by Sara Allen
“Had a good look, Row?” Simon teased quietly as he stepped past.
“Ha!” I laughed. “Don’t even go there.”
He waggled his brows at me and continued walking so we could get measurements from the opposite side of the field. With the long yellow ruler Simon carried, and from the multitude of photographs I was taking, I’d have a pretty good idea of exactly how much space I’d want to use and how much should be left for grounds and off-road paving. The space excited me despite the uncomfortable edge that Ash brought with his presence. Regardless, with that first look across the fields I had when we arrived, I was glad I’d insisted on seeing the space.
I cast a glance at Ash and caught sight of the tightness in his shoulders and clenched fists. I knew it was time to leave just by looking at him. No matter how hard he tried to appear calm and unconcerned, there was an edge of pent-up energy that he couldn’t hope to hide. A sense of anticipation that wouldn’t be ignored, the longer it hung in the air.
“Ok, Sy,” I called, waving him over. “Time to call it a day. I think we have enough.”
“Are you sure?” He panted. “I can go to the far end if you want?” He looked ready to race across the field again, which made me laugh.
“No, I don’t think we need to get that area.” I scanned through the photographs I’d already taken and nodded in satisfaction. “Come on. Let’s clear up and go home.”
“So, she does laugh?” His voice sounded gravelly again from lack of use. I imagined his voice would croak like that when he’d just woken up, spinning my mind down an avenue it shouldn’t venture.
“I have my moments,” I replied, trying to play cool.
His eyes searched, looking and flicking away to scan the field where Simon was putting away the tape measure and other equipment in his bag.
“We can leave now if you’re ready.” I looked for anything to do to draw my eyes away.
Ash grunted and turned around to return to the car. With a flick of his wrist, the door flew open only to be stopped by a flash of movement that prevented it from reaching its limit. He looked up at me with an apology on his lips, but something had him changing his mind.
“Seems I just don’t know my own strength.” He looked at his hand and a slow smile crossed his lips.
If he’d been hoping to scare me, he’d done a good job. My feet moved me to stand behind Simon, waiting as he opened the rear door. I slid in before he could stop me, pulled the door closed, and stuffed the pods deep into my ears and closed my eyes. My intention was set on ignoring all conversation on the ride back to my office, blanking my mind from thinking about the show of strength Ash had demonstrated.
One thing was clear. I needed to get a grip on my emotions and ignore the attraction I had to that man. He was dangerous with a capital D, and I knew I was asking for a shit load of trouble if I thought getting tangled up in him for a day would spit me out unscathed.
I’d learned that when you played with fire, you got burned, and the same was true for ice. No matter how much you tried to warm a cold, dead heart, ice would never melt at the core. Given the right stimulus, it would refreeze and close out any warmth that had once inhabited it. That was Ash, cold, hard, and just as menacing as a frigid block of ice. Who said you could only get burned by fire?
Sitting in the back seat of the luxury vehicle, I inhaled his subtle aftershave that wafted over me because of the open window beside him, trying my best to ignore the presence that was him. The spark of interest that had sprouted when I’d examined him earlier I squashed the life out of and reminded myself of the reasons not to entertain Andrew Sherwin’s assistant. Why I had my fingers crossed as I made those promises to myself, I’ll never know.
5
Him
I’d been a jerk and knew it. However, annoying the architect had made me feel better, even if the euphoria had worn off at the look of shock on her face. The child that struggled to emerge and frolic whenever she was around was a product of my overeager imaginings. Having only met her twice, this was unacceptable behavior for me and I needed to make it stop. God only knew what I’d be like after a few more meetings. And if Andrew, the asshole, had his way, he’d purposely throw me in her path just for the fun of it.
The ride back from the plot was the longest hour and a half of my life. Not only could I smell her perfume wafting forward to remind me of all her good points, but she’d sat behind me, eyes closed in feigned sleep until she’d actually drifted off. My awareness of her was off the charts. With only the nattering conversation of her friend to distract me, my foot squeezed that pedal on the open stretch of roads. I didn’t give two fucks about the speeding tickets I’d have handed to me so long as I was able to get her out of my car as fast as possible. If rushing down the motorway was going to do it, then that’s what had to be done.
It was only through sheer willpower that the temptation to question her friend didn’t overpower me. That and the chewed inside of my cheek that was starting to sting with pain. My curiosity was getting the better of me, and I wanted to know those little things about her that she wouldn’t tell me herself. First and foremost being, what their relationship was.
From what I could judge, she was extremely comfortable with the good-looking guy, almost as though he was more than just a friend, I was sure of it. I knew enough about women to know that there was a clear line between friendship and lovers, and I couldn’t help wonder how Simon and the architect fit together.
My mind replayed all the things I wanted to do with little Miss Architect, only to spin away almost as quickly. I had no right thinking about her in the way I wanted to. She wasn’t the type I should be looking for to release the pent-up sexual frustrations I had. Those things I did with women who didn’t expect more from me than a one-night stand with perhaps a second session if the fuck was good enough for me to hunt her down again. All I needed was a woman who was sex on legs and played up to that with no apologies.
