by Esme Devlin
My feet are so cold I can barely feel them anymore, but if I fail now, then I’ve fucked it. I won’t get another chance.
They’ll have me watched around the clock.
“I’m getting something from my car,” I tell him. This one comes out easier, since it’s not a complete lie. It’s only a half truth.
“I’ll walk you over, then. Can’t have you alone in the dark, there are bad men about.”
I turn around to face him. The light from the building means I can see him now. He looks good tonight, dressed in a slim fit gray suit with a white shirt. His hair is clipped short at the sides, blending in with the shadow that runs along his jaw, and longer at the top. His blue eyes are piercing me, and for a second I forget that I have to breathe.
This is why I hate Tommy.
He makes me feel uneasy, like I’m an annoying bug who won’t leave him alone and he wants to squish me. Doesn’t matter that I want no part in this, he doesn’t care about that little minute detail. I publicly humiliated him when I refused to give up my life at sixteen.
No one else humiliates Tommy Heenan.
He’s like a self-made king. No, a prince. A gypsy prince. And they’re big on reputation.
“I’m sure I can handle a bad man or two,” I tell him, meeting his gaze and trying not to look away.
He chuckles while he looks me up and down. “I’m sure you could too, but that’s besides the point. I don’t want anyone else cutting my grass, darlin.”
I snort and turn away, continuing on my path around the building. If that’s the case then he is going to be in for one hell of a shock come the wedding night when he realizes I’m not some meek virgin.
My grass is already cut.
Not that a wedding night will ever happen.
“No one will touch me. Everyone here knows I’m spoken for. So you can just take yourself back to your little games room and pretend to be the big man with your mates.” I shouldn’t taunt him. I know I’m playing with fire but right now, pissing him off so much that he leaves is my only option.
“My mates aren’t in the back room anymore,” he says it like a taunt, not a statement.
I can’t help biting. “Where are they?”
When he doesn’t reply, I turn around. He’s standing right behind me, so close his breath warms my frozen cheeks.
I look up at him, trying to work out what the fuck he’s doing but I don’t get the chance.
He grabs a hold of my shoulder, spinning me around like I weigh nothing, and pushes me towards the edge of the walkway.
I try to grip on to the wooden railing, but with my hands full it’s impossible. The sides are waist height, so I couldn’t just accidentally fall over the edge. I could be pushed, though.
He’s not going to push me, is he?
“Waiting for you just over there,” he says, pointing to the spot where the end of the walkway meets the path to the carpark. He’s standing behind me, his chest pressed up against my back so hard I can feel the rise and fall as he breathes.
I look down at the water and it’s still and calm. It’s a lake, not a sea, so there are no big waves or tides.
I wonder how deep it is?
Is it cold?
I know it’s over for me. I know I’ve been caught. Half of me is thinking of jumping and wondering if I’d survive the swim, the other half of me is thinking of jumping and wishing that I don’t.
His hand comes over my shoulder and wraps around my neck, rubbing it firmly. His fingers slide up to my jaw and I flinch at his touch.
I flinch, but that’s all I can do.
I hate myself.
I just stand still, rooted in place, feeling hopeless as fuck and wondering if this is my life now. Tommy Heenan’s plaything.
“You’re running, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, instead he uses my jaw to nod my head for me.
“Why are you running, Shelly?”
Because I despise you? Because this isn’t a life I want?
Good enough reasons.
Except I’m not running, not right now anyway. Right now, I’m pushed up against a railing while he paws at my throat like a lion playing with his prey before he devours it.
No.
Not a lion.
Lions don’t play with their food.
Tommy is more of a snake, with sharp teeth and venom that runs deep, paralyzing every muscle in your body. When Tommy eats you, he wants you to watch him doing it.
And somehow I’ve ended up in the exact position I’ve been avoiding for ten years. Tonight I’m the mouse.
Fuck this. Fuck him.
I jump up and ram my head back.
Pain explodes as it collides with the tip of his chin. His grip on my neck loosens instantly as he tries to recover from the shock of it.
I don’t hesitate for a fucking second.
I drop my clutch. I drop my shoes. I hold on to my keys like my life depends on them.
And I run.
I run as fast as my legs can carry me.
Around the building.
Passed the group of smokers.
I can see the walkway that leads to the shore, and my car.
“Bitch!” I hear him curse behind me.
He won’t stop.
He’s faster than me so I can’t look back.
One hand is helping me run and the other — my car key hand — is wrapped tightly around my chest, trying to stop my boobs jiggling and ensuring the keys don’t go flying.
It’s like my legs are moving on their own.
I don’t think I’ve ever run faster than this in my life. But the further I run from Tommy, the closer I get to his friends.
I can see them up ahead now — he wasn’t bluffing.
Four of them, shadows in the blue spotlights, just silhouettes because of the bright car park in the distance behind them.
I’m running away from Tommy, and I’m running straight towards his friends.
