by Anna Bloom
Scars of Silk
Anna Bloom
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
One
Dan
There’s this thing that happens. It’s a moment. Just one single moment that defines everything. Past, present, and future.
Now my dad, he didn’t hold shit for that. He’d say something like, “Dan, it’s yours, my son. Everything you want is yours. Go get it.”
I don’t know what he would say to me now.
I’m in that moment, right fucking now. I’m in that moment. Everything is stretching before me and behind me, defining everything. And who am I in that moment? I’m a fucking arsehole that’s who.
A red mist blurs my vision. My pulse is a freight train doomed to pitch off a cliff.
Because of her.
Because everything is her. Everything.
I heave and clutch at my chest. Bitter memories swirl themselves with the words I’ve just said. A secret I promised never to share and never to tell. A secret I’ve kept for her. I just threw it in her face,
Her.
Faith Hitchin. My best friend.
My best friend who’s about to marry someone else; going to have their baby.
Dad would have something to say about it. It’s a real bitch he’s dead and won’t ever get to tell me what he thinks.
“Hey?” I don’t even know I’m alone. My eyes are open but all I see is red, anger, and a destruction that’s almost impossible to contain. “Dan, right?” The voice speaks more. Why are they talking? Can‘t they tell I’m about to implode like a bloody nuclear bomb? My fists curl ready to punch the first thing I see.
Somehow I wake myself up and shake the angry mist from my vision. With the cooling of my blood, I take stock of where I am—on the wide stone steps of the impressive Georgian town house my best friend now calls home. The girl from the back streets of Brighton now lives like the queen.
I think I just broke her front door as I slammed out of it. Turning, I glance back at the black painted wood with its shiny brass knocker. Damn, it’s still in one piece. I’d feel so much better if I’d broken at least a small part of that house. Maybe Elijah—His Lordship—could send me a bill. Maybe I wouldn‘t pay it and I’d tell him to go fuck himself in hell instead.
“Hey, you okay there? You look pale.”
I lower my gaze to where a petite woman is staring up at me. “Do I know you?” My question comes out as a grunt which I don’t think anyone would blame me for. I’m in the middle of a life-defining moment here; the last thing I need is a witness to the event.
I just slammed the door on my past and I don’t think that door will ever open again.
In my veins my blood races as hot as lava. My fists grow tighter and I’m ready to throw a punch. It’s pulsing out of me. Just hit something, just hit something. It will make everything better.
“I’m Sienna? A friend of Elijah?”
The petite woman brushes at a dark fringe—she clearly hasn’t got the memo that Elijah 'I’m such a fucking arsehole Fairclough' isn’t a name I want to hear.
“Bully for you, love. Do you need to join a support group to get over it?”
She stares at me through dark lashes. “Not that I know of. Do you?”
“Nah, I’m all right.” I go to walk down the steps. My time at the Faith Hitchin rehabilitation centre is over and too fucking right. I’m not going to hang around to watch her grow fat with that bastard's child. I never wanted to come up here, anyway. But she did that whole doe-eyed, 'please let me help you' thing.
That’s the thing with Faith. She tries to help, not knowing how much she’s hurting me with her actions.
I mean, three months ago she was on my doorstep crying and devastated because he’d broken her heart… and now what? Now they are reproducing and overpopulating the world.
A little jangle in my memory bank makes me look closer at the brunette. She’s pretty, if you like your chicks waif-like and small enough to blow over in a gust of wind. But that’s not what has me staring like a stalker on parole. Sienna…? Isn’t that the name of the woman Elijah broke Faith’s heart for? Before she forgave him and allowed him to impregnate her with his demon sperm?
Doesn’t this all sound like one of those awful daytime dramas Dad watched when he was ill.
If she’s uncomfortable under my gaze, she’s not letting it show. Considering I’m six-foot-four and covered in tats, I’ll give her some credit for that.
“Those bruises look painful?” Her gaze falls to where the remnants of my fight last weekend still cast a multicoloured shadow over my skin.
“Nah.” I hoist my bag up. “Don’t suppose you know where the nearest tube is?” I need to get out of this awful city. I’ve always hated London; dreaded it when the lads planned a night away up in the smoke. Now, I hate it even more.
Now it’s just grim and dark, like the bruises mixed with the ink on my skin.
“Do you need a lift?” She brushes at that fringe again and then jangles her keys towards a small, silver Mercedes.
“Nice car.” I grunt.
“Thanks. So, do you want a lift?” She watches me expectantly.
“To the tube station?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her gaze sweeps over me, derisive and astute. “You aren’t looking that great. Weren’t you in hospital a few days ago?”
I scowl so hard my face hurts. Yeah, I was in hospital; wish I’d never come out. I couldn’t even get that right.