Having nothing to offer a woman except a good fucking and a couple of hundred dollars in trinkets, if the mood took me, was no way to treat a lady. The architect deserved more from any man, myself included, than that level of disrespect. And yet, for the first time in my life, I actually wanted to give someone more of me than I was ever willing to have given before. Me, the lost asshole without a soul. When I thought back to how my life had shifted, how I’d become a thing owned by someone else, I knew that everything about this situation was fucked up. Although I couldn’t help wishing that it was different somehow.
Fourteen years old and homeless was not a good look on anyone. I was living on the streets more often than I could find a place with an actual roof that covered my head. I was a motherless child, abandoned and left with a father that hardly cared enough to wonder when I’d stopped coming home. He'd given up feeding me years before, anything that wasn’t lovingly referred to as a fist sandwich. But I’d heard too much of a good thing makes a person complacent and I saw little reason to eat fist pie as often as my beloved father liked to dish it out.
My mother had left so long ago that I could have passed her in the street and I wouldn’t know her. All I could remember was the smell of her shampoo and a vague recollection on the color of her hair. However, it was from his vicious descriptions of myself that I understood anything about her.
No pictures of her remained that the vindictive bastard hadn’t found and burned, forcing me to watch. His brutish fist connecting with my head if he thought I cried too loudly for his sensitive hearing. That had been when I was eight, and the following six years were so pain-filled that I’d become adept at ducking and dodging fists. Or when he was too drunk to stand, avoiding the beer bottles that were closest to his withering hands.
My heartfelt thanks went out to the old bastard, though, because he’d made me a heartless fucker in his exact image. Too many old wives have spouted that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and I was nothing if not the apple of my father’s eye.
Being long an
d lanky, even as a malnourished fourteen-year-old afforded me the title of ‘Target’ for anyone who wanted to prove themselves. Too often I was spotted in a crowd and singled out. I couldn’t understand how anyone could look at me as a threat, yet if those idiots used the brain between their ears I was unaware of it.
I waited for them to realize I was less a threat to them than their own imaginations, yet not one of them stopped to think first. More often than not, I was barely able to hold myself upright from hunger and starvation, while having to fight for each step I took. Those fights and the treatment from my father made me tough and wiry like a determined rat that had every intention of surviving for no other purpose than to spite those who wanted to wipe me out of existence.
The authorities had tried to get me off the streets more than once. Child services picked me up more times than I could count in those early years, always making the mistake of returning me to the one I’d run away from. When they tried other tactics, I’d find an exit and make good use of it. Being caged within four walls and a locked door were never my idea of sanctuary. It seemed my perseverance paid off because after a while, they gave up and let me be. My father never insisted on looking for me unless it was to mete out a beating as a reminder that his blood ran through my veins without his permission.
On this particular day, hunger was an ache in my gut that had me doubled over and wishing I could find a few scraps of bread freely spread for the birds. When the Salvation Army opened its doors to feed people like me in the evenings, I’d get a full meal and a place to sleep. This was one of my last options, the S.A. and the food trucks that meant I didn’t have to try to steal to survive. I was quiet and had perfected a sinister look that made people turn their eyes away quicker than they could get a good look at me. Plus my height made everyone think I was older than I was, which was a bonus in my books.
Passing the flashy sports car with its open window and the McDonald’s take-away bag on the front seat caused my good sense to leave me that day. I snatched the bag and ran, only to hear angry shouts in pursuit. If I weren’t as famished as I was, they’d never have caught me. But as it was, hunger had weakened my body, and being chased by five sturdily built guys in suits, drained what little energy I may have had.
An alleyway approached, which beckoned me, only to turn the corner and find that it ended against a brick wall. Spinning, I twisted around and discovered that my only escape was gone, as the men fanned out across the alley’s only exit. Knowing I was going to get a pounding anyway, I removed the burger from its neatly wrapped little package, and stuffed the whole thing in my mouth, chewing like my life depended on it. As the taste of fresh food burst over my tongue and slid down my throat, the ecstasy of it almost made me weaker.
“Fucking animal,” one of the guys scoffed, looking at me in astonishment.
Another laughed. “Looks like a dead rat to me.” He turned his eyes on his companions. “I say we teach this little thief some manners?”
I stuffed a handful of fries in my mouth and chewed, watching them.
Then he stepped around the corner, Andrew Sherwin, decked out in designer jeans and a plaid shirt with the top few buttons open. He removed his shades and hooked them at the open collar of his shirt, carelessly dismissing the sunglasses that could have fed me decently for a whole week.
I forced more fries into my mouth and watched this new dog as it walked forward.
“We can teach him a lesson, Boss,” said the first speaker. “Don’t get your hands dirty.”
“Don’t you think you outnumber him, Greg?” Andrew said, eyeing my thin frame and trembling hands.
“Rats like that only need to be taught a lesson once,” Greg answered. “Don’t bother yourself with him.”
Andrew looked me up and down, assessing me in silence. He removed the shades and handed them behind to eager, waiting hands.
