course.' Lara replied quietly. 'The honeymoon.'
'I have not been away in years.' Nora had squealed down the phone the day the both of them had booked it. 'Costa Rica. All inclusive; sun and cocktails and peace. You must come bikini shopping with me, Lara. Pleaaasseeee.'
It was a beautiful house, but just that, a house, not a home. No chance to yet have life inside. The ceilings were tall and from where they stood, Lara could see a glimpse of the beautiful back garden. Standing by the window, she peered outside, at the darkening sky, the shadows of the trees merging into threatening shapes; the silence. It was so quiet here, was it really London?
'Drink with me.' Dermot asked, or rather insisted.
'One glass.' Lara replied as she took the wine and small sip, then another, and another for courage.
'I need this, Lara... I can't...' Dermot was already pouring a second glass and she held her hand out, hesitant.
The sadness in his voice was devastating. Max Sullivan really had had a draining effect on his brother and for a moment Lara really hated him for it. He could destroy her, but what had Dermot ever done to deserve this? He was blood, he was family; he hadn't picked Max, he hadn't chosen their bond and all he got for it was hell. Consistent and heavy on his chest. If it wasn't for Max, would Nora be with Dermot right now? Would Lara be with Pete - would everyone be happy? No. Perhaps not; things happened for a reason, things had a purpose in your life, for growth, for strength. Part of he didn't want things to be different, because then she wouldn't be here... with him.
Dermot placed the bottle down and advanced, excitement and unsureness battling for dominance in her stomach.
They watched one another for what seemed like the longest minute before Dermot spoke.
'I've lost everything and there's no going back.'
'That's not true.' Lara whispered, barely even audible.
'I'm sorry you were dragged into this, you're so beautiful. He hurt you, he hurt you and I never even knew. How could I not see?'
People didn't want to see Lara thought, but didn't say. Dermot was so close to her now, his hand warm and strong on her face.
'Lara...'
Her breath froze in her body, his mouth inches from her own. Her name.. it sounded different when he said it.
'Lara, he's coming, you know? He's going to destroy us all one by one and there's nothing we can do about it.'
Dermot was spiralling, but it was true. Why had they been pretending? No doubt this was what Pete was going to talk to Bovver about; the destruction he had unleashed on them all. How had they all been so selfish and unaware, not realising that their strength lay in their unity, and now they were all broken it was the perfect opportunity.
'The devil always comes for you when you are at your weakest.' Lara agreed and Dermot was certainly at his.
'He always gets what he wants and I can't save anybody, I tried, Lara, I fuckin tried. I did everything to protect you all. I did.' and Dermot was kissing her again.
Did Nora know about this? How Dermot was feeling inside this whole time? Had she considered him, had he considered her? Had they communicated? It was difficult, she knew, from trying to talk to Pete, but she felt anger at her friend for not doing more. How hypocritical, she knew, as she kissed him back.
Pete felt hot with frustration as he stalked the streets, heading home. He wanted to see his children and his wife and just close his eyes for at least eight hours. Bovver was acting like a maniac -- like Max Sullivan! Jock and Nora had lost their minds, Dermot had spiralled.. and Lara.. well, she was Lara. She was happy, wasn't she? Only an hour ago and they had been ready to fuck in the Abbey toilets, and yet now she seemed distant. She was a fixer, Pete shrugged it off; she just wanted to help Dermot, and that was fine. Pete loved that she was so caring and kind, it was one of his main reasons for falling in love with her.
When he got home, the babysitter was sat watching television in the dark, a bowl of popcorn on her lap.
'Party ended early.' Pete declared as she jumped at his arrival. 'I'll still pay you for the whole night, don't worry.' he smiled, handing over a fold of money and sneaking some popcorn. 'Is Lara back?'
'No.' she shook her head as she grabbed her coat. 'Sorry, do you want me to wait?'
'Nah, head off. Have a good evening.' Pete smiled as she let herself out. The children were both asleep upstairs; it was silent.
Heading into the kitchen, Pete poured himself a whiskey and settled down at the island. Dave had said she would be on her way, but that had been half an hour ago. Perhaps she was talking to Nora, and that could last hours.
Picking up his phone, Pete swirled the amber liquid as it rang, and rang and rang.
'You're through to Lara --'
'Babe.'
'-- but I can't take your message right now....'
'Every time.' Pete chuckled at her answering message. It always caught him off guard, but hearing her voice made him smile. The recording beeped and he sipped his drink. 'Where are you? I'm bored and I miss my wife.' was he slurring? No... 'I'll be waiting for you upstairs, so you better not be too long. I love you, Lara. So fuckin' much.' hanging up, Pete took the steps two at a time, unbuttoning his shirt as he did.
Lara had her thighs wrapped tight around Dermot's waist. He had hoisted her up onto the counter and her hands were in his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chest. His lips felt like ice as they trailed across her body in a way Pete's never had. Dermot was drunk, but his actions were sure and sensual and made her mind blur. She could feel him pressing between her thighs, hard and desperate and she wondered how long it had been for him. When Nora and him had stopped... when everything had changed.
Dermot let one of his hands slid up her thighs, shifting the material or her skirt aside when she heard her phone ringing.
'Ignore it.' Dermot growled against her skin and her eyes fluttered shut again. What if it was an emergency? What if it was the children?
She pushed back at Dermot's hand but he adamantly continued and with another glass of wine, Lara wasn't finding it so easy to stop him. After a while the phone call died and she heard the tone of a voicemail being left. Part of her wondered if it was Max, and the thought made her feel excited. Was that wrong? What would he say if he knew what was happening now?
'I want you.' Lara breathed against his neck and Dermot pulled back to look at her. 'Now.' she demanded, pulling at his belt and pushing down his jeans.
She felt hot an exhilarated and his touch between her thighs had made her wet and hungry. The irony of it all, was if her and Pete hadn't started something similar earlier, perhaps she wouldn't have been so ready. All night she had been teetering on the edge of pleasure, and Dermot was willing to give it to her.
He was taller than Pete, built in a different way; his hands caressed her body in a different way and her thighs settled on his waist perfectly. His aftershave was both sweet and bitter, his mouth demanding and not asking for permission. He was also volatile and versatile and raw and true with his emotions.
Dermot had opened up to her his whole soul in the space of ten minutes, whereas it had taken Pete four years to do merely a percentage of the same.
They connected, because they were the same; she and Dermot. They were lost, tortured souls, but strong and resilient and powerful. When Dermot kissed her, Lara felt as if she had control of the whole world; as if they were unstoppable, untouchable. Pete made her feel she needed protecting and that he would do so, but Dermot knew otherwise. Dermot validated her, placed her on a pedestal no one else had. He was her equal; she was his whole.
She should have been thinking about Nora, but Nora had come to terms months ago that this was over, as she laid in bed with Jock and messaged Lara with imitation guilt.
Max was going to ruin everything, and being with Pete she didn't feel sure she would come out the other side and Lara needed to survive. She would not let Max Sullivan destroy her again.
Pushing Dermot back, Lara jumped down from the counter and pressed him onto the sofa, sliding easily onto his lap. His strong hands pushed her dress around her middle and without hesitation she was settling down onto him; full and hard, she couldn't help but gasp as she took him inside her.
What the fuck was she doing? Living.
Lara smiled as she threw her head back and cried out.
One minute Nora had been thinking about finding Jock and apologising, when everything went wrong.
Talking to this stranger, to James had made her realise how selfish she had been leaving him at the hospital. Now she felt ridiculous, tipsy and upset and alone in a darkened cemetery like the person Malachi always sneered she would become. As she would sit opposite him on the sofa, cradling her third large glass of merlot, his judgement like daggers. He would insist she had a drinking problem, and she would shrug it off, because she didn't; she had an abusive boyfriend, that was all. The drink could come or go, she thought, had believed back then, yet here she was...
'Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back?'
Nora shook her head as she finally managed to pull herself up. 'I've got somewhere to be. Thanks, though.' she would get to the hospital, maybe buy him an expensive chocolate bar out of a temperamental vending machine. Right now she didn't want to consider what had happened, because all she really wanted was him. Things had been going so well, and she had bolted; Jock's biggest fear was being abandoned, and she had done it.
With a small smile, Nora turned away from James and glanced down the lamplit road, wondering how the hell she had managed to get her because it was so far away from anything else.
A shuffle behind her and a hand snaked around her waist, strong and determined. Before she could even scream, a hand covered her mouth and nose and she didn't even need to see who it was to know. James or rather Nick was holding her tight. He had done this before. How had she been so stupid? How had she not learnt? It had just seemed impossible that anyone other than Max Sullivan could be a threat right now.
She was suffocating. Nick pinched down on her nose, his hands bruising her cheeks as he carried her back towards his car. Her chest felt hot, her lungs on fire as she desperately tried to breathe. The harder Nora tried to scream, the more her lungs burnt.
Her body hit the side of his car and he pinned her, fiddling with the boot. His skin was beneath her nails as she dug them into his arm, doing all she could to get free. What was happening? Why was this happening? Did he know Max? Was this for what she had done to Dermot?
Elbowing Nick hard in the ribs, she felt him release her and didn't hesitate in bolting off. 'Help!' Nora screamed but it came out strangled and hoarse. 'Help! Pl--'
That was all she remembered as she woke up with a jolt. Fuck her head stung. Nora was sat on the floor in a darkened room, the concrete floor cold against her legs. As hard as she tried, she couldn't find anything to focus on in the room, everything a black blur of nothingness. Again, her head stung and she winced, raising a hand to touch it but restricted. A chain caught and she gasped, the metal rubbing her wrists. Her feet and hands were cuffed, attached to a thick chain bolted to the ground. On her mouth, a wide piece of duct tape.
What the fuck.
Charlotte looked out of the window.
She hadn't been able to sleep, and when she had managed to drift off, the noise of the cars, the foxes or the neighbours made her stir. Nick had gone out again and she couldn't settle, not knowing where. Was he gone for good? He had taken her car, and that had been hours ago. It was now around four in the morning and she sat on the sofa, staring at her burner phone. At Benji's number.
Should she lock the door so Nick couldn't come back? She would lose a car, but gain... what? Freedom? He would just break down the door and beat her for it, she knew. Maybe she could bring Benji back; why had she made him leave?
Thinking about him made her smile and without thinking, she called his number. It was only after a few rings that she realised how late it was and how he would most likely be --
He answered. Charlotte felt her cheeks blush at the mere hello.
'I'm sorry.' she managed and found herself giggling like a school girl. 'I.. I couldn't sleep, and Nick's gone out. I don't know where. I was wondering if you could help?'
Charlotte didn't know how Benji knew, but he managed to locate her car at a nearby storage building. What did he have there? If he had somewhere like that, why was her bedroom filled with his computers? Making a note of the location, she decided not to act on it just yet.
'See if he goes back again. If he does, we go find out what he's hiding.' Benji had said and she nodded. That was a plan.
'I'm sorry for waking you.' Charlotte apologise again. 'But thank you for answering, it means a lot.' it meant the world, to know she was no longer alone.
Nora blinked desperately, unsure what to do. Her headache had gotten worse and she could feel the static in her ears from the force. He had hit her, with what felt like a lump of cement. The alcohol was now wearing off and mingled with the pain, she was starting to feel very sick. Suddenly the door opened and Nora glanced up, desperation in her eyes. Screams muffled, the tiny slither of light that entered was instantly diminished as Nick blocked it out. Both of them were in utter darkness and she had never feel so unsure and afraid.
Who was this man, and what did he want? His breathing was loud, his shoes scuffing on the floor as he advanced towards her. Her own breath was mingled with sobs as she scurried as far back against the wall as she could. He pulled a light string and a dim bulb cast an orange glow on them. Nick was inches from her face.
Nora could feel the tears streaming down her face and hated herself for being so afraid. She was tied up and terrified; why had she left the hospital?
Nick asked her if she was going to be quiet and she nodded her head so quickly she felt dizzy. Yes, she pleaded with her eyes as he knelt down to rip off the tape. He wasn't hesitating in pulling her hard and she gasped so loudly he pinched her jaw shut.
'My head hurts.' Nora whispered when he finally let go. 'What did you do?'
He was taking something out of his bag and heat rose up her neck, presuming the worst. A few polaroid's fell to her feet and Nora glanced at them, confused. There was one of her and Jock, at the house, in the window, months before. There was one of Rosa in baby pink lingerie, smiling with bright red lips. Another of Nora, this time by the front door, waving goodbye to Dermot in her underwear and his shirt.
'What is this?' Nora asked and glanced up just as a flash went off in her face. Nick had taken a photo of her and she watched it slowly slide out of the bottom, a blank print which would process in a few minutes. 'Who are you?'
Was it normal to picture someone else when you were having sex?
Last night, when his own hand hadn't been enough, Luke had pictured her.
One of the boys from the club had introduced them; she was the broad shouldered bricks cousin, and wide eyed and vulnerable to Luke's charms and the pill he'd slipped in her drink.
Laughing, Luke gripped her thighs and threw her down on the sofa, his body pressing down on hers. 'You don't have any idea what you've gotten yourself into, Aoife.' he smirked, lowering himself down to kiss her. Fighting against him Lucy pushed at his chest and clumsy lips, no matter how tempting they were. She had only had sex one other time, and Luke kept calling her the wrong name.
'My name is Lucy.' she sighed, writhing in his grip.
Two strong arms gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. She felt vulnerable and wrongly excited. He had strong hands, a lithe body. He knew what points to press on her, like she wished other boys would. Holding her wrists with one hand he let the other snake down between them, slipping beneath her shorts and silk thong. Never one to disappoint he relished in how she arched
against him, eyes closed in pleasure as he worked his wrist against her. His lips were on hers, forced and then accepted as she kissed him back, biting his lip as he worked faster. She felt terrible, but exhilarated. Why was she doing this, and why was she enjoying it so much? They had been at the club for no more than thirty minutes before he'd taken her to a hotel. As he pulled down her skirt, she worked quickly at his belt buckle and shirt, disposing their clothes in a pile on the floor.
Heat rose up her neck and cheeks, his hardness pressed against her inner thigh; bowing his head he sucked roughly on her nipple, smirking as she bucked against him. One swift move and she'd rolled him over, her naked body straddling atop of him proudly. Reaching up, Luke grabbed her breasts in his hand and moaned as she slid herself onto him, taking in his entire length. In his mind he could see Aoife riding him; he fucking loved it. Lucy's eyes were closed and he watched her grind on him hungrily, his hands guiding her hips onto him. When she'd turned up at his table he had expected a quick tumble or his dick in her mouth, but not this. Their cries echoed through the house as she rode him harder, quicker, his fingers digging into her hips in determination. There was sweat on her stomach, his forehead; he kissed her neck, bit her jaw, her ear, sucked on every inch of her skin.
There was a knock at the door.
'It's reception Mr Winters, we've had a noise complaint.'
Lucy froze and looked up at the ceiling, listening as feet shuffled outside the door. They had music on, loud, and they'd knocked over a lamp and chair in their haste to get to know one another.
'Luke, s-stop!' Lucy hissed, cut off as he slammed his hand against her mouth.
'Quiet.' he whispered into her ear; he had been so close it hurt. Frustration making him itch and Lucy's sudden lack of cooperation making his hardon disappear left him no option. Pushing her away, Luke threw Lucy onto the floor and dragged her hips towards him, slamming into her before she had chance to take a breath. A scream parted her lips and he found himself slapping her, desperate for her to be quiet. He wanted to finish - had to finish. The edge was so close but she was no longer driving him there. One hand against her neck he thrust deeper into her, rougher, angrier. Lucy could feel her hips burning against the carpet, her body sore and resisting. She didn't want this anymore, his hands on her, his lips making her feel sick and dirty. He wouldn't listen - couldn't - the words didn't form, she felt frozen and light-headed, like she wasn't even there, couldn't escape. She wished she wasn't here.
Behind them, the door knocked again and again, and Luke yelled with such ferocity Lucy felt herself shake.
'If you come in here, I'll fucking kill you!'
There was a slight pause and the sound of the footsteps walking away; a concierge who didn't want to risk his life for this.
Lucy suddenly felt very sick and pushed against Luke's shoulders, only for his hand to tighten around her neck. 'Luke- stop.' she choked, clawing at him. She couldn't breath, her skin was burning like fire and her thighs ached. Everything seemed to blur into dim nothingness as Luke continued to plough into her, his teeth grit in determination. It was impossible to swallow, to say anything; to cry. Lucy felt like she might die, laying here, naked on Luke’s hotel room floor, his hand around her neck. Her insides felt raw against him and tears stung her eyes.
It lasted an eternity. The clock on the wall was loud against her ears; the carpet felt like clouds beneath her fingers. Was she flying? She felt like she was, her naval hurt, her eyes couldn't focus; the ceiling fan looked like a black hole as it swirled. Luke suddenly cried out, finally spilling inside of her and Lucy took such a desperate breath she started to choke helplessly.
Exhausted, Luke dropped onto her and lay still for a moment, sweat ghosting his body. She was breathing heavily in his ear, strangled sounds and whimpers; her fists hit against his shoulders but he hardly felt them, only reluctantly moving off of her.
'What?' Luke rolled his eyes at her disgusted expression. He had just shown her what a good fuck was really like, and all she could do was look at him in disdain? If she hadn't been so loud he wouldn't have had to hit her. 'What -'
Lucy didn't realise she had slapped him until he advanced towards her and her hand couldn't stop shaking. She'd looked angry and now terrified, with a tear streaked face and reddening chest; he could see his fingerprints against her neck and felt fulfilled.
Sneering, Luke watched her stumble back with frail legs until she was trapped against the wall. She held her clothes to her chest, eyes darting nervously around him. He didn't care anymore, if he hurt her feelings, if she cried to her family. She wasn't Aoife, he didn't care. He wished she had been Aoife.
This memory had resurfaced in the small fraction of time it had taken Aoife to finish her sandwich. He had watched her nimble fingers picking at the crust and recalled them being in his hair, scratching down his back; no, that had been Lucy, he sighed.
'Do you know whether or not it's terminal?'
What? Oh, the cancer. He was already bored of his own plot.
'Have you considered the fact he might die from this?'
'Every day.' Luke replied, voice sad. 'Every day I remind myself of the time I've wasted, and the grudges I shouldn't have held.' he met her gaze then and gave a gentle smile. 'It's why I wanted to make amends, with you. When I saw you in the club that night... with your friends... that's the night I found out about his diagnosis. When you left my jacket and ignored my calls, it really stung, Aoife. But I couldn't blame you.'
It had really stung, his ego.
'Luke, can I ask you something?' she felt guilty, he knew. 'That night. The poker party. I'm sorry it ended the way it did.. I never knew Max was going to turn up. I never expected.. There was a lot of things I didn't expect and what happened between us was one of them.'
Didn't expect what? To want it so bad. She had been there to use him, just as much as he wanted to use her; taste her. George had been a cunt and Luke had been a handsome distraction. The only thing he regretted was the interruption, because if they had fucked that night... the world would shine a completely different shade today.
'I know.' Luke gave another brief smile, sipping his drink.
'What happened when I left?' Aoife asked and he wondered if she lay awake mulling over that question. What she thought had happened, when she thought of him. 'Where did you go? You just.. vanished.'
'That was the plan my father had.' Luke scoffed at the memory of it all. He had been so pissed off. 'Make me disappear, come back a different man. And, to his credit, it worked, didn't it?' he raised an expectant eyebrow. 'I went to a boarding school for misbehaving boys, like I was a toddler who had had a fit and needed straightening out. Prince Andrew went there once, when he was younger, if you know what I mean. That type of place, for that kind of person. But, it did the job. I wouldn't be who I was now if I hadn't survived that, and I mean survive. Boys are really volatile creatures, Aoife. You better watch yourself.'
Don't say I didn't warn you, he thought.
An hour went by and it was time to leave. Time to get home to fucking George Turner.
'I am sorry for what happened and I hope... I hope we can move past that.' Aoife said as they both got up out of their seats. It was a genuine apology and had he been the sentimental type, it would have warmed his heart. Instead it merely helped manifest his plan.
'We have.' Luke reassured her. 'We're here, aren't we?'
'Thanks for the coffee.' she finally said after a while of glancing away; why didn't she want to look at him? 'And the sandwich. I appreciate it.'
'You can buy next time.' Luke joked. 'This really helped, I... I don't feel so alone.' what a cringe thing to say, all the same it looked like Aoife had liked it. 'I'll have to thank you somehow. Perhaps I can arrange for you to come to the club, drinks on me.'
Her phone rang then and Luke felt anger stir in his chest. He didn't need to see the screen to know who it was. Aoife answered and she could hear George on the other end.
'Emergency came in.' George sighed as he stirred his sixth coffee of the day. 'Some girl threw herself out of a hotel balcony, landed in the street and there was a pile up. Smith and Appleton had already left, so I was the only one available. I'm so sorry, babe.' he glared angrily out the window. 'I wanted to have a night, just me and you, but it's going to be a good couple of hours now before I can get out. Treat yourself, though, there's some wine in the fridge, and Alice dropped off some left over cake in the fridge.' running a hand over his tired face, he heard his name being called on the speakers and sighed again. 'I've got to go. I love you.' and he hung up.
When Aoife looked back at him, Luke had to pretend he hadn't been watching her the whole time.
'Everything alright?' he asked and then jingled his keys. 'Let me make sure you get home safe, yeah?' he offered, walking to the car before he could argue. Aoife, home alone; an offer he could not refuse.
Luke hadn't even considered the emergency, or Lucy, or the hotel bill. He had left her in his room and gotten a taxi home; washed, wanked, slept well. Lucy had stayed in the hotel, finished what was in the minifridge, stood on the balcony and let herself topple into the darkness below. The streaming of car headlights getting closer and closer until she kissed the concrete. How many hours had she sat on the sofa, naked and helpless. Luke's bruises up and down her arm and neck; he had raped her, and her brain felt the only way out of this, was to jump. Didn't he know what effect he had on people? Didn't Aoife know what he was capable of?
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on May 20, 2022 8:19:49 GMT -5
“The devil always comes for you when you are at your weakest.”
She wasn’t wrong and Dermot had never really felt the impact of those words until now. For the first time in a long time, the devil was well and truly on his back and there was little he could do about it. It was as if he’d been fighting this all his life, but only now had he given in and let it take him. The kisses were heated and desperate, Dermot’s hands on her waist, Lara’s tight in his hair. He found her throat, sucking the skin, sinking his teeth a little, before his lips reached her collarbone, slipping aside the strap of her dress for better access.
Her phone began to ring, stupidly loud in the empty kitchen, and he felt her tense. “Ignore it,” he growled against her skin; whoever it was could wait. No doubt Pete, wondering where she’d gotten to. Or maybe Nora... Lara pushed at his hand as he slipped it between her thighs, finding her wet and hot, but he could tell she wasn’t really protesting, especially when she gasped and arched her back. The call died as Dermot claimed her mouth again. The voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea had long since fallen silent, and as his fingers sank into her, her soft moans were all he could focus on.
“I want you. Now.”
Lara looked at him, eyes hooded and intense as she pulled impatiently at his belt. Dermot helped her loosen it and she quickly pushed at his jeans until they were down past his hips. He surged against her against, pulling her closer by her hips so she could feel exactly how much he wanted her. And he wanted her so bad, it was almost painful, this point in time seeming to combust and eradicate every horror that had happened that day. He felt consumed by her in every possible way, unable to escape the heat of this lust.
She pushed him back, and for a fearful moment, he thought she might be having doubts. But the way she looked at him as she slipped off the counter told him otherwise. One dress strap from falling from her shoulder, her hair untidy, lips swollen from the franticness of their kissing. There was a small mark on her bottom lip where he must have caught her. His heart was hammering solidly against his ribs, his entire body was burning with his need. He reached for her as she approached, but Lara pushed him, the backs of his knees hitting the sofa as he sank down. He could barely take his eyes off her, afraid to even blink in case this was all in his head.
And then she was straddling him, hands on his shoulders as his own worked up her dress. When Lara sank down on him, it made him groan, low and deep, head falling back against the cushions. She felt amazing. So unlike Nora, even her touch was different. He couldn’t say it was better, Nora had been everything to him, but it was certainly different, in the best possible way. With one hand, he yanked his shirt off over his head and she ran a hand down his front, his body shuddering beneath her touch. He couldn’t think anymore, all he could feel and see and smell was Lara. His hands found her waist again, driving her harder, faster, down onto him. Then, he took her face and brought her closer, giving her another searing kiss. When Lara came, her body shook with her force, lips parted as she gasped.
It didn’t take Dermot long to finish after that.
Panting, eyes shut, he felt the weight of Lara disappear as she climbed off him. Adjusting her dress, her face flushed and still gleaming with sweat. He wanted to follow the rivets that were working their way down her body, wanted to trail his tongue over every inch of skin and ...
What had they done?
Dermot’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, panic in his eyes. “Lara-“
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. I...” He glanced at the wine bottles, their glasses, the lipstick print on the rim of Lara’s. He wondered what Lara was thinking. Of Pete? Of her children? Of her best friend who they’d just betrayed? He’d broken Nora when the truth about Max came out. If she found out about this, it would destroy her. Lara murmured something about having to go and Dermot stood, quickly yanking up his jeans. Did he regret it? Did she regret it? The longer he looked at her, the more he realised he didn’t. There was hardly any guilt at all.
“Take my car,” he said softly, as she ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. “I’ll pick it up at some point.” Would she even want him to? She was already at the front door when he caught up with her. “Lara...” She turned to look at him and he found he had no words to say. What could they say? What was done was done and there was no turning back. “Let me know when you get home, so I know you’re safe.” She nodded, the front door clicking quietly shut behind her, leaving Dermot in a silence thick enough to drown in.
—-
Nick’s heart was hammering as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped off away from the cemetery. Glancing down, he could see a bit of blood staining his tee, the cuts beneath aching savagely. He must have reopened it during the struggle; she’d been so close to slipping through his fingers. Nick ran a hand through his hair, sweat leaving it untidy as he glanced in the rear view mirror before making a right turn. He could hear Nora’s body knocking about with each turn he made, and quickly, he ran through a list in his head. First he’d have to secure her, then he’d run through the systems for any CCTV cameras in the area that might have caught him in the act. Next would be figuring out which direction Nora had come from, so he could erase the evidence of that too. He didn’t need people knowing that was the last place she was seen. He’d have to clean the car, think of some bullshit excuse to tell Charlotte when the nosy bitch no doubt asked him where he’d been. He needed clean clothes. And then he needed to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.
Kidnapping Nora hadn’t been on the cards. Not yet anyway. She’d caught his attention, certainly, that day he was taking pictures from the garden. But it wasn’t until Dermot had attacked him that Nick had decided on his form of revenge. And coming across Nora alone in the cemetery in the middle of the night, just by chance, well that was a divine sign he couldn’t ignore. It was meant to be. And he’d never been wrong yet. Twenty minutes later, Nick pulled up at an old storage unit he’d bought when he’d first arrived in London. It was practically empty now, most of his stuff had been moved to the apartment he’d rented - the apartment that was now a crime-scene with a missing body - and it would be the perfect place to store Nora for now. Getting out the car, Nick moved to the boot, bracing himself when he pulled it open. But Nora was still unconscious, dark shadows beneath her eyes, blood trickling down her face from the head wound. He checked to see if she was still breathing, then gave a sigh of relief. Then, he hauled her out and over his shoulder, shutting the boot as quietly as he could in the still night.
Unlocking the unit, he stepped inside and laid Nora out on the floor. There was an old stool, two computer hard drives and a cardboard box filled with USB pens, all sat in one corner. On the floor, he’d bolted a huge iron ring and fixed thick chains. Originally, it had been for Rosa, to punish her for leaving him. Now it looked like Nora would get the first use. He chained her wrists and ankles, then pulled a roll of tape from his pocket. Kneeling down, he looked at her and felt chest tighten. She looked so beautiful, ghost-like, haunted. He leaned down, kissing her firmly on the mouth, sucking a little on her bottom lip... then he fixed a strip of tape over her mouth and stood.
Back in the car, he glanced over his shoulder at the unit. Securely locked, completely dark. The whole place was dead and the CCTV hadn’t work in years; Nick had already checked. He drove for half an hour until he found a small petrol station and pulled in. Filling up the car, he headed inside to pay, buying some baby wipes and some chewing gum. Before he left, he slipped into the toilets to clean up. Lifting his shirt, he inspected the bandages. Blood had seeped through, stains blossoming like vivid red flowers. He peeled it back a little, noticing how swollen and inflamed it looked. He needed to get it sorted before it got any worse.
After he spent a few minutes washing his hands and face thoroughly, he used the baby wipes on his clothes to get rid of any trace of her. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but he couldn’t head back to Charlotte’s yet. There were things he needed to do first. He needed to go back to the apartment. It was between the petrol station and the storage unit. When Nick arrived, it was dark. Police tape covered the door, which was locked. All the windows were locked too. Moving to the neighbour’s door, he picked up a stone doorstop and gained entry by smashing the window. It wasn’t quiet and he knew he needed to be quick. Knocking out the rest of the glass, Nick climbed in, gritting his teeth when the sharp edges snagged his wrists and arms. The S on his chest burned.
