by Bo Brennan
Colt’s head turned sharply. Eyes meeting hers he gestured to the religious depiction inked on his back. “Fallen Catholic,” he said. “Got an A-level in guilt.” Smiling uneasily, he dried his hands.
“You never struck me as the type for religion or tattoos,” India said as he crossed the open space between them.
Taking the seat next to her on the sofa he carefully moved the towel from his left leg, ensuring his modesty remained intact as he revealed another tattoo of epic proportions – a tribal design decorated his entire muscular thigh. “Sign of a misspent youth,” he said.
India raised a brow, he was in great shape. “That's not a sign, that’s a billboard.” She sank the last of her wine and placed the glass on the table. “For hidden murky depths and danger,” she murmured.
Casting his eyes down, he frowned and self-consciously covered it up again. He crossed his arms in a vain attempt to cover as much ink as he could. “My best mate, Ray, studied Fine Art,” he said, almost apologetically. “He wanted to be a world class tattooist.”
“Looks like he was good enough to make it, too,” India said, reaching for his hand and bringing it to rest in her lap. She wanted to see him, feel him, all of him. She wanted to be bad.
“He did.” Colt smiled. “He owns Quinntessential on Winchester High Street. They’re not random – each one has a meaning, a memory. He did this one at the weekend for me.”
“I like it,” she said, running her fingers through the dark stubbly regrowth on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took.
Colt firmly covered her hand with his and cleared his throat. “What does the one on your back say?”
“Ne Cede Malis,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “Do not give in to evil.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “India . . .”
“Shush.” Her lips brushed his as she straddled him, her hands lightly caressing his torso.
Colt drew a sharp breath as she seductively untied her robe, allowing it to slip from her shoulders to the floor behind her. She pressed herself against him, making him hard. Resting his hands on her hips his eyes roamed her body, drinking in every inch of her. He bit his lip when he felt the small strip of black pubic hair gently brush against his abdomen, teasing him through the towel.
“India,” he murmured, “this really isn't a good idea . . .”
He groaned and leant his head back, closing his eyes when she ran the tip of her tongue along the lobe of his ear, rotating her hips and grinding herself hard into his lap. Her lips found his throat as her full breasts brushed against his chest with every forward writhe she made. The towel covering him was feeling flimsier by the second.
“I know you want me,” she whispered. “I’m a bad girl.”
His eyes flew open. He'd heard this voice before, in the alley behind the club. He'd wanted her then, and he wanted her now. He wanted to be inside her, wanted to feel her silky warm wetness tight around him, wanted to grasp her hips and pull her down onto him, become part of her. But she wasn't right then, and she sure as hell wasn't right now. He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, her eyes were glazed. She wasn't there.
“This isn't right,” he moaned. “I can't do – ”
“You don't have to do anything,” she purred, tugging at the towel, the only thing preventing him from having everything he wanted. “Just sit back and enjoy,” she whispered, teasing at his nipple with her teeth. He groaned as the small promise of pain shot straight to his cock, making it twitch to be free of restraints and buried deep inside her. God he wanted nothing more than for her to ride him and take control, dominate him, inflict her own brand of punishment for the pain that he’d caused her.
But the little nag at the back of his head grew louder, warning him: You'll feel good tonight, but you'll feel like shit tomorrow, while his little head was getting overexcited and complicating matters. A beautiful woman was naked and straddling him for fuck’s sake. India Kane, eager to give him the ride of his life, this was something his fantasies were made of. If he didn't stop this now, in a split second he wouldn't be able to, and then he'd have to live with the consequences and bitter regret.
Colt glanced down and saw the dressing on her thigh, and knew what lurked beneath. He clenched his jaw and grabbed her wrists, she was behaving like it had never happened, but it had happened, and that, along with the drugs and drink, made her more vulnerable than ever. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were cold, dead and completely glazed – India Kane was not even in the room. Fuck, he couldn't believe what he was about to do.
He took a deep breath, put his hands around her waist and lifted her off his lap, plonking her down on the sofa next to him. He stood up and grabbed her robe from the floor, turning his back as he held it out to her. “Put it on.”
As he waited, Colt looked down at the ridiculous comedy tent in the front of his towel. His erection was so hard it hurt. He could probably have hooked her robe straight off the floor with it without even leaving his seat. At least it would've served some sodding purpose tonight.
“I get it,” she said.
“No. You don’t.” He wiped a hand across his forehead and frowned when he saw his sweat glistening palm. “You're not right, I'd be taking advantage.”
“I’m soiled goods,” she said, fastening her robe. “Just go. Go on, go. Get the fuck out of here!”
Colt set his jaw and stared at her, standing his ground. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Get used to it.”
She mirrored his body language. Crossing her arms, she eyeballed him silently from the sofa. He could feel her spikey animosity suffusing the air, prickling his flesh. “Besides, I haven't got any clothes,” he added with a half-hearted laugh that made her eyes narrow and drop to her feet.