“Don’t underestimate him, Greg,” Andrew said, fishing a pair of knuckle-dusters from his pocket and slipping his hands through the metal rings. “He’s a lot tougher than he looks.”
My fingers reached into the bag and pulled the last of the cooling fries from within, salt stuck to my fingers and I licked them clean as I stuffed the fries in my mouth.
Andrew planted his feet and studied me with a sweep of his gaze. “So, have you finished my meal?”
“Got a drink to go with it?” I asked. Bravery made me reckless, but didn’t that happen to everyone?
Andrew smiled. “I tell you what.” He adjusted the metal thug rings. “If you can make your way back to my car, you’re welcome to it.”
“And if not?” I wiped my hands down my dirty jacket.
“Then you come and work for me and learn how to fight like a man.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Not steal like a bitch.”
“I ain’t nobody’s bitch,” I spat. “Fucker’s like you with more money than sense think you can buy just about anyone.” I scoffed. “Fuck off.” I offered him my middle finger and looked for a way out.
“Only way out, Bitch, is through me.” He waved his men away, and they obediently shifted to the sides of the alley without hesitation.
That’s when I realized this guy was more violent than the lackey’s standing against the walls. He may have been clean cut and looking like a page from GQ magazine, but he was a street lad just like me. Those metal dusters on his hands told me enough about his upbringing that I didn’t hesitate. With my head down I rushed him, hoping that my momentum and sheer force would bowl the fucker over, giving me the chance to break free.
He sidestepped and pounded my back so hard that I lost my breath and nearly my stolen meal along with it. I spun and came right back at him, grabbing his legs and holding on. He punched my back and sides, the metal jarring my intestines, then heaved me off with brute force. Andrew bent his knees and held his hands up, looking like a professional Muy Thai boxer.
With the force he used, I was reluctant to step in again, but two quick steps forward and a well-aimed a kick at my side had me gasping for air in the dirt at his feet.
“Get up, lil’ bitch.”
I struggled up and mimicked his stance. The fucker actually smiled.
“You learn fast. I like that,” he commented.
Again, he moved like lightning, making a couple of quick movements that brought him in front of me before I could react. The punch with full force at my stomach and head left me staggering and unsure of which pain to comfort first. Protecting myself was futile, even though metal on facial bone hurt like someone had poured molten lava over me. My arms wrapped around my body as I sunk to the ground, spitting and gasping.
“Had enough?” Andrew asked. He bent down beside me his hands hanging loose from where he’d rested them on his knees.
I nodded quickly, my face a mask of pain and embarrassment.
Holding out a hand to help me up, he said, “My friends call me Drew.” His nose wrinkled at my dirty clothes and unwashed body. “But you, lil’ bitch, will call me, Boss.” He slid the metal from his fingers and handed them to someone I didn’t care to notice. I admired the respect he could command with nothing more than a gesture, because without asking, there was someone to take them from him.
“Suppose I don’t want to call you anything?”
He smiled and I knew that he wasn’t joking about what came from his mouth next. “No one will find you, ever.” The smile slipped slightly. “I don’t make offers of employment to people who steal from me. That wasn’t a warning or an offer of friendship.” He snorted. “You, lil’ bitch, are indebted to me for saving your scrawny ass. Got it?”
I glared, not wanting to admit defeat. Few had beaten me in my time on the streets, and this bastard had just wiped the floor with me.
“How long?”
Andrew’s eyes bore into me. “Until I think your debt is paid.”
“No!” My hand chopped downwards. I wasn’t going to be bought that cheaply. “That’s a fucking life sentence.”
“You didn
’t have a life, asshole.” Andrew laughed. “You lost that when you reached into my car and stole.”
I took a few steps backwards. “Then you’d better finish the job,” I told him, opening my arms to expose my chest. I pointed at my heart. “Better just kill me now ‘cause I don’t do well in captivity.”
“Feisty little fucker, ain’t ya?”
“It’s what’s kept me alive.”
Andrew nodded with a calculating look in his deep, blue eyes. “Let’s see how it goes, shall we?”
“Fuck that. Nope.” I tapped my chest again. “Right here, mate, just fucking end me now.”
“You drive a hard bargain, lil’ bitch.” Andrew laughed. “Okay, five years with an option to renew.”
I thought about what he’d said. It was a chance for me to get off the streets at least for the next five years. Maybe within that time I could learn to help myself. There was no way this deal could be all one way in Andrew’s favor. The way I saw it, I was useless to a person who could beat the shit out of me with a couple of fancy kickboxing moves and metal knuckle shields.
“Only if you stop calling me Bitch.”
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want,” Andrew spat, “and you’ll earn everything after that. Got it?”
At least he was honest, I told myself and I couldn’t ask for more than that. Nodding once, I lowered my arms.
“Welcome to my world,” Andrew said, reaching out a hand.
Looking at his hand like it was a snake, I didn’t know if I should touch it with my less-than-hygienic one. His nails were neatly manicured, showing a healthy shine, and cut bluntly across the top. I almost laughed thinking about him sitting in one of those nail salons getting his nails pampered and painted in bright orange, but at a lowering of his brows I knew he misunderstood my hesitation.