On the other side, it was clear that everything the police could get their hands on had gone into evidence. Unfortunately for them, Nick had transferred the entirety before they’d even gotten back to the station, but there was one place he was hoping they hadn’t checked. Creeping into the bedroom, he saw most of the furniture was still there, albeit emptied. Climbing onto the nightstand, Nick opened the air vent and reached inside. It was barely wider than a letterbox and had seemingly gone unnoticed. Hidden inside was a Polaroid camera, another USB pen, several polaroids and a roll of hundreds. Pocketing them, Nick was quick to leave. There was little he could do about the blood on the window and he knew he was getting sloppy... but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. There was always a get-out clause.
It was the early hours when he returned to the storage unit. This side of London was dead. Everybody asleep, blissfully unaware of the distresses of a young woman chained up and alone. Nora was awake when he got inside. Sat up, watching him, her eyes wide in her terror. The blood on her face had dried a little, which he saw just before the door shut and the room was pitched into darkness. He moved forward, reaching for the small light that hung in the middle of the room. It clicked on, ridiculously loud in the silence of the night. He could hear frantic breathing as he knelt down, inches from her face, staring right into her eyes. She couldn’t escape him, but she seemed too frozen to even try. Tears were falling messily down her cheeks and she was trembling violently and Nick tilted his head, a small smirk appearing.
It was the vulnerability he craved. The fear. Nothing made him feel more powerful than this, seeing her weeping and shivering, probably wondering who he really was and that was going to happen. Probably wondering if she was going to die. Well, that wasn’t up to him. That was up to Dermot Sullivan. “Are you going to be quiet?” He asked softly, almost tenderly. Nora nodded desperately, still sobbing. Reaching out, Nick ripped the roughly from her face, a red mark left across her mouth. He found it incredibly sexy, already grabbing her jaw hard and pulling her close. Nora gasped sharply, and he squeezed her mouth shut. “Do. Not. Scream,” he hissed, holding her gaze for a moment before he released her.
“My head hurts. What did you do?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, breaking a little as she spoke. Nick ignored her. He pulled off his bag and unzipped it. As he took out his camera, a few photographs scattered on the floor in front of her, but he didn’t bother to pick them up. Why bother? Who was she going to tell? She was studying them as he lifted the camera and focus in on her face. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful; hair ruffled, still wearing the dress, lipstick smudged on her face. It made his heart throb and his dick stir. “What is this?” Nora looked up just as Nick took the photo, the flash blinding her, and he smiled as the Polaroid emerged from the bottom. “Who are you?”
“So many questions,” Nick chuckled, bending down to pick the photograph up off the floor. It was perfect. He showed it to her. “I can understand why you might be confused, and you know, I’m a generous guy. I think the least I can do is fill you in.” Nick pointed at the Polaroid of Rosa in the baby pink lingerie, back in the early days when she’d been so willing to please him. “I came to London looking for that bitch. She knows a few little secrets of mine, damaging secrets that could do me a lot of damage. I know she came here with Jock Sullivan. Finding them was fuckin’ easy.” Nick have a laugh, then raised the camera and took another photo. It slid out the bottom and floated to join the others. “Jock, Dermot, Max, I knew everything. Who do you think sent that photo of Dermot and Max to Jock?”
Nora looked shocked and Nick lowered the camera to kneel in front of her again. He picked up one of the photographs. It was Nora and Jock in the window. “The day I first saw you. When I realised there was something more between you and Jock. Behind Dermot’s back too...” His smirk faded, a look of anger passing over his eyes. He’d held his feelings in, but this was the first time he could vent his feelings, his injustices, every since he’d stepped foot in this fucking shithole of a city. Nick’s eyes flashed as he looked at her again. “He came after me, did you know? Dermot. Somehow he found out that I sent the photo. Ruined his entire life apparently.” It should have been impossible; Nick encrypted everything, he was as untraceable on the net as you could get, which meant only one thing. Dermot knew somebody better at hacking than Nick was. “He came to my apartment and he beat me. He took a knife from the kitchen and cut an S into my fuckin’ chest. You don’t believe me? Look.”
Setting down the camera, he pulled off his shirt, exposing the bloody bandages. He ripped them off too, revealing the very nasty and ugly cut over his chest. His breathing had gotten heavier from the effort and Nick felt a sweat break out. He wasn’t feeling too good. “Dermot did this. The man you loved. Do you see now? That cunt’s nothing but a fucking monster. But then I realised something.” Nick laughed, a wild and crazed laugh, leaning close to Nora once more. “He did this out of love. His love for you made him do this. Pushed him this far. So what better way to get revenge than to take away the only thing he loves. You. You’re never going to see any of them again, Nora.”
Grabbing her face, he forced his mouth on hers, and as her hands were restrained, the most she could do was wriggle and try to move her head away. Nick slapped her hard, the red mark forming instantly as she cried out, but finally he forced her to accept his kiss. Pressing his tongue into her mouth until her crying got too much and he had to pull away. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking bitch,” he spat, snatching up the camera as he stood. He took two photos of her helpless and crying. Then, unsatisfied, he reached down and ripped the front of her dress hard, tearing the material and exposing her breast. He could another picture, then one close-up of her nipple. He picked up these new ones of her, along with his shirt and put them in his bag with the camera. Then he retaped her mouth. Gripping her jaw again, Nick leaned in to murmur in her ear.
“Dermot has three days. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I’m going to come here and fuck you until you’re dead. Do you understand, you whore?” Laughing, he stood, turned off the light and walked out.
—
Benji jerked awake when his phone began to buzz on the nightstand. He'd crashed just after midnight, not long after Lucien had gone home. He'd dreamt of Charlotte, of her body against his, on him, beneath him. Her whispered words in his ear and the caresses of her fingers across his skin. He hadn't expected that to happen, but he hadn't been able to take his mind off it since. Rubbing his eyes, he picked the phone up, seeing Charlotte's name flashing on the screen. It was the early hours of the morning and his heart leapt. Had something happened to her? To Tristan? He answered without hesitation. "Hello?"
"I'm sorry." Charlotte gave a nervous giggle and he felt a rush of relief that she wasn't hurt at least. Plus, it was nice to hear her voice. "I.. I couldn't sleep, and Nick's gone out. I don't know where. I was wondering if you could help?"
"Sure ting." Benji sat up, running a hand over his head. "Just give me a minute... So you couldn't sleep? Was that cause you're thinking about earlier?" He pulled another phone out of his drawer, flushing a little when he remembered that he'd failed to admit to putting a tracker on her car. For situations like this, which at least played out in his favour. "Y'know, uh... What happened between us." A few moments later, he had the results; some storage unit in East London. He gave Charlotte the location. "'See if he goes back again. If he does, we go find out what he's hiding." He knew it could be anything with that dickhead. And truthfully, now Benji's curiosity was piqued. What was he hiding there?
"I'm sorry for waking you. But thank you for answering, it means a lot."
"Hey, don't apologise," Benji told her softly. "I told you I'd answer, I'm here whenever you need me, aight?" Part of him longed to offer to go back over, but he didn't want to seem like he was just another man taking advantage and pushing his way in. Plus, if Nick came back now, it wouldn't be good for the boy. Tristan needed to be out the way before Benji took any action. "... Text me when he gets back, and remember to hide the phone... Goodnight, Charlotte. Try and get some sleep."
---
Dermot was awake way before the sun the next morning. As he watched the ceiling slowly brighten, he thought about what a fucking mess he'd made of everything. He'd lashed out at Jock in the same way he'd lashed out at Nick Walker. He might not have used a knife, but his words had caused as much damage as a bomb. His head ached savagely from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, but worse than the hangover was the devastating pain in his heart. He'd dragged Lara into all of this. They'd had sex, right here on this sofa. He could still see her now, had struggled to keep her out of his mind; back arched as she rode him, loud moans leaving her kiss-swollen lips. She'd been so hot and ready, needing him as much as he'd needed her. It had been sudden and primal and it had left Dermot's head spinning. He'd finished the wine, stared into nothing and replayed it over again.
Yet he was still conflicted. He loved Nora. He wanted to marry Nora. He wanted to win her back and for things to just magically go back to how they'd been before. Nick had destroyed everything for him, but Nora was innocent in all of this. At least he'd thought so before he found out her feelings for Jock went further back than he thought. He loved her, but she loved Jock. Like Lara had told him, she loved them both. But it wasn't the same. He wasn't Jock. And Jock now had everything he'd wanted in the world. A family. Somebody who understood him. Something who knew his pain without him having to speak a word. Had Nora been that somebody? He thought she had been, he'd worshipped the ground she'd walked on, he'd given her everything. But, had she truly wanted that? Had he blindly taken her independence just as Malachi had? He wished he hadn't beaten Jock that night. He'd been drunk, angry, but he didn't get the answers he'd needed. He desperately wanted to know what Nora thought, what her thinking had been. Why? Why Jock and not him? What had he done wrong?
And she was Lara's best friend. That made him feel worse. Not only had he ruined his own relationship, but his selfishness had potentially destroyed another. If Nora found out... If Lara chose to tell her...? Dermot swallowed back a groan and sat up, rubbing his face. He could still smell her on his body, Lara, her floral perfume and something headier, something more woman. She'd given herself fully to Dermot last night, no holding back, no hesitation. And the thought of it, the thought of her, made him feel steadier than he had in weeks. Lara did understand him. She knew the price that came with being involved with Max, loving Max, she bore the same scars he did. The physical ones and the mental ones, and the ones engraved deep on the soul. It was a connection he didn't understand, but one he couldn't fight. Dermot called a taxi, then tidied up. Once in the back, heading back for Max's penthouse, he let his head rest back, gaze out the window. He wasn't sure what the future was going to hold, nor the next twenty-four hours even, but he could never imagine the morning he was about to experience would be even worse than the night before.
It was a little before six am when Dermot slid his card into the lock and stepped into the penthouse. His foot knocked a small brown envelope on the floor, and frowning, he bent to pick it up. The house was quiet, Max didn't seem to be up yet, and Dermot gently shut the door as he turned the envelope over. His name was scribbled on the front. His frown deepened as he tore it open, a few polaroids and a note sliding out onto his palm. It was the photos that caught his attention first; confusion turning to horror and disbelief. Was that... Nora? Chained up? Her breasts... Dermot felt sick, and the room felt as if it was shrinking in on him. Quickly he scanned the note, the ringing growing in his ears.
You thought your little inscription could kill me? Think again, S. I have your whole world in my hands. Let’s put away the knives and make a trade. Nora for Rosa. You have three days.
Nick Walker. Dermot lowered the note and wondered if this was some cruel nightmare, so horrible dream he just couldn’t wake up from. Nora had been taken and yet again, it was all his fault.
--
Jock sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes as he sank back into his chair. He was sat in the office, phone in front of him, laptop open at his side. After they’d done their amateur surgery on Rosa, Carter had carried her to the living room and refused to leave her side until she woke. Jock found he’d acquired a new respect for the man; he’d risked his life and his career for Rosa, had put her first through this entire situation... but the pair of them were up shit creek without a paddle. There was no doubt the police would be all over the city trying to find them, and it probably wouldn’t take them long. So Jock decided to take charge and go ahead with what needed to be done. Rosa and Carter needed to get out of the city tonight.
Picking up the phone, he dialled Emmett Gallagher’s number and held the phone to his ear. Emmett was an old friend from Jock’s younger days and had helped a lot during all that shit with Barry in the beginning. He knew people when you needed somewhere to hide and Jock knew Emmett wouldn’t let him down. The phone rang and he glanced at the clock. It was nearly three in the morning. Finally the call connected. “Hello?”
“Emmett, you old cunt,” he greeted in Irish, already searching for ferry prices in his laptop. Emmett chuckled.
“Are you high? It’s three in the fuckin’ morning, what’s goin’ on?”
“I need a favour. Urgently.”
Half an hour later, the ferry was booked and Emmett had messaged details through for a place to stay once they reached the Emerald Isle. After that, Jock had called the hospital repeatedly for updates on Robbie. At first they’d been reluctant to say much, but after the fifteenth call, he finally got somewhere. “He’s out of surgery. He’s alive but the next twenty-four hours are extremely critical. He caught a bullet to the side of his head, there’s some significant swelling to the area...”
Part of the reason he threw himself into the preparations was to keep his mind from Nora, though it still seemed to start there very few minutes. After the detailed call on Robbie, he picked up his phone again, checking his messages ‘just in case’. But she hadn’t even read his message from hours ago, and that cut deep. He just wanted to know she was okay. Perhaps Lara had come back and Nora had done to stay with her? Maybe she just needed the night to think. All Jock knew was that he felt like shit and all he wanted to do was explain. Explain everything. God, he missed her so much.
At some point, he fell asleep and woke a little past seven. Shit. He checked his phone, disappointment flooding when he saw there was still no word from Nora, no missed calls. Slamming down his phone, he rang the hospital again. “It’s me, how’s Robbie?”
“Mr Croft is stable at the moment. He still hasn’t woken. Do you want me to give you a call back when he does?”
Jogging downstairs, Jock found Carter and Rosa already awake, still under the blanket where he’d left them in the night. Rosa looked pale, but at least she wasn’t looking grey, a little more colour in her cheeks. She straightened when she saw him, tears still glistening on her cheeks. “Robbie-“
“He’s still alive. I just got off the phone to the hospital. A bullet grazed his head, there’s a bit of swelling, but he’s alive. He’s gonna he all right, Rosa.” He gave her a tight smile, Nora still playing on the back of his mind. The whole evening, the fight with Dermot... it felt distorted and surreal, like a dream. “You’re looking better,” he said, nodding to her. “How’s your leg? Listen,” he ploughed on before she could speak. “I have a friend in Derry that secured you and Rosa a place to go for a few weeks. You think Brian’s going to let this go? Rosa got away, you’ve slipped out the hospital, Robbie’s survived. He could be on his way right now so I’m sorry to ruin the mood but you two fuckers have got to get your arses in my Jag and get the fuck down to that ferry. It leaves in two hours.”
“Jock?!” Rosa looked stunned, looking between him and Carter. “But, Robbie-?”
“Once you’re gone, I’m heading to the hospital. As soon as Robbie’s awake, I’m getting him out of there and sending him after you. He’ll be accompanied, don’t you worry, but you need to get out of the country now. Any questions? No? Good. Emmett will meet you at the dock. He’s an ugly bearded cunt, he’ll find you. You’ll see I already packed a few things for you both, and there’s money too, you’re welcome.”
-- "'Every day." Luke's voice was low when he spoke and Aoife could sense the sadness there, the regret. "Every day I remind myself of the time I've wasted, and the grudges I shouldn't have held." He looked up, meeting her gaze and Aoife's stomach tightened, though for what reason she was still unsure of. "It's why I wanted to make amends, with you. When I saw you in the club that night... with your friends... that's the night I found out about his diagnosis. When you left my jacket and ignored my calls, it really stung, Aoife. But I couldn't blame you." Aoife felt the colour drain from her face, glancing down at the coffee cup between her hands. The guilt bit hard. She'd been so quick to judge him, not even giving him a chance to explain. She'd assumed he was the same seedy little creep, when in fact, he'd been hurting that night. Wanting to drown his sorrows, in peace, when she'd just happened to turn up. It didn't explain why he still had her number, but was it really so unusual for people to keep things long after they needed them?
And to think she'd accused him of spiking Rosa's drink... Aoife was mortified. "Luke, I'm so sorry. I... I jumped to conclusions and that was wrong of me." She was a nurse, for Christ sake. It was practically ingrained in her to treat first and judge later. All this time, she'd been viewing him as the bad guy, when it had been her who'd been hostile back in the club. The fact that he'd still sought her out again at the hospital only confirmed how desperate he was to speak to someone, someone in the field but someone who could talk to him as a friend and not another case. He'd sought her out for that.
The conversation turned to his dad, or moreso, Luke's childhood. She could imagine him running around with the oversized earmuffs, his dad striding along with a gun. It had been a little like that with her Da, but Dermot hadn't been hunting pheasants. After that, they spoke about the poker night, a night she still thought about often. What if Max hadn't turned up? How far would she have gone? Would she have regretted it? Would she still have gotten George? She felt another surge of guilt as her fiancé surfaced to mind. What would he think if he saw her here now?
"That was the plan my father had. Make me disappear, come back a different man. And, to his credit, it worked, didn't it?" Luke was talking about what had happened after that night, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. But was she really surprised? Luke was off the rails and it was clear he'd needed to be reined in. "I went to a boarding school for misbehaving boys, like I was a toddler who had had a fit and needed straightening out. Prince Andrew went there once, when he was younger, if you know what I mean. That type of place, for that kind of person." Aoife's eyes widened at that, surprised to hear that Luke had been to such a place. But the difference in him was startling. The clothes, the accent, his demeanour. Everything had changed. "But, it did the job. I wouldn't be who I was now if I hadn't survived that, and I mean survive. Boys are really volatile creatures, Aoife. You better watch yourself."
"I think I'll be all right," she said reflexively, a teasing smirk appearing on her lips. "I was raised by volatile creatures. I'm a Sullivan, remember?" There was a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at him for a moment, before glancing away to sip her coffee. Time seemed to slip by after that. Aoife explained more about her dad and Nora's break-up, and more annoying patients, and Luke made her laugh a couple of times with some jokes. And it was hard for her to admit, but it was kind of nice? They were outside when Aoife thanked him for the drinks, but she was finding it hard to meet his eye. Just before they'd left the cafe, Luke had flashed her a brilliant smile and she gotten butterflies.
Fucking butterflies. What was she? Twelve?
"You can buy next time," he teased. "This really helped, I... I don't feel so alone." Aoife did look up then, feeling a warmth in her chest as she smiled back at him. "I'll have to thank you somehow. Perhaps I can arrange for you to come to the club, drinks on me." At this, she glanced away, biting her bottom lip. That sounded nice, but that felt ... almost like cheating. Coffee in a cafe was one thing, but drinks? She could almost hear George's voice in her head telling her this wasn't a good idea. She felt a sudden longing for him. As if on cue, her phone rang and her heart leapt to her throat when she saw his name flashing on the screen. George! She turned away to answer. Had he seen them? Had somebody told him where she was? Who she was with? "Everything all right?" Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sick.
"Emergency came in." At this, Aoife felt a weird mixture of emotions; relief that no, she hadn't been caught out, disappointed that he'd be home late again, and annoyance that this always happened. There was never any time and all their relationship had come to was quick sex in the dirty toilets of a backend London pub. Aoife forced herself to unclench her jaw. "Some girl threw herself out of a hotel balcony, landed in the street and there was a pile up. Smith and Appleton had already left, so I was the only one available. I'm so sorry, babe. I wanted to have a night, just me and you, but it's going to be a good couple of hours now before I can get out. Treat yourself, though, there's some wine in the fridge, and Alice dropped off some left over cake in the fridge." She heard his name being called in the background. "I've got to go. I love you."
"I love you too," she said, but the line was already dead. Shoving her phone into her bag, she turned to look at Luke. He was watching some pigeons peck at a grassy curbside.
"Everything alright?" He jingled his keys. "Let me make sure you get home safe, yeah?" He was already moving towards his car, and Aoife sighed, glancing around before following him. It would be much quicker than walking, she did her best to convince herself. Climbing in, she slammed the door shut and pulled on her belt. She felt so irritated, maybe as far as being irritated at the suicide girl herself. Just for once, couldn't things go as planned? Another night ruined. She had to be back in at 4am, so it would be an early night for her. If they were lucky, they'd get about two hours together before she'd get to crash. It was so unfair and not for the first time, she hated the fact that she was a nurse. Or he was a paramedic. Ugh, whatever!
Realising she'd been having his silent internal struggle, Aoife looked up to see Luke watching her. There was an almost curious expression on his face and she felt her stomach twist again, a flush rising in her cheeks. "It's just not easy," she said suddenly, angrily. "There's just never any time. There's always something, an emergency and the cross-over shifts and..." Aoife sucked in a breath, forcing herself into silence. Luke didn't need to hear this. He had bigger worries on his plate. Instead, she gave him the address, staying quiet as he pulled off. They made small talk, mainly about things they overheard on the radio that was playing on low, a background hum. She appreciated it. Once they reached her house, Aoife found herself glancing around again. What would the neighbours think? Would they mention something to George? Then, she shook herself, annoyed. She wasn't doing anything wrong, Luke was just going to drop her off.
"Do you want to come in for a few minutes?" she asked before she could stop herself. Aoife felt nervous as they headed for the front door, rummaging around her bag for her keys. Unlocking it, she glanced at him. "Um, it's only small. Probably nothing like you're used to. It was the cheapest place we could get that wasn't swimming in mould, so..." She led him inside.
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Post by katherinesullivan on May 20, 2022 9:46:10 GMT -5
If only she had met Dermot first, this guilt wouldn't be stirring in her chest as she readjusted her dress straps. If only she had met Dermot first, this would be a different story, this would be their house. If only she had met Dermot first, she wouldn't have Charlie, she told herself. Lara loved her children with her entire heart, and despite how her chest glowed with their connection, she would not change it now. Things were different when you had children. Decisions were made differently. You stayed for different, no, wrong, reasons, yet somehow they felt right for them. It was easy to be unhappy, when you knew you were making them happy. Living with Pete, the walls always felt so big, and she felt so small and misplaced in the midst of it all. It was a nice property, and yet Lara always felt as if she was living in someone elses shell. Childrens toys littered the floors, always somehow toppling out of their boxes. Pete left socks and underwear from bathroom to bedroom, and there was always an unnecessary amount of glasses and mugs in the sink and men sat on her sofa. There was no space to breathe. Lara hadn't realised she had been suffocating until Dermot had just blown fire into her lungs. She felt... reborn. She felt sure of this decision, and yet guilty because... she didn't feel guilty. Did that make sense? It was what she had deserved, and as much as Pete was strong, protective and kind, he was also not Dermot. Not... the right fit. He could argue they were perfect, but then if asked to write a list of changes that had occurred, that he didn't like, because of Lara... well, the list would be endless. Worse than children had been the GSE; their marriage had had a domino effect on each one of the men, and it hadn't always been for the best. It was funny how one single moment could change everything for everyone. This action, today, in this kitchen, would change everything again. Her relationship with Nora would never be the same, and Max... when Max found out about this... 'Lara --' 'It's okay.' Lara gave a small smile. It was too late now anyway, to turn back. Lara walked towards the door, feeling as if she was floating. She had never felt like that before, with anyone. It was as if their souls had somehow connected and for a brief moment they were one. Now however she had to think of her children, her husband. Go home and clean up and get in bed and decide where to go from there. 'Take my car.' Dermot's voice was soft as he followed behind her. The house, albeit empty, didn't seem to swallow her the same way her own did. She liked it here. 'I'll pick it up at some point.' When? When she was stood on the doorstep with her belongings in a box? And the children -- where would they go? Would Pete fight her for custody? Her head hurt. 'Lara...' 'I've got two young children at home.' was all she could seem to say, and they held one anothers gaze for a moment. Now wasn't the time to talk about it. 'Let me know when you get home, so I know you're safe.' That was nice. Lara nodded, taking his keys and leaving. It was pitchblack. Was Pete still awake? When she got into the car, she took her phone from her bag and took a big breath. Fuck. She didn't want to listen to the voicemail, as she stared at it unblinkingly for what felt like forever. Was Dermot watching her through the curtains to see if she was leaving? Placing the phone in her bag, she pulled away from the curb and headed home. She should've been thinking about everyone else, but all Lara could do was feel the ghost of Dermot's touch on her body. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she could see a small cut on her lip where he had bit too rough and she traced her tongue over it. When she got home, all the lights were out besides the one in their bedroom. The fairylights in the garden were twinkling and it looked almost picturesque. 'Come on, Lara.' she told herself, another glance in the mirror. Just as she was about to get out, she stopped and sat back down. 'I'm home.' Lara text Dermot, no kisses, nothing more. It didn't feel like home, though. 'Dirty stop out.' Lara looked up as she opened the front door. Pete was stood on the stairs, his hair tousled and a sleepy look on his face. He was wearing a pair of jogging bottoms, hanging low so she could see his toned stomach and hips; that v shape that travelled down to his groin she used to trace with her tongue. 'Sorry I woke you.' Lara smiled sheepishly and placed her bag down, heading for the stairs. Pete looked so innocent and pure stood there like a toddler and she let him hug her, not squeezing him back as tight. 'Do you want to talk about it?' Pete asked. He had fallen asleep not long after he'd gotten in bed, with the help of a slip of whiskey. He wasn't mad; if anything, he thought she would be mad at him. 'I'm so sorry about the shit-show tonight, Lar. Really not what I thought would happen.' 'None of us knew what was going to happen tonight.' Lara replied as they headed into the bedroom. It reminded her all too well of the call she had had with Nora, not that long ago. 'Did you know this would happen?' Nora had asked, in regards to her and Jock and Lara had nodded; of course. Had anyone seen this coming, though? The inevitable. As she stood in the ensuite and washed off her makeup, Lara knew she should shower, wash off the wine and the smell of him but she couldn't. Pete stood in the doorway and smiled a goofy smile. How could she hurt him? He hadn't done anything wrong, but be himself; it wasn't Pete's fault he was the wrong person for her. 'You look good.' he was smiling at her and Lara rolled her eyes, makeup wipe in hand. 'I look exhausted.' she replied, but she didn't feel it; she felt exhilarated and a little confused. Coming to stand behind her, Pete put her hair over one shoulder and kissed her neck. 'Did I do that?' he asked, kissing a bite mark that hadn't been there earlier. 'I don't know my own strength.' he teased, nuzzling the soft skin and Lara felt her stomach flip. 'Who else.' she replied, slipping away from him and into the bedroom. 'Let's get some sleep.' she said, suddenly halting when he grabbed her hand. 'I said I was sorry, Lar.' Pete was pouting as he pulled her in close. 'Do you forgive me?' 'For what?' she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. 'I don't know. Not being enough sometimes. For having dickheads for friends.' he added with a small smile. 'I went to see Bovver. It isn't good, but I'll make it good. I promise I'll fix everything, just you see.' he kissed her on the lips and suddenly it was very apparent that she was going to break Pete Dunham's heart. 'I'm going to check on the kids.' Lara turned away, needing to breathe, but Pete kept hold of her hand. 'Leave them.' he pleaded but she tugged her hand free. 'It's late.' 'I'll be back in a minute.' she reassured him, and for those five minutes she was gone, Lara couldn't take her eyes off of her two precious children. Their whole world was going to change, and she wondered if they would resent her for it. Or if she would resent herself for not finally submitting to her own happiness. To Dermot Sullivan.