He sat down next to her and took her hands in his, clasped them tightly when she tried to pull away. “I want you, India, all of you. But not like this. Not when you're vulnerable and . . .” He grimaced, struggling to find the right word as he always did when it came to her, “. . . and absent.”
After a prolonged silence she lifted her eyes, and said, “I don't do ironing so your clothes will be as good as they get when they come out the dryer.”
Colt smiled, pleased and relieved she was back in the room. He needed to understand this thing she did. Where she went, and why. “Me neither,” he said. “Lacey’s bringing some fresh ones over from the hotel.”
Silently she nodded and tugged her hands free.
“India, there are things we really need to talk –” The knock at the front door cut him off mid-sentence. “Speak of the devil.” He glanced down at the towel as he rose to his feet. Yep Lacey Fox was a sure bet to deflation.
“Hi handsome.” Lacey thrust the bag into Colt’s arms as she pushed past him, making a beeline for the lounge.
India rolled her eyes when she plonked herself down on the sofa next to her, getting comfortable in the seat they'd almost had sex in minutes ago.
“Martin Kennedy’s in the hospital,” Foxy said. “He was mowed down when he left his office this afternoon.”
Colt dropped the bag to the floor and slumped into the sofa opposite. “Who did it?”
She turned and smiled at India. “They don’t know yet.”
India frowned, she didn’t like the woman’s tone and what she seemed to be implying. Maybe she was reading it wrong. Perhaps Colt was right and she was still under the influence of drugs. She was definitely under the influence of two bottles of wine.
“How can they not know?” Colt said, scrubbing a hand over his head. “He was under fucking surveillance!”
“That’s why he’s still alive. Instead of pursuing the vehicle that hit him, the surveillance unit administered first aid at the scene. But don’t worry,” she cooed, patting India’s thigh. “They got the make and model of the car and that part of town’s covered in CCTV, so it’s only a matter of time befor
e they find the driver.”
India stared at the manicured hand and visualised breaking every one of her fingers if she touched her again. “You think it was me?” she said, leaning towards her.
Foxy didn’t flinch. “Was it?”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Colt snapped.
“The question needs to be asked, James,” Foxy said, cool as ice. “She did discharge herself from hospital right before it happened.”
Colt and Lacey glared at each other across the lounge for several awkward moments. India guessed there was more going on to this exchange than met the eye. The usual ease they displayed in each other’s company was gone.
Colt shook his head. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
“Put some clothes on, James,” Foxy said. “It’s impossible to have a sensible conversation with you when you’re wearing the equivalent of a flannel.”
“Funny that,” he said. “I was just thinking it was impossible to have a sensible conversation with you at all these days.”
India watched as he took a breath so deep it swelled his sculpted chest, and the phoenix braced to fly. And then he picked up the holdall and disappeared into the bathroom, obeying her condescending order. India would’ve told her to fuck off.
“Don't toy with him,” Foxy said as soon as the bathroom door closed. “He’s a good man. He deserves better than you.”
India cocked her jaw. “What, like you?”
Foxy laughed. And then she laughed some more. India’s eyes narrowed. Sod the fingers – she’d break her fucking face if she carried on.
“Oh dear,” she cooed. “You don’t even know the basics. It seems you don’t have your claws in him as deep as I thought.”
India inclined her head and frowned. She was about to drag the woman out of her home by the hair and sling her off the deck when the bathroom door opened. Colt emerged, wearing jeans and a snug fitting white t-shirt, into a markedly cooler air.
Lacey Fox immediately stood and smoothed her tight skirt. “Must dash, long night of work ahead. We'll catch up in the morning meeting, James,” she said. After grossly exaggerated continental air kisses she stopped at the door, her professional head firmly on. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
“Thank god she’s gone,” Colt said, leaning back against the front door. “Sometimes I think she’s as crazy as the people she studies.”
Or just a bitch, India thought.
“It’s good to hear you two getting on better though,” he said, crossing to the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat?”
The homely scent of coriander and ginger emanating from the oven tantalised, and the knot in her stomach tightened. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she'd last eaten.
“Sure,” she said, studying him. Over dinner she intended to find out ‘the basics.’
The three men sat at the small round table in the dingy, cramped back room, a half empty bottle of whisky and three cut glass tumblers between them.
“How is she?” the tall man said, sipping from his glass.
“Who knows?” The bearded man shrugged. “You know what she's like.”
“She's been through worse than this,” the portly one murmured, his voice cracking with emotion.
“We know,” the tall man said, shaking his head. “We cleaned up the sodding mess, remember.”
“She's never spoken about it,” the portly man said. “Not once, not ever.”
“Well let's hope it stays that way,” the bearded man said. “He’s over there right now; they’re probably in bed together as we speak.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the tall man snapped. “She’s just been raped, for god’s sake.”
“Are you forgetting what she was like when she was younger? Not to mention him. They’ve both got an unhealthy attitude to sex,” the bearded man said. “He’s fallen for her you know.”
“No shit Sherlock,” the tall man said. “I bloody warned you this was going to happen, but you wouldn't listen.”
