Holy shit, he’s hot. How the hell can somebody pack that much sexual innuendo into one facial expression?
Like she can sense my thoughts, Sunday finishes pounding on my back and leans over to rest her chin on my shoulder.
“Stell, get your mind out of Poe’s gutter, you bad girl.” Her stage whisper is, of course, anything but quiet, and Mr. Halliday discreetly tries to cover his laugh with his napkin while I turn at least seven shades of red.
“But I like it when her mind is in my gutter, Sun. It keeps me on my toes. Or on my knees, as the case may be.” Poe’s eyes flash wickedly, adding a few extra layers to my mortification. Unable to hold it in any longer, Poe’s father just shrugs his shoulders at me in a half-assed apology for his son and lets his booming laughter loose. Not one to be left out of the ‘embarrass the hell out of Stella’ fun, Payne decides to add his two cents.
“Oooooh, so she likes it when you go dow—“ I jab my elbow quickly into Payne’s ribs, effectively cutting off his comment and making him howl with laughter.
“Can we all just stop talking about gutters, please?” My demand comes out much too loudly, causing the other customers to turn to watch the zoo in our booth. Payne slides down in his seat, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks, and Mr. Halliday laughs so hard there’s actually no sound coming out and he can barely catch his breath. After aiming a glare at my grinning best friend for starting this, she bats her eyelashes in feigned innocence, and I shake my head.
“You’re impossible,” I sigh, giving up.
“Of course, I am. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.” She blows me an air kiss before sticking an overloaded forkful of syrup-covered French toast in her mouth.
When everybody calms down, we manage to finish breakfast without embarrassing me any further, and I have to admit, being with them feels right. Comfortable. Once Sally clears the empty plates though, Mr. Halliday clears his throat in a commanding manner, and I know fun time is over.
“I’m sorry to spoil the mood, but I need to ask a question.” He looks pointedly at me. “Are you ready to come back to Folkestone?”
He doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?
The weight of four sets of eyes on me is daunting, and I stumble over my words and my thoughts a bit.
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks, not gonna lie about that. I don’t think I would’ve made it through them without Sunday.” My hand reaches for hers. “There’s a question I need an answer to before I go anywhere.” Knowing this is going to rip the wound wide open again, my entire body clenches, but I can’t think of any other way to get the poison out so it can heal cleanly. “Was Callum Torsten my biological father?” There’s silence at our booth as we hold a collective breath, waiting for him to answer.
“It would appear that way, yes.” Mr. Halliday grinds the sentence out between teeth clenched as tightly as his hands now are on the scarred Formica tabletop. “Based on what he said the night of the meeting, that would seem to be the case. However, my suggestion is to get it confirmed through a paternity test.” Sorrow and rage war for control of his features for a few seconds and each darkens his eyes in its own way. It causes me physical pain to see him hurting like that, but it also reminds me that somebody else loves my mother as much as I do.
Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I nod my agreement.
“Is that something you can help me arrange? I’m not sure how to go about getting a sample for comparison now that he’s dead, but maybe Hali will let us grab a toothbrush or hairbrush of his? I mean, what use does she have for them?” The air pressure around me changes instantly, like it does right before a lightning strike, and nobody will meet my eyes. My head starts to pound out a warning, and I squeeze Sunday’s fingers tighter.
I’m not going to like this.
“What? What’s wrong now?” I ask.
“Callum is, well, he’s not exactly dead, Stell,” Sunday says, her face looking appropriately ashamed. “Roxy finally told me last week.” My eyes nearly bug out of my head as the familiar darkness starts to flutter, and panic paints her blackness around my edges. I shake my head and drop her hand like it burned me.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say? Not exactly dead?” My chest heaves. “This isn’t the Princess fucking Bride, Sunday, you’re either dead or you aren’t.”
“Please, don’t be mad,” my traitorous best friend begs. “You were hurting so bad. I was watching your heart break again and again with every bad dream and every sleepless night. If I told you he was still breathing, I was afraid it would make things even worse, and we’d never find a way to make you whole again.” Her tawny eyes fill with tears.