Carter didn't want to sleep; he didn't know what to do, really. Even though his life was full of the unpredictable, he had merely seen it, not lived it. This time it was all happening to him and his head felt as if it was going to explode. In his youth, with his father, his neighbour and the gangs, it had been like this, but not for years. That had all died in the depths of his mind a long time ago. He had learnt how to compartmentalise, to put certain thoughts and doubts to one side so he could focus on something else. On his job. On Rosa. Now, however, it seemed as if his whole career had been worthless. Without it, this situation wouldn't have come to fruition. Without it, he wouldn't have met Rosa, he needed to remind himself. Wasn't that always the case; how cruel the world was, surely some torturous temptress playing puppet with them all. You would give anything to take the bad times away, the darkness and the sadness, but you couldn't, because if you did then you also wouldn't have the things you loved. Carter had watched a film once about time travel; it really screwed with his head. Things that lacked logic were unnecessary and confusing. A man was at a hospital with his wife, and she had just given birth to their first daughter; the same day, his sister is in a life threatening accident and needs surgery. So he goes back, stops his sister from crashing and rushes back to the hospital to be by his wife's side. There she is, as rosy faced and beautiful as before, but this time the baby is different -- its a boy. The butterfly effect, they called it. Even if you could go back and miraculously change things in the past that wouldn't effect the future, you would have to do it for everyone, for all time. Rosa had met Shaw a long time ago, and there was nothing Carter could do about that. Not meeting her would have stopped their meeting at the ball, of the gun shot wound in her thigh, but it couldn't take away the years of abuse. You just had to keep moving forward, but it was hard. Rosa was asleep on his lap, a deep sleep with the aid of some pain medication. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off Carter and he felt angsty and fragile; a bit useless, really. Both he and Jock were injured and exhausted, restless. What was there to do? Nothing. Just wait -- for what? Carter ran his hands through Rosa's hair and fought back the urge to cry. He hated seeing her like this. He hated that people like Brian Shaw tarnished the name of the police, and got into the minds of the weedy ones, who wanted praise and glory and more money. The ones who had broken his forearm, his nose. Those who he thought had been his friends, or at least amicable colleagues. The only people he could apparently trust were both in the room with him. As for Robbie? Carter didn't know. The sun seemed to wash over the house quickly, a burnt orange casting their faces in a warm glow. Jock had gotten up every five minutes to pace, smoke, drink whiskey. Who was he waiting for? When Rosa finally woke, Jock had excused himself to go upstairs and everything was silent. No sound of his boots creaking on the floor, or his angry huffs as he glanced out the window. 'Where is the woman from before? Will she mind us being here?' Carter had asked and Jock had just shrugged it off with a grunt. The one who had smiled at him when Jock had abruptly kicked him out. How things changed. 'Hey.' Carter smiled, his voice strained; he realised he hadn't spoken in hours. Rosa was looking up at him, tears in her eyes. 'I'm a regular Quasimodo I'm afraid.' pulling her near, he placed a kiss on her brow, savouring her for the brief moment. They held one another, tight, and Carter didn't care if he hurt right now. 'Robbie's dead.' Rosa whispered and he could hear each syllable fracturing her heart. He might have acted like a cunt, but he was still her brother. 'I saw it, Brian shot him. What happened to you? I-I was so scared, I'd never see you again.' Carter didn't know what to say for the moment. He recalled seeing Robbie being wheeled into the hospital as they'd left and it felt like someone had knocked the breath from him. Why had there been so much secrecy and lying? Why had Robbie gotten himself into this situation? 'We don't know what's happened to Robbie, but we'll find out.' Carter tried to reassure her. 'And you're never getting rid of me, even if you wanted to, I'm useless without you now.' he kissed her head again and sighed. This was his home, here, with her. Jock could be heard coming down the stairs and instantly Rosa straightened, preparing herself for the worst. 'Robbie --' 'He's still alive.' Praise the merciful God! Carter closed his eyes and thanked whatever being was in control of this mess. Whoever had spared him, spared Rosa. 'You Croft's are resilient.' Rosa was no doubt already planning what they were going to do, but glancing at Jock, Carter knew he had other ideas. That neither of them were staying here for very long. 'I have a friend in Derry that secured you and Rosa a place to go for a few weeks --' 'Derry?' Carter asked; not exactly the beach holiday he had been dreaming of. 'He could be on his way right now, so I'm sorry to ruin the mood but you two fuckers have got to get your arses in my Jag and get the fuck down to that ferry. It leaves in two hours.' 'What about you?' Carter asked, pulling himself into a sitting position. 'But Robbie?' Rosa cut across the two of them, determination filling her veins. 'As soon as Robbie's awake, I'm getting him out of there and sending him after you.' 'You've really thought of it all, huh?' Carter asked, impressed. 'You'll see I already packed a few things for you both, and there's money too. You're welcome.' A few minutes later and Carter and Rosa had both managed to hobble up the stairs. They stepped into the waterfall shower, after bundling off the bloody bandages. 'Don't get your wound too wet.' Carter warned, as he dipped his head under the fall and let his eyes flutter shut. 'Fuck, that feels good.' he sighed, the scalding water welcoming. Rosa stood behind him, her hand trailing up and down his back. 'This is ridiculous.' Carter turned to her and shook his head in disbelief. 'Here --' he tugged her close, letting the water cascade over the both of them. Her body bare before him, she filled the gap, pressing her breasts against hiss chest. 'Whatever happens next, we've got this, okay?' he hooked his finger under Rosa's jaw and tilted her face to him, stealing a gentle kiss. Then they dried themselves as best they could, applying new treatment and bandages to their wounds. The bruises on his face were an angry purple and blue, at the peak of their performance. What must she think of him? As Rosa turned and smiled, he knew she thought the world, no matter what he looked like. 'I love you.' Carter called and Rosa returned the gesture, the words like honey. 'I've never been to Derry. You'll have to show me around.' And just like that they were leaving. Leaving his job, her job, their friends and family, but he wouldn't have had it any other way, as long as it meant she was safe. A few weeks down the line they would return and Brian Shaw would regret ever laying a single hand on Rosa Croft. Carter hadn't been lying when he'd promised Shaw that night he would kill him if he touched her again, and he was a man of his word, after all.
What a weird few days. Dermot had been in and out like a yo-yo. 'You treat this place like a hotel.' Max had drawled the other day but Dermot hadn't even looked up as he'd gone to his room and grabbed something before leaving. Was this what it was like having children? Was this what it would be like with Charlie? Or would Max rather he grew up to be different than that, perhaps like Luke Winters? If the boy knew he'd just had this thought, his head would double even more in size, if possible. Max just meant someone who wasn't afraid to take what they wanted, knew where they stood and what they were worth. Not like Dermot; not like some lost little puppy. Dermot was good, but only for a small percentage of his time. He was really good at pretending all the time, though. Of being the doting husband-to-be, the kind and funny uncle, the wise father figure. When he wasn't licking crack from the table top and leaving his signature mark on someone's fucking chest. Max still couldn't get over that. It had been a few years since this Dermot had reared his head, and Max wasn't sure how to handle it. How to utilise him for his own gain. Luke had left on a mission to find more information on the infamous Nick Walker and Dermot had been gone the night, so Max took a moment just to breathe. He had finally grown used to his new features, and even though he looked almost perfect, the icy blue pupil staring back at him in the mirror always caught him off guard. Remembering that Charlie thought it was 'cool' made it easier to accept. When his son looked at him in admiration and awe, it made Max feel like his old self. He hadn't gone soft, he just appreciated being appreciated. When could he see Charlie again? Had Dermot ruined that for him? He had thought about calling Lara, or filing for joint custody. Where to start? What had Dermot done with Aoife? So Max took a breath, and inhaled the sweet toxicity of his cigarette as a woman stirred in bed besides him. 'It's time for you to leave.' he told her as she stretched, long and languid like a feline. Viviane gave a small sigh as she felt Max's eyes on her. 'You said you would be more welcoming than last time.' 'I invited you back, I would say that's pretty fucking welcoming.' he handed her the cigarette as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. 'Fine.' 'Goodbye, Vivienne.' Max kept his eyes focused of the window as she got out of the covers and slowly bent to retrieve each item of clothing strewn around the room. 'You remind me of someone I used to date.' she announced, fixing her hair. Max turned to her, eyebrow raised in mock interest. 'He's dead now.' 'You know where the door is. I'll see you around.' he called to her retreating figure, knowing he could be as rude as he liked and they would always return. Soon after that he fell back asleep, only stirring when Dermot stepped through the door. He dreamed of Vivienne murdering her ex and then trying to murder him. His hands were on her throat, he was winning, she was dying; he won. When he awake, he didn't want to get up and face his brother. Dermot had been dark and brooding and boring. What was his problem? Nora didn't love him -- he could've told him that in the beginning, and had. When he didn't hear any other sound in the hall, Max finally dragged himself up and put on some jogging bottoms. 'Dearthair.' Max called, not even looking up as he walked towards the coffee machine. 'How many seconds are you staying this time?' Dermot hadn't moved, though, he stood transfixed, looking at a piece of paper. 'When can you bring Charlie round?' he pressed a few buttons on the machine, the loud whirring as the beans ground satisfyingly through the filter. When Dermot didn't reply a second time, Max turned to him with an eyebrow raised. He was holding a polaroid in his hand, his face as white as a sheet. 'What's that?' Max strode over to him in seconds, but Dermot held the images away, pushing at his chest. Without hesitation, Max grabbed his brothers arm and twisted it behind his back, slamming his face into the wall. 'No secrets in my house, dearthair. Unless they're mine.' Dermot was struggling against him, but whatever it was had obviously made him weak so Max succeeded in grabbing the polaroid. At first, Max didn't know what to say. Nora? He tilted his head to the side as Dermot cowered in the corner. She was chained to the floor, half her chest exposed. Some weird fetish? Some twisted game? Then Max realised where he had seen an image like this before. Rosa, bound in silk underwear: Nick Walker.
Handing the image back, Max still didn't say anything when Dermot snatched it back. Nick Walker had Nora, why? This could work to his advantage. He was alive, and he was hiding somewhere close to home. 'Your personal life is fucked up, dearthair.' Max dismissed, deciding not to admit his suspicions. He didn't care about this woman, all he cared about was getting this man out of the picture. 'She did look hot, though, don't you think?' Dermot threw himself at him as Max had predicted, and so he pinned him against the wall with an effortless sigh. 'It really amazes me, what you did to Walker, when you can't even fight me off.' at this taunt, Dermot managed to break an arm free and sent his palm into Max's nose, momentarily dazing him. Max merely laughed, spitting blood into the sink. 'Need my help?' Max asked and Dermot shook his head, spitting his words. 'This is nothing to do with me, but don't say I didn't offer.' his coffee had finished and Max picked it up, taking a sip of the scolding liquid. 'I need you to speak to Lara and get Charlie to me, this week. We had a deal. You owe me that, no matter what other shit is going on, alright?' with that, Max took his drink and headed into the bathroom where he ran a shower. Things were suddenly getting very interesting.
Nora had checked out the moment Nick Walker had walked into the room. The last time, after the boat, Lara had asked Nora if she was going to speak to someone about it all, but she had shrugged it off with a laugh. Truth be told, there were only fragments of that night she remembered, and those she did made her shiver. Nora wasn't one for gory films, or for violence and death and shooting. Lara had told her to make a list of her problems, that way they diminished. First, with Malachi, the mental and physical abuse. Bovver, the murder of Tommy Hatcher. Dermot, it was Max, supposedly dying that night, and she being passed off as a common whore to negate the situation. It seemed ridiculous now, but had made sense then. With Jock, she had thought there to be nothing, but since whisper of Malachi's demise was swirling inside her head, mingled with the lies from Dermot, she wasn't sure. It had potentially now reached the pinnacle with this situation. Nora had once reassured Jock that she could handle these situations, that she was a big girl, that she was prepared to fight for her love. Perhaps then it had been true, because in the moment you did and said what you had to, to survive. Lara had admitted to unrelenting trauma from her time with Max; she was brave, she had taken control of her thoughts, but Nora wasn't sure how to. None of it had seemed real. Listening to how Dermot had once again fooled her, made sick rise in her throat. Nick stood before her and ripped open his shirt to reveal the blistering, raw wound across his abdomen. She retched, wanting nothing more than to turn away but unable to stop looking. 'Dermot did this.' he seethed and Nora felt her breath catch. Dermot did that? This man was here because of Rosa and Dermot, and yet here she was, frozen. The scapegoat. She felt as if she was watching it all from above, her mind reeling. Seeing Nick standing there, trying not to hunch in pain as he reeled of a reasoning for her entrapment. Dermot did this. The more she looked, she could see the carving was an 'S' and felt embarrassment wash over her. Since discovering Max was alive, Nora had felt conflicted, as if she didn't know Dermot, but could at least understand his reasonings, albeit stupid. This however... perhaps she had never truly known him at all, because this was something she couldn't accept. Her mind refused to register this as an act of someone who had weeks ago been cradled in bed with her, planning a wedding. Nick was making it seem as if this was her fault, for breaking Dermot's heart, when it was very apparent he had bene lying to her since the beginning. Every action had a consequence, and she wondered if Dermot knew, yet. She didn't want him to. She didn't want him here, seeing her like this. Suddenly she panicked, her eyes widening. 'You're never going to see any of them again, Nora.' 'No --' Nora went to argue but Nick had grabbed her face, forcing his mouth on hers. She couldn't breath, or think or move. Wiggling desperately, she struggled against the chains fruitlessly. Then the slap came and she cried out in shock, doing all she could to press herself against the wall. Nick was relentless, his tongue demanding entrance as he kissed her again and again, his touch rough. Again, she was crying, defenceless and confused. 'We broke up.' Nora cried when Nick finally pulled away, her sobs wracking her body. 'Shut the fuck up, you fucking bitch.' he snapped and Nora swallowed her argument, chest heaving. Before she knew what had happened, he reached down and ripped the front of her dress, exposing her breast to him. Nothing made sense. This was different than when she saw Dermot, bloody and bruised in the warehouse, or when Jock had a bottle to his throat; this was sexual. Nick Walker was a predator, and she wondered how many years he had gotten away with it. If he was the reason Rosa was the way she was, and how Nora suddenly felt violent guilt for judging her, a likely victim or sexual assault. Nick stuck a fresh strip of tape over her mouth, his fingers like a vice against her jaw. 'Dermot has three days.' he warned and Nora couldn't take her eyes off his. 'If he doesn't give me what I want, I'm going to come here and fuck you until you're dead.' Nora squealed, but the sound was muffled by the tape as he got up and turned on his heel. She didn't doubt his words; she didn't doubt Nick would do that to any woman, without cause. How had she been so foolish back at the cemetery and how was she going to get out of this. Would Dermot even care? Would he want to save her, or would he believe this was what she deserved. Nora didn't know what he thought anymore, and not knowing was terrifying. As Nora sat for what seemed like hours, she slipped in and our of petrified consciousness. Her wrists were bruised and raw where she had desperately tried to wiggle out of the cuffs. What else was there for her to do? She couldn't seem to get the polaroid of Rosa out of her head. How had she survived this? Was she in danger too? Suddenly she heard a faint vibrating and her head shot up, glancing around. Nick had left the light on and she was somewhat grateful, even if the room was scary. On a shelf in the distance she could see a box with her handbag inside, her phone ringing in the centre compartment. The attack obviously hadn't been planned, because no doubt he would have confiscated that otherwise. Had this all just been chance? Who was ringing her, was it Jock, or Dermot, or Rosa? Crying out, Nora tried to shuffle forward but was pulled back. The shelving was on the opposite side of the room; it was useless. 'Hello, I'm calling for Miss Nora Samuels. My name is Mrs Petford from The Abbey Primary. Nora didn't come in today, so we are just checking everything is okay? We have tried her line, but she hasn't answered, and you were down as her emergency contact. A Mr Dermot Sullivan -- oh, you're her fiancé! How exciting. Well, if you need any assistance due to a family emergency, or if she is simply unwell, please let us know and we will be happy to help how we can and arrange cover. Many thanks.' The voicemail rang through to Dermot's phone, vibrating dully on the countertop whilst the two wrestled. Max then left, the call unnoticed, Dermot's mind elsewhere. One time when she was younger, Nora had been locked in a garden shed by one of her friends. A group of them were playing in the garden, and a little brunette girl with freckles on her face had told Nora there was a baby bird flapping in the shed, so she had gone inside to look. Before she could turn around the door was pulled shut and a bolt latched over, the children giggling outside as Nora panicked. It was pitch black, spare the small stream of light coming in through the dusty window. She could smell damp and compost, and in the corner was a rotavator and she caught her ankle on its tines. Heart racing, Nora cried to be let out but the girls had run away to play with something else. 'Let me out!' Nora squealed, banging her hand against the window. The vibrations jostled a spider and it popped down, landing on her arm. She squealed out in disgust, tumbling backwards into the corner where she sat with her knees to her chest for what felt like hours. Finally, one of the parents came to let her out and Nora looked up with tear stained cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and round. 'I'm s-scared of the dark.' she sniffled, wiping her runny nose on her palm. Nora had made the mistake of sharing this story with Malachi, and he had merely mocked her with a roll of his eyes. There just so happened to be a storm that night, and the power went out in the apartment. 'I'll go check what's going on.' he sighed, trudging begrudgingly out of the room. The room was silent. As she was stood by the window, craning desperately for the light of the moon, a hand came behind her waist, the other clasping her mouth shut. Nora screamed so hard and bit down on the palm, only to be thrown on the floor. Malachi was looking at her with disgust on his face when she rolled over, examining the bite marks on his hand. 'What the fuck, Nora?' he exclaimed. 'Y-you scared me. You know I don't like the dark!' She knew she shouldn't have said anything, as Malachi got to his knees and pinned her to the ground, his fists hammering at her face. He fucked her, rough and forcibly on the floor until the power came back on. It had never been the dark that was scary, but what was in the darkness. In this case, it was Nick Walker and she knew that whatever Malachi had done to her, he would do ten times over. She wanted Jock, she wanted to be home and safe and away from this, to never make a bad decision again. She wasn't sure if she even wanted the truth about Dermot, but she knew she didn't want to be near him. The door to the room opened again and Nora tried to work out where they were; was this a storage facility? She screamed, for anyone to hear her, but Nick slammed the door shut and his glare made her abruptly stop. Part of her wondered if there was any point submitting to him; would he not just do what he wanted anyway, without reason? Would sitting here, playing the quiet victim even help in her favour? Deciding the answer would be no, Nora screamed again, pulling at the chains so they rattled and clanked against the concrete ground. Nick advanced towards her, throwing his bag on the floor. What was in there? Was that a camera? Breathless and exhausted, Nora continue to scream, only stopping when Nick hit her hard. 'You can't do this.' Nora muffled against the tape, laid on her side. With the force of his fist, the corner of the it had come unstuck, mixed with saliva and tears. 'Jock will kill you.' Nora panted, looking up at Nick. She was suddenly laughing, hysterical and drained. 'He will. You're dead.' she cried. 'Sorry, did I wake you?' Nora asked, not too many nights ago. She hadn't been able to sleep from the nightmares and the overwhelming darkness of midnight. A sleepy Jock rolled over on his side to look at her, squinting at the lamp shining on the bedside table. 'Do you want me to turn it off?' she whispered and he shook his head, nuzzling against her stomach. 'I know you don't like the dark. I would rather you felt safe.' 'I do feel safe, I do, with you.' Nora reassured him, suddenly feeling guilty. 'I'll turn it off.' 'No you feckin' won't.' Jock demanded, his eyes were still shut but he opened one briefly to look at her and winked. 'Goodnight, Nora.' 'Thank you.' Nora smiled, running a hand through his hair.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on May 25, 2022 7:06:51 GMT -5
Lara lay awake long after Pete fell asleep that night. As he snored softly beside her, Lara stared up at the ceiling, watching a single streak of silvery moonlight slip through the curtains. Even now, with her husband laid beside her, Lara could feel Dermot’s searing touch, taste his burning kisses, sense the flickering flames of the fire he’d ignited within her. Dermot had touched her in a way she hadn’t been touched in a long time. Every trace of his fingertips had left her heated and wanton for more, her blood rushing and her pulse racing. It had been wrong and right all at the same time, and Lara found her hand tracing softly over her abdomen as she recalled the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held her face between his large palms and muttered words so intense they’d taken her breath away.
He’d been drunk and she’d been tipsy. Had this been inevitable? Had this always been here? The connection between them? Hidden by all the mess of emotions and relationships and broken hearts? Or was this just a way of releasing tension, of retaliating, for Dermot? And maybe for herself? How had all of this happened? When she’d followed him out the pub, she’d had no idea what would transpire tonight...
A lot had happened in Lara’s life. And though things had been tough growing up, it wasn’t until things went bad with Max that Lara realised how good she’d had it. With her mum, doing their own thing. As she’d lay bleeding, dying, on the kitchen floor, eyes on the knife he’d cut her with, Lara would have done anything to go back, to go back and never set eyes on Max Sullivan at all. What she had thought had been love had been nothing but a cruel facade, a means of control and coercion in which she had been helpless to. Surviving that attack and escaping afterwards had been the hardest, yet most courageous thing she had ever done. Slowly, she’d learnt to look after herself. Piece by fragile piece, she’d done her best to rebuild what Max had single-handedly destroyed. When she met Pete, she’d been cautious, afraid, but mostly tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of fighting every day just to survive.
His attention had been a breath of fresh air in her life. It had been one of those coincidental meetings, which had all boiled down to a choice between two jobs; cleaning or pub work. If she’d chosen cleaning, she never would have met Pete in the Abbey. She wouldn’t have found somebody to be at her side, fight in her corner and watch her back. But had it been everything she’d thought it had been? Hindsight had taught her a lot; she’d been abused and mistreated for so long, she’d been more than willing to latch onto the next good thing that came along. And that had been Pete. He had his flaws, but he wasn’t a bad person. He was a great dad, he worked hard for them all, but something had been lost in the years between, when children and mundane adult life had smothered the heady glow of new love. All this time, she’d been going through the motions, but was she really happy?
That wasn’t to say she didn’t love her kids, but there were many times, more so in the past year, when Lara had debated whenever she was truly happy, truly settled. Her children were her world and their happiness was paramount, but her own? Yet again, it seemed to take a backseat. As it had with Max. As it had, in some ways, with Pete. He’d given up the GSE for her, but the reluctance at the time had been clear, as had the snide remarks he’d make when he was drunk. “The boys will be out there tonight,” he’d said, knocking back a beer and glancing at the door. He’d never asked to go back, but he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to fight and it had ended up with him being stabbed in the shoulder. It seemed to Lara that that event triggered a whole series of bad events. The same afternoon, Max took Charlie. After that, they’d watched their friends’ lives fall apart, like dominoes. Bovver was going off the rails. Pete’s drinking was worse.
If she had chosen the cleaning job, she wouldn’t have met Nora either. Her best friend. Her sister. Was this a betrayal? Nora and Dermot weren’t together, but they had been, very recently. They’d planned to get married. Start a family. Dermot had bought the house. It had been serious, until Max had decided to show his face again. To resurrect himself, fighting his way out of the afterlife. Would Nora ever forgive her for this? It made Lara want to cry, the thought of losing her friendship over this. They’d been through so much together in the past four years, their lives intertwined and mirrored. Both had experienced the worst of men, but they’d also experienced the best. And Nora loved Jock, but Dermot was lost and alone, and he was still Dermot. Kind, protective, loyal to the bone with the biggest heart of anybody she knew. He’d only ever tried to do what was right.
She recalled one of the few times she’d met Dermot before the day Max tried to kill her. Perhaps only the second or third time. Max had flown her to Ireland to drop off some of London’s finest white for the Dublin coke-head population, and she’d met Dermot again at an old farm in the middle of nowhere. “Keep an eye on her while I drop this off, will ya?” Max had said, lighting a cigarette, the black suitcase sat at his feet. Dermot had been leaning against his car, long legs stretched out, and he glanced at her before looking back at his brother.
“Surprised you trust me,” he’d replied, voice cool. “You haven’t let her out of your sight since you got here.”
Max laughed at this, a gleam in his eye as he took a slow drag on his cigarette. Lara, sitting in the back seat of Dermot’s car with the door open, watched him carefully. She’d recognised that look on his face, knew how quick he could fly off the handle. She’d had to remind herself that Dermot had grown up with him, that he’d know this too. “As if you would. You’re a fuckin’ pussy, Dermot.” Laughing again, he’d turned and loaded the suitcase into the boot of his car. “I’ll be half hour max.” He’d winked at Lara as she got out the car, climbing into his own and slamming the door shut. They’d both watched as he’d driven away, before Dermot sighed and gestured for her to follow.
Inside the house, Dermot had helped himself to a beer, but she’d shaken her head when he’d offered her one. Instead, she’d sank down at the kitchen table and anxiously watched the door. She’d been with Max for three years at this point. Three years was enough time to get to know somebody. That honeymoon period had long since faded, but the bruises on her arms and face hadn’t. There’d been a yellowing bruise on her jawbone from Max backhanding her four nights before; she’d spoken back to him in a way he hadn’t liked. As she’d sat in that kitchen, she’d felt so on-edge, as if Max was putting her to the test. She’d been so afraid that he’d burst in at any moment, trying to catch her in the act of something, anything, to find reason to punish her.
“He’s never going to change, you know.” Dermot’s voice made her jump. She’d turned in her chair to face him. He’d seemed to much younger back then, wearing a white vest that revealed muscled arms, slight stubble on his jaw from a few days without shaving. Hazel eyes fixed intently on hers as he took a slow pull on his bottle. Lara had reddened all the way to her hairline, looking away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“He loves me,” she snapped, glaring back at him, unable to help herself now. “What do you know? He’s already told me all about you. And Susie.” Dermot looked away and she saw him grit his jaw, fighting the words that obviously wanted to spill. The silence stretched. Then Dermot pushed away from the counter.
“Max loves himself. That’s it.”
They hadn’t spoken much after that. Max had returned within the half hour, had whisked Lara away for dinner at some fancy hotel. They’d fucked in the guest room, then left for London the next day. It would be years until she’d see Dermot again.
Somehow, Lara fell asleep, but her dreams were plagued with demons. Lara was kneeling on a hard floor. Max standing over her, trailing his hand over her shoulder, a blade glinting in the other. He brought the knife to her neck and she felt the cold edge of the blade in exactly the same way she had on that fateful day. “I know you fucked my brother,” came his low hiss as he leaned in close, lips at her ear. “I know what you did. We all know what you did.” Pete and the children materialised out of nowhere in that surreal way dreams do; Charlie and Kimmy was crying. Pete looked at her coldly.
“You’ve destroyed this family. You’ve destroyed everything. You’ll never see Kimmy again.” He picked her up and the two of them faded away. Lara tried to scream, but no words came out. She was muted. She watched helplessly, stuck in position, as Max picked up Charlie.
“You’ll never see your son again,” he told her as he approached. The blade slashed, cutting across her throat, and Lara screamed and this time there was sound and this time -
“Lara!” She was being shaken awake and she fought, still screaming, until her bedroom swam back into view. Pete was above her, looking panicked. And Lara gasped, the last twenty-four hours hitting her like a ton of bricks. “You’re alright, it was just a bad dream,” he said, doing his best to reassure her. Lara let out a small sob, lifting the duvet to cover her face, and he moved to pull her close against him, into the familiar warmth of his chest, still murmuring softly. His fingers combed her hair until she relaxed enough to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
If only you knew, she thought sadly to herself. Pete kissed the side of her head, telling her he’d run her a bath before he climbed out of bed. Her nightmares were such a common occurrence in that relationship, he didn’t even need to ask her what it was about. Yet tonight’s had seemed much worse, so vivid and real that she even touched her throat when he’d left the room, expecting blood but finding only the soft bumps of her old scar.
After her bath, Lara dressed and did her hair before she made her way downstairs. Pete was already up with the kids, serving them cereal in their colour plastic bowls as the radio played in the background. For a moment, Lara just watched in the doorway, her heart like a sandbag, too heavy for her to carry. She’d betrayed them. Sleeping with Dermot... it hadn’t been right. It was a mistake, she felt certain now. One big mistake that could ruin Pete’s life, her children’s life. Pete caught her eye, giving her a smile that creased the corners of his blue eyes.
“Steve just text. I’m gonna take the kids over for a few hours.” His gaze lingered on her face and she hated to see the pity in his expression. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.” Lara nodded, unable to find the words to protest. Dermot would be picking up his car today, and no doubt Pete would later want to know what happened last night when they’d left. And she had no idea what she was doing to tell him. Or how she was going to break his heart.
—
Rosa's eyes were fixed to Carter as he stepped beneath the waterfall shower, a soft groan escaping him. Blue and purple bruises marred his body, a clear boot-mark imprinted on his right-hand side now he'd removed his bandages. His face was also a mess; one eye swollen, two black eyes, bust lip... It seemed that the more she looked the more she saw. And all she felt was an overwhelming anger towards Brian, towards the dirty bastard coppers who'd treated Carter this way. The only man on Earth who was kind, loving, protective and loyal, who'd accepted and loved her despite her flaws and the trouble that seemed to follow them. He'd given up everything for her and he'd done that without hesitation. Even Jock's plan for them to leave was agreed to without protest. And for that, she knew this was a man worth dying for. No. More than that. Carter Rivera was worth living for.
Rosa was done with playing the victim. She was going to make every single one of them pay for this.
"Don't get your wound too wet." His voice pulled her from her thoughts and she followed him in, careful to keep her injured leg out of the water. She hadn't had a chance to thank Jock properly yet, both of them actually, for saving her life. They'd done a good job. Carter sighed, enjoying the heat of the cascading water, and she moved closer behind him, letting her hand trail over the grazes and marks, the boot print... "This is ridiculous." He turned to face her, studying her with a shake of his head.
Pulling her close, he let the water fall over the two of them, his solid chest warm against her breasts. It felt so wonderful to have him against her against, to be safe in his arms, the two of them still alive. The thought of never seeing him again had been unimaginable. "Whatever happens next, we've got this, okay?" Carter slipped his fingers beneath her jaw, dipping his head to give her a sweet kiss. It made Rosa's heart swell in her chest, this feeling of love encompassing any other emotion she'd ever felt.
They washed each other carefully, aware of every bruise and mark and injury on the other, every so often pausing to kiss again, or murmur soft things that made all that badness of the past few days seem like a distant dream. After, they dried off and Carter tenderly reapplied the bandage to her thigh. After she'd helped him tend his own, they redressed, and Rosa caught his eye with a smile. They'd survived for now and that, for her, was a victory. "I love you."
"I love you too," she smiled, leaning up to kiss him, fingers gentle on his face.
"I've never been to Derry. You'll have to show me around."
Rosa's smile widened. God, it felt so good to smile again.
--
“Dearthair. How many seconds are you staying this time?”
The smell of freshly made coffee hung thick in the air, but did little to distract Dermot from what was in his hand. If he’d thought the past week was bad it was nothing on how he felt now. As if the ground had opened up beneath his feet and he was free-falling endlessly and endlessly, unsure of which way was up and which way was down. His brother’s voice was faint, as if he were at the end of a tunnel, and Dermot barely remembered to take a breath. Nora looked terrified. The still image in his hands reflected the utter fear in her face, in her eyes, mouth bound by black tape. Her top ripped, forcibly, eyes shining with tears. He felt sick, violently sick, stomach churning and threatening to unload. And then Max was approaching, fast, snatching for the Polaroid. Dermot shoved him back, but Max was quicker; grabbing his arm, he twisted it behind his back and forced Dermot roughly into the wall. “Fuck off, Max!”
“No secrets in my house, dearthair. Unless they’re mine.”
Dermot struggled to little effect; he could barely focus. He needed to find Nora. How was he supposed to find her? And Rosa, too. He growled, cheek pressed against the wall, as Max snatched the photograph from him. He went still when he saw it, tilting his head to one side, and Dermot hated that he was looking at Nora in such a vulnerable position. Nobody should have been looking at her like that! And Nick... Nick was going to pay for this if it was the last thing Dermot ever did.