“There’s no need to be rude about my handsome looks.” I snort to myself. I haven‘t looked in a mirror since I woke from the coma, but I’m gonna guess I've scaled my rugged good looks back a notch. Oh, how the girls will cry. “But, yeah, I was.”
“So, I'll ask again. Do you want a lift?”
“To Brighton?” I chance my luck with a cocky smile that makes my damaged lips sting.
“I was thinking more the tube station, but…” She lifts her shoulders, which are incredibly slender, and then drops them again, “I could take you.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’d drive me to Brighton?”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”
She must have? Shopping? Hairdressers…? Although her hair is dark and glossy and doesn’t look like it needs urgent attention. Why the fuck am I looking at her hair? “You want to drive me to Brighton?” I ask again; just to make sure that is what whats-her-name meant, and also to make sure I look like a total tool.
She shrugs again. “I don’t have to; forget it.” She turns and walks away, her slender hips swinging.
“And His Lordship didn’t put you up to it?” I call after her, slowing her down. I don’t want anything from him. Ever.
“Nope.” She turns and glances at me over her shoulder. “Want the lift or not?”
Well. She’s a damn sight more attractive than I could look at on the train. I pull my bag higher up my shoulder—even though it hurts like a bitch—and chase after her.
“No smoking in my car.” She beeps the lock.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And I’m only doing this because I’m bored.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I open the passenger
door.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t be that guy.
I do it all the same. I turn back to Faith’s giant London house and search the windows, just checking to see if she’s watching me leave. There isn’t a sign of her. This Sienna chick is watching me from behind her glossy fringe; her dark gaze impenetrable until her lips curve into a smirk. “Come on, lover boy, if you want to miss the traffic.”
I get in and ignore the need to check the windows of the house again. Let it go, Dan. Just let it go.
We drive in silence for a while. It’s not awkward, it’s just silence. I don’t know why people go on about silence like it’s a bad thing. I like it. Not needing to talk is the highlight of my day.
“Stop jigging.” I almost jump when she speaks. The purr of the engine is smooth and barely audible.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re sitting there, stewing on whatever you stormed out about and jigging.”
“I’m not. I’m thinking.”
“And jigging. You are filling my car with nervous energy. Cut it out.”
“Does your car not cope well with nervous energy?” The car is immaculate, not a thing out of place. It smells posh; of leather and expensive perfume.
“No,” she snaps, her hands gripping the wheel.
“Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I didn’t know I was doing it. It used to drive Faith mad when we were kids. She’d slap me around on the knee and tell me to quit it.” Her name falls out of my mouth and my stomach churns.
“How long have you been in love with her?”
An uncomfortable prickle tickles along the back of my neck. Is it that obvious?
“Pfft. I’m not in love with her.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard, or what I’ve seen.”
I scowl at her, not that she bothers turning her attention away from the windscreen. “Whatever. Mind your own.”
She doesn’t answer, just keeps driving.
I keep looking at her. It’s her or the dismal damp weather outside. Heavy clouds are rolling over the view, hanging swollen with expectant rain. Great. The weather is mimicking my life—heavy and dull.
“So how did you get the bruises?”
I turn and find her dark gaze flicking over my face. Rubbing at my chin with the palm of my hand, I think what to say. Faith didn’t ask me where my bruises were from. I don’t think she wanted to know, not really. She was all caught up in why I overdosed. Yeah well, fuck, that didn’t pan out.
“A hobby.” I leer at her, hoping to make those dark eyes focus back on the road. She sweeps them over me once more before the traffic moves at a green light.
“Some hobby,” she answers, when the time for her to speak has passed.
I stretch, pushing my hand above my head in the confines of the small car, grinning when I catch her sneaking a glance at my skin as my shirt lifts.
“Like what you see, darling?”
Turning, she curls her top lip at me. “Hardly.”
Chuckling, I settle back in the leather seat. Maybe if I can sleep, I can save the awkward conversation the rest of the way. Let's just pray we don’t hit the rush hour traffic into the city.
Of course, we do. Because what else could happen on a day like today?
We’ve been sat for thirty minutes and have moved only half a yard.
“So why did you storm out?” she asks.
“What, are you a therapist or something?”
“No. I make a living listening to people though.”
“Good for you, darling.” I pull a grimace at her, hoping I can stop her asking questions. I don’t want to talk or explain myself. Often, I don’t even want to breathe.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Whatever.” I don’t plan to see her again. I doubt Faith and I will be hanging out again any time soon. Not now she’s doing that thing with him. My stomach tightens again.
“Do you and Faith row a lot?” She keeps her gaze on the traffic, every so often flicking the indicator to switch lanes. Her long legs press down on the pedals when she changes gears.