I catch the little wooden pier in the corner of my eye, the blue fairy lights twinkling.
I could swim?
I could cut off that whole section of the walkway and go directly to the car park. It’s not far, maybe a length in a swimming pool between here and the bank.
I’m a strong swimmer.
What if this is my only chance?
I take a left and the paving beneath my feet turns to wooden beams. They’re circular, and if I keep running on these, I know I will trip and fall.
I slow down, my lungs screaming for air and my head hurting, both from the exertion and from nutting Tommy’s chin.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I gasp for air, filling my lungs with the chilled night and glancing behind me. Tommy slows down as he reaches the pier, wrapping his hand around the high post that marks the start of it.
It’s dark, the fairy lights are fuck-all use and there’s no moon in the sky. I have no idea how deep this water is. I don’t care if it’s deep because I’m a strong swimmer, but what if it’s shallow?
What if I jump and hit the rocks?
What if it’s too shallow to swim?
“Shelly, don’t be an idiot. Come back inside with me right now, and we’ll forget this ever happened,” he says, strolling casually towards me.
I shake my head. He probably can’t even see it, but who cares. “Not a fucking chance.”
He laughs at me. “You’ll not swim that. I’ll have to come in and save you and then I’m really going to be fucked off.”
“Don’t save me then,” I tell him, turning around and walking towards the edge.
I hear him sighing in exasperation. I’m really going to be fucked off. Who does he think he is?
I grip on to my car keys tight, and without a second thought…
I step right off the edge.
I hit the water almost instantly.
It’s so fucking cold that when I come up for air, I can barely use my lungs. I don’t want to move.
&n
bsp; It’s the special type of cold that rips every thought and feeling right out of your body. The cold that makes you forget what being warm even feels like.
I need to swim. I know I need to swim, but I’m struggling to make my body move.
It’s painful.
It’s excruciating.
My heart is racing as I put one arm above my head and start swimming. I need to be faster if I’m going to make it to the car before them.
I speed up as I adjust to the shock.
I can feel things in the water, touching my body, reeds or fish or bits of… I don’t know what.
But I don’t like it.
I want to get out. I want to get as far away from here as possible.
The thought spurs me on and before long, I’m almost there. My legs are kicking like there’s no tomorrow, my arms crashing through the cold like I’m going for gold.
I can see the bank.
It’s right there.
I grab a hold of the grass on the verge and use it to pull myself up, swinging my leg up beside me and forcing myself out of the water. The wind hits me like a wall of ice as I stumble to my feet.
I don’t have time for ice walls.
My legs are numb, but still I push forward, scrambling up the bank.
I can see my car.
I can visualize turning the heating on to 30 degrees celsius. I’ll put my foot down hard on the gas while roasting hot air blasts out the vents.
That’s the only thing keeping me going.
I’m down the verge like a shot, running as fast as my legs can carry me over the grass and towards my car.
The lights are brighter here and the car park is empty.
I hiss in pain as the stones dig in to the soles of my feet. This isn’t gravel or paving or wood, this is big jagged clumpy stones and I can’t run on this — I’d shred my feet to pieces.
So instead I hobble, as fast as I can physically handle, my eyes never moving from the car.
It’s so fucking close. I pick up the pace, tears pricking at my eyes.
I have to do this.
I don’t have a choice.
I fumble with the keys in my hand, they’re numb from the cold and my fingers won’t work properly.
I’m trying to push the button to unlock my car, it’s right in front of me, but I cannot fucking do it.
Now the tears aren’t just from my torn feet, or my fear of being caught, they’re from frustration.
I’m shaking.
I know they’re right behind me. I can hear movement on the stones although I can’t bring myself to look.
Calm down, Shelly. Just breathe.
I feel two thick arms wrap around me and my heart sinks in my chest. I know it’s over.
My wet hair is sticking to my face and drips of water mix with tears of defeat and run down my cheeks.
The arms clench tighter, and now hands are wrestling my car keys away, and I’m powerless to stop them.
I’m too numb.
He takes the keys easily and pushes me around to the other side of the car, slamming my body against the side of it.
His blue eyes pierce into mine and send chills down my spine. He looks angry, more than angry. He looks like he wants to hit something. He looks like he wants to hit me.
I bet that’s why he moved me around here. He wants to knock me one. He intends to pay me back for sticking the head on him earlier and he doesn’t want a building full of witnesses.
I can see his friends in my peripheral, standing around over at the bonnet of the car, arms folded over their chests like an army of henchmen. I turn my head and watch their faces, Stuart — the big one, is laughing like this is the funniest thing he’s witnessed all year. Jody puts his hands up and catches my keys, smirking while he dangles them in front of me. Taunting me with them.
I’m still watching them watch me when I feel Tommy’s hands on me.
The tears that were in my eyes a moment ago dry up instantly, evaporated by the hellfire that lights at his touch.
I’m not sad, not anymore.