“Your personal life is fucked up, dearthair.” Dermot snatched the photo back when Max offered it to him, pushing away from the wall, unable to keep the burning anger coursing through his body now the shock was wearing off. “She did look hot though, don’t you think?” Dermot lunged for Max furiously, fist swinging, but his brother had been waiting for it, slamming him back again a little too effortlessly. That infuriated Dermot even more and he felt the ebbing hatred towards his brother growing once again. He never cared. He never cared about anybody, nor how his actions affected others. And for years, Dermot had done his best to mend and patch every hole Max made, every gaping wound and bloody graze, but he couldn’t now. It was getting harder to want to protect him. To find the will to stand by his actions. And though he knew Max had nothing to do with this, that Nick wasn’t one of his minions and pound-an-hour thugs who did his dirty work, when he did shit like this, it didn’t make it any easier.
“It really amazes me, what you did to Walker, when you can’t even fight me off.”
Smug little cunt. Dermot managed to tear free, fist colliding with Max’s nose, the crack and the sudden gush of blood satisfying him in a way nothing else had. “You don’t fucking know,” he hissed, throwing Max off completely, though he merely laughed, “how much effort it takes me not to just fucking kill you. I hope you know that. Fucking remember it.” He straightened his shirt roughly, then slid the polaroid back in the envelope.
“Need my help?”
“No, I don’t need your fucking help! I don’t fucking need anything from you.” He glared at Max, looking hard at him, and looking at Max made him think of Lara. It made him think of all the hurt and humiliation he’d put her through. He’d pressed a knife to her throat, the woman he’d supposedly loved, and left her to die in a pool of her own blood. And Dermot had been blind to it. He wondered what Max would do now if he knew. If Dermot told him every detail, of the heated way they’d kissed, of the way her body had felt beneath his hands and tasted beneath his lips... Would Max even care? Would he kill Dermot? Lara? Would he pull the plug on the lot of them?
“This is nothing to do with me, but don’t say I didn’t offer.” Max turned away, picking up his coffee and taking a sip, clearly bored with the conversation now. There was no benefit there for him. “I need you to speak to Lara and get Charlie to me, this week. We had a deal. You owe me that, no matter what other shit is going on, alright?” Dermot dropped his gaze, but nodded. He needed to see Lara again anyway, but the thought of bringing Charlie back here, to him... And what about Nora? How could he find her and protect Lara and Charlie at the same time? He watched as Max disappeared upstairs, turning to yank his coat off the hook, leaving the house again. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t think.
As he left, Dermot pulled out his phone, heart jumping when he saw the voicemail. He played it as he headed underground, via the lift Max had installed. It clicked and played, an unfamiliar voice sounding. It was from Nora’s school and she hadn’t turned in today. Of course, he already knew that. He called back, as the garage lights turned on, revealing rows of shiny expensive cars. “Hi, it’s Mr Sullivan. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but there’s a bit of a family emergency at the moment. Nora will probably be off all week.”
“Thanks for letting us know, and please pass our regards onto Nora; we know how unlike her this is.”
“Thank you, I will,” he said climbing in and when the call ended, he shoved his phone away. He took one of Max’s many cars out the garage, the sunlight bright as he pulled out the ramp and out into the street. As he drove, he tried to figure out a plan. Normally, if he had a problem, he’d turn to Jock, but that wasn’t a viable option right now. How the fuck had Nora been taken? Why hadn’t Jock protected her? Did he even know she was missing? He had no idea what had happened last night after he and Lara had left, Malachi’s name a black cloud in the pub, but somehow it had ended up with Nick kidnapping Nora, hiding her away somewhere in this big city. That’s if she was even still in the city.
Dermot, once again, felt torn. He pulled over onto a hard shoulder, pulling out his phone, scrolling through the contacts. What should he do?
—-
Rosa and Carter had left an hour ago. Jock sat in the waiting room of the hospital, glancing up every time the door opened, heart sinking each time he saw it wasn’t Nora. He’d messaged her to let her know where he’d be, but there’d been no reply. Now, he was just waiting for news on Robbie, but all he could think about was Nora, and the fight last night between him and Dermot. They were family, they’d fallen out before, but nothing like this. His ribs ached savagely with each breath, yet he savoured the pain. He deserved it. At the end of the day, he’d betrayed Dermot. And he’d betrayed him long before Dermot saved Max on the boat, when he’d let his feelings for Nora grow.
Sitting back, he eyed the clock ticking on the wall. The huge white circular ones you always get in GP waiting rooms and dentist receptions. At this point, he assumed she was with Lara. They were best friends, always messaging each other if they weren’t together, drinking coffee at the cafe or having a girl night at the pub. Lara would be trying to pick up the pieces now and he wondered what Nora had told her, what she thought. Did she think he was a murderer? Did she think he’d gone out there in cold blood?
His phone rang, making him jump, though he sighed when he saw Dermot’s name flashing and not Nora’s. She must really hate him, and that thought upset him greatly. He debated not answering, then sighed again and pressed the green button. “What the fuck do you want?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“We? It’s we again, is it?”
“I’m not playing fucking games with you, Josh,” Dermot snapped down the line. “I bet you don’t even know where Nora is, do you?”
The blood in his veins ran cold, back straightening a little. Was she back with Dermot? Was that where she’d been all night? And more importantly, had he told her the truth? “Let me speak to her.”
“She isn’t here. And she isn’t with you.”
“Who’s playing games now, you bastard? Get to the point.” Jock felt uneasy, shifting forward in his chair and dampening his bottom lip. He glanced at the clock again.
“Where are you now?”
Was he playing games? Jock’s scowl deepened and he got to his feet, pacing the small room. “At the hospital.”
“I’m sending you a photo. Wait outside for me, I’ll pick you up.” The call went dead and Jock cursed, lowering his phone. A moment later, two messages popped onto his screen. The first was a note, scrawled loosely in biro. You thought your little inscription could kill me? Think again, S. I have your whole world in my hands. Let’s put away the knives and make a trade. Nora for Rosa. You have three days. The second was a photo of Nora and for a moment, he could only stare in confusion, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. And the note? Rosa for Nora? None of it made sense. Body numb, Jock didn’t even remember leaving the hospital. The world was spinning. Nora had been taken from right beneath his nose. He should never have let her leave the hospital.
Dermot was there within minutes, squealing to a stop in front of him and cussing a couple of paramedics flash him disgruntled looks from the back of their ambulance. Jock climbed in without hesitation. “You better tell me what the fuck is going on.” As Dermot pulled away, Jock allowed him to look him over. He looked like shit. Unkempt, exhausted, maybe even a little crazy. He was still in last night’s outfit, which wasn’t like him at all. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. “Where’s Nora?” For a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if Dermot had taken her, but the note only made sense when Dermot spoke up.
“The night you and Nora found out Max was alive, you showed me a photo. I traced it back. Nick Walker? Does it ring a fucking bell?” Dermot looked over at him darkly. Jock went still. Nick. Now everything was clear. “I found him. I Marked him. A big fucking S right in the middle of his chest. Somehow the little bastard survived.” This surprised Jock, shock marring the anger. He’d thought that Dermot was long gone. Yet apparently was merely hiding beneath the surface. “Now he’s taken Nora. So how the fuck did that happen?”
Jock glowered, fists tightening a little as the urge to punch his cousin grew. As if he had any ground to be righteous. “She left me at the hospital, all thanks to your little stunt, of course. I didn’t mean to kill Malachi and you fucking know it.” Dermot smirked and once again, Jock was vividly reminded of Max. Was he being manipulated, or had Jock been blind to the fact they were so similar all along? And amongst all this confusion, Nora was still out there, somewhere, in danger. She needed him and Nick was going to regret ever existing. Jock should have dealt with him a long time ago, like putting down a rabid dog. After what he’d put Rosa through, it was the least Jock could have done. He bitterly regretted not putting a bullet in his head when he had the chance.
Dermot pulled into a rundown council estate, chavs kicking it about on every corner. “Why does he want Rosa?”
“I don’t know, the freak’s obsessed!” Jock snapped, then suddenly punched the dashboard. “Fuck! For fuck sake, Dermot, if you hadn’t opened your damn mouth, none of this would have happened!”
“You think he wouldn’t have struck another way?” Dermot retorted sharply, heading down another street.
“I would have protected her!”
“You did a good job of that, didn’t you?” Dermot spat. Jock tensed, before looking away, wondering where the fuck they were going.
“How did you know we were at the Abbey?” Jock asked for a few minutes of unbearable silence. Dermot glanced at him.
“Bovver rang me. Let me know. Nice of him, right?” He pulled up, cutting the engine and yanking off his belt, turning to face Jock angrily. “Behind my back?”
“This isn’t the time, Dermot.” Jock turned to sit properly in his seat. “We need to find Nora.” Dermot stared at him for a moment, and Jock sensed he still wasn’t ready to back down from the fight. Watching him from the corner of his eye, it was a minute before he finally sank back and yanked the keys out the ignition. “How the fuck are we going to find him? We have to get to him before due day. I’m not giving him Rosa.”
“Somebody’s going to help us.”
Jock swung around in his seat to glare at him. “I swear, if you say feckin’ Max...”
Dermot glanced at him, shaking his head as he opened the car door. Jock watched as he got out. He turned around, leaning into the car. “Not Max... I’d say Bovver owes us a fucking favour, don’t you think?”
—
Bovver jerked awake at the sudden hammering on his front door. What time was it? Several empty beer cans littered his coffee table and he tripped on a few take away boxes as he made his way into the small hall. More heavy knocking. Who the fuck was this? Pete back for another argument? Or maybe Swill, wanting to borrow money. If he wasn’t so drunk, he probably would have been a little more suspicious and wary, but all night and most of this morning, he’d been drinking and cursing Pete and cursing fucking everyone. “Keep ya fuckin’ hair on!” he shouted, fighting with his key for a moment before he yanked it open.
Big mistake.
For half a second, Bov saw Dermot and Jock towering in his doorway. The next moment, he tried to slam the door, only for Dermot to crash against it and force his way in. He was chuckling, a dangerously low sound edged with ice. “Nice try, Bov. Move out the fucking way.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Bov released the door, stepping back, trying not to look afraid. He should have known this would happen. When he’d made the call last night, he’d been hurt and angry. At Nora, mostly, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d loved her at one point. Severely. He’d given her all the parts of him; the rough, angry, stubborn and prideful parts, but also the soft parts that he normally kept hidden away. The injured parts. He’d admitted to her things he’d never admit to anybody else. He’d allowed himself to relax, to let down a little of the wall he’d done so well to build around himself, to let her in. He’d protected her from Malachi, everything he had always done had been for her.
And it hadn’t been enough.
None of that had stopped her leaving him for Dermot. None of that had stopped the pain he’d endured watching them love it up for three years. The news of their engagement had been like a flaming arrow to the heart. And, as inch by inch, bit by bit he’d lost Nora, he’d also lost himself. She’d taken his parts and scattered them like dandelion seeds and he had no way to get them back. And he’d come to the painful realisation not long ago that Nora had potentially never loved him. Cared for him, deeply, yes, but she didn’t love him. Relied on him and depended on him and looked for his protection, but didn’t love him.
So seeing her with Jock, after everything she had put him through with Dermot... well, it had tipped him over the edge. “Can I ‘elp you?” He asked stiffly, the two men now dominating his small hallway. Jock clicked the door shut behind them. From what Pete had been screaming about last night, things had gone very much downhill after his call. So why were the two of them here together? Bov swallowed and glanced towards the kitchen, wondering why he didn’t grab a knife before he’d answered the door. His gaze snapped back to Dermot, who was advancing in a languishingly slow manner. “The fuck do you want, Dermot?”
“Don’t start playing innocent, Bov.” Dermot’s eyes were dark, darker than Bov had ever seen them. “You know why I’m here.” His words hung in the air as the two men stared each other down. Bov’s heart was hammering so hard he was sure it was about to crack his ribs, throat so dry he could barely swallow. Then, he bolted, but not fast enough. He barely made it into the front room when Dermot snatched his upper arm, swinging him around so he came crashing down onto the coffee table, sending cans and bottles flying. A single punch to his jaw made Bov curse, laid on his side amongst shattered glass and splintered wood, Dermot’s weight above him. Dermot grabbed his hair, slamming the side of his face into the carpet a couple of times. Bov’s head swam, bright lights sparking in his vision.
“Dermot,” Jock warned from somewhere behind them. Bov continued to struggle, and Dermot wrestled him into his back, one hand around his throat.
“Listen here, you little cunt,” he hissed, an almost manic gleam in his eye that Bov had never seen before. “You’ve been fucking me off since the day I arrived in this fucking city, so I suggest you start playing nice.”
“I fuckin’ did you a favour!” Bov hissed, fighting furiously beneath him. “He’s the one that fucked you over! He was the one with Nora behind your back!”
Dermot punched him, fist colliding sharply with his nose. It cracked, Bov giving a yell of pain, and blood gushed, flowing in rivets over his face. “Don’t act like you had my best interests at heart!” He snarled, giving Bovver’s head one last slam against the floor before he yanked him to his feet by the collar of his polo shirt. Bov staggered, trying to keep his footing as Dermot threw him back into his armchair. “We all know why you did this. Because you’re a nothing but jealous lowlife. A sad pathetic little boy with nothing going for him.”
“Fuck you!” Bov suddenly found his fire, pushing himself forward in his chair though he didn’t dare stand. He glowered at Dermot, hatred burning in his eyes. “You took everything from me! We were happy. Nora and I were -“
“You were absolutely nothing,” Dermot retorted, each word puncturing like a bullet, a cold smirk on his face as he looked down on Bov. “Nothing at all. She couldn’t have crawled into my bed quick enough.” Jock shifted uneasily behind him, but Bov only had eyes for Dermot. God, he hated this Irish cunt more than any of them.
“So what’s the plan? You gonna beat me to death?” Bov spat. “I’m sure Nora would appreciate that.” The next moment, Dermot’s boot had impacted with his chest, knocking him back into the seat, winded. Dermot leaned toward, applying more weight.
“No. That’s not the plan. I’m just having some fun.” He released Bovver with a hard press of his foot, the Londoner rubbing his chest and glaring darkly at both of them. His fist shot out, catching Bov’s temple and very nearly sending him sprawling. If Bov didn’t get out of here soon, he was pretty certain he was going to die, beaten to an unrecognisable pulp. His face throbbed and ached and swelled and he could taste blood and feel an dislodged tooth.
“Dermot,” Jock warned again, his voice harder, but Dermot just shot him a look.
“Shut the fuck up, Jock. Don’t even open your goddamn mouth.”
So they weren’t quite a team. For some ridiculous reason, that comforted Bov, but only a little. Surely Jock would have as much reason, if not more, to come after him? To end his life? Could he really find an ally there? While Dermot was distracted, he took a quick glance around for his phone. If he could just call one of the lads...
“You know,” Dermot hissed breathlessly, slamming his fist into Bov’s eye again. Bov felt his eye socket shatter from the impact. Dermot snatched his collar again and dragged him close, right off the chair, face pressed into his. “I’ve been waiting for this day for fucking years. After your clever little plot at the warehouse. It was only because of Nora that I stayed away from you. But there’s nothing fucking stopping me now. Not Nora. And certainly not him.” He pointed at Jock, Bov dragging his gaze towards the other man; Jock was stood by the window, no doubt keeping an eye for nosy neighbours who wanted to know what the commotion was about. Jock himself didn’t look quite comfortable. He glanced at the pair of them, then away again, jaw set. Dermot slapped Bov’s cheek, forcing his gaze back to him. “Focus. I know that might be hard for your tiny brain.”
“Fuck you.” Bov’s words were barely a wheeze and he made no move to get up. His whole body hurt, but no more than his pride. This shouldn’t have happened. Dermot and Jock shouldn’t have even been able to step through the door. Four years ago, he would have fought to the death and would have happily died if it meant standing his ground. But now? Still pissed from the night before, having been hanging out his arse for weeks... he was a leader, for Christ sake, he never backed down to anyone! But he’d been well and truly caught off-guard this morning and he only had himself to blame. Dermot has straightened and was now pacing thoughtfully in front of Bov, which somehow made things even worse. At least if he was pounding Bov’s face in, he knew where his intentions lay. They could do anything to him in this flat and he’d be helpless to it.
And Dermot looked different. Now he could really take stock, he could see the changes. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His hair was untidy and his shirt wasn’t as immaculately crisp as usual; Bov had an inkling he was still wearing it from the night before. He reached up and touched his left eye; it was swollen shut, an agonising throb against his skull. His lip was bust, nose still bleeding, his chest ached from Dermot’s kick. “So is that why you’re ‘ere? Some petty fuckin’ grudge cause you got your arse kicked?”
Dermot stared at him. “You nearly lost me my sight,” he said softly. Bovver shrugged.
“Don’t start cryin’ about it.”
Dermot wheeled around to look at Jock with a loud laugh. “You hear that? I obviously didn’t beat him hard enough.”
“Dermot-“ Ignoring Jock’s protest, Dermot spun back to Bovver and really laid into him. Cramming him into the armchair, pounding his fists against every inch Bov couldn’t defend with his arms. Dragging him off the chair, he threw Bovver to the floor and began to kick him, again and again and again, until finally, Jock tackled him away. “Enough!”
“Get the fuck off me!”
“We need him alive,” Jock retorted in a low snarl, pinning Dermot against the wall, face close. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t forget why we’re here. Okay? Who we’re looking for. You want to kill him, do it in your own fucking time.”
Dermot stared at him, breathing heavily. His face was speckled with Bov’s blood, but finally he saw sense and nodded as he shrugged Jock off. The two men looked at Bovver. He was currently dragging himself across the floor, leaving bloody smears on the carpet. He could see his phone beneath the TV stand, desperately reaching for it. Then a shadow fell over him and Dermot knelt down, appraising him. Bov stared back from his one good eye and he was ashamed to say he was scared.
Fucking terrified.
“My dear cousin seemed fit to remind me why we’re here.” He spoke softly, as if he were speaking to a child. “You know a lot of people, Bov. And, regrettably, my situation has gotten bad enough to require your help.” Disgust flickered in his eyes. “You owe us, plain and simple. If you don’t do us this little favour, well...” Dermot smiled but there was no warmth. “This is just a mere taste as to what will come. And believe me,” he said, leaning closer. “I’ll draw it out for as long as I see fit. You’re gonna be begging me for death. Do you understand?”
Bov’s throat worked. Then, in a hoarse whisper, he asked, “What do you need me to do?”
—
“You went too fucking far,” Jock snarled as soon as they were back in the car. Dermot ignored him, not even bothering with his seatbelt as he squealed away from the curb.
What had happened to his cousin? It was as if he’d morphed overnight into this unrecognisable creature who thrived on the hurt and pain of others. A near-on carbon copy of Max. Was this some sort of break-down? He hadn’t expected Dermot to rough Bov up as much as he had, but was he really that surprised? He’d had it coming a long time and Jock couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy watching karma get her due, but there had been something a little too savage and out of control in Dermot that didn’t settle well with Jock. In fact, it left a very sour taste in his mouth, indeed.
“I did what was necessary,” Dermot spoke up after another a few minutes of tense silence. He was leaving the estate now and Jock glanced at Dermot’s hands, tight around the steering wheel. The knuckles on his left hand were busted and bleeding, mixing with Bov’s blood. If Jock hadn’t been there, would he even have gotten out alive? “He’s a cocky little prick. If he thought he had the upper hand, he wouldn’t have agreed to help.”
Jock looked at him incredulously. “Do you think he will? How the fuck is he supposed to find Nick?”
“If he wants to live, he’ll find a way.”
Personally, Jock thought the plan was dubious at best and a complete shite idea at worst. And he didn’t yet understand why Dermot hadn’t just told Bov that Nora was in danger... Bovver would have agreed to help without the beating and Jock wondered if he’d just used that as an excuse to beat him anyway. Frustrated, Jock ran a hand through his hair and left it untidy. And still, they were no closer to finding Nora than they had been two hours ago. Jock began to feel an agitated heat in his chest and the beginnings of a headache in his temples. “Great. The only person in the whole of fucking London you think can help, and you beat him within an inch of his life. Great fucking plan, Dermot.”
“At least I’m doing something,” he spat back, meeting Jock’s glare.
“I haven’t had a chance to do anything,” Jock growled, shaking his head as he looked away. “This is fucked.” How could he have allowed this to happen? All he could see was Nora’s sad smile before she’d left the hospital, that image haunting him. He should have stopped her. He should have left with her, anything but let her fall into Walker’s grasp. Rosa for Nora. This couldn’t be real. The two men fell into strained silence as Dermot drove. He needed to think, he needed to figure out how to find Nick. Today. He couldn’t risk waiting for Bov, who wasn’t even guaranteed to help them. No. Jock had to do this himself. The stifling silence in the car was almost overwhelming and Jock felt a heavy sense of regret that they weren’t sat here like they used to be, thick as thieves, closer than brothers. Was it irreparable? Was this it for them?
Despite his regrets, he would still choose Nora every time.
Dermot dropped him off at home. “Let me know if you hear anything.” Jock got out the car, turning to frown at him.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back tonight,” Dermot said, pretending he didn’t hear the question. “Make sure you’re armed.” He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling away, and Jock sighed heavily before heading into the house. And as soon as he was inside, he knew he couldn’t be here. Not while Nora was out there, afraid and hurt. God, if Walker lay one finger on her...
—-
Bovver gave a whimper of pain as he managed to snatch his phone from beneath the TV stand. He was trembling hard and he could barely breathe; Dermot’s last kicks had broken at least two ribs which he could feel and he could barely see from his eye. Over and over in his mind, he could hear Dermot’s low threat, and gravity of what he needed to do finally hitting him. Find Nick Walker? Who the fuck was Nick Walker?!
This was impossible. There were thousands of people in London and despite Dermot’s thinking, Bovver did not know everybody. He managed to prop himself up against the sofa, wheezing, blood still dribbling over his chin, and began to contemplate his options. He couldn’t run. Not that he didn’t believe he could stay hidden from the Sullivans, but because his own pride wouldn’t allow that. Bovver didn’t run and he certainly didn’t fucking hide. Which left him with two choices. Refuse to help Dermot and get beaten to death, or help him, potentially fail, and get beaten to death anyway. What a fucking choice.
Bov unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts, thumb lingering over Pete’s name. But what could Pete do? He’d made his views very clear last night. Would he still have Bovver’s back? Or did all these years of brotherhood mean nothing now? Eventually, he called Dave, waiting impatiently for the phone to connect. “Oi, bruv,” he gasped, the pain evident in the croakiness of his voice. “You need to get to mine, quick. I need you.” He left it at that, hanging up as soon as Dave affirmed he was on his way. Next, he rang Ryan.
“Long time no see, prick,” said the cheery voice down the line and Bov squeezed his eyes shut, trying to muster some patience with the little yob. “Mate, where are ya? Some crazy shit happened down the pub last night-“
“Ryan, shut the fuck up for two minutes and listen. Listen hard, I ain’t saying this twice...”
—-
Dermot could only breathe once he was alone. He left Jock’s, heading back towards the East End, but a few minutes later, had no choice but to pull over. Resting his head back against the headrest, Dermot squeezed his eyes shut. He could have finished Bov there and then with ease. He did not at all expect him to succeed in finding Nick, but Dermot hadn’t been willing to leave him unpunished. Though, he couldn’t ignore the slight niggle of guilt he felt. If Bov hadn’t rang him, he never would have found out about Jock and Nora, not yet anyway. But, as he had told Bov, he hadn’t done it for Dermot, he’d done it for himself. And for that, he couldn’t feel too bad.
Bovver deserved everything he got and more, and when Nora was safe and Walker was dead, Bov would be joining him in a shallow grave. Because, frankly, Dermot had nothing to lose now. Aoife was grown, she didn’t need him. Max had never needed him. Jock and Nora... he’d lost them too. And the best thing he could do for Lara was to stay far far away from her.
Lara.
Dermot opened his eyes, swallowing hard. Max had brought enough shit to her doorstep for Dermot to add his own, yet he’d pulled her in anyway. Kissed her until she was breathless and until neither could think of a reason why it was wrong. And there were a hundred reasons why it was wrong. Too many people were going to get hurt.
He restarted his engine and pulled away, mind set. He wouldn’t tell Lara about Nora. As far as he was concerned, the less she knew the better. She didn’t need to be dragged into anything else. But it still left the dilemma of Max wanting to see Charlie and that was something he couldn’t quite ignore. While he dealt with this, he prayed his subconscious would remain busy, thinking of a way he could save Nora. Despite how he was feeling, which was pretty fucking low, he still loved her. He wasn’t sure he would ever not love her. And seeing her with somebody else, lest of all Jock... it was a torturous, agonising pain he didn’t think he could handle.
If something bad happened to her, Dermot simply wouldn’t be able to survive.
—-
Dermot made his way up the Dunham’s gravel driveway and noted Pete’s car gone. His car was still there, parked neatly to one side where Lara had left it. He’d left his borrowed one at the penthouse; if Max had been in, he hadn’t seen or heard him, and his brother had made no move to be known. He’d quickly showered and dressed into fresh clothes, before getting a taxi to Lara’s. He’d been nervous the entire way, thoughts bouncing between Nora and Max and Jock and Nick. Who could he even trust anymore?
The gravel crunched and shifted under his feet as he made his way towards the front door; two hanging baskets full of orange magnolias hung proudly either side of the door. There was an uneasy churning in his stomach as he reached the door but didn’t yet knock. All morning, he had done his best not to think about her and what they did, and after finding out about Nora, it had made that easier. But there was no stopping the thoughts now. Would she even want to see him? Had she told Pete? Did she regret it? Did she... not? Then the door opened without him even knocking and it was obvious she had been waiting. Then he felt guilty again; if something happened to Nora, she would never forgive herself either.
Her hair was down, flowing loose around her shoulders, though her face was paler than normal and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She wore a light-coloured summer dress, a cornflower blue which matched her eyes. “Dermot?” Lara’s gaze took him in in one glance; despite the fact that he’d showered, he hadn’t done much for his knuckles and he saw the colour drain from her face as she looked at them. Then, she shook her head as if deciding she didn’t want to know and stepped aside to let him in. He caught her scent as he passed. No perfume today, but a strong hint of strawberry shampoo and something that was just her, a sweet undertone he recalled beneath his tongue last night.
“Everybody out?” He asked as she shut the door; the house was silent, other than the low hum of the radio in the kitchen. She nodded, but other than that, didn’t say anything. He could feel the weight of it between them, the unsaid words, the things they were most desperate to spill, yet neither seemed ready to make the first move. In some ways, that suited Dermot. He cleared his throat, coming to a stop in the kitchen. It was a nice kitchen, homely. Cups hanging from the mugtree, posts drying on the draining board, the smell of morning coffee still lingering in the air. It was big, with a small breakfast bar at one end which was still home to two plastic cereal bowls; one blue and one pink. Children’s artwork smattered the fridge as well as every cupboard front in sight.
Lara offered him coffe and her voice brought his gaze back to hers. He’d never really noticed her eye-shape before and he found himself studying her. There were a lot of things he hadn’t really noticed about Lara. The way her hair parted down the middle and fell, completely straight, past her shoulders. The different strands of colour; dark mixed with glints of autumn-gold if the light caught it in a particular way. The way her lips pursed when she was thinking, or the way her teeth sank into the bottom one when she was worried.
Things he should never have really noticed.
He nodded, finding his voice had left him. Now he was thinking about last night and the way she had looked at him as he’d pinned her against the counter. The heat of her bare skin beneath his rough palms. Her moans spilling into his mouth as she rolled her hips against his. The memory was so powerful it literally took his breath away. As Lara busied herself with making coffee, Dermot moved to lean against the counter beside her. They were only inches away from each other now. If he wanted, he could have reached out and pulled her close. He didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat, not quite looking at her.
“Max wants to see Charlie,” he said briskly. “This week. He... isn’t going to take no for an answer, Lara. And... and I...” He glanced at his left hand, at the grazes and the swelling. Without answering what he’d said about Max, Lara turned and took his hand to inspect it. No doubt buying herself time to think it over.
“Let me fix this,” she murmured, fetching a first aid kit from the cupboard above the sink. She opened it up, pulling out antiseptic wipes and an unused bandage. As Dermot watched her clean his knuckles and bind them gently with the bandage, he wondered how many times she’d done this for Pete over the years. For Max. She worked with a quick ease that spoke of practise, and not for the first time, Dermot felt his heart ache for her.
“I don’t know how to fix this, Lara,” he told her softly. “I thought I did. I thought I had it all under control, but I don’t. I don’t know how to stop Max demanding Charlie. I don’t know how I can keep everybody safe.” His voice thickened and he looked away, trying to swallow back the welling emotion. “I don’t - I don’t know who I am,” he murmured, almost in shock. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He listened to Lara speak, the soft undertones of her voice soothing his soul in a way nothing else had recently. She was wise beyond her years and he felt that now and took comfort in it. Finally, he brought his gaze to hers and she must have read something in his expression as she faltered slightly. Lips parted a little, his eyes tracing the curve of her lower lip for a moment. “We should probably talk... about last night.”
—-
The first thing Nora did the next morning was scream. Nick had gone back to Charlotte’s in the early hours, the house dark and quiet. If she’d been awake in bed, she’d never made a noise, and Nick worked quietly as he packed up every trace of him. Slugging the bags downstairs, he’d set them in the hall. He was done here. Nick would take the car, have it returned in a few days once he and Nora were settled... His interest in Charlotte had completely faded and now she was nothing but background noise. A problem he hoped he didn’t have to deal with. If she was smart, she’d carry on with her life, look after her son, and forget she ever knew him.