“You knew.”
She nods once.
“You knew for a week, and you didn’t tell me.”
She nods again.
“You all knew.”
Looking around the table at the downcast faces flooded with varying shades of guilt, I stop at the one staring straight back at me.
“You got something to say, Halliday?” I bark.
Poe doesn’t flinch.
“Star, I have a laundry list of things to feel guilty about, but not mentioning Callum Torsten is still alive isn’t one of them. I had no idea whether Sunday knew or not, or if she’d told you because you two haven’t spoken to us in weeks. Remember?” He raises his eyebrows at me accusatorily before shrugging his broad shoulders. “You know now, and you can do with it what you need to. If she kept it from you, you know full well it was out of concern for you, so stop being a spaz.”
Damn it.
Damn his eyebrows.
Damn HIM for making sense.
“Fine.” I huff, the wind of indignation taken out of my sails. Turning to Sunday, I poke my index finger into her forehead. “You and I, we’re going to talk about keeping things from me.” She gives me a sheepish grin, which I, as mad as I am, still find myself returning. Looking back at everybody else, I give each one of them my best single-eyebrow-raise-death-glare. “No more secrets. Agreed?” They all bob their heads yes, even Mr. Halliday, and I lean my elbows on the table in front of me, steepling my fingers a la Mr. Burns. “Okay, so I assume getting a DNA sample won’t be a problem then?” I ask the table in general.
“Not at all.” Poe’s father answers confidently. “A simple blood test, and we should have the results in a few days. Once we get those, it will determine where we go from there.”
“Where we go from there has already been determined, Mr. Halliday.” My voice is strong and laced with venom and steel. “If what he insinuated turns out to be true, I will do everything in my power to destroy that fucking family.”
Chapter Five
After breakfast, Mr. Halliday drives us back to the run-down four-story walk-up I’ve called home for the past two years so Sunday and I can grab our things. Somehow, I manage to convince both the Hallidays and Payne to wait in their rental SUV rather than coming up with us. We sprint up the two flights of stairs to my floor, stopping just short of tripping over the drunk passed out in the hallway, and all I can think about is getting out of here before anybody else witnesses this squalor.
The two of us run around the small studio apartment like crazy people—Sunday packing what we brought with us while I pack up the few personal items that mean something to me.
When I left for Folkestone the first time, I had no idea what to expect or how long I’d be gone, so I only packed things I thought I might need, assuming I’d, of course, be coming back to my life here at some point. This time, I’m throwing everything of any importance into my bags. My heart hurts a little at the realization that the minutiae of my life—the photos, letters, stuffed animals, and trinkets—all fit comfortably into my average-sized backpack.
The lonely life of a girl without a family, without a real home. A girl who has only a vague idea of what it feels like to be a part of something and be loved.
Hooting and catcalls from the street below drag me back to the present, and I give my he
ad a quick shake to clear away the cobwebs of self-pity. Wrestling with the only window in the apartment that opens, I manage to get it wide enough to poke my head and shoulders out. Looking down, I see the guys leaning against the side of the rented piano-black Cadillac Escalade while scanning the face of the building and trying to figure out which unit is mine.
“What are you two idiots yelling about?” My words float down to them on a laugh. Payne sees me first and points up toward me, bumping his shoulder into Poe’s.
“Who’re you calling idiots, Bradleigh? Be nice or I’ll have to spank you later.” Even with the hand shading his eyes from the morning sun, I can almost see his sideways grin in the shadow of his palm from two floors up.
“Promises, promises, Halliday,” I fire back, the warmth of his grin flooding through me. Shoving me to the side so she can awkwardly jam her head through the opening along with mine, Sunday makes gagging noises and laughs.