I’m angry.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” I shout the words right in his face. But he’s not even looking at me.
His hands are on the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my stomach. He gets it up past my chest and I force my arms down, so he can’t pull it up over my head.
He shakes his head at me, laughing smugly like this is all just a game to him. “Get your arms up, now.”
“Fuck yourself.” I dig my arms in deeper, right into my ribs, and try to push the fabric down so my tits aren’t on show for his whole fucking gang.
He glances up at the sky, as if God might somehow help him in his plan to strip me naked and use me in front of his mates.
Fucking animal.
He grabs my dress at the neck and the sound of fabric tearing almost makes my heart stop beating.
The dress splits down the middle easily, and he pushes the two halves down my arms.
I try to cover myself, so he can’t see me, but at this point he’s not even looking. His face set, determined to strip me naked, he crouches down and pulls at my leggings, sliding them over my hips and down my thighs.
I attempt to kick him, right in his face, aiming for his teeth, but the waistband of my leggings is at my knees and my leg jerks to a halt inches before the impact.
“Stupid bitch, do you want to die tonight?” he shouts, pulling the leggings down to my ankles.
I’m stood here in nothing but a pair of black girl-boxers, my hair soaking wet, shivering from the cold and with five pairs of eyes on me.
My heart is racing.
I want to fight him, but how can I fight him? There’s five of him and one of me.
He’s bigger by at least a foot, and about twice as wide. I could punch him, but that would mean letting go of my chest — and right now that’s the only scrap of dignity I have left.
I want to fight, but instead I just stand there, feeling my anger slip away while the defeat creeps back.
I feel like a lost little girl who’s been found by bad men. I feel like we’re ten again, Tommy in front of me holding all the cards, while I only get to have two — be angry or be upset.
I blink hard, to keep the tears from clouding.
I’ll cry later when I’m back in my bedroom, alone and thinking about my failure. I don’t want to cry in front of him and his friends. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He stands about a foot away from me and his eyes rake over my body.
I hate him.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone so much in my life.
“Couldn’t wait to see what your old man paid for?” I spit the words at him.
Tonight I choose anger.
My vision is cloudy because of the tears, but I can see enough to notice the smirk appearing on his face.
“I’ve seen better, darlin. You look like you need a hot dinner… and second helpings on the pudding.” His eyes sparkle while his friends snigger. He laughs too, but he does so while removing his jacket. He holds it out for me, nodding at it. “Here.”
I take it with one hand, the other carefully placed over my nipples, and try to put it around me one handed, failing miserably. I’m still numb, still shivering from the cold and my body just isn’t co-operating.
Tommy sighs and takes a step towards me. I should back away, but I’ve got nowhere to go. “Give it here,” he says, like I’m a child who’s too stupid to tie their own laces or something. I’m not stupid; I’m just cold and missing the use of an arm.
He holds it up and I slide one arm in, covering my body with the front of the jacket so I can let the other arm fall. I wrap it around me tightly, thankful that I’m now covered but even more so for the heat it’s providing me.
“Stuart, you’ve had the least to drink. You can drive,” he says, nodding to his friend.
Jody passes him the keys by slamming his fist into Stuart’s round stomach and laughing.
“Aye well, you’re due me a chance to win my money back, so we’ll call it equal, will we?” Tommy says, opening the passenger door for me. There’s six of us, and there’s only five seats.
But that thought quickly goes out of my mind when I see my packed bag laid out across the passenger seat.
Shit.
Chapter 5
TOMMY
What the fuck did she think I was trying to do? Rape her?
She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in this cold with her clothes soaking wet.
That’s Michelle McLean’s problem. She thinks everyone on this planet wants a piece of her.
They don’t.
I don’t.
I just want what they agreed. There was a deal, not that the deal means much to me. But it’s the principle. Everyone knows she’s mine, and everyone is looking at me to make it happen. And she thinks she’s too good for the likes of me. Too good for my type of people.
I’m already a laughingstock after she publicly postponed this farce of a wedding by two years. And now she’s at it again, running away from her own birthday party. We’d all wake up in the morning and she’d likely already be on a plane to the Mediterranean or something.
Wedding cancelled. Tommy humiliated. My dad going ballistic.
Cheers for that, Michelle darlin.
I open her car door and if I had any doubts that she was running, the bag on her back seat confirms it.
I tut at her a few times, pulling the bag out and unzipping it. There’s a framed photo of her and a puppy lying on the top, and I pick it up for a closer look.
She’s young, not much older than the first time I met her. She always had this wild hair that looked like it had never seen a hairbrush, and spindly little legs covered in cuts, bruises, and a permanent layer of grime.
Wild, untamed, and feral as fuck.
Now she’s all grown up, but she never lost that glint in her eye. The glint that tells you to take yourself to a dule tree for a short drop.
The glint that used to leave me clenching my fists, and now somehow, ten years later, has me adjusting my erection.