He hoped for her sake she was smart.
Nick found a B&B close to the storage centre and booked a room out for the week. He paid the bill up front, though he knew he wouldn’t be here the whole week. Two days max. Then, he and Nora would be far from the East End, from London. The note he’d sent to Dermot had been more a distraction than anything. He knew Jock would never give Rosa up, and to be frank, he’d lost track of which one was sleeping with Nora. So they were effectively stuck. They wouldn’t be able to find him in time. They didn’t know about Charlotte, they didn’t even know where he was now.
And he certainly had no intention of ever giving Nora up. Not now he had her. Not when she’d walked so easily into his trap. Women could be so stupid, so trusting and naive, until it was too late. As he walked into the storage unit the next morning and Nora screamed, he felt a surge of irritation as he let the door slam shut, leaving them in the dim bulb-light overhead. Couldn’t she shut the fuck up for two minutes? She kept screaming, desperate for anybody to hear her, so he approached quickly, fist flying out and catching her across the side of the face. She fell, kind of - if it wasn’t for the chain secured to the floor, she would have toppled completely - and the tape came away from her mouth, flapping uselessly.
“You can’t do this.” Her voice trembled, hoarse, yet there was an underlying strength there he didn’t quite like. She wasn’t yet hopeless, clearly clinging to the idea that one Sullivan or another would turn up for her. “Jock will kill you.”
Nick smirked, kneeling down and ignoring the twang in his chest, as she lifted her eyes to his. Slightly tearful, but full of a ferocious anger he’d never imagined she’d contain. She’d seemed placid and timid so far, and he made a mental note to underestimate her no longer. He reached out and snatched the tape from her mouth, leaving the skin red. She gave a sudden hysterical laugh that made his smirk fade and his blood rush.
“He will. You’re dead.”
Her words rang out as she laughed tearfully, though she didn’t attempt to struggle against the chains this time. Probably reserving her energy. He didn’t know when the last time she ate was, but he assumed she must be getting hungry. Curling his lip at her, he stood and moved to his bag. He’d left it by the door when he’d come in, too intent on silencing her screams. He decided not to respond to her comment about Jock. Not yet anyway. Picking up the bag, he moved back towards her and pulled out a sandwich carton. He tossed it at her feet, along with a bottle of water. Then, he stared at her long and hard, before kneeling down and taking a key out of his pockets. He released one of her hands so she could eat, but left the other firmly chained; there were red marks on her wrist where she’d been straining to escape.
“I delivered a little gift to Dermot this morning,” he said, setting down his bag on the lone chair in the room, reaching to take her bag off the shelf. He rifled through it, then got impatient and upturned the contents onto the floor. Picking up Nora’s phone amongst her purse and scattered items of make-up, he smirked and brought it to life. There were a lot of missed calls and messages; from work, from Jock, from Lara. One, more recently, from somebody called James, telling her that he might be visiting for the summer. Who the fuck was James?! Not that it mattered now. Nora was never going to see any of them again. “That photo of you,” he said, looking up at her. “I sent it to Dermot. Do you think he liked it?” He laughed. “I bet he’s panicking now. Looking for you. Maybe they’re both looking for you. Both your lover boys.”
Then, he looked at her more sternly, as he turned off her phone and turned it to remove the SIM card. She didn’t need this now. “Eat. No point starving to death, is there?”
—-
Benji didn’t sleep after Charlotte’s call. Long before the first signs of dawn streaked the sky, Benji sat downstairs, laptop humming softly in front of him. He’d kept an eye on the tracker all night. Nick had spent some time at the storage unit before making his way back to Charlotte’s. But strangely, he didn’t stay there long. Half an hour at most. Then off he went again, the little red dot heading back towards the unit, though it didn’t end up there. Some street a few roads away. Benji made a few searches online and found out it was a B&B. He made a note of the address, then went to make himself coffee.
He text Charlotte as soon as it was a decent enough time to do so and when his patience was finally about to snap, which was about 6.30am. Nick went back. Stayed at a B&B close by. He’s at the unit now. What do you want to do? No doubt she’d have to take her kid to school first, and he had no idea what she actually wanted to do, or if they’d do anything at all. Maybe she just wanted the peace of mind that he was far far away from her?
By seven, Benji was running on nothing but caffeine. He forced himself to eat some toast, then left the house to make his way to Charlotte’s. It was still early, but when you’d been up for hours, it felt like it should have been midday. Plus, the morning was beautiful. No clouds, nothing but the brightest blue sky over London. However, there’d been an early morning crash and soon, he was sitting impatiently in still traffic, Reggae playing low on the stereo. Finally he reached Charlotte’s. Her car was gone, like he’d expected it to be, but she’d already messaged back so he knew she was in. Moving to the front door, he knocked and waited for her to answer.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jun 17, 2022 11:39:32 GMT -5
Luke knew that Aoife was irritated, and he should've cared, but he didn't. Well, he did to the extent that it worked in his favour, but not enough so to do anything about it. What could he do? Tell George Turner that he was making the biggest mistake of his fucking life? He was proving he wasn’t worthwhile all on his own, but if need be, Luke may give him a little shove.
It was sad, really, the hold that people had on you when you were in a relationship. The expectation and hope you held, only to get dampened and disappointed. Did they both think their relationship would land here, stale, exhausted? Presumably not, or they would’ve been fools for rushing into it. It happened often; Luke saw it everywhere. Perhaps he was cynical, perhaps he was just a pessimist. His therapist would’ve said he had a fear of commitment, but Luke just saw in black and white. Saw people for what they were, which was things. No one else would ever be able to have control over him.
Apart from, perhaps… her. Aoife was angry, fizzing in the seat beside him and Luke wondered why he was doing this for her, if she was just another little play thing. Why he was orchestrating a web of lies just to earn her trust, her interest, if she was just another tick on his list.
‘It’s just not easy.’ Aoife finally said and Luke found himself melting into her soft accent.
‘It never is.’ He replied, and that could’ve meant a world of things. What never was? Not getting what you wanted, never was, he knew that much.
‘There’s just never any time. There’s always something, an emergency, and the cross-over shifts and…’ Aoife cut herself off so abruptly he glanced at her with a moment of concern. She told him the address to drive to and looked at him in a way that pleaded not to ask more, even if she was begging to speak.
‘I never normally listen to the radio.’ Luke said after a while. Aoife had suddenly stiffened beside him, obviously aware she felt she had said too much already. ‘In the morning it annoys me, you know when they ring up and play those quiz shows? Yet, the other day I was listening to one and she rang up and got the answer wrong. It was, ‘who was the lead singer of Queen?’ and she said Freddie fucking Flintoff.’ Luke chuckled, even though it had more irked him at the time. ‘Can you believe it?’ he asked and they both chuckled and Aoife gave a small smile so it was worthwhile.
Why was he making small talk? Suddenly, Luke felt nervous. Why did he feel nervous? Usually, the woman was the one chasing him, and all he had to go was click his fingers and they’d drop to their knees. Aoife, though? Aoife was ferocious, like a tornado, or a rollercoaster; she whipped you up, disorientated you whilst at the same time exhilarated all your senses. She was beautiful to look at, but dangerous; she was with someone else, she was the daughter of a fucking Sullivan… it was a risky game. That was one of the reasons he was so enthralled by her.
When Luke lay awake at night he could see her piercing blue eyes staring at him. A small amount of glitter on the lids, a dark liner beneath and long, natural lashes. Her complexion was pale, like porcelain, with intricate freckles; she looked like a doll. And the way she said his name? The way she had nestled next to him at the party, nervous, trusting in him fully, that had made his dick hard. The gentle Irish lilt in her voice, making her sound sophisticated until she got angry and then the full gypsy took over.
Luke could see his phone vibrating in the side of the door but he ignored it. Nothing mattered more than these moments, because if he played his cards right…
Small talk trickled as the drive came to a close. He could’ve found where she lived in a heartbeat, but it had been more rewarding for her to show him. Sometimes earning permission could be satisfying.
‘Do you want to come in for a few minutes?’ Aoife asked as they pulled up outside and she headed for the door.
How long had she been sitting on that question? She had asked it before he’d had a second to switch off the ignition. She wanted him inside, when George wasn’t home. Was she testing him? Luke glanced down at his watch and though for a moment.
‘Just a few minutes.’ He replied and then flashed a teasing smile. Where did he have to be? Doing some stupid favour for some stupid dealer, or looking up the whereabouts of some ugly woman for Max Sullivan? Unimportant, irrelevant factors in his life right now.
As she rummaged for her keys, Luke glanced around, his hands in his pockets. He wondered what the neighbours were like, if curtains were twitching or if they didn’t care. People loved to be nosy, but people daren’t say anything about what they saw. Did they even know one another? Back when their parents were young everyone knew everyone in the street, but now? Luke didn’t even know the name of the receptionist at his local hotel, or the name of his own neighbours. Who had time for that anymore?
‘Um, it’s only small.’ Aoife mumbled as she opened the door. ‘Probably nothing like you’re used to.’
‘And what am I used to?’ Luke asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘It can be hard to get good property in London, but if you’re ever looking to move… give me a call.’ Luke followed behind her as Aoife stepped into the kitchen, placing the keys on the counter.
Aoife wasn’t wrong, it was small, but he could see her stamp all over the place. Two rooms downstairs and he guessed two upstairs. It was decorated nicely, simply; there were some flowers on the side in a vase that had seen better days, and pictures of Aoife and George on the fridge. One of Nora and Aoife, smiling as they ate ice creams by a pond. Something smelt good and he couldn’t quite point it out; warm cookies and pine trees… what he presumed Ireland would smell like. Probably a candle somewhere.
George’s jackets were hanging on the rack by the door, along with one of Aoife’s. There was a mug in the sink there hadn’t been time to clean this morning, and Aoife scurried over to rinse it quickly.
‘Can I borrow your toilet?’ Luke asked as she ran the tap. ‘I promise I’ll bring it back.’ He joked, cringing as he turned away.
As he headed up the stairs, Luke glanced over at the bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Creaking across the landing he stepped inside. The bed was big, made neatly with a throw over the bottom and a few scatter cushions. There were some pictures on the chest of drawers and a laundry basket crying to be emptied. Without really thinking Luke pulled the lid from the wicker basket and picked up an item from the top of the pile. It was a pair of silky underwear. He let the material slip through his fingers as his eyes closed. As Aoife clattered downstairs, Luke jolted back to reality and slipped them inside his trouser pocket before heading into the bathroom.
The shower was big and he wondered if George had fucked her in there. Then he thought about the video of them in the alleyway all those years ago, the look of pleasure on Aoife’s face… he had almost forgotten about that. Washing his hands, he opened the cupboard above the sink and picked up a bottle of perfume. If he closed his eyes, he was stood behind her, the scent on her neck as he kissed her pulse point.
‘I think you should call in sick tomorrow.’ Luke announced as he headed down the stairs.
Aoife jumped a little and he wondered if she had been trying to make herself look tidier, examining her face in the toaster. She didn’t need to do anything, she looked glorious.
‘Be selfish for once.’ He added and then glanced around the room. ‘I’m not going to get in trouble being here, am I?’ he asked tentatively and then smiled. ‘Okay, I say we get some wine, a take away and you relax. If I wasn’t here, what would you be doing? Waiting around for Turner to show up? You need to look after yourself sometimes too, Aoife.’ Luke rattled his car keys. ‘I’ll be back with rations in ten minutes, unless you would rather… not…?’ he left the question hanging in the air for a moment.
Don’t deny me, he thought, trying to keep a look of ease on his face.
A few minutes later and Luke was in the local shop, looking over the mediocre bottles of wine. Then he saw a bottle of whiskey and picked that up instead; Jameson. The perfect drink for the perfect Irish faerie. On the way back he picked up a cheese and tomato pizza and was back at the house in no time.
What was George doing now? Rushing around, completely obliviously to Luke sauntering around his house? The thought filled Luke with glee; stupid cunt deserved it. Did he want Aoife to leave George for him? Luke didn’t know what he wanted anymore, he just knew it was her. Pushing open the front door as if he owned the place, Luke imagined for a brief second that he did. Coming home to Aoife with dinner under his arm, a smile on his face; she in the kitchen, smiling as if he were the best man in the world. Was that so strange to want?
He was getting blindsided by his lust for her and Luke shook it away with a sigh.
‘Look what I found.’ He announced, waving the Jameson in the air. Placing the pizza on the side he opened one of the cupboards for the glasses, glancing behind him when Aoife directed him to the correct one. The idea that George could be home any minute was strange, but Luke wasn’t afraid. In fact, he would love to see the day George Turner dared raise a hand to him. Luke knew Aoife well enough to know she didn’t live for the violent life; she would never look at him the same way again.
‘I haven’t touched this since my party… three… four years ago?’ Luke scoffed at how long ago it had been. ‘I’ve told you all about my past, but, I don’t know about yours.’ He offered her a glass of neat whiskey and popped open the pizza box. He could guess what had happened, but it was better to make her believe he was interested.
‘Engaged or not?’ he asked as they settled in the living room. The sofa was small; if he moved an inch more to the left he would be brushing her shoulder. ‘When did you move in here?’ he asked again, noticing Aoife had downed her glass in a second and was already pouring another. ‘Are you happy?’ he suddenly asked, a serious undertone to his voice. ‘Tell me.’ Luke was looking at her as if he had never seen a more wonderful being in the world.
Did George look at her like this? Did anyone look at him like that? Did Aoife love him?
Luke didn’t like to think he was someone who craved affection or validation from anyone but from the day he had met Aoife Sullivan, he was desperate for her approval. He thought about the underwear nestled in his pocket and glanced down at her legs; what was she wearing today? Would he get to see it? He swallowed, glancing away. He had to slow down. If it was anyone else he wouldn’t have even bothered with the food or the pleasantries. He couldn’t ruin this, not again.
‘I wasn’t happy. I know what it’s like to lie to yourself, but life is too short to play pretend.’ Luke added, sipping his whiskey with a sigh. ‘Just remember, you don’t owe anyone anything, okay?’ he took a slice of pizza and glanced out the window. Some children were running down the street giggling and it was strangely refreshing. ‘You’re a Sullivan, for fuck sake. Remember?’ he teased. She had used that statement to impress him once, and admittedly it had worked.
Time seemed to go slowly as they enjoyed one another’s company, absorbing all the little details that had happened over the years. Aoife’s mum dying; her dad getting engaged, her relationship with George, Max Sullivan disappearing… and how tired she was of it all. The inconsistency; the unsureness. Luke told her about his dad, about Lawrence, about the club… ‘you should come one day.’ He added in briefly, but didn’t linger on the invitation. ‘There’s been no one for me since… well, just no one.’ Luke laughed when she asked about his love life. ‘But I know I’m hard to please.’ He joked and Aoife rolled her eyes.
As the pizza disappeared and the alcohol flowed, Luke could see Aoife starting to grow tipsy as her eyelids fluttered. She became more brave, confident, gesturing wildly as she told stories. It was nice to see her relaxed, and the alcohol had taken the edge off for him too. They had shifted close together and as Luke turned to talk, he realised just how close. He could feel her breath on his face. He could see every shade of the sea in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her; her nose, her eyelids her cheeks, the top of her head. Luke wanted to let his hand grab her hair, pulling it tightly as he bit her lower lip and heard her moan. Instead he gave a gentle laugh and pulled back.
‘I’m going to get you a glass of water.’ Luke went to stand up but Aoife reached out for him and his heart raced. ‘Irish?’ he asked with a raised brow. She was looking at him as if she wanted something but no words fell from her lips.
Suddenly he felt sad for her, and it was an unusual and new sensation. She wasn’t happy; she was trapped in her own people pleasing prison and she wouldn’t free herself. Luke wanted to open her cage and let her roam, but if he did that she would never see him the same. He would admit, now he was drunk, that he was afraid. Afraid of… ‘I don’t want to lose this, Aoife.’ Luke said as he sat back down beside her. ‘I don’t want to sound sensitive, but, life is… fragile, and there’s not many people I can count on anymore, besides you. I can count on you, right?’ she was looking at him as if she would fall into his lap like the waves of an ocean. She was pleading for him to take her but he couldn’t.
Fuck, he really wanted to, though. Aoife was still leaning close to him and he knew he didn’t move, she would kiss him. He could feel it in the way she was holding herself, looking at him from beneath hooded lashes. She wanted to be exhilarated, and both of them knew that this was wrong, which was why it was all the more appealing. Dampening his bottom lip, Luke swallowed back the masculine urge to throw her back on the sofa and reached out to kiss her head. It was soft and gentle and he closed his eyes against her touch.
‘You’re truly fucking something.’ Luke breathed.
‘Everybody out?’ Lara merely nodded in response to Dermot. Of course, otherwise she wasn’t sure she would have let him in the house. It felt both wrong and right at the same time, how was that possible?
Seeing him on the doorstep had made her stomach flip and she hated him for it, and hated herself more for no longer feeling that way when she saw Pete. Was that her fault? You got used to the routine of it all, that seeing him felt the same way as seeing the toaster in the same place every day, it was just where it was meant to be. They just… were. There was no excitement, no wonder for the future. There was no time for surprises and Lara wondered if that was the children’s fault or theirs. Would it be different when they were older? Lara didn’t think so.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ Lara asked, turning on the machine without waiting for a response. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him fully, not yet. The smell of his aftershave had made last night flicker in her mind and her cheeks tinged pink. What was she doing? She could feel how close Dermot was to her and wondered if he would grab her, slam her against the side.
Would she stop him? Biting her lip she pulled out two fresh mugs and tried to dampen the urge to move closer. This was different; this was her home – their home. Lara had to remind herself she wasn’t the only one in this family, and her actions would have severe repercussions on everyone. She had tried to call Nora earlier but it had gone straight to voicemail and she had been thankful. What was she even planning on saying anyway? How could this come up on conversation and not cause conflict?
It wouldn’t be the action that would cause friction, but the intent and how long it had been there.. The not knowing if Lara had spent their years of friendship eyeing her fiancé, their whole relationship a lie. Lara would just have to hope Nora knew her well enough to understand that wasn’t true.
‘Max wants to see Charlie.’ Dermot said after a moment and Lara stiffened. ‘This week…’
Lara nodded her head but didn’t turn to look at Dermot. The more she was reminded of Max, the more she felt sick to her stomach. Why couldn’t they just have this without everything else. Without the children or Peter or Nora or fucking Max. Everyone else would grow past it with time but Max would never accept this level of betrayal, even if she was no longer his. The scar on her neck was a forever reminder of who she had belonged to first.
She didn’t know what to say and found herself glancing at his hands resting on the side, then she saw his knuckles were bust. Why? It didn’t matter; she saw a problem and she wanted to sort it.
‘Let me fix this.’ Lara murmured grabbing her first aid kit and setting to work.
She remembered the first time Max had come to her injured; a cut on his head and lip, and a badly broken nose. She had only been living with him for a few days when he had come home late, stinking of alcohol and dripping blood on the laminate.
‘I need you to help me.’ Max had demanded when she’d gasped in shock and run over to him. ‘You need to click my nose back in place.’ He murmured through the rivets of blood, pinching the bridge of his nose with a wince.
‘W-what?’ Lara asked, her body shaking as he grabbed her hands in his and placed them on his nose. She could feel his warm blood against her palm and her heart beat heavy. ‘Why me?’
‘I can’t get it from this angle.’ He met her gaze and for once there was a kindness there. ‘I trust you.’ He whispered and Lara nodded her head, taking a steady breath. How was she to know he was only being kind to prepare her for her future; a future of this. ‘On the count of three, okay?’
Lara didn’t take her eyes from his as he started to count down.
‘One…’
Who had done this?
‘Two…’
Why had someone done this?
‘Three…’
Max cried out in pain as Lara clicked his nose back into place and she squealed in shock, overwhelmed by it all. She had his blood all over her white top and beneath her finger nails. There were rarely any explanations for the injuries and after a while Lara stopped asking. ‘How are you at stitches?’ Max asked and Lara swallowed.
She became skilled at covering bruises, his and her own, at sewing up bust lips or palms, or knuckles. Looking down at Dermot’s hand, she couldn’t see the difference between the two siblings in that moment and it scared her.
‘I don’t know how to fix this, Lara.’ Dermot said when she had finished and she kept her gaze down for a moment. This was the difference between them; the remorse. ‘thought I did. I thought I had it all under control, but I don’t. I don’t know how to stop Max demanding Charlie. I don’t know how I can keep everybody safe.’
Max had been void of almost all emotion, and any time he had shown a fraction of humanity it had only ever been for his own gain. Dermot, on the other hand, was welled up with so much feeling he didn’t know how to contain or control it. It was difficult, she reasoned, being a man. Pete had been tough for so long that it had culminated in a break down, and she wondered if this was where Dermot was heading. If she was forever going to be fixing broken men.
‘I don’t - I don’t know who I am’ Dermot sounded defeated, and it made her chest hurt. ‘I don’t know who I am anymore.’
Lara shook her head, passing Dermot his coffee. ‘You do.’ She reassured him after a pause. ‘You’ve just spent so long trying to be everything for everyone that you’ve just forgotten, but you’re still in there. You’re still Dermot.’ Finally meeting his gaze, Lara gave a small smile. ‘It can be so easy to get lost in the midst of it all, especially if you don’t ever stop to consider yourself and there’s a big difference, between being Max and just being considerate to yourself. There is no ‘all or nothing’ in self-care and it took me a long time to realise that.’ Chewing her lip she sipped her coffee.
‘You must feel like the world is collapsing on you right now, and some of it is your fault, but most of it isn’t. We’re all accountable for our actions, but I don’t regret… we shouldn’t regret what happened, because it’s happened now.’ She faltered then his gaze suddenly hot on her. ‘Dermot?’
‘We should probably talk... about last night.’
‘What is there to say?’ Lara replied, because what could be said? What were they both going to do?
‘I think I love you.’ She settled on and felt a sickness in her chest at how easy it had been. ‘Do you know that? I thought I loved you because I loved Max and Charlie, but it’s different. This love it’s always just been for you and it wasn’t because you made me love you, it’s because you didn’t.’ it sounded silly and she laughed a little. ‘You never made me become anything for you. You always just let me be who I wanted, and you never questioned anything I did, you just… watched me, let me grow and make my own mistakes and I really appreciate that. I love that you let me find myself, so I could find you.’
Taking a deep breath, Lara suddenly felt overcome with emotions and glanced away. ‘I’m not sorry for how I feel, but I’m sorry it doesn’t fix our situation.’ Filling the space between them, Lara leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, so softly it could barely be felt. She let her touch linger, kissing closer and closer until she caught the corner of his mouth. She wanted more, but not now, not here. ‘Tell Max he can see Charlie tomorrow. You can take him, if you want? I trust you not to let anything bad happen.’
She loved him. Looking down at her wedding ring, Lara twisted it around her finger a few times, chewing on her lip. ‘I’ve got some things to deal with.’ She murmured and looked back up to meet his gaze. ‘I would rather get it over with today, because Pete doesn’t deserve this. If you… feel the same, that is? Fuck.’ She laughed hysterically. ‘Do you even feel the same?’
When Dermot left, Lara felt both elated and terrified. She didn’t want to continue this lie, it wasn’t fair on anyone. Pete deserved to be respected and for her to be honest, and Nora needed to know that Dermot was safe and she could continue on with Jock. She would understand, and if she didn’t… well it wasn’t Nora that they were worried about, it was Max.
Back in his apartment, Max was looking through CCTV footage on his laptop when Dermot came back. He held back a side remark and sat in silence, sipping his whiskey with a contented sigh. Luke had found the house that Charlotte lived at and he was watching as none other than Nick Walker stepped out of her front door. ‘Sneaky bastard.’ Max said under his breath, freezing the frame on his face. The man looked pale, obviously holding himself tenderly from the wound Dermot had inflicted. Was this girl an ex, or some unfortunate he had happened upon by chance? She had a son, was it his?
As Dermot shuffled in the background, Max closed the laptop screen and stood up.
‘About earlier…’ Max found himself saying hesitantly. He didn’t want to apologise, but he did want to see his son. Seeing Tristan on the camera had reminded him of Charlie and it had suddenly dawned on him how much he missed him. That was a new sensation. Dermot was looking at him, a dejectedness in his eyes. ‘I’m guessing you’ve changed your mind?’ Max asked. ‘What do you need me to do?’
Luke had come in very useful when it came to sourcing Nick Walker's whereabouts. Only recently there had been a signal from a nearby storage facility and they had hacked in, pulling up the footage in moments. There in the dimly lit room sat Nora, curled up in the corner, chains tied around her ankles. Why had he installed this camera? For his own sadistic benefit? Max somewhat approved of it all, and had a small amount of respect for Nick's work. He knew what he wanted, and he didn't give a fuck about who it hurt. Sadly, however, had fucked with the wrong siblings.
Max didn't show Dermot the live footage, instead showed a screen grab on his phone of the situation.
‘Don’t ask me how I have this information, just use it wisely, dearthair.’ Max said an hour or so later. He had stepped into his office and shut the door, adamant that if he was to help Dermot, he wasn’t allowed to get involved, or to know his sources. ‘Are you going to finish what you started?’ Max asked, handing over the GPS on a slip of paper. Just as Dermot went to take it, he pulled back. ‘Why are you doing all of this for her, when she doesn’t even give a fuck about you?’ there was no softness there and Max sighed as Dermot recoiled at the bluntness. ‘I guess she is to you what Lara is to me.’ he smirked. 'Some girls you just can't let anyone else take, right?'
Charlotte didn’t know why she wasn’t just waiting for Benji. She knew he was going to come over today and was nervously excited at the prospect of seeing him again, but something seemed wrong. It had been difficult to sleep after their phone call last night, partly because she couldn’t stop recalling the touch of his hands on her body, but mostly because Nick Walker was missing. It should’ve been welcome news, but how he had just gone from all to nothing in a matter of days seemed wrong; inconsistent for a man of his type. An abusive, playing the slow game type.
There only seemed one logical explanation as to what he was doing, and Charlotte had a feeling it involved another unsuspecting woman and that irked her. Why had he decided to invade her life if she was so easily replaceable? Why had he threatened her son and his safety if he was just preparing to leave? It had been cruel, and intolerable. What had been the point in the games?
Charlotte was angry at herself for not questioning things sooner, but she had been struggling to survive. She was, admittedly, susceptible to the charm of an attractive man. Nick was frustratingly attractive, but there came a point when that was no longer suffice for suffering. A month or so ago she had bumped into him in a pub, realising now it had no doubt been orchestrated. She had been wasted, Tristan with the babysitter and her inhibitions gone. It had been the same night she had stumbled into Carter, but after his dismissive smile, she had set her sights on Nick.
‘Fancy seeing you here.’ She smiled, leaning on the bar as Nick came to stand beside her. He had a little stubble on his chin and his aftershave smelt so good.
The first time she had ever met him, she couldn’t believe her luck. Why would someone like him even lay his eyes on her? Hindsight was a wonderful thing, and sometimes the most dangerous were the most attractive. Wasn’t that why it took so long to catch Ted Bundy? And what about Max Sullivan? Word had been about how roguishly attractive he was, and he’d tried to murder his own girlfriend.
Nick hadn’t even bothered taking her to his home or to a hotel, that would be too caring, but at the time it had seemed exhilarating.
‘Come on.’ He growled, pulling her up from the chair so abruptly she whined. Taking her hand he wove around the hoards of people and into the mens bathroom. It was reasonably clean, he supposed, as far as club toilets went. Feeling her stumble behind him, Nick pushed Charlotte into the nearest cubicle and swiftly locked the door. Charlotte let herself lean against the wall, hiding the names of numerous girls numbers and crude drawings.
What was she doing, why was she laughing; her knees felt weak. Slamming her against the wall Nick kissed her neck and her eyes fluttered shut. The music from the club fell faintly through the walls and she smiled. The feel of him against her skin made her excited and then sick; his hand beneath her skirt made her feel warm, dizzy. He spun her around and she felt her cheek brush the wall, his hands now working their way up her legs, hitching up her dress.
Nick didn’t want to look at her, she realised, as she turned to see him and he pushed her face away. Did she need to see him to enjoy this? If she saw his face, his dark eyes, rough hands, she’d realise it was wrong. The erotic sensation as his fingers slipped inside her would change to nausea.
Their breathing was heavy against her own ears, like it was the only sound in the world. His grunts made her stomach twist as he worked his hand faster and faster, bringing her to a climax. Charlotte wanted to scream as he bit her neck, grabbed her breasts and growled into her hair. Her hands balled into fists by her head, her eyes staring dazed at his trainers, his legs in a wide stance either side of her.
The orgasm came in a quick wave and she felt faint, barely having time to acknowledge it before Nick pushed himself inside of her. He was hard and she could feel her wetness between her thighs as he entered. Moaning she arched her back, rolled her hips like she was someone else; someone dirty and dangerous. Nick’s hands gripped her hips so hard she thought her bones might break; his moans were gruff and intense, his breathing leaving dampness against her neck.
Pushing herself into him she fought his thrusts, battling for dominance. They should have been quiet, she knew, but somehow she couldn’t. None of her functioned correctly; her senses, her morals. Crying out Charlotte felt a scream rise but it was cut off as Nick covered her mouth with his hand. He worked faster, pumping into her so fast her legs felt weak. Whimpering into his palm they both cried out in unison when he finally came. It dripped down her thighs as he backed away, buckling up his jeans.
