by TJ Dallas
I smirked, crouching to pick up my jeans. I threw them on, feeling less exposed in a heartbeat. “Don’t get your hopes up too much,” I replied. “I don’t plan on missing lunch again.”
“You can take me now?”
“Deal.”
A week later, I took Maddy to lunch for the fourth time, trying to stay in her good books. She smiled when she saw me, hooking me around her elbow and guiding me towards our hidden table at the back of Georgia’s restaurant.
She giggled as we approached, telling me about the comedian she’d had in the VIP Lounge last night, but we stopped in our tracks as we realised someone was at our table. Bella’s dreadlocks were distinct.
Are you alone, Bella? Mind if we join you? I thought.
Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but yes. Even from a distance, Bella couldn’t suppress a flush on her cheeks. I’m waiting for someone to come back.
Oh, OK. No problem.
Maddy’s shoulders slumped. She’d think Bella’s contempt was because she was with me. I sighed, wrapping my arm around her waist and heading towards another table. It wasn’t as secluded, but the surrounding tables were vacant. “Come on, sexy.”
We settled in and ordered our drinks. I could see Bella over Madison’s shoulder, and I narrowed my eyes. Her eyes darted around the restaurant. Was she still nervous about the Old Smokies? One of them had escaped from my grasp. The two in her office had been dealt with, and I’d grabbed one man sitting in the van at the front of the building, but the other had caught me by surprise, driving off when my back was turned. I wasn’t having any luck finding him.
Jessica!
No, I’m Emilia, I replied, catching Bella’s eye across the room. Who are you shouting at?
N-no one, never mind.
I frowned as Bella held the edge of the table, her eyes closing. Bella, are you OK?
I’m fine.
All right, jeez. Keep those panties—
My eyes widened, movement at Bella’s feet shifting the tablecloth. I quickly realised what was going on.
Fucking hell, Bella!
Give me a minute. Fuck!
The waiter appeared with our drinks, and I nodded a thanks, quickly waving him away. Maddy stared at me in confusion, but I couldn’t take my eyes from the corner of the room.
Moments later, a woman wearing a yellow chequered shirt emerged from underneath the table, licking her lips. She straightened her blouse and resumed her seat opposite Bella with a smirk. I stifled a snort.
Jessica, I assume?
Shut up, Bella muttered, the embarrassment clear in her tone. She couldn’t look at me, but I didn’t blame her.
Does Georgia know what you’re doing on your lunch breaks? I asked.
No. And don’t tell her. She thinks I can’t stay away from her scrambled eggs.
I laughed out loud, and Madison jumped.
“Emilia! What are you laughing at?”
“It’s nothing.” I chuckled. “Just something I remembered. Have you decided what you want to eat?” I wouldn’t let Bella forget this for a while.
She nodded, and we motioned the waiter back over, placing our order. We were quiet as we waited, my eyes peering towards Bella. She’d resumed her meal, making cheerful conversation with her date.
Our food arrived, and we tucked in. Madison devoured her spaghetti bolognese within minutes, and I raised my eyebrows in astonishment. “And I thought I was hungry.”
She shrugged, swallowing her final mouthful and setting her cutlery down. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged again, and I chewed slowly, studying her demeanour. Now that I looked closely, she looked drained, with bags under her eyes and a melancholic sorrow in the way she fidgeted with her nails. The nail polish was chipped, and I chastised myself for not noticing it before. Madison loved her nails, periodically getting bright new colours to go with her new outfits. Now they looked forlorn and dull.
“Madison?”
“What?”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it still the Lara thing?”
She remained silent, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Maddy?”
She nodded, a small tear escaping the corner of her eye. She wiped it away. “I still feel awful about what happened. I didn’t mean to do it. I just saw her looking at you, and Althea was all over you, and ...” She trailed off, and I reached over to squeeze her hand.
She took a deep breath, and I waited. She’d never talked about how she felt before, and ordinarily she didn’t regret her talent, but this time, it was different.
“I hadn’t expected Lara to react the way she did. I didn’t know everything else that was going on, with her aunt and things, and I lost control.”
I nodded, taking a small sip of my water.