“Yeah, course. We're like family.”
“Family who sleep together?” Her cheeks colour a little. “I didn’t mean it that way.” She sighs and glares out of the windscreen.
I watch her carefully. She obviously knows that Faith and I slipped over the friendship boundary on one night of loserville over the summer. That‘s not what worries me. My need to protect Faith outweighs everything else at every turn. “You know about what happened to her?”
She nods tight. “Yeah, I know she was abused. Elijah has asked me to help with the investigation for the lawyer.”
“So you know why I want to protect her? Why I think that idiot is bad news?”
She snorts and it jingles in my head. “You don’t need to protect her from Elijah. He’d give up everything for her. And I can tell you straight up, he’d never hurt her the way that Aiden guy did. What he did to her as a child was despicable.” Her fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. “Men like that should be locked up.”
“Or dead,” I add without thinking. I’d happily put Aiden into a grave myself and I’d take whatever punishment was given for the pleasure.
She watches me carefully until the traffic moves another inch; then letting the clutch go with her foot she edges us forward.
While she’s distracted, I get a better look at her. Aren’t there pictures of her with Elijah on the internet. Weren’t they engaged once for real? I could have sworn that’s what Faith told me when she was home.
“Tell me, would he give you up for Faith? Or are you still going to be his bit on the side?” If my dad could hear me talking to a woman like this, I’d get a smack around the head.
She turns a fraction, lifting that damn eyebrow again, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand.”
“You’re judging me. Looking at my tats and bruises, trying to work me out. Thinking that I’m a thug.”
Her face scrunches. “No, I’m not. You are a self-obsessed idiot. I asked about your bruises because I wondered how they got there. Your tats I quite like, but you’re probably half a dozen over the sexy ink mark.”
“Over the sexy ink mark? Darling, you’ve got no idea.”
My lips do this weird thing where they begin to curl of their own accord. I lick them, nibbling on the lower one as I wait for her comeback.
“Believe me, it’s not something I plan on investigating.”
Ooh, shot down. I clutch at my chest.
“I thought investigating was what you did?”
She shrugs. I want her to turn and look at me. “Sometimes. Depends how I feel.” The skin around her eyes scrunches as she squints at a sign we drive past. Brighton. We are here already. That seemed faster than I was expecting. “Where to?”
“Uh, follow the signs for the front and then I’ll show you the turning.”
She does as I instruct without a word until we park outside my dad’s place. She looks up at the house. “That’s nice.”
“It’s my dad’s.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything and waits for me to get out.
“Thanks for the ride.” I lick my lips as I try to find something to say. I’m reluctant to get out of the car. It’s warm in here and it smells nice. The same can’t be said for the house. “That was generous of you, to go out of your way like that.”
Generous of you? Shoot me.
“You're welcome. I’ll see you about.” Her foot taps on the accelerator. I guess that’s my final cue.
“Sure.” I know I won’t though. My life is separate from Faith’s now. I can’t come back from the past I dragged into the surface of her bedroom and I know she won’t forgive me any time this side of forever—I’ve broken a longstanding code with my jealous outburst.
My hand clutches the handle and I start to pull on it. “Want to come in for a coffee? It will have to be black, I haven’t got any milk in. Oh, and the house is a sh
it hole.” I lift my shoulders and try to smile. I’m a dick.
“Tempting, but no thanks.” She smiles a little and I try again to pull on the handle, but still not opening the door.
“Want to see if my tattoos cross the sexy line?” I stare at her boldly. I’ve got nothing left to lose. And honestly, I don’t want to walk into that house alone. Also, I could do with a fuck and she’s pretty to look at.
She throws her head back and laughs, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. I’m watching her, my gaze intense. I can almost see my suggestion running around that pretty little head of hers. “That’s an offer you rarely get,” she says, her voice still light with her burst of laughter.
“It’s a onetime only deal.”
She chuckles and shakes her head, but she’s not turning on the ignition and driving off like a bat out of hell. I wait.
“Onetime only.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “Someone really should tell you if you’ve crossed the sexy line.”
“Someone should, yes.” Pulling on the door handle, I slide out of the car, dragging my bag with me.
I flash her a shit-eating grin when she opens her door and stares at me over the hood of the car. “I’m just helping you out.”
You sure are, darling.
“Yes. Yes, you are. Then you can get back to that glamorous little life you are living.”
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t retort whatever is stinging the end of her tongue. “Onetime.”
She reminds me of Faith… I block the thought… That’s the last time I want to think about my old childhood friend and the huge mess I’ve made of everything.
I hold my arm out, motioning her up the short pathway to the front door.
It’s just a fuck, and that's the one thing I need right now.
Two
Sienna