Charlotte rested her forehead against the cubicle wall as she tried to gather her breath. Suddenly she felt sick; what would he say if she was sick, the toilet was right there… The music was suddenly loud again against her ears and she moaned. Something that had felt so good now made her feel dirty. Pulling up her underwear she turned quietly to Nick. He didn’t look happy or satisfied; he looked angry. Straightening his shirt he pushed her aside and opened the cubicle door.
Wasn’t it funny how such a fleeting experience could result in something so significant?
Charlotte looked down at the pregnancy test in her hand and sobbed. If he wanted to leave her and Tristan, he needed to know what he was leaving behind. For once Nick Walker needed to be held accountable for what he had done. Every action had a consequence and he would not learn that. Even the sickening scar on his chest hadn’t sunk in deep enough for his faults to be recognised as the reasoning for the repercussions. He hadn’t been attacked without striking them first, she was sure.
What would Benji say? Would she tell him? Would she keep it? Benji would reassure her it was attack, that she wasn’t in her right mind, but she had wanted it that night. Wanted anyone to touch her and make her feel human again; had that been wrong?
Running her face under the tap, Charlotte took a deep breath and grabbed her bag. Tristan was at school and she knew she had a few minutes to leave before Benji turned up, but she had to do this herself. For once, Charlotte didn’t want a man to validate or protect her, she wanted to fix what she had started. For good.
‘I delivered a little gift to Dermot this morning.’
Nora didn’t bite to his words but kept her eyes on Nick the whole time he walked around the room. He was taking her phone, flicking through the messages. One of her hands were free and she fought the urge to grab it back.
‘That photo of you.’ He finally met her gaze and she swallowed. ‘I sent it to Dermot. Do you think he liked it?’ Nick laughed and it made sick rise in her throat.
Dermot may have lied to her, but she still knew he cared for her. Even if this was somehow his fault, seeing those images… anyone seeing those images was wrong. Had he showed Jock? Was Jock jealous? Were they even talking – was anyone even coming?
‘I meant what I said earlier.’ Nora murmured, eyes narrowed. ‘They’ll kill you. Both of them.’
Of course they would. She didn’t doubt, no matter what they had been through, they’d be here. Right?
Nick flicked her SIM card out of the phone and tossed her a sandwich and a bottle of water.
‘Eat.’ He demanded and Nora glanced down. ‘No point starving to death, is there?’
‘Why, would that take the fun out of it for you?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. The two stared at one another for a moment and she grabbed the sandwich before he could take it back.
Backed in the corner, Nora felt like a rabid animal but didn’t care what Nick saw. Legs pulled to her chest she finished the whole thing in a matter of minutes and grabbed the drink. Never had a bottle of water ever tasted so good.
Slamming the empty bottle down she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She was well aware that her bare breast was still visible through the ripped shirt and tilted her head up to find him looking at her. Examining her. It was hard not to be afraid when she felt so fucking vulnerable.
‘Like what you see?’ she asked, tilting her head to the side. Nick suddenly met her gaze and it took all her strength not to turn away. He could attack at any minute because she knew he didn’t care for her. She was no better to him dead or alive, it was merely fun; Nick was getting a kick out of this, and no doubt in some way, sexually.
She, like all the other girls, had merely mistaken him for an attractive man, and now she was paying the price. It was a dangerous world out there, and Nora didn’t know how to get out of this situation, other than playing him at his own game.
‘Is the real reason I’m here because you’re jealous?’ Nora inwardly panicked, a thousand fucks flying inside her head, but her face remained still. ‘When you took those pictures of me and Jock in the window… did you watch what happened afterwards? Did you imagine all the things he was doing to me?’ her heart was beating so fast against her chest, Nora wondered if he could see. ‘In the cemetery, when I first saw you, I thought you were so handsome. If you’d have just asked nicely, I would’ve come with you without the need to stuff me in the boot.’ A slight harshness to her words but she smiled to brighten up the heated anger and panic rising. ‘Do you think I’m beautiful?’ she asked, feeling anything but.
Nora felt scared and unsure but Nick wasn’t arguing with her, he was intrigued. ‘Or do you think I’m a slut?’ she thought about all the polaroid’s and wondered how many other girls he had done this to. How many had fallen for his charm and he’d chained them up, abused them, drugged them. Nick Walker believed that every woman was to be used, because they were easy, because they asked for it. Forgot how he manipulated and teased them, he wasn’t to blame; Nora, like Charlotte, like Rosa were all deserving sluts for letting him subdue them into these positions. Perhaps behaving like one would get her freedom.
‘Or do you think I’m both?’ Nora was kneeling on all fours, staring up at Nick as he sat close to her. ‘Do you want to find out?’ she held out her chained wrist, shaking it to be undone. Nora wasn’t the strongest but she felt she could overpower him, already aware of his weak points. All she needed was for him to take the bait.
Charlotte was shaking as she jumped off the bus and stood in the middle of the street. What was her plan? There was no plan. She had a bread knife in her handbag, as if that would help her. Benji had probably been to the house as she could feel her phone vibrating in her bag, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to speak to him. She was scared. She was fucking pregnant. Chewing on a polo, Charlotte crunched at it desperately before taking a deep breath.
‘Fuck.’ She whispered, glancing down at the location on her phone for the storage facility.
Could it be drugs? Computers? Another woman? Multiple women? Charlotte barely knew Nick Walker she just knew that he was trouble. As she walked down the street, she took each deep breath slowly to calm herself. Would he hurt her if she told him about the baby? Would he care?
If someone else needed help, she wanted to be there. She didn’t want to play games and hide anymore; she didn’t want to live in fear. Charlotte needed to make Nick Walker aware he couldn’t take over anyone’s life anymore and she needed to claim back her own, even if that meant potentially losing it.
Suddenly she stopped, seeing her car parked on a grassy verge and her pulse spiked. It was empty, so he was obviously inside the unit. Should she wait? Moving slowly towards the car, Charlotte knelt down beside it and pulled the knife from her bag. Without hesitation she stuck it directly into the tire and listened as the air noisily escaped, the ring deflating. If he attacked her, at least he couldn’t get away easily.
As she continued to kneel by the car, Charlotte thought a thousand different thoughts. What would happen to Tristan if she died? What would happen to Nick? What would she feel if she killed him? Could she? Chewing her lip, she took her phone from her bag to see five missed calls from Benji. He would be here soon, she knew, following the GPS and using his initiative. He was so smart and fearless and she felt lucky to have found him. For him to have rescued her.
Dialling his number, she put it to her ear and within seconds he had answered.
‘Charlotte –’
‘Benji, let me speak.’ She cut across his questions and he stopped, breathless. ‘Last night was the best night of my life.’ She smiled and knew he was smiling too. ‘I don’t just mean the sex. Meeting you… you’re everything I’ve been searching for. Everything me and Tristan deserve, and I realised that last night; I am worthy of more than Nick Walker takes me for, so… that’s why I have to do this by myself.’
Glancing through the window, she checked the entrance to the storage facility but it was still empty. For a moment Charlotte couldn’t get her words out and Benji demanded she wait for him, pleading she didn’t do anything stupid, but she ignored it. ‘I think I could’ve fallen in love with you.’ She said quietly. ‘I might still, if…if…’ she paused, shaking her head. If she didn’t die? ‘Can you just promise me you’ll look after Tristan?’ she asked, rubbing at her eyes with her palm. Benji was arguing, refusing to answer her question if she didn’t stop what she was doing but Charlotte was already resolute in her decision.
‘Promise me you’ll keep him safe.’ Was all she said before she cut the call and headed towards the building.
It was strange now, how Pete’s usual daytime routine now consisted of nothing but his children. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it was just different. He would feed them so Lara could lay in recently, and bathe them, with a struggle and take them to see Steve. Ben adored his cousins and it was warming for Pete’s heart to see them all laughing in the sun. It reminded him of when they were young, but give them a few years and he wondered if they would follow the mistakes they had made too.
Pete couldn’t even imagine Charlie getting into a fight, and especially not Kimmy. Shannon was too soft on Ben for him to be a terror, and Pete worried that he would end up like her Yank brother, Matt. Better soft than dead, they figured. But Charlie… with his friends, grown up, on a street corner, West Ham shirt on his back and fists balled… the idea made him feel sick.
‘You’re a hypocrite though, you know?’ Steve said and Pete turned to him, squinting against the midday sun. They had been talking about their youth, the scraps they would get in. ‘”Don’t do as I do, do as I say.”’ He mimicked the saying his dad would use and both cringed.
‘Load of ol’ bollocks.’ Pete replied and both gave a laugh. ‘I won’t be a fuckin’ hypocrite because I’ve learnt from my mistakes so my kid’s don’t ‘ave to.’
Steve cracked open his beer and took a long sip. It was nice to have his brother back, but things still weren’t settled. Not with Lara, Charlie… Max. And now Nora had gotten herself entangled in another love triangle, it seemed their circle was destined for nothing but drama.
‘What about Sullivan?’ Steve asked after a moment and Pete felt his shoulders tense.
‘Which one?’
‘Both.’ Steve replied bluntly. Both brothers held their gaze for a moment before Pete sighed and sat up straight.
‘You always ‘ave to go and ruin it, dontcha?’ he rolled his eyes, although the conversation was inevitable.
‘I know you’ve raised him, but… he isn’t your biological son, Pete, and that counts for something in this world.’
‘Counts for what?’ Pete scoffed. ‘All he did was rape my fuckin’ wife. If he wants to take us to court, I’ll fuckin’ drown him.’ His raised voice caused Shannon to peer over and he raised an apologetic hand. She was supervising the children as they played in the sandpit and in that moment he envied his brother. ‘How did you get out without it following you, huh?’
‘I tied up all the lose ends and got out before they could even begin trying to follow.’ Steve shrugged. ‘I was the Major for a long time, but I also never threw myself into it as much as you did, especially once I met Shannon. I’m not saying you don’t love Lara, but you never truly let the firm go, and that’s the problem. That’s how you let people like Sullivan get in your life, because you weren’t focused.’
‘Alright, so what are you suggesting I do?’
Steve shrugged, helpless. ‘Drop it, for good.’
‘You still talk to Terry, for fuck sake, and all the others from back in the day. What is it you want me to let go? I’m not in charge of anything anymore, Steve, I quit years ago!’
‘That’s not what I heard.’
Pete swallowed, downing the rest of his beer. He suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable.
‘What ‘ave you ‘eard then?’ he asked, voice low.
Steve turned to his brother, a look of concern in his eyes. ‘So Bovver’s out, even though you only just put him in, is that it? Once you pass it on, you don’t fucking take it back.’ Steve hissed. ‘You think your problem is just Max Sullivan? I’m worried about you, Pete. We all are. Since the hospital… Shan spoke to Lara the other day and she just doesn’t seem herself anymore. Don’t lose her by putting something as stupid as a football team first –'
‘You’re all worried about me, are ya?’ Pete asked, voice raised again.
‘You tried to fucking kill your self, Pete!’
‘Thanks for all your concern, but I’m fine, bruv. Maybe if they didn’t spend so much time worrying about me, I wouldn’t ‘ave to spend so long fixing everyone elses problems. Bovver fucked up, so he’s out. That’s how it works. You’ve got to protect the firm---’
‘You’ve got to protect your family!’ Steve snapped back just as furiously. ‘Or you won’t have one for much longer –’
‘Fuck you –’
‘And exactly whose problems do you think you’ve been fixing, Pete? You’re just stalling because you don’t want to face the reality that –'
‘We’re done.’ Pete stood up abruptly and called for Charlie to come over. ‘We’re going home to see Mummy, alright? Get Kimmy’s bag.’ Glancing back at Steve, Pete held an anger in his eyes he didn’t even know had been brewing. Everyone had been talking behind his back, had they? Concerned for his well being and his family life? What did half of them even know about his life, or what he was going through? Swill, Bovver… they were both single, stupid cunts and could shut their mouths.
‘Pete…’ Steve stood up and reached out but Pete pulled away, shaking his head.
‘Thanks for nothin, bruv.’ He scooped up Kimmy and took Charlie’s hands, storming back to the car without another word. What was he doing wrong? Unlike Steve, he couldn’t just drop the firm as if it was nothing; it was his life… had been his life. It wasn’t some job he had left for another, it was his very soul, it had given him morals and his friends and even if it wasn’t, Max would still have found a way to get them, Pete hadn’t let him…
Had he?
What had Lara been saying to Shannon?
He buckled the children in the back seat and pulled off sharply. Sure she had been a little tired lately, and not her usual self, but that was life. Sometimes you were tired, especially when you had two young children. There was nothing wrong, she was happy -- they were happy. Would happy couples fuck in the Abbey toilets? They communicated. They were fine! Right? Pete glanced in the rear view mirror at a snoozing Kimmy and sighed.
Ever since Max had returned with the note on her mothers grave, things had been different. Perhaps drastic measures needed to be taken. Dermot hadn’t been behaving any better recently either; he was tarnished, no better than his cunt of a brother. Both of them needed to go, and then everything would be fine.
When they got home however, Lara was stood in the doorway, arms folded around her middle and an unsure look on her face. The already unsteady notion that everything was alright quickly vanished and Pete felt his heart sink.
‘Let’s get you inside.’ Pete murmured unbuckling his belt and getting out the car. Lara was looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t want to meet her gaze.
Letting Charlie out of his car seat, Pete placed him on the ground and heard him race off to Lara’s side, throwing her arms around her middle.
‘Uncle Steve yelled at Daddy.’ He looked up at her with big eyes and Pete tensed, busying himself with Kimmy’s seat. She was looking at him with interest and for a moment he just stared back at his daughter, wondering if his wife was going to take all of this away from him. Because… why? Because he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t there enough? Pete didn’t want to think about what he would do if Lara took the children away, but he had to calm down, realise nothing had happened… yet.
‘Come on, honey.’ He smiled, scooping Kimmy up and slamming the door shut. Heading towards the house he nodded his head at Lara before stepping inside. ‘They’ve both been fed and I think it’s time for Kimmy to take a nap, so I’m just going to put her down.’ Placing the baby bag on the counter he went to head up the stairs, only pausing slightly when Lara touched his arm. It was a tentative touch and it made his brow raise. When she asked about Steve, Pete simply shrugged. ‘You know what ‘es like. Always thinks he knows everything, that’s all.’
Carrying Kimmy upstairs, Pete laid her down in her crib and tried to compose himself. He was already worked up from his conversation with Steve and once he was angry, it was hard to come back down. It had always been a trait of his Lara had hated, but it was just who he was and there was nothing he could do about it now. The anger, during a match, could be fuelled into adrenaline and it was the only way to survive out there. In his home, however, it was dangerous and he didn’t want to give Lara any more ammunition to hate him.
Pete wasn’t sure why, but he knew she was going to tell him something today that would change everything. Perhaps he was being stupid. Perhaps she was pregnant. That would explain a lot! Yeah… perhaps that was it. Did they want more children? They hadn’t really spoken about it but Pete would be happy with as many as possible – enough to fill a football team! Suddenly he was exhilarated with the idea that another baby was on the way and he could smugly tell Steve where to get off.
He would really have to let the firm go if that was the case… back came the dread. Pete always had one foot out the door in life, always ready to go somewhere, do something. Always moving. If you stayed still long enough someone could hurt you, and only recently with Lara had he realised he needed to step back inside. Be fully invested with /this/. With his beautiful fucking daughter and wife. A perpetual people pleaser it was difficult to just stop for a moment; if someone else was left in charge and someone else went wrong… that lack of control was chaotic and made him dizzy.
‘You’ve got control issues.’ Dave had said one day, his therapist hat on. ‘You can’t ever let someone else be in charge.’
‘You’ve got daddy issues.’ Swill pipped up from the corner with a snort. ‘Get it?’
‘Very fuckin’ funny.’ Dave rolled his eyes. ‘I get it, mate. I found it difficult to let Alice do things for me ‘cos I spent my whole life doing everything meself. But.. it works better when we work together, y’know?’
‘I do.’ Pete had defended. ‘We do. Me and Lara work together all the time…’
Didn’t they? He had been in denial back then, but not now. Kissing Kimmy on the head he jogged downstairs just as the front door went. ‘I’ll get it.’ Pete called just as Lara stepped into the hallway.
A middle aged Indian man stared up at him, a jacket in his hand. He thrust it forwards, giving Pete no option but to take it.
‘Can I ‘elp you, mate?’
‘Mr Sullivan left this in the car.’ He said bluntly before nodding and turning away, crunching the gravel as he headed back to his black cab. ‘Rich wankers leaving their shit in the back of my cabs….’ His voice trailed off as Pete slowly glanced down at the jacket. He could hear Lara saying his name but ignored her, his vision suddenly blurry. Mr Sullivan? He clenched his fist tight, spinning to face her. Suddenly she was behind him, her eyes wide.
‘Mr Sullivan?’ he repeated slowly, his mind thinking a million different things. ‘Mr Sullivan?’ he said again as if it would make things more clear. Throwing the jacket on the ground he looked past Lara to see Charlie in the doorway. ‘Go to your room.’ He demanded and when his son didn’t comply he shoved Lara aside, grabbing his arm. ‘Do as I fuckin’ say.’ He demanded, pushing him towards the stairs where he ran with a cry. ‘And don’t tell me not to raise my voice in my own fuckin’ house!’ Pete snarled as Lara scolded him. ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do, hey, Lar? And either way you look at this, it don’t look good.’
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jun 25, 2022 7:38:17 GMT -5
"And what am I used to?" Aoife was leading him into the house and she glanced over her shoulder at him to see his raised eyebrow. She flushed a little at her misstep, but said nothing as she shut the door. It was clear by the way he dressed, by the car he drove, that he was doing well for himself, whether that was family money or business money, she didn't know. "It can be hard to get good property in London, but if you’re ever looking to move… give me a call."
She smiled softly as she led him into the kitchen. Placing down her keys, she set her bag on the table and turned to face him as he appraised the place. There was a teasing smirk on her face. "We're working our way up,' she told him. "There's no fun in having something handed to you." Her dad had already offered to buy her a place, and Jock had insisted they stay and make use of his home, but George and Aoife had wanted something that was theirs. They wanted to work hard and do it themselves, and that was extremely important to both of them. Remembering your roots and being able to look back and see how far you'd come.
She busied herself with washing the cup George had left this morning, as Luke cleared his throat softly and asked to borrow her toilet. "I promise I’ll bring it back."
"Haha," she said with a dry smile. "It's the first on the left." She heard him creak up the stairs before picking up the kettle and filling it with water. Now she was alone, that internal voice she was trying to suppress rose rapidly to the surface. What was she doing here? Could she really trust him? He seemed so different to the angry volatile boy she'd left behind four years go that it was almost easy to slip into a sense of security. He was polite, he'd made no wrong moves or gestures. She'd done a couple of things to test him, and still, nothing. Yet, she couldn't feel one hundred percent at ease. In a way, she felt like she was betraying George, by having him here. It wasn't as if she was going to sleep with him, but the fact that she'd invited him in after everything that had happened...
Getting two mugs out of the cupboard, she set them down heavily and began to fill them as the kettle came to a boil. It wasn't as if he was going to be here long, she reassured herself. Luke would be gone long before George got home.
"I think you should call in sick tomorrow."
Aoife jumped at the sound of his voice as Luke came down the stairs. She'd been quickly examining her reflection in the toaster when he came back into the kitchen, and she straightened, flashing him a questioning look when he told her to be selfish for once. Didn't he realise she didn't have time to be selfish? She barely had time to be a functioning human being these days. She watched as Luke glanced around the room.
"I’m not going to get in trouble being here, am I?" He met her eye, words tentative, which made her shift uncomfortably on her feet. Then he smiled. "Okay, I say we get some wine, a take away and you relax."
"Oh, Luke, I don't know." Suddenly Aoife felt unsure, glancing at the door. What if George came in? What would he think? Yet, at the same time, she was pretty hungry and they hadn't had a chance to go shopping yet, which meant it was toast again for dinner tonight.
"If I wasn’t here, what would you be doing? Waiting around for Turner to show up? You need to look after yourself sometimes too, Aoife." Luke rattled his car keys. "I’ll be back with rations in ten minutes, unless you would rather… not…?"
Aoife hesitated, studying him for a moment as her thoughts and feelings warred inside her. In the end, the loud rumbling of her stomach settled the matter and Luke left to get supplies. Aoife was an anxious mess the entire time he was out. Picking up her phone, she checked for messages but there was nothing to suggest George was on his way yet. The shop wasn't too far away and if she ate fast, Luke could be gone before he got back. Yeah. That would work. And from now on, she'd keep it strictly about his father. That was the only reason he was here after all. By the time Luke got back twenty minutes later, Aoife felt sick with guilt, yet she couldn't deny the excitement caused by what she was doing, and that in turn made her feel ashamed. What was wrong with her? She was happy with George. He was the love of her life.
"Look what I found." Luke entered the kitchen, waving a bottle of Jameson in the air. That was definitely not wine and she gave him a sceptical look. He didn't notice though, as he was busy rummaging for glasses until Aoife directed him to the right cupboard. "I haven’t touched this since my party… three… four years ago?" She didn't say anything as she had the feeling she knew what he was alluding to. The poker party. They'd been drinking it all that night. Luke set two glasses on the side and begin to fill them. "I’ve told you all about my past, but, I don’t know about yours."
Taking the glass of offered whiskey, she watched as Luke popped open the pizza box. She gave him a plate, set two slices on her own and led him to the living room where they settled on the sofa together. There was little choice, as they had no room in here for an armchair. Luke asked if they were engaged and she nodded around a mouthful of pizza. "... Yes, he asked me last year. We're waiting until I graduate. I only have a year to go." Picking up her glass, she began to drink. It went down a little too easily.
"When did you move in here?" Then, he frowned as she began to refill her glass. "Are you happy? Tell me."
Aoife looked over at him. Luke was staring at her in a way... The same way he had at the poker party, when they'd been together alone in his bedroom. An almost wonderous expression, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It made her stomach flip and her hands tremble. She needed to slow up on the drink because for some reason, things felt dangerous now. Aoife forced herself to speak. "We've only been here eight months. We lived with Dermot and Nora for a bit while Jock was away, but when they got engaged... We just wanted our own space. But I'm happy. I'm more than happy." Her voice had dropped a little, and she found she couldn't tear her gaze from his. "Regretting my career choice, maybe, but happy nonetheless."
"I wasn’t happy. I know what it’s like to lie to yourself, but life is too short to play pretend. Just remember, you don’t owe anyone anything, okay?" Luke took a sip of his whiskey and Aoife followed the motion with her eyes. Going away really must have changed him. given him a purpose. Helped him succeed. He glanced out the window, then back at her with a teasing smile. "You’re a Sullivan, for fuck sake. Remember?"
And then Aoife was laughing and she felt herself relax. Another drink, another slice of pizza. She told him how she'd lost her mam, how close to the wedding it had been before Nora had left her dad, how worried she was about him... Max's return, the endless chaos of the NHS, and George. She made sure she mention him often, lest Luke get the wrong idea. Because she did love him, he was good to her, good for her. But, if Luke was happy to forgive and forget, then so was Aoife. And if she could help a friend with his terminal ill father, then she would.
She learnt more about Luke too, where he'd been all this time and about the people he'd met along the way. He had some funny stories to tell and more than once, he had her laughing. Before long, she forgot about keeping a track on how much she drank, and soon there were just the dregs left in the bottle and a couple of gnawed crusts on the plate. Somehow, they'd worked their way closer, and as Aoife was regaling him with a hilarious drunk-in-A+E story, she realised she'd touched his thigh. Her palm very firmly and heavily against the crisp fabric of his trousers, feeling the heat of the muscle beneath. She trailed off, her heart suddenly going crazy as it pounded against her ribcage. He turned to look at her and their faces were only inches apart now. There'd always been a curiosity there, she realised. Thoughts shed had in the past which she'd desperately tried to kill... Like what would have happened if Max hadn't turned up? Would Luke have taken her, roughly and unapologetically? Would they have been together now? What would it be like to kiss him again? Would he taste the same...?
Luke laughed gently and pulled away, making her blink and straighten, suddenly embarrassed, as if he could have possibly read her thoughts. "I’m going to get you a glass of water." Without thinking, she reached out to take his hand, fingers wrapping around his, and he looked at her questioningly. "Irish?" Aoife opened her mouth, but she couldn't find the words, couldn't shift through the jumble of thoughts in her mind. She didnt know what she wanted anymore. Sighing, Luke sank back down beside her. "I don’t want to lose this, Aoife. I don’t want to sound sensitive, but, life is… fragile, and there’s not many people I can count on anymore, besides you. I can count on you, right?"
She nodded eagerly, more than willing to show him that she was by his side. He had nobody else, yet he had her, and for some reason, that made her feel proud. That even after everything, he still saw enough in her to ask for her help. They were still close and Aoife was still feeling the overwhelming urge to be kissed, to be ravished and tasted, but if anything, this was just more proof that Luke had changed. The old Luke would have been all over this without hesitation, but this Luke? He leaned close and gently kissed the top of her head. She sighed, swallowing back the lump in her throat. She shouldn't have gotten so drunk. How long had they been sat here?
"You’re truly fucking something."
Aoife smiled weakly, squeezing his hand before she stood and began to clear up the plates. "You should go before I make a bigger fool of myself," she said with a laugh, meeting his eye to show she appreciated his actions. "I don't really get days off as such, but if you ever need my help or if you need to vent... just message me. Or call me. I'll answer if I can." Luke picked up the glasses and followed her through into the kitchen, where they deposited everything onto the side. "Thank you. For this." Aoife turned back to him with a soft smile. "I did need it. I don't take enough time for myself sometimes, so I appreciate what you've done for me today. Let me see you to the door."
Just as the words left her mouth, she heard the front door click open and froze, the colour draining from her face. George. She turned quickly, already heading for the doorway. There was no point trying to hide, that would make it look even more suspicious, even if it had just been pizza and a few drinks. Fuck, did that sound like a date? Oh my god, what was she going to say? She nearly collided with George in the kitchen doorway, hands flying up to his chest the moment she saw him clock Luke behind her. He was still wearing his greens, bag now dumped at his feet, hair untidy from his long shift and heavy bags beneath her eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what had she been thinking? "Let me explain before you do anything," she said quickly. "Luke is leaving, okay? I'll explain everything once he is gone." She looked back at Luke with a nod. "Goodnight, Luke."
---
“You do. You’ve just spent so long trying to be everything for everyone that you’ve forgotten, but you’re still in there. You’re still Dermot.” The smile she gave him was small, but understanding, and Dermot nodded faintly, eyes still on his now-plastered knuckles. Her fingers had been warm against his, soft. It reminded him of the aftermath at the warehouse, when Nora had taken him home and tended his injuries with hands just as soft, just as gentle. Jock had left, Aoife and George had gone to bed, and Dermot had laid with Nora against his bare chest as she’d sobbed; she’d been close to losing him that day, he’d been so close to never seeing any of them again.
Or had she been crying for Jock? It was hard not to dissect every moment now, but had part of her tears been because he’d left? Gone without explanation, without a backwards glance? It had confused him then, hurt him almost, but now he understood. Dermot had been completely blind to what had been in front of him... he couldn’t make the same mistake. And as he looked at Lara now, watched her lips as she spoke, he wondered whether fate had led them to this moment. Were they always supposed to come together like this? Or was the world so chaotic and crazy that it had just happened? Two broken people united in one common factor; Max.
“It can be so easy to get lost in the midst of it all, especially if you don’t ever stop to consider yourself and there’s a big difference, between being Max and just being considerate to yourself. There is no ‘all or nothing’ in self-care and it took me a long time to realise that.”
Dermot nodded, still unmoving from where he stood beside her. Lara was right. About a lot of things, but that in particular. It wasn’t selfish to put himself first when he needed to, and he couldn’t fix anyone, no matter how strong the drive was inside him. All his life he’d tried to make things right. With his Da and Mam. With Jock. With Max. He’d tried to fix Nora, after the hell of living with Malachi. Malachi, the man who’d taken a strong, independent and beautiful woman and torn her down to nothing. Who’d used disgusting words and his fists to keep her timid and submissive, to ensure she did whatever he asked, whenever he asked. How often had he seen it with his Mam? How many times had she nursed black eyes and broken noses, only to have Paddy’s dinner on the table when he got home from work? Broken wrists and fractured ribs, and still, she’d washed his clothes and cleaned his house, eager and dutiful and afraid that if she put a toe out of line, he would flip. Would smash her head into cupboards, or against the floor, or squeeze her small throat between his large meaty hands until she blacked out.
Dermot had seen it all.
And yet, he felt no need to fix Lara. Lara had been shattered like a fragile vase into a million tiny pieces by Max, yet she’d put herself together, bit by bit, tending to her wounds as delicately as she had his. She knew the cost of a toxic love, but she also knew the value of family, of love; whether that was loving her children, her friends, or just loving herself enough to break the cycle. And Dermot knew she understood him on a deeper level than anyone had, as guilty as that thought made him feel.
“You must feel like the world is collapsing on you right now, and some of it is your fault, but most of it isn’t. We’re all accountable for our actions, but I don’t regret... we shouldn’t regret what happened, because it’s happened now.”