“I’ve seen her a few times, but she hurries away. I don’t want to chase her to apologise, and I don’t think she’d believe me, anyway.” Her shoulders sagged further. My heart ached for her. There must be something I can do.
She smiled wistfully. “I’m also sad that I missed Lara and Zoe’s wedding. I saw the photos; it looked like fun.”
I’d tried to invite her as my plus-one, but Harry had seen straight through that and forbidden me from taking anyone. I’d grit my teeth, but Harry was the boss, and I couldn’t disobey. I was silent for a few more minutes.
“Emilia?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t tell anyone I told you that. My reputation as the Bitch is in jeopardy.” The corner of her mouth lifted, but I couldn’t return her smile.
This wasn’t right. There were only seven of us, and we needed to watch each other’s backs. We were family, stuck with each other for an eternity, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I placed my cutlery on my plate, my appetite vanishing.
“Hold on a second,” I said. Lara?
Good afternoon, Emilia; how are you? Lara replied.
I’m all right. Could you come to Georgia’s for a minute?
Sure, I’ll just tell Harry I’m taking a break. Everything OK?
There’s someone here who needs to talk to you.
Lara went quiet as I caught Maddy’s gaze. I glanced at the floor.
It’s Madison, isn’t it? Lara asked.
I hesitated, my stomach tensing. Yes.
No chance, Emilia. Forget it. After what she tried to do, I can’t stand the sight of her.
She didn’t mean to do it, Lara. She didn’t know about your aunt and had no idea what Dylan was doing. She can’t contain herself as much as Harry, and she had a lapse in concentration.
Lara went quiet for a long time. I feared she’d finally learned how to block us from her mind, but I eventually heard a sigh. I can’t.
Please? She feels terrible, but no one will give her the time of day to make things right.
No.
Lara, listen to me. She’s depressed. I know I can’t make Harry see sense, but if you can forgive her, Harry might be more lenient.
Good. If she’s depressed, she deserves it.
I grit my teeth, my jaw stiffening. I forced down the anger bubbling inside me and let out a careful breath. Did you deserve it?
No.
Neither does she. You know better than anyone how it feels. I’m telling the truth. She didn’t mean to make you jealous, and she didn’t know what was going on. Dylan manipulated her. She tried to resist but lost control. She hasn’t spoken to Dylan since that day in the club.
But—
Please, Lara? I begged. For me? It’s breaking my heart to see her this way. You don’t have to be best friends, but will you please allow her just a few minutes of your time?
Madison stood up, and I grabbed her wrist, holding up a finger in a silent plea for her to stay. Lara?
/> Fine.
I exhaled in relief. “Maddy, wait a few more minutes. Sit back down.”
“Who were you talking to?”
I toyed with the idea of lying, but I shook my head. “Lara.”
Madison’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“She’s coming now. She’ll hear your side of the story.”
Maddy sat back down, her shoulders tensing and her eyes portraying a dread I hadn’t seen before. “She won’t listen, Emilia. I did too much damage.”
It was an anxious few minutes while we waited, but I spotted Lara approaching. She paused next to the table, and Madison averted her gaze, cowering as Lara spoke.
“What do you want, Madison?”
“Sit down,” I said, pulling out the chair beside me. Lara sat heavily and crossed her arms.
Madison couldn’t look up, and Lara tapped her foot impatiently. The tension doubled as I felt the resentment swelling in Lara’s chest. She struggled to force it down.
Maddy cleared her throat, her voice wavering as she stammered, “I’m s-sorry.”
I expected Lara to retort with a sarcastic remark, but she kept her lips pursed, her eyes darkening. I glanced between them.
Madison took a deep breath. “Really. I’m sorry for what I did. I don’t have any excuse that will make it OK, and I can’t do anything to take it back. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean it. I had no idea that it would lead to … what happened.”
She dropped her gaze again, a tear escaping from her eye. Her hand flew to her cheek to wipe it away, and I leaned across the table to hold her hand.
Lara looked between us, and I twisted to face her. “No one can change what happened that day. As powerful as we are, we can’t change the past. We wish we could ...” I trailed off, imagining a thousand and one things I’d do if I had the chance. Attend Brighton Pride, for a start.