“It's not my fault,” the bearded man said. “I didn't bring him here.”
“No, but you can send him back.”
“We should've dealt with all this years ago,” the portly man said. “What the hell can we do now?”
“Batten down the hatches,” the tall man said, rising from his seat. He finished his drink in one bitter gulp, drew his lips back across his teeth as the burn bit and placed his glass on the table. “And pray,” he said.
“There's no love lost between my dad and Lacey,” Colt said.
“Why?” India asked. “Because she's black or because she’s a domineering bitch?”
“Well, I always thought it was because she was shagging my sister,” Colt said. “But, hey, when you put it like that.”
“Karen, right?”
“Right,” he said flatly
“Is that why you don't get on with her,” India said, “because she's gay?”
“No, she could sleep with a sheep for all I care.” His fingers worried at the long faded indentation on his ring finger. “She sold a story about my marriage breakdown to the papers.”
“That’ll do it.” India rolled her eyes. “Was Jenna your wife?”
Colt frowned hard and shook his head. “Jenna was Joe's twin,” he said quietly. He felt the lump rise in his throat and his eyes sting, knew he’d always feel he failed her as a brother. “My baby sister; she died of Leukaemia when she was eight.”
He wasn't in a good place back then. In that moment, it had felt like a great place, he was having the time of his life, fulfilling every teenage boys dream. And then the police knocked his door. He swiped at his eyes with a hand. “I got to the hospital too late.”
“I'm sorry,” India murmured.
“I don’t deserve your sympathy,” he abruptly said, and pushed his plate away. “I was with the Compton twins at the time.”
“You can’t punish yourself forever,” India said.
“I don’t, I’ve got parents for that. I’ll never forget the way my mother looked at me that day.” He dropped his chin, averting her gaze. “She was so ashamed.”
India frowned. “It was probably all in your mind, a guilty conscience.”
“No, she knew.” He stared at the table. “When dad couldn’t get hold of me, he dispatched a unit to pick me up. Half the constabulary knew I was in bed with two cheerleaders before I’d even got my dick back in my pants. The gob shite they sent even patted me on the back when he dropped me at the hospital.”
He could feel India's eyes boring into him, and suddenly realised she was avoiding talking about herself again. Christ, ten minutes on Google and she could find his entire life story, his inside leg measurement, and even the size of his dick.
Ten hours on the internet had returned nothing on her.
She'd had her time asking the questions, now it was his turn. He glanced up, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, “Why is the pub landlord your next of kin?”
She didn't like it one little bit. She placed her knife and fork on her plate and dropped her hands to her lap, fingers agitating wildly with anxiety. He maintained his eye contact, made no attempt to ask her again, allowed the silence to stretch the same way he would when interviewing a suspect.
“Gray's mum and dad brought me up,” she finally said.
Makes sense, he thought. The lack of personal details and history in her file could well be explained by adoption. But even adopted people had a family history. He'd seen with his own eyes how unnaturally close to her ‘brother’ she was, and couldn’t help but feel there was something else going on.
“Why didn’t you take their surname when they adopted you?”
“It was unofficial,” she said, “off the record.”
Colt smiled. She was finally opening up to him. “So tell me what happened. Where are your real parents?”
“Don't know.” She shrugged. “When I was eleven I came home from school one day and they were gone. House was complet
ely empty.”
Colt frowned. “What do you mean gone, gone where?”
“No idea, I never heard from them again.”
Colt stared at her, waiting for the punch line that didn’t come. “Are you being serious?” he said.
“Yep.” She hung her head and smiled her one sided smile. “Kind of cool, huh?”
“No, India. Not cool at all,” he said, frowning hard and shaking his head.
She laughed. “Oh, come on, how many eleven year olds wouldn't love that?”
He stared at her for a moment, mulling the question over in his mind. There were many times when he was younger that he wished his family would just disappear, but that was just teenage angst and growing pains. Every Saturday he used to pray they'd vanish, at least from the Rugby stands, but when one of them really did disappear, checked out for good, it broke his heart in two. The thought of his mum and dad not being around made the pit of his stomach twist.
“In reality, not many,” he said, quietly. “What did you do?”
“Carried on as normal,” she said, lucidly and calmly like it was the most normal thing in the world, as if they’d just popped off to Tescos for the weekly shop.
“What about food and money and bills?” he probed carefully.
“Gray took care of all that,” she said. “He lived in a pub so food and stuff was easy. It was the bills bit that we came unstuck on. We were just kids – had no idea you had to pay rent and stuff.”
She laughed again and Colt felt goose bumps creep across his skin.
“Gray knew?”
“He was my best friend,” she said quietly, glancing down at her jittery hands. “He knew everything.”
“Why didn't he do something?”
“Oh, he did. He punched him once,” she said hurriedly, and her eyes lit up. She let out a joyless bitter chuckle and her eyes narrowed bitterly. “Then Gray went home with a black eye of his own. We told his mum and dad he'd got in a fight at school.”