He wasn’t sure if she meant in general, or what had occurred between them last night, but he looked at her intently. She had no regrets? He was almost afraid to ask, but he knew they couldn’t skirt around the subject forever. It almost felt like a dream, last night. He’d been drunk, ridiculously drunk and angry and lost and hurt, and Lara...? Lara had been there. She’d been the one to escort him out before he could do anymore damage. She’d been the one to drive him away, to speak to him and try and help him see reason. And when he’d kissed her and she’d responded... Well, Dermot didn’t know what to think. She said his name, questioningly, noticing the way he was looking at her, and Dermot let the memories from the night before fade. “We should probably talk... about last night.”
“What is there to say?” she shot back, then glanced away, an arm curling around herself. And what was there to say? This was either a huge fuck up or... or something else entirely, he just didn’t know what. He wished he knew what she was thinking. She probably did regret it. Why wouldn’t she? She had a beautiful family, a husband that loved her. She was probably just trying to put into words how it could never happen again, and even though he knew it was for the best, it didn’t stop his heart sinking to his feet. He looked away.
“I think I love you.” His gaze shot back to hers and it felt as if his heart had leapt straight back up and lodged itself firmly in his throat. Her cheeks pinkened. “Do you know that? I thought I loved you because I loved Max and Charlie, but it’s different. This love it’s always just been for you and it wasn’t because you made me love you, it’s because you didn’t.” She gave a small laugh that hinted at her own disbelief. Dermot didn’t dare utter a word, didn’t even dare take his eyes off her in case this was all in his head. “You never made me become anything for you. You always just let me be who I wanted, and you never questioned anything I did, you just... watched me, let me grow and make my own mistakes and I really appreciate that. I love that you let me find myself, so I could find you.”
Lara took a deep breath and he saw the tears well in her eyes, his chest aching, though she managed to keep them at bay. She apologised, not for how she felt, but for the fact she couldn’t fix their situation, and Dermot felt that deeply. How he longed for things to be easier, for the both of them. Lara closed the distance between them, her breath cool against his cheek. He barely felt the ghost of her kiss, yet it was enough to bring his body to life, every nerve ending igniting into flames. She trailed her lips softly, small kisses across his cheek until she reached the corner of his mouth, lips lingering. The urge to take her then and there was almost overpowering and it took all his resolve not to. “Tell Max he can see Charlie tomorrow. You can take him, if you want? I trust you not to let anything bad happen.”
Dermot nodded, and when she pulled away, he felt the cold air rush in, despite the heat outside. “I promise you, he won’t leave my sight. Not for a second.” And he sensed this was his last chance, his last chance to prove he could do something without fucking up. He watched as she twirled her ring, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He could watch her for hours, he realised. Every little facial expression as she reacted to whatever thoughts were going through her mind. His gaze dropped to her throat, where the silvery scar still lay. How could Max have done that to her? How could he have taken something so beautiful and tried to destroy it?
“I’ve got some things to deal with.” She looked up at him, piercing him with that blue-eyed gaze. “I would rather get it over with today, because Pete doesn’t deserve this. If you... feel the same, that is. Fuck.” She gave a sudden laugh, though he saw the panic burning in her eyes. “Do you even feel the same?”
Dermot pushed away from the counter and took her hands in one of his, his free hand moving to her jaw. He angled her face to his, searching her eyes for a moment before he spoke; there were flecks of silver in the blues of her irises. “I do. I feel the same. But, Lara...” He dampened his bottom lip. “Only do this if you’re sure. You have the children to think about and ... and I don’t want you to rush into anything. But, whatever happens next... Nothing will make me regret what happened between us. I’ll protect you, no matter what.” And they both knew he didn’t mean from Pete. He leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to her mouth before he released her completely. “I’ll pick up Charlie in the morning.”
On the way home, Dermot thought about Lara and Pete. He had to agree that Pete didn’t deserve this. Yet another innocent bystander caught in the chaos. When Dermot had first come to London, dragged Max free and then returned to rescue Dave, he’d assumed they’d been gunning for Max all along. It had turned out, of course, that Pete had only been involved because of Lara, because of his love for her. The love that made him risk the bond between his own friends, his firm, even his own life. Max had toyed with them long before Dermot even arrived on the scene. Now Pete had a wife, a family. The woman Max couldn’t have, the children he didn’t have. He had every reason to tear them apart, yet in the end, it was Dermot landing the final betrayal like a heavy blow of an axe. Between the Sullivans, they’d taken nearly everything.
Now Dermot would take his woman and all Pete would be left with were the fragments of his former life.
Was this all Dermot’s fault though? There were obviously unseen cracks in the marriage, invisible to everybody but Pete and Lara. And Lara had slept with him, she’d wanted it as much as he had. Needed that desperate release, to feel nothing and everything at the same time, to be here and not here, tangible and intangible. She’d gained just as much from it as him and now she was ready to throw down the towel on her relationship. To end things for good. Had she been looking for the excuse? Or did she know it was simply the right thing to do? And he liked to think he knew her well enough to know it was the latter. She couldn’t live with guilt no better than he could, it was what made her so wonderful, so ... Lara. Brutally honest, but always with an open heart, always with love and good intentions.
When Dermot got back to the penthouse, Max was still in. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, and he knew, really, that he needed his brother’s help. For once, he could do something to help Dermot, instead of Dermot always trying to help him. Jock crept up in the back of his mind and he knew he should have kept him in the loop, but he forced the guilt away, hardened himself. Jock could go fuck himself. He’d let him know about Nora out of respect for her. Jock could swing for all he cared.
Pushing his way into the office, he watched as Max stood to greet him. They looked at each other for a moment. “About earlier...” he trailed off, but Dermot merely nodded. He understood and frankly, didn’t want to rehash it. “I’m guessing you’ve changed your mind? What do you need me to do?” Sighing, Dermot moved to lean against the desk, rubbing his eyes.
“I can’t think, dearthair, there’s too much in my head.” Dropping his hand, he looked over at Max. “I need to find that bastard today. That’s all I need.” His brother nodded and Dermot straightened, glancing at his knuckles and recalling Lara’s soft touch. “...I fucked Bovver up. That little cunt’s had it coming a while. I took Jock with me.” His tongue darted out to dampen his bottom lip. “I took him so he wouldn’t forget what I can do. So he knows how far I’m willing to go.” Because if he ever hurt Nora, Dermot was going to kill him. He left to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes, and when he returned Max was waiting for him. He passed Dermot the phone.
“Don’t ask me how I have this information, just use it wisely, dearthair.” Dermot eye’s scanned the image, feeling his stomach clench in disgust; Nora chained to the floor, Nick towering over her, a camera in hand. What the fuck was he doing? Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he scanned Nora’s face, the fear there only fuelling his anger. “Are you going to finish what you started?”
“Yes, I am.” Max offered him a slip of paper and Dermot went to take it, but his brother pulled it back, tilting his head slightly.
“Why are you doing all of this for her, when she doesn’t even give a fuck about you?” Dermot recoiled at the bluntness of his words, a deep frown angling his brow. Because he loved her. He loved Lara too, differently and the same and it was hard to explain, but he still loved Nora and despite what had happened, he could never stand by and let something bad happen to her. He wasn’t a fucking monster. Max smirked when he didn’t answer. “I guess she is to you what Lara is to me. Some girls you just can’t let anyone else take, right?”
Including his own brother. Without a doubt. Would Max kill him? Lara was ready to leave her husband, break up her family life for Dermot. They’d slept together. They’d kissed. They’d confessed feelings that never ever should have been confessed. Dermot’s heart was suddenly racing, his mouth was dry, yet somehow he managed the word. “Right.” Max would never let Lara go. For as long as he lived, he’d be there, always looming in the shadows, threatening and deadly. Despite the horrors he’d invoked four years ago, Max had failed to win her back. He’d lost her to Pete and at some point, he must have realised his hold over her was gone. She’d never submit to him again. So Max had gone for the next best thing, to ensure she still couldn’t escape; Charlie.
By forcing himself into Charlie’s life, he’d backed Lara into a corner she couldn’t get out of. If she refused, a court-issued DNA test would seal the deal, and Lara would be legally chained to Max for the next fifteen years at least. If she agreed, the outcome was the same. And now Dermot was involved, and he had a horrible inner-knowing that it was going to make everything so much worse.
He took the slip of paper and read the GPS code. Then, he leaned past Max to grab his car keys, pausing when he pulled back to talk closely to him. “I’m doing this because I love her. Because no matter what’s happened in the past, I won’t stand by and let her get hurt... I just want her to be happy.” He held Max‘s gaze for a moment, then moved past him and walked out.
—-
“I meant what I said earlier. They’ll kill you. Both of them.”
Nick fought the urge to laugh. Didn’t she realise that was exactly what he wanted? He wanted them here, both of them, to watch as the light left her eyes. To realise they’d fucked up, to know that nobody crossed Nick Walker and got away with it. There were no winners in this game, except for him and the sooner these cunts realised that, the better. “I’d love to see them try.” He demanded she eat, as there was no point starving, and she arched a dark brow at him.
“Why, would that take the fun out of it for you?”
Nick turned to face her, wincing as a sharp pain tore across his chest. His wound was hot. He could feel it now, infection festering and blackening the edges, and for a moment, he felt dizzy. He hoped she couldn’t tell, couldn’t risk her seeing him weak. If she knew he was struggling... He said nothing as she ate, moving to drag the old chair out the corner, taking a seat. He’d shoved her phone away in his pocket now he’d removed the SIM, and it pleased him perversely to know that she had no way of contacting anyone. No way of escaping him here. Her entire life was nestled securely in his palms, and whether she got out of here dead or alive was completely down to him. She was sat in the corner, back against the wall, the chains shifting as she moved, though her eyes never left him. Wary and on edge, as if afraid he’d make a sudden move. The feeling of power was enough to make him hard.
He let his eyes wander. The torn dress still gaping at the front, though she was concealing herself with her knees. But then she moved to grab her water and he saw the delicious curve of breast and the rosy jutting nipple. It was enough to make his throat dry. He wished he’d been able to see Dermot’s face when he received the Polaroid, wondered if he was panicking now, struggling to find her. There was no way they would be able to locate her here. Nobody knew about this place. Not even Charlotte. Three days would pass and Nora? Well, she’d suffer the consequences.
“Like what you see?” She was looking at him and Nick held her stare, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. He did. He’d liked what he’d seen ever since he’d first seen Nora through the window. He’d looked at that photograph over and over again until her face had been committed to memory, burned behind his eyelids. She’d been exactly what he’d been looking for. Something soft and demure, something he could ruin and tarnish. When he didn’t answer, she spoke again. “Is the real reason I’m here because you’re jealous?”
Nick shrugged, yet he couldn’t really deny it. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d hated he idea of those filthy bastards with their hands all over her. Maybe he’d prayed for the moment he could get her alone and show her what a real man was like. Or maybe he’d seen an easy opportunity and grabbed it - it could have been any woman, really, wandering alone in the quieter part of the city in the middle of the night. Maybe she was just unfortunate. He wasn’t willing to give his game away yet.
“When you took those pictures of me and Jock in the window... did you watch what happened afterwards? Did you imagine all the things he was doing to me? ”
For the first time, Nick looked away, a heat stirring in the pit of his stomach. He knew he didn’t have to say anything for her to know the answer to that. He’d followed Dermot, but if he’d stayed, what would he have seen? Her beautiful body getting defiled by that ginger thug? Did he fuck her against the window, breasts pressed against the glass? Or did he toss her on the bed and have his wicked way while her unsuspecting fiancé dealt with his private matters? They’d fucked up so much, Nick hadn’t really had to do anything at all. The Sullivans world was imploding and they’d achieved it all themselves.
”I’m afraid I was a little busy catching Dermot in his lies to stay and watch,” he said eventually. “Apparently that photo caused some waves. Maybe that was lucky for you, seeing as you were fucking his cousin behind his back.” He looked back at her coldly. “It was probably a good thing he lied to you. Probably couldn’t trust you. Men have this instinct, you see. We know when women are just worthless whores.” He watched her reaction to see if his words had hit a mark. Any doubt he could plant in her brain now would only come in useful later. Whether they did or not, Nora acted as if he hadn’t even spoken.
“In the cemetery, when I first saw you, I thought you were so handsome. If you’d have just asked nicely, I would’ve come with you without the need to stuff me in the boot.” He caught the snipe of her words and his smirk reappeared. Would it really have been that easy? Was she truly nothing but a whore like the rest of them? Then, she smiled and it caught him off guard. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Nick stilled. Of course he did. She was beauty personified. Rosa and Charlotte were both pretty faces and hot bodies, but Nora was something entirely different. A work of art, a goddess, something that could never ever be replicated. He looked at her differently now, interest brightening his eyes.
“Or do you think I’m a slut?” She shifted forward, slipping onto all fours as she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her breasts and fuck, his throat tightened a little. “Or do you think I’m both?” Dampening his bottom lip, Nick shifted forward on the chair. She lifted her chained wrist and shook it gently. “Do you want to find out?” He did. More than anything. But he also wasn’t a fool. He was injured right now and he had a feeling she knew it. Yet while it was being offered on a plate... It was pretty hard to refuse when she was looking at him like that and it wasn’t as if she could escape. He shifted down to his knees in front of her, glancing at the camera behind him with a smile. He still had more cameras to install, ready to go live when the time was up. He wanted everybody to see what he could do.
“Let’s play a little game,” he murmured, reaching into his back pocket and sliding out a key. He held it up, a smirk on his face, the silver glinting in the bulb-light. “I’ll give you a little bit of freedom, but you have to give me something in return.” He stood, setting the key down on the floor just out of Nora’s reach. Then, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper, all without taking his eyes off her. He moved closer, reaching into his trousers to free himself. He was semi-aroused, but swelling rapidly. God, he just wanted to fuck her right there, but he knew it would be more than worth the wait. Nick stopped in front of her, the cold look settling back on his face. “Suck it.”
Nora didn’t move. A long few seconds stretched by as he grasped himself in front of her, slowly working the length and teasing himself. And then his phone began to ring, making them both jump in fright. Nick quickly stuffed his dick away and stalked across the unit to his bag. Rummaging through it, he pulled it out. Charlotte. Fucking dumb cunt. Why did she have to ruin every moment? He rejected the call and turned back to Nora, opening his mouth -
A knocking at the unit door. Nick froze and heart spasmed and his gut clenched so violently it hurt. And Nora opened her mouth and screamed for help so loud it made him take a step back. He couldn’t be caught, he couldn’t be found, it was impossible. The door opened - he’d been too arrogant to even consider locking it while he was here - and he expected a looming figure, one Sullivan or another and -
Charlotte.
“You dumb fucking cunt,” Nick hissed when she stepped inside.
—
Benji stood at the front door, frowned, and knocked again. And again, there was no answer. Putting his hand to his eyes, he tried to peer through the glass but the hall was empty, the house quiet... where was she? He’d messaged her to let her know he was on the way, but there’d been no reply since. Pulling out his phone, Benji found her number and called. No answer. “Fuck.” Her car was gone, which he knew anyway, as Nick was back at the unit, but where was Charlotte? Had he done something to her? Had he taken her with him? All Benji knew was that he didn’t feel good about this at all.
He kept trying to call her as he jumped back in his car and reserved off the drive, tyres squealing as he swerved off down the street. No answer. He tried her another three times while following the SatNav down to the storage units. It was set at the edge of an industrial estate, a pretty quiet place. A good place to be alone and get up to no good without the eyes of the law on you. Benji’s fists clenched the steering wheel the entire drive, mind bouncing between scenarios. Then, a traffic jam loomed ahead and he cursed, slamming his fist against the horn. Fuck!
His phone began to ring and he jumped, scrabbling for it. His heart leapt when he saw her name on the screen, not hesitating in answering. “Charlotte-“
“Benji, let me speak.” He fell silent, heart pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe. Just be safe, please just be safe. “Last night was the best night of my life. I don’t just mean the sex. Meeting you... you’re everything I’ve been searching for. Everything me and Tristan deserve, and I realised that last night; I am worthy of more than Nick Walker takes me for, so... that’s why I have to do this by myself.”
“No. No, Charlotte. Just wait for me. I’ll be twenty minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” He pleaded with her, but a small part of him knew she wouldn’t listen. That for whatever stupid reason, she was determined to do this on her own. “Charlotte, I’ll be there-“
“I think I could’ve fallen in love with you. I might still, if... if... Can you just promise me you’ll look after Tristan?”
Benji’s heart clenched painfully, the traffic jam finally freeing, his foot stamping on the accelerator. “You know I will, but I won’t have-“
“Promise me you’ll keep him safe.” The line went dead.
“Charlotte? Charlotte! Fuck!” he threw his phone angrily against the dashboard, then cut down a different road which would hopefully knock off a few minutes driving time. Why couldn’t anything just go right? He’d only just met her and now she was putting herself in danger?! Why did she need to go there alone? So many questions spun through his mind as he tried to figure out what exactly might happen when he showed up. Would Nick be angry with her? Would he even be there? Benji tried to reassure himself that just because the car and the tracker were there, didn’t mean Nick was. He could have dumped it and ran. Gone abroad. Charlotte might find nothing at all.
He prayed she would find nothing at all.
—-
Lara didn’t know what to do with herself when Dermot left. Her heart was pounding, her owns words ringing in her head. It had been too easy to say those words, to admit to her true feelings, and the only guilt she felt was the lack of it. It was a hard realisation to come to. That she didn’t love her husband, despite everything they had been through. No, that was a lie. Because she had loved him. He’d saved her when nobody else had been able to. He’d given her a home, Kimmy, had tried to be a good father to Charlie, worked hard for them every day. He protected them with the ferocity of a lion and yet...
What had changed?
When she thought of Dermot, it gave her a homely feeling. A blossoming warmth in her chest that she’d only ever experienced at the start of her relationship with Max. She’d never felt this way with Pete. When she met him, she was scared, running for her life, her mum was dying and she’d had nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. Meeting Nora, Pete and the boys that night had been a blessing, she knew that, but now she could see that she’d merely latched onto the nearest safety net, the closest thing to protection she could get. And Pete had been more than willing to play the hero, her saviour, risking his life for her on more than one occasion. It made her disgusted in herself. That she had played him for safety, for survival, and convinced them both she loved him. Because she’d truly believed it until now.
Lara was the first person to see Dermot walk into the Abbey that night. Pete had been knocking back a beer at her side, already swaying, and she’d been contemplating cutting the night short, desperate to see the children... The movement of the door had caught her eye and her breath had excelled in one big rush as Dermot walked through the door. A perplexed look on his face as he glanced around, pushing his way past Ned and Ike. And then he’d spotted them. Jock and Nora at the table, Nora straddling Jock’s lap, their faces inches apart. She saw the confusion on his face turn to utter disbelief.
"Is this a fuckin' joke?"
Both Jock and Nora jumped up in shock, but Lara hadn’t been able to tear her eyes off Dermot. The disbelief was rapidly turning to anger and she could see the movement of his chest growing heavier. She’d felt frozen, the whole pub at a standstill as they’d watched the scene play out, unable to look away. And the need to run to Dermot had been so strong in Lara that it had made her physically sick. She’d supported Nora, because she was her best friend and they’d both been through abuse and survived the other side. They had a bond many probably wouldn’t understand, Nora was truly her sister in all ways. But Dermot? God, he was loyal to a fault, charming and boyish at times, but always strong and sure and true and good. All these years she’d known him, remembered times with him, it was with a fondness she couldn’t explain. An affection she couldn’t seem to shake. And it had been there for years, buried under the pain and torment of loving Max.
She’d stepped forward, saying his name and breaking the silence that rang through the pub. And that look he’d given her, that look of anguish had haunted her, stuck at the back of her mind. She’d hated that for him. She’d understood his anger and his outrage. And the more it had gone on, the more she had seen his brother. That’s the reason she forced him out. It felt right, it felt like it was her right. She and Dermot understood things that Nora and Pete and even Jock didn’t. They couldn’t see how somebody could look at Max and feel any ounce of love or compassion, but Dermot did. Even at the very end, he’d given his brother a way out.
And Lara did too. She hadn’t seen Max yet and there was one thing she hadn’t admitted to Pete or Nora or anyone. She’d barely even admitted it to herself; part of her still longed for him. It was a piece of knowledge that made her sick. The man who’d beaten and abused her, raped her and nearly tried to murder her... the bad things were easier to blot out with time. Pete long grew bored of hearing tales of her past and she’d stopped speaking about it after they got married, and as he’d snore beside her in bed in a drunken stupor, Lara would lay awake and remember the way Max would look at her, his hands trailing her body, teeth nipped the soft spot beneath her ear. His hissed Irish as he bent her over and pushed himself deep, fingers toying the sensitive nub between her thighs.
Life with Max had been terrifying and exciting, absolute hell and absolute exhilaration. It was hard to explain, this frustrating and evident pull she still had. Worse thing being that when she looked at Pete, she felt none of this. It would have been easy to blame it on the fact of having children, of falling into the mundane way of life, of routine and lack of time. So many factors they could point to and blame. When she looked at the real truth, they simply weren’t happy. Lara daydreaming of her abusive ex and sleeping with Dermot, no, cheating. And Pete, miserable because he was torn between her and the firm he clearly regretted leaving, a suicide attempt... this wasn’t happiness.
This wasn’t what she wanted. She’d spent nearly twelve fucking years of being unhappy and she was tired of it. Tired of trying to pretend like everything was perfect when it wasn’t. Some days, she looked at Pete and wished she wasn’t even with him at all.
When the car pulled up on the drive, Lara’s stomach was in knots and her throat seemed to close up until it was hard to take a breath. This was it. She wasn’t going to say anything right away, not until the children were in bed, but she’d already thought hard about what she was going to say. She’d debated whether or not telling him about Dermot at all, seeing as these were feelings that had lingered for months, but she’d now seen first hide what happened when secrets were kept and she didn’t want that for Pete. But she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle seeing the same look on Pete’s face that had been on Dermot’s that night at the pub.
Moving to the front door, she pulled it open and stood there, arms wrapped around herself. Pete cut the engine, and she could see Charlie waving frantically from the back of the car. Pete let Charlie out first and he came hurtling over with a huge smile on his face, dark curls bobbing, and she let out a small laugh as he collided with her and squeezed her middle tightly. Charlie tilted back to look at her. “Uncle Steve yelled at Daddy.” Lara looked up at Pete, brow creased and she knew he’d heard by the way he held himself and lingered with Kimmy’s car seat. Mentally, she cursed Steve. She hadn’t wanted to do this while he was in a bad mood.
“Go inside,” she smiled to Charlie, ushering him past her as Pete lifted Kimmy out the car and shut the door behind them. Lara gave Kimmy a smile, then stepped aside as Pete approached. Being around him just reminded her of the fact she’d betrayed him. And that Dermot had been here, this morning, in this very house.
“They’ve both been fed and I think it’s time for Kimmy to take a nap, so I’m just going to put her down.” Lara knew instantly he was trying to prolong talking about it, watching as he set the baby bag in the counter and headed for the stairs. Lara followed, reaching for his hand, then pulling away, unsure. He glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow, and there was something about the look that unsettled her.
“What happened with Steve?”
He shrugged. “You know what ‘es like. Always thinks he knows everything, that’s all.” He turned away without another word, taking Kimmy upstairs, and Lara watched him go, her stomach churning. Did he know? Had someone seen her with Dermot last night? She tried to reason that she was being paranoid, and as she listened to Pete shuffle about upstairs, she busied herself with making herself a cup of tea, listening as Charlie explained all about his time with his cousin, Ben.
“... And Kimmy poured sand everywhere, even all over my shoes!”
“Oh my god, no way.”
“Yeah! And Ben filled up a huge bucket and tipped it all up and it was a castle!”
A knocking at the door made her jump, teaspoon clattering on the side. “One minute, baby,” she murmured, heading out the kitchen and into the hall. Who was this now? They weren’t expecting anybody...
“I’ll get it.” Pete was already jogging down the stairs, reaching the front door before she could get any further than the bottom of the stairs. Lara’s breath caught as he opened the door, but her fear quickened dampened to confusion at the middle aged Indian man on the doorstep. “Can I ‘elp you, mate?”
“Mr Sullivan left this in the car.” He thrust the jacket into Pete’s hands and Lara recognised it instantly as Dermot’s. Her stomach did a strange little flip, but Dermot coming here could have meant anything. Pete stared down at the offending item, and she stepped forward with a frown. “Pete?” What was his problem? She approached and when she reached his shoulder, he spun to face her, and she took a step back, eyes widening. What the hell had gotten into him?
“Mr Sullivan? Mr Sullivan?” He said the word, tasted them and felt them in his tongue and Lara shook her head, still not understanding. Did he think it was ... Max’s? Pete tossed the jacket onto the floor, then looked over her shoulder, blue eyes icy. “Go to your room.” His words were a growl and Lara turned to see Charlie stood uncertainly in the doorway; brown eyes fixed on them both, the small dinosaur Max had given him still clenched in his hand. And then, something Lara never expected to happen happened. Pete gave her a forceful shove to the side and stormed forward, snatching Charlie by the arm and yanking him towards the stairs. “Do as I fuckin’ say.” The boy’s feet barely touched the floor and he let out a small wail of surprise and upset as Pete released him and gave him a push in the back. And Lara snapped.
“Don’t you raise your voice at him!” She spat, too furious to say anything else, still processing what she’d just seen. As Charlie ran up the stairs, crying, Lara flung herself across the hall.
“And don’t tell me not to raise my voice in my own fuckin’ house!” Pete snarled, rounding on her as she rushed at him, shoving his chest and blocking his way to the stairs. “I think you’ve got some explaining to do, hey, Lar? And either way you look at this, it don’t look good.” Lara was trembling. Her whole body was teetering on the edge of explosion, every fibre sprung and primed for release.
“How dare you touch him like that,” she hissed through gritted teeth, one hand gripping the bannister, the other pressed firmly against the wall to ensure he couldn’t pass. “Max Sullivan could have been stood in the fucking living room for all I care, you NEVER touch him like that again!” She snarled the word, eyes burning into his, her breath coming in heavy pants. How fucking dare he. She was absolutely furious, she could hear Charlie sobbing upstairs and she wanted nothing more than to lunge at Pete, beat him and make him hurt. He was a grown man. A fucking grown up. What had Charlie done to deserve that?
“As for the fucking jacket,” she hissed, eyes never leaving his face. From her position on the stairs, she was eye-level with him and she found she felt absolutely no fear. She’d looked into the eyes of a man with the devil in his soul and lived the tell the tale. “It’s Dermot’s. He came by this morning to apologise for last night. Is that a crime? Is there some reason why I should stop talking to him? I’ve known him a long time, Pete. He made a mistake, we’ve all made mistakes. And you? You’ve just made the biggest mistake of all because I will never let you touch another of my children like that again, Pete, I swear.”
Her heart was pounding in her chest and she knew it was now or never. That there could be no holding back, not now. Pete had opened the floodgates and he only had himself to blame. “And while we’re here...” Lara stepped down, pushing him backwards. “I want a divorce. This isn’t working, Pete, and I think that’s getting clearer by the day. Ever since Charlie was born, your drinking’s been getting worse.” Pete finally seemed to find his tongue then, protesting, but she spoke over him, fists clenched furiously at her sides. “You look at him and you see Max and you can’t re me that you don’t. And this fucking sickening obsession you have over this football firm... we’re done, Pete. I can’t do it anymore. I want you to pack your stuff and go. Today.” She didn’t even need to mention Dermot. She really couldn’t see any alternative. Everything had been leading to this long before the events of last night.
Pulling off her rings, she shoved them into Pete’s hand and turned away, stalking into the living room. There was a pile of clean laundry on the table and she began to pull Pete’s clothes from it. He was shouting, demanding to know why, despite the reasons she’d just given him. She could barely focus. Casting around for a bag, she was suddenly brought around by Pete’s rough hand on her shoulder. Lara dropped the clothes and slapped him, palm burning with the force, the sharp sound seeming to bounce off the walls. “I slept with Dermot! Last night.” She hated herself as soon as the words left her lips. She stared at him and watched the impact as if it were in slow motion, and now she’d started talking, she just couldn’t seem to stop. “He kissed me, I... I drove him home and we...”
For the first time, Lara looked away. The truth, the whole truth, was out there and she both wanted to scream in delight and sob with grief. “I’ve wanted to end this for a while. I tried before, but you... Well, you tried to kill yourself. What kind of person would I have been if I’d left you then? But I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable, Pete. And last night? Being with Dermot was easy, I didn’t even need to think about it.” She knew her blunt honesty hurt by the look in his face but she had to say her peace, she had to get it all out.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jun 28, 2022 10:54:25 GMT -5
The air was filled with electric; time momentarily stopped. George looked at Luke, and Luke stared right back.
‘What the fuck is this prick doing in our house?’
‘Let me explain, before you do anything.’ Aoife panicked and Luke saw a window of opportunity.
Rewind the clock by ten minutes and it was a completely different story, albeit still a perfect opportunity for Luke to lay the foundations. She had wanted to kiss him. He hadn’t been so sure before, merely hopefully, but now it was obvious how desperate Aoife Sullivan was to see what she had been missing. All the sincerity and holding back had been worth it, to see her strain herself not to inch closer.
It had been challenging not pin her down and pepper little marks for George to find later, but Luke had contained himself. Everyone had self restraint, in the end, it was whether they cared enough to bend to it. Most times, he didn’t, but this was the long game. This was four years in the making, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up by jumping her at the first opportunity. Even if she had made it easy. Even if she had lingered when he’d pressed his lips to her temple, and he’d heard her breath catch in her throat.