Lara stood up without a word, and my stomach plummeted as she walked away. Another tear slipped from Madison’s eye, and I pushed from my chair. I kneeled in front of her, taking her in my arms as she burst into tears.
I held her head to my chest. I could only pray that Maddy might feel better, having delivered her apology to the one person who needed it.
Out of the corner of my eye, Lara stopped at the exit for a heartbeat, glancing back before she disappeared.
A few days later, I placed two glasses of wine on the bar and poured a pint of cider. I was serving in the nightclub again to give Harry a night off. She was becoming exceptionally tired these days, and she needed a break. Well, Althea told her she needed a break, and Harry had decided not to argue for once.
Taking the payment from the customer, I rang it through the till and handed back the change. The next customer barked his request, and I only just turned away before I rolled my eyes. I passed him his bottle of beer, and he counted out his coins, depositing them in a sticky puddle on the bar instead of my outstretched hand. I fought back a snarl.
“Hey, Emilia.” Zoe waved, battling her way through the crowd. I nodded in acknowledgement, straining to hear the next customer.
“What?” I yelled over the music, gesturing for him to repeat.
“He said two pints of cider,” Zoe shouted.
I turned away to pour more cider, inhaling the fruity scent. I wish I could kick back with a cider right now. Why had I said yes to working tonight?
Zoe found an empty bar stool and sat down. I had a few customers to attend to before I got to her, but she grinned as I approached. “Busy tonight, eh?”
No shit, Sherlock. “It is,” I replied, leaning forward to hear her. “What can I get you?”
“A bottle of beer, a glass of red wine, and a gin and tonic please.”
“Thirsty?” I smirked, picking up an empty glass. I chucked in a few ice cubes and a wedge of lime, free-poured the gin and handed it to Zoe with a bottle of tonic.
She smiled. “Not quite.”
I glanced up from pouring the red wine and my heart stalled. Lara stood behind Zoe, and Madison stood behind Lara, clutching her hands in front of her. She looked beautiful in a baby blue dress, her hair loose around her shoulders and the sweetest smile at the corner of her mouth. My heart soared.
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows, looking at Lara.
“Whoa,” Zoe yelled, and I quickly remembered the wine. The glass overflowed, a thick red puddle pooling around the base of the glass. Ah, shit.
Zoe giggled. “I’ll take care of it.” She leaned over, her lips reaching the rim of the glass, and took a long swallow. The liquid in the glass reduced enough for her to pick it up, and she reached over the bar for paper towels. She mopped up the spillage, and I still hadn’t moved. What’s going on?
Lara’s shoulders raised in a small shrug. I thought about what you said. I wouldn’t have wished that depression on anyone, and if you say you trust her, then I trust you. A coy smile fell on her lips. I wouldn’t say I’ve forgiven her, but I’ll try.
Thank you. I exhaled, and an inconceivable weight lifted from my shoulders. Lara winked, and I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Madison came closer, accepting the gin and tonic from Zoe.
“You look stunning, Maddy,” I whispered.
“And you’re covered in red wine,” she teased. I blushed, but she leaned forward to peck me on the lips. “Thank you.”
“I’m just glad I could help. I love seeing you smile.” I brushed a finger over her cheek, leaning over for another kiss, but a frustrated growl distracted me.
“I’ll have one of what she’s having,” the man muttered.
Fucking pervert.
I pulled back as Madison chuckled. Finishing Zoe’s order, I watched the three of them walk towards an unoccupied booth in the far corner, and I rounded to the customer at my side. He’s getting charged double. Dickhead.
The rest of the night went better than predicted, and I felt better as I finished counting the tills at the end of the night. I sat back in Harry’s chair, rubbing my eyes. There was still a weight on my shoulders, and I stretched out my neck, the bones in my spine cracking. There was something I needed to do.
I locked up, glancing at my watch as I made my way to the basement. How long does it take to get to Brighton?
27
Emilia
I pulled into the car park, my black Ford Mustang turning heads as I killed the engine. I loved muscle cars, often attending various classic car events around the UK, and further afield if I could get someone to oversee the gym for me. But today I ignored the admiration in the eyes of the four teenagers who stopped