“Enough with the flirting, you two.” Before she can say anything else, I hear a heavy pounding at my front door. Looking at each other with matching confused expressions, Sunday asks quietly, “Expecting somebody?” My shoulder lifts in a half shrug, and I pull my head in, straightening my shirt.
Something happens as I walk across the living room, and my feet move more and more slowly as my gut starts to churn for no good reason. Reaching the door, I peer through the peephole, and the mysteriously appearing anxiety morphs into annoyance. On the other side of the door, my landlord is picking his stained teeth with a matchbook.
Pausing with one hand on the deadbolt and the other on the doorknob, I listen to my friend’s laughter as she continues to talk to the guys on the street below. Muttering a few choice words to myself and taking a deep breath, my features shift into a neutral expression, and I flick the lock and pull the door open in one smooth motion.
“Todd, what do you wan—” Too late, I realize my first mistake was opening the door at all. My second one was opening it far enough to allow him a clear view of Sunday’s ass as she leans out the window. The minute he sets his beady eyes on her, the undisguised, greasy lust that settles over his features is puke-worthy.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” The tongue that slips out from between his wormy lips lingers too long to just be moistening them.
Sweet buttery Christ, the creepy fucker is actually salivating!
Adrenaline kicks in but not quickly enough. Just as I move to slam the door in Todd’s face, he throws his weight against it, causing me to lose my grip and the handle to smash through the drywall behind it. Off-balance, I stumble backward, and he advances on me until my back is literally pressed against the fridge. His unwashed body is so close to me that the reek of cheap alcohol seeping through his pores is making my eyes water.
“I’ve had enough of your games, girl,” he sneers with his eyes trained hungrily on my tits. “Two years, I let you live here, underage. You think you can just leave whenever you want? Good thing Candy down the hall called me when you rolled in with your fancy friends, or I’d have missed this. She may give more rides than public transit, but the whore knows which side of the bed her reduced rent is buttered on.” He laughs at his own gross joke, an awful hissing sound, and his rotten breath forces a gag from me. “You owe me, and it’s time to pay up.” Running his nasty tongue across his palm, he slides his hand down his groin and grabs his crotch through his pants. “And don’t worry, your friend with the hot ass will be paying, too.”
His nicotine-stained fingers reach to yank the wide neck of my sweatshirt down, and I smack his hand away, revolted.
Oh, fuck that noise. Fuck that noise, HARD. This is NOT happening.
Hearing the commotion behind her, Sunday tries to pull herself in the window. From my peripheral vision, I see her misjudge the size of the opening in her haste and crack the top of her head on the frame.
Todd clamps his spit-slick palm around my throat and squeezes, his free hand fumbling with the button on my jeans. I throw my arm out to the side and flail around blindly on the countertop to my left, hoping to find something to use as a weapon, while my right hand tries to keep him out of my pants.
Little dark spots start to dance in my vision. My fingers close around the handle of the dirty frying pan waiting its turn to be washed. Holding on to it as tightly as I can, I swing my arm up and clock the pervy asshole in the side of his weaselly, nasty-ass head. The blow is enough to get him to let go of me, and I suck in huge breaths, caring far more about oxygen than his stench at this point.
Just then, Sunday comes streaking across the room, screaming bloody murder, and jumps on Todd’s back. Raking her pale blue fingernails across his face and digging them into his eye sockets, she hangs on like super glue as he tries to buck her off.
“You. Sick. Fuck.” My hands grip his bony shoulders tightly for leverage, each of my words accompanied by the satisfying slam of my knee into his balls.
Squealing like a pig, he attempts an awkward forward side bend to shield his junk, and the weight of the crazy blonde on his back trying to gouge his eyes out makes him lose his balance. He topples to the floor, taking Sunday with him and knocking me sideways in the process. I hit the ground with a thud that knocks some of the wind out of me. Lying on my back, I try sliding along the heavily worn carpet to work my way out from underneath the two bodies that landed on my legs.