‘You should go before I make a bigger fool of myself.’ She met his eyes and it was nice. She wasn’t truly ashamed of their closeness, was willing to challenge it by holding his gaze. Aoife had enjoyed it.
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Luke replied gently as she took the plates and he stood from the sofa, stretching his legs. Collecting their glasses he followed her into the kitchen.
The way Aoife’s ass was swinging made him want to slam her against the wall and kick her thighs wide.
‘…if you ever need my help, or if you need to vent… just message me. Or call me, I’ll answer if I can.’
Message and call. Aoife really wanted to leave herself open to him, didn’t she? ‘The feelings mutual.’ Luke replied, handing her the glasses. ‘I know I’m not trained, like you, but… I’m a good listener. Plus, it’s good… to feel useful at the moment. There’s not much I can do for dad so… thank you.’
He was so fucking good! Luke should’ve become a conman sooner, because it was just so damn easy to trick people into whatever you wanted. No wonder his acting teacher at college said he had potential because he was dripping in it. Aoife wasn’t as gullible as the other girls, the ones who merely needed a sad expression to fall to their knees, but she wanted him, so she became easy.
‘Thank you, for this.’ Aoife turned to him was a gentle smile on his face and Luke returned it. ‘I did need it… let me show you to the door.’
What?
Luke wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected to be leaving so soon. He didn’t want to leave. Perhaps, he knew, they wouldn’t fuck this night but… now he wanted something for his accomplishments. He wanted to kiss her; he wanted to taste her.
Back to present time and George knew exactly what Luke had been thinking, and the look on his face showed that. Fuck. Now things were getting interesting.
‘What the fuck is this prick doing in our house?’
There were two ways to play this. Luke could be violent, angry, and teach George Turner who the boss around here really was, or… he could stick to the plan. Be calm and harmless. Boring.
‘Luke is leaving, okay? I’ll explain everything once he’s gone.’ Aoife turned back to him, desperation and panic on her face. ‘Goodnight, Luke.’ She was holding George back, her hands flat against his chest. Let him go Luke thought. Try me.
‘Are you sure you’ll be alright if I leave you?’ Luke asked, feigning uncertainty as he looked between the two. Make it appear that George is the threat in this situation.
George Turner couldn’t believe what was going on and shook his head, his body wired with adrenaline. How many hours had he worked today, to come back to this shit? Watching Luke, he considered all the facts for a moment, and there were only few. He didn’t know how often this had happened, or why, or even how it had occurred, but he did know that Aoife had allowed it. Aoife had let him come here because Luke had made her believe it was her choice. Luke was playing her kindness, for what reason, and George thought he may as well join in too.
‘No.’ George said, suddenly calmer and they both glanced at him in confusion.
‘No, she won’t be safe?’ Luke asked and George struggled not to roll his eyes.
‘No, I mean… don’t leave.’ What was he doing, what was his plan? He was beyond exhausted.
Half an hour ago George had been washing a young dead girls blood from his hands, and now he was in his home, faced with the one prick in the world that could end his relationship. It was a difficult one, because all those years ago, after that one mistake he had made… George had vowed not to jump to conclusions when Aoife was concerned. She had a male friend? Fine. She was out late… fine. Any time he had questioned her, or had doubts, she had brought up his mistake with the girl with no name and whose face was now a blur.
‘How can you be mad at me, after what you did?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I didn’t sleep with Luke, but you did sleep with someone else.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why don’t you trust me, I’m not the one that cheated!’
They were only fleeting moments during brief arguments at the very beginning, but all the same it had hurt him. Did he have a right to be hurt? Not really. George had been the one to go out and make the mistake, but he did wonder how different things would’ve been if Aoife had slept with Luke. Would she be with him now? Aoife had merely been acting out to her own hurt feelings, he had understood that, and after a few weeks she hadn’t mentioned it, but George consistently thought about it.
He had worked really hard to ensure he was a good person in this life, because his dad hadn’t been and because so many weren’t. Now, no matter what he did, George couldn’t make the past go away. He had cheated and hurt the woman he loved. So, to deny her… whatever this was… this friendship with Luke Winters, would only make her draw closer to him. George was terrified that wrong one move would push Aoife away, and he didn't want to risk that.
George could not control her, because he hadn’t been able to control himself. He needed to trust her, and he did, just not Luke. He wasn’t fucking stupid.
‘Have a drink with me.’ George declared, moving Aoife from him and heading into the kitchen. He could smell the whiskey rolling off of her and frowned but said nothing. How drunk was she? ‘Unless you’ve had too many?’ turning to Luke he handed him a glass from the side, filling it with what was left of the whiskey. ‘I’ve had a long day, a few more minutes won’t make a difference.’
Luke was looking at George, eyebrows furrowed. Was he trying to play him at his own game?
‘Really, I know what this must look like. I should go.’
‘I insist.’ George basically demanded through gritted teeth as he reached out, grabbing Luke’s forearm. ‘I haven’t seen you in years.’
Aoife cut across them with talk of Luke’s dad, but George didn’t care. What a load of bullshit, and even if it wasn’t, that wasn’t why Luke was here. He had never taken Aoife as someone to be gullible, but it appeared where Luke Winters was concerned, she was. Did George even know her at all? Then again with everything that was going on with Dermot and Nora and Max could he blame her for being a little off?
‘Did Aoife tell you about the wedding?’ George asked as he downed the shot of whiskey, eyes not moving from Luke’s face. He reeked of aftershave and desperation. He looked good though, annoyingly; better fashion, nice haircut. A lot better than what George looked right now for sure. That was because he obviously didn’t have to work hard for a living, though.
‘Whose?'
‘Ours.’ George replied swiftly.
‘She told me you were engaged, yeah. Congratulations.’ He looked over at Aoife who looked on edge, teetering in the doorway. ‘You’re a lucky man.’
‘Look at me when you say that.’ George’s voice was low and Luke pulled his gaze back to him, eyebrow raised.
Luke didn’t know what the fuck was going on. George was being nice, why? There was an obvious undertone he was unhappy with this situation, but like a father being introduced to their daughter first boyfriend, he was tolerating this situation. Was he scared? Was he… threatened? It made Luke feel as if he had all the power in the world, stood in the small kitchen with a glass of whiskey in his palm.
How far could George go before he snapped?
‘Would you say I’m a reasonable man, Luke?’
Not much further, Luke thought as the pointed question was raised. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know you.’ He gave a nervous laugh, placing the whiskey on the side. Too much alcohol had already been consumed and he didn’t want to falter to close to the end.
Aoife tried to calm George, coming to stand beside him but he shrugged her off.
‘From what you do know of me, then.’ George pushed.
‘This is weird, man.’ Luke shook his head and went to leave but suddenly George jumped up from where he was leaning. One step, two and he was blocking the doorway. ‘I just came to see if Aoife was alright.’ Luke said calmly, trying not to get his back up. George was a little taller than him and it made his shirt collar feel tight.
‘Why wouldn’t she be?’ George asked, eyebrow raised. ‘It’s been four years, and you just get the urge to visit her now? What game are you playing?’
Luke glanced at Aoife. Did he not know about their meeting at the club?
‘My dad is sick.’ He said finally, meeting George’s gaze. ‘Like Aoife said. He’s dying. I just bumped into her in the hospital, and we got talking.’
‘To answer my question, I think I am a reasonable person.’ George replied, ignoring the way both Aoife and Luke were watching him.
He felt like he was ten again and everyone was treating him like a fool. He was tired; his feet hurt, his eyes ached, he was hungry and fed up and had just wanted to come home and wrap himself around his fiancé in his own fucking bed. Now he had to deal with the doubts and uncertainty, less than an hour after having to deal with a suicide attempt. Why was he being tested? He was a good fucking person!
‘Alright.’ Luke shrugged.
‘I’m being reasonable by letting you stay in my my house uninvited without punching you in the fucking face!’
‘Just your house?’
‘Yes!’
‘If you say so.’
‘Yes, I say so.’ George rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and sighed. ‘I also say get the fuck out of my house, actually.’ Grabbing Luke’s shoulder he went to drag him out but the man stiffened.
Luke didn’t know what to do; he wanted to fight, he wanted to smash George’s face in, but Aoife looked terrified and he knew he had to hold back. ‘You’re scaring her.’ Luke argued as he shoved George off of him, but he came back in a second, both hands grabbing him now. Aoife was squealing for them to stop and both men stumbled through the hallway, a mess of hands shoving in uncertainty, neither one giving their full force.
‘You don’t appreciate her.’ Luke snapped as his back was slammed against the front door. He shoved George in the chest so he reeled back a step. ‘She’s helping me, because she’s a good fucking person, but you’re not. I haven’t even done anything wrong and you’ve just attacked me!’
‘Not done anything wrong?’ George gave a manic laugh. ‘You’ve never done anything right! Since the day you came into Aoife’s life you’ve been nothing but poison. You ruined everything!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Luke asked, genuine confusion on his face. ‘If anything in your life is a mess, it isn’t my fault! I haven’t been in it for four years, you just said so yourself!’
‘You know what I’m talking about!’ George was grasping at straws, and knew he sounded desperate.
‘The party? I apologised for that. You’re the one that cheated on her --’
‘Fuck you.’ George spat.
Aoife pipped up then and George faltered slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. She looked disappointed. He was pissed off. If she was going to me mad at him, he might as well have fun. Turning back to Luke, George swung out and punched him squarely in the jaw. His head ricocheted with a thump and between Luke’s hand coming to his mouth, Aoife yelling and George flexing his knuckles, he saw a smirk. A fucking smirk on Winter’s face.
Now you’ve done it, Luke thought, as he swallowed back the blood. Aoife pulled George back as Luke fumbled for the door handle. She was going to hate him for this, and having a cut lip was nothing if it meant breaking them up. Catching Aoife’s gaze, Luke slipped outside and stumbled down the path, his ears ringing. That hadn’t gone how he’d expected.
Inside, George shoved Aoife off so roughly he elbowed her in the face and she slammed into the door frame with a cry.
‘I saw a young girl today, who had thrown herself out of a hotel window because some bastard had raped her.’ George’s voice was low as he looked at the ground. Aoife didn’t understand the relevance and it angered him. ‘We tried to save her, but we couldn’t.’ he added, letting his eyes land on her. Was her nose bleeding? She was stood in the door, looking so small yet angry in him. Was she mad he had ruined their evening? ‘It’s people like Luke Winter’s that do these things to innocent girls.’
Aoife argued, said he was crazy and went to turn into the kitchen but he grabbed her elbow.
‘How am I the bad one in this situation?’ George asked in disbelief. How many hours had he been up? 48?
Without thinking, he lowered his head and kissed her roughly. Aoife went to shove him away but he pinned her against the wall, arms by her side as he forced a response. His lips trailed down her neck, one of his hands slipping between her thighs but she tried to shrug him off. With a grunt of frustration George spun her around so her face was pressed into the wall, arms held tight behind her back.
‘Isn’t this how he treats you?’ George hissed in her ear. He held her there for a moment, grip tight on her wrists before he let her go, shocked at his own actions. Without a word he grabbed his keys and jacket and left.
What was he doing? Head spinning, he wandered aimlessly around the streets before realising there was only one place left to go. The place where he was considered as innocent and kind as a pup. Knocking on the front door, George looked up as Jock opened it with a squint.
‘I fucked up.’ He sighed.
‘What are you doing?’
Max was eleven, Dermot was younger. His brother had his face buried in his hands as he sat at the trunk of a tree, scuffed trainers and cuts on his knees. Sometimes he looked so small that it annoyed him, but on this occasion Max felt protective. Over the years, Dermot would broaden out and they’d rival one another in height and grander, but not yet.
Dermot was sobbing, tear streaked face behind his hands which he buried into his knees. Max got down on his haunches and tilted his brothers chin up; it was grazed, red raw, his lip bust too.
‘Who did this?’
‘N-no one.’ Dermot trembled, shoving Max back so he could bury himself away again.
Sometimes people picked on Dermot just because of Max, and other times because he wasn’t Max. Max had a reputation for himself, he knew, and bullies found it easier to target the younger brother, still getting gratification even if he didn’t retaliate and enjoying it all the more when he didn’t. He’s still a fucking Sullivan they’d sneer and Max appreciated their name was known, even at such a young age. Dermot did not.
In the distance Max could hear a group of children laughing. The sun was at its highest and he could feel it burning his neck as he waded through the overgrown trees. Nettles and goosegrass stuck to his ankles as he headed down to the stream. It was a beautiful area in the midst of rural Ireland and had he been older, perhaps he could’ve appreciated it more.
There were three boys stood by the water, one of them holding a long stick and stabbing it in the ripples as if it were a spear. A young girl with curly hair and round glasses perched on a rock; the sister of the eldest one there, desperate for their attention and acknowledgement, having begged their mother to let her join them. She spotted him first, pushing her glasses up her nose with a squint, but keeping quiet.
Ronan Finnian was her brother, the one laughing and flicking his pen knife as if he was wasn’t a twelve year old bastard, and instead some powerful gang member to be rivalled. Give it ten years and he became a drugs mule, but never really progressed to more; ironically he would end up doing some work for Max, sending coke two and from the border.
‘Hey.’ Max called and all three of them turned to look at him. Ronan had a cut knuckle where he had obviously punched Dermot in the face not so long ago.
‘Max Sullivan.’ Ronan breathed, moving towards him. The river behind them was loud, swirling down to a miniature waterfall lined with ferns and moss. The two boys beside him tensed, prepared for anything. ‘This is my woods.’
‘Says who?’ Max asked, eyebrow raised.
Ronan was in front of him now, only an inch taller. He shoved Max in the chest, hard. ‘Says me.’ His voice was low and had Max not been Max, it could’ve been intimidating. He was still flipping his pen knife in his right hand and the sound of the blade scraping as it opened and closed was irking Max.
‘You beat up my Dearthair. Why?’
‘Because he’s an eejit.’ One of them smirked and they all laughed. ‘A wet blanket.’
‘Because he’s your fucking brother.’ Ronan replied, never taking his gaze off of him. ‘And we hate Sullivan’s.’ Their faces were so close Max could feel his breath warm on his cheek; a wave of cheap beer he’d stolen from his dads fridge and the one used cigarette they’d all shared.
‘If you want to fight someone…’ Max started and he shoved Ronan back, so abruptly he stumbled a little on the uneven ground. ‘Fight me—‘
‘Max?’
Max stilled as he heard Dermot behind him, voice quiet and unsure like a lamb. He’d wandered through the woods all bleary eyed and confused. Ronan took the second of distraction as opportunity and swiped at Max with his knife, cutting his forearm open.
‘Stay back, Dearthair.’ Max hissed, holding one hand behind him to keep Dermot at bay. His arm stung, blood dribbling down his palm and onto his trainers. Slowly, he looked up at Ronan and tilted his head to the side. The older boy looked concerned, rather than impressed with what he had done. He swallowed and Max smirked.
Without a moments hesitation he shoved Ronan again, this time with as much force as he could muster. He staggered, holding his arms out to stop him from falling but a large tree root caught him and he fell backwards, directly into the river with a splash. Max followed, the flow rippling at his ankles as Ronan crawled back on his hands over the stones and weed, pleading for Max to leave him alone. His sister watched from the rocks, neither scared nor satisfied with the outcome. The two boys who had been sniggering earlier were now stood in unsure silence, their fists clenched.
Somehow Ronan had managed to pull himself up and, hunched low, he ran as quickly as he could down the river, Max slowly following, the sounds of his boots echoing through the woods. Ronans breath was heavy and desperate, doing all he could to ensure he wouldn’t fall over and be captured, when he simply ran out of space to run. He tipped over the edge of the waterfall and vanished into the rising steam in eerie silence; he was gone.
No one said anything.
There was a thump.
Max glanced over his shoulder to see Dermot watching him from the riverbank, face full of confusion and disbelief. As he turned his gaze to the others they all picked up their heels and ran off, the young girl with curly hair the only one stopping for a brief moment. They looked at one another, Max expressionless, before she left too.
‘W-why did you do that?’ Dermot asked and Max shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t planned on it.
‘So you didn’t have to.’ He finally replied and he took Dermot’s hand, leading him out of the woods.
Ronan Finnian broke both legs that day, and never laid a finger on Dermot again. He didn’t realise until he was stood in the kitchen, back in the present day, but as much as Max hated how perfect Dermot was, he would always do whatever was needed to save him from the darkness. So he grabbed his keys from the side and headed into the garage, ready to follow.
The remark about loving Nora despite what she had done didn’t go unnoticed; the contrast between her and Lara was wide and yet small in other ways. Both were loved by a Sullivan man, and although he would never understand why Nora, he could understand why. They were obsessive men, always one hundred percent in with whatever they did. Dermot wasn’t going to leave her to fend for herself, just like Max was never going to leave Lara alone even if she no longer loved him.
‘I just want her to be happy.’ Dermot had said before he’d left and Max realised he had never truly cared about anyones happiness. He just ensured they survived. That was all he could do and that was good enough. Until Charlie, at least. Things had changed now, the love was… different, it was pure. Max cared about Charlie’s happiness, and to ensure that, he would have to protect Dermot from whatever trouble he was walking into now.
What the hell was she doing?
Charlotte loved Tristan, she really did, even if he hadn’t been planned. But some things were just greater and sometimes you had to be selfish, if it meant that others would be safe. One thing Charlotte found hardest in the midst of this all, was how alone she had been. Benji had come along at the opportune moment, but before that, the years before, the times when other men were inappropriate and explicit, no one had been there to understand. No woman had been there to reassure and relate.
She just knew he was doing something and she was exhausted. Charlotte didn’t want to spend her life always looking over her shoulder, wondering if he would come back to threaten her some more. If he would take control of her unborn child, using it to manipulate her like he had Tristan. If she could help at least destroy one of the many abusive bastards sauntering around town, it would feel good; she would feel a moment to breathe.
Had she ever hit anyone before? Charlotte held the knife in her hand tight. Not really, not on purpose. Girl fights, with slaps and pulled hair, but… killed? At the gym she had been taking boxing lessons, self defence, but you only truly were supposed to use that in dire situations. If this wasn’t one, then what was? Her trainer had told her not to use anger; anger made you tense, it made you hit wrong, it made you mind fog. You had to keep everything clear and controlled; that was really difficult when her blood was pulsing in her ears and her mouth felt dry.
Walking around the numerous lockers, Charlotte realised just how difficult a feat this was. Every door looked the same. She wondered if other secrets lay behind other doors. If someone had a woman tied to a chair, or a bomb in a briefcase, or a cardboard box filled with fake money. Who knew what was going on around them, really?
Taking her phone from her pocket she flipped it open and scrolled down to his number. Nick Walker. If he knew she had his number saved under his real name, he would no doubt kill her. What did it matter, he wasn’t as mysterious as he thought he was. Dialling his number she stopped in the hall and listened. Nothing. Fuck. A brisk walk down an aisle and then another, she could hear a faint sound coming from one of the doors at the end. With each stride forwards it got louder and louder and –
The call died, but she was outside the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Fuck. Glancing up at the ceiling she swallowed and held the pendent around her neck; a heart with a T carved into it. ‘I love you, Tristan.’ She mouthed before knocking on the door.
She tried the handle, by chance, and it was open. How arrogant had he been to think no one would find him? Pushing open the door, she saw him stood inches away from it, a look of terror on his face swiftly dropping to confusion. Who had he expected, if not her? Who was he afraid of?
‘You dumb fucking cunt.’ Nick hissed and without pause, she stepped forwards into the unit and plunged her knife into his shoulder. He cried out in pain and Charlotte squealed, pulling the rigid knife through the flesh with a grimace. It felt like she was slicing through a knotted, fatty steak. Someone else was screaming. A woman was sat on the floor, half her chest exposed, tears streaking her once pretty face.
‘You’re okay now.’ Charlotte breathed when suddenly Nick grabbed her neck and threw her onto the ground.
Ten minutes earlier.
Nora knew this was a bad idea before she had even began. Someone like Nick did not play games and she regretted joining in.
‘Let’s play a game.’ He brought a key from her pocket and Nora had never seen anything look so valuable. She stayed on her knees, a desperate glint in her eyes. ‘I’ll give you a little bit of freedom, but you have to give me something in return.’
Nora swallowed following the small key as it was placed on the ground just out of her reach. What a dick. She didn’t know what to say, or what he was going to suggest, but when Nick started to unbutton his trousers, she wasn’t surprised. His gaze was on her the whole while and she kept hers on his face, adamant not to look down as a heat rose up her neck. His authority reminded her too much of Malachi; the way he oozed confidence and sexual demands. A few steps closer and Nora had to force herself not to recoil.
‘Suck it.’ He demanded.
Nora didn’t move.
She wanted to cry. She felt stupid. She was stupid. How did she always get herself into situations like this? Always the victim in a way that people had begun to presume she did it on purpose. That she liked it. Nick had said himself she was a whore, which was no doubt why Dermot hadn’t trusted her enough with the truth. Never the truth. Jock did though. Didn’t he? Nick started to stroke himself and Nora felt her own strength waning. How was she going to get out of this situation? The key was too far for her too reach, his dick was hardening with every second, and if she continued to deny him…
For a moment she was back in her old bedroom with Malachi, her face rubbing against the carpet as he fucked her from behind, her hands pinned. He had made her bleed that day, fucking her so rough. She had kept her eyes focused on the suitcases under the bed; the wheels, the grooves in the plastic, wishing she was somewhere else.
Suddenly a phone rang, loud and deafening in the quiet and Nora jumped and so did Nick.
After declining the call, he turned back to her and a lump rose in her throat and –
A knock at the door. Her heart was racing. Jock?
Nora screamed with everything she had in her, her throat hoarse when the door opened slowly. She was saved. She was saved. Tears sprung in her eyes, her swelling as she pictured Jock stood in the doorway, broad shouldered and heroic, when instead she blinked to see a small woman staring back just as unsurely.
‘You dumb fucking cunt.’ Nick breathed, and then the air was blown from his lungs as the woman plunged a knife awkwardly into his shoulder. He yelled, the woman screamed and Nora screamed, the room filled with chaos and uncertainty. As he stumbled back, he kicked the key close to her and she grabbed it desperately.
‘You’re okay now.’ The woman reassured her and Nora glanced up just in time to see Nick throw her to the ground.
Her fingers were suddenly numb and sweaty as she fumbled with the key, desperate to undo the chains on her ankles. She twisted left and right, then left again, wiggling impatiently but the chains were stiff and her skin was raw. One foot free, then another. Nora clambered to her feet but fell into the wall, her legs like jelly having been sat in the same position for days.
Charlotte was on the floor, wrestling madly with Nick. Blood pooled from his shoulder and onto the woman, covering her beautiful hair and neck. He was pinning her, trying to grab her arms, the knife discarded besides them. Both of them were yelling at one another and Nora didn’t know what to do. She went to move forward but was pulled back by the final chain on her wrist. Slipping the key in, she jolted it too hard and it snapped off in the lock. Her heart sank.
‘No.’ she breathed.
Charlotte felt the full weight of Nick above her and brought a knee up to his chest, digging it into the oozing wound there. He fell on his side with a cry of pain and she grappled desperately for the knife. Just as she touched the hilt he grabbed her foot, dragging her away. She screamed, thrashing blindly. She could see Nora struggling in the corner and both women locked eyes, fear and adrenaline pumping through them both.
‘Get out of here!’ Charlotte demanded as Nora slammed her wrist against the wall over and over again, trying to crack the cuff. Her wrist started to bleed, the bright red mixing with the purple bruises coating her arm.
‘I can’t!’ Nora cried, her chest heavy. It wouldn’t break. Why wouldn’t it break?
Nick pinned Charlotte to the ground again, her face pressed into the concrete. She could feel his heaviness as he sat on her middle but she desperately reached for the knife, only stopping when he grabbed her hair and slammed her face down. Her vision went black for a moment and she gasped, blood filling her nose.
Nora couldn’t focus, her hands were trembling. This woman had come to help her and now she was dying and she couldn’t do anything about it. Nora swallowed, glancing over at the scene as she tried to compose herself. You’ve got this she thought, breath shaky. This was their only chance. Nora pulled her arm towards herself with all the force she had, snapping her wrist with a sickening crunch. She cried, white hot heat streaming up her forearm, the urge to be sick prominent at the back of her throat. Sliding her limp wrist from the handcuff she turned to help Charlotte just as Nick raised the knife.
Then time stopped still in that moment.
Charlotte looked up at Nora, an apologetic look in her eyes as she pointed one hand to the door. Leave. Nora glanced at Nick, a manic glint in his eye as the blade lowered slowly towards Charlotte’s body. There was nothing she could do. There was no way she could save her, not now. As Nora turned on her heel to the door, she heard Charlotte give a final cry as Nick slammed the knife into her back over and over, the sound thick and heavy in the echoed halls.
Nora ran as fast as she could, her legs constantly failing her as she skidded round the maze like hallways. The pain in wrist was unreal, her mouth filling with vomit. She was going to pass out. She was going to die. Nora tried to keep it together until she pushed through the main doors and outside. The air slapped her in the face, refreshing and shocking and suddenly the sick projected out onto the pavement. Her chest burned as she dropped to her knees, gagging like a wild animal.
Inside, Charlotte felt her whole body give a shudder as Nick pulled the knife slowly from her back, placing it with a clatter on the floor. He was breathing heavy, the pain making him sway slightly.
She was dying, and it was okay. Charlotte had known that before she’d gotten here. There had been no purpose for her life, not really, and now she had one. Nick Walker would die here tonight.
As she stilled, Nick gave a satisfied sigh, leaning back on his haunches. There was heavy silence for a moment, no sound of sirens, no sound of Nora. Charlotte’s breathing had all but stopped when she grabbed the knife from beside her and thrust it into his thigh with the last bit of strength she had.
'Fuck. You.' she hissed.
A second later and her hand went limp and she was calm. She was safe. Charlotte Foster was dead.
Dermot was driving like a reckless idiot. Max wasn’t too far behind but was purposely taking it slow, not caring for the outcome of poor Nora Samuels meaningless life. He had his phone in its holder on the windscreen and was watching the live footage from the storage unit. Traffic was currently a nightmare and as he stopped behind a slew of honking cars, his attention was caught by the video.
Some woman was stood in the doorway of the unit, a knife in her hand; within a second she slashed it down against Nick Walkers shoulder and chaos ensued. What the fuck was happening? Anyone else would’ve pulled the car to the side and swerved in shock but Max was interested, impressed. Usually women were timid and dull but this one had fire in her belly. This one must be Charlotte Foster.
The traffic moved on and he momentarily turned away so he could take a corner. They weren’t far now, and Dermot was more than six cars in front of him. What would he be walking into? Watching the fight play out, Max wondered if in another reality, this was his reality. If Charlotte was his Lara, and too much button pushing ended him like this. No. He shook his head with a gentle smirk. Lara had had far too many opportunities and never even come close, so he doubted any version of her would have the satisfaction of ending his life.
Anyway, Max Sullivan intended on living forever.
‘Pity’ Max sighed as he pulled into the industrial estate. Charlotte’s body lap limp beneath Nick Walker and he wondered how satisfied he felt with his work. What had he done to her to make her so furious? And where was Nora now? Pulling up in the street across from the unit, Max turned off the engine and sat there for a moment. He had wanted to potentially use Nick, but it seemed he was too much of a liability, especially if two women had managed to overthrow him in a matter of days.
Climbing out the car, Max popped open the trunk and lifted the lining. In a deep cut-out were strapped two guns, ammunition, and a hunting knife. Taking the glock he tucked it down the back of his waistband and headed for the building.
Nora couldn’t breathe or move. She had to move, if she didn’t she would die. Nick would come back out surely. Unless Charlotte had somehow killed him too? Time seemed strange as she knelt hunched on the floor, cradling her broken wrist when suddenly someone bolted past. Her pulse spiked, ready to defend herself but it was just someone else running inside the building. Eyebrow raised, Nora watched Benji disappear and for a moment thought it was just a hallucination.
Then she heard his voice.
‘Nora?’
Nora turned around to see Dermot stood across the road, a look of relief flooding his face.
Inside, knowing he had seen the images she had felt uncomfortable and vulnerable but now she couldn’t have been happier to see him. Her heart swelled as he ran towards her and tears filled her eyes. Dermot was here. The fight at the Abbey, the lies, the mistrust, all of it seemed insignificant to know he was here, for her. But where was Jock?
Words seemed impossible, her body trembling as Dermot put his jacket around her shoulders. It smelt like him. It smelt like a familiar time, a safe home. He examined her wrist and she hissed in pain, recoiling as he examined it. In the relief to see him, she had almost forgotten about the pain.
‘S-she’s d-dead.’ Nora finally managed and Dermot looked confused. ‘This woman. S-she saved me, and h-he… killed her –'
The sound of boots on gravel made Nora tense and she pulled at Dermot’s arm, holding him close.
‘Max?’ she whispered. She hadn’t seen him in person since the boat. Besides the phone call the two of them had had, it really was like seeing a ghost.
Max merely smirked at the two of them, then left his gaze on Dermot.
‘Go.’ He said sternly. Dermot got ready to argue so Max pulled the gun from behind his back and waved it at them. ‘Go.’ He repeated. When Dermot asked why, he shrugged and felt as if he was eleven again and Dermot was a little boy. ‘So you don’t have to.’
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