There’s a sudden flurry of motion at my door, coupled with unintelligible cursing. One set of hands pulls my best friend off my attacker and hauls her away, legs and arms still flailing. A second, and very familiar, set grabs the back of Todd’s neck and the waist of his grubby cargo pants simultaneously and tosses him roughly through the open doorway. Smacking gracelessly into the opposite wall, he slides to the floor, cowering and trying to cover both his head and his nuts at the same time.
From my position on the floor, I watch with a sick sort of fascination as Poe pulls up his sleeves and crouches beside the still whimpering pathetic mess in the hall, rapping his knuckle hard on Todd’s forehead to get his attention.
“I’m only going to say this once, shithead. I have zero issue with making you disappear, and my family has enough money and connections for me to get away with it.” The quiet threat curls softly through the stale air. “I am your worst fucking nightmare because you’ll never see me coming.”
Tap.
“Even if they come back to this hovel for some unknown reason, you will never go near either of them again. You see them on the street, and you walk in the other fucking direction. They do not exist in your perverted little world. Do you understand?”
Tap.
“ANSWER ME!” Poe’s voice rises to a menacing level.
Pulling myself up to a kneeling position, I watch Todd nod vigorously. He seems unable to form words with his eyes trained on the tattoo snaking up Poe’s muscular exposed forearm. Whether it's from fear of being pummeled or from being on the receiving end of a frying pan upside the head, I can’t be sure.
“Problem, son?” Mr. Halliday’s smooth, unruffled tone floats down the hall as he emerges from the stairwell.
“Nope, not at all. We have an understanding, don’t we, shitstain?” Poe must accept the incoherent babbling coming from the dirty, bloody human crumpled on the floor beside him as an agreement and gets fluidly to his feet.
“I think it's time we leave. Get the girls and their bags so we can load up the car,” Mr. Halliday says, nodding his head in my direction before pulling out his phone and taking up a spot in the hall where he can keep an eye on the lump of Todd.
Coming back into my unit and crossing to stand next to me, Poe extends his hand. Ignoring his offer of help up, I push myself to my feet and adjust my clothes.
Sunday is colorfully recounting what happened before the guys got upstairs, gesturing wildly. A frustrated Payne is trying to get her to sit down so he can examine the bump on the top of her head left behind by the window frame.
Glancing at Poe, I catch the corners of his mo
uth twitching.
“What the hell are you grinning at?” My snark only makes his smile more expansive, which makes me more annoyed. “Something funny, dick?”
“We’ve already had this conversation, Star. The only dick in the room is the one in my pants, remember?” He answers smoothly, and I want to laugh and punch him in equal parts. Settling instead for shooting him a dirty look, I move to walk by him, but he reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug, tucking my head under his chin.
“Hey, I can’t help it. Imagining the look on that douchebag Todd’s face when he realized he was getting his ass handed to him by two girls brings me great joy.” He chuckles. “It must have been priceless.” Lowering his head, he buries his face in my hair and speaks softly. “You’re a tough one, Stella Bradleigh, and I’m grateful for that. No more scrapping though, okay? Thank you for proving once again you can take care of yourself, but you’ll give me a heart attack before I hit my twenties if you keep this up.” His voice rumbles warmly where my ear presses against his chest, and his familiar scent wraps around me like a cozy blanket.
I could stand here in the middle of this shithole forever, as long as he was standing with me.
Shocked as shit by my thoughts of doing anything with anybody forever, I awkwardly pull out of his embrace with a short, nervous laugh.
“What you should be thankful for is Sunday. She’s the heroine in this story. Jumped right on his back and rode him like a pissed off bull.” I wink in her direction.
“Damn right, I did! Nasty fucker.” A wince mars her lovely features as her outburst causes the bag of frozen vegetables retrieved from my freezer and now balanced on the top of her head to shift. Payne catches it before it can slide off, holding it in place for her as she leans back against his chest.
“Okay, ladies, is this all of your shit?” Poe asks, gesturing to the three duffel bags and my backpack sitting on the bed.
Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2) Page 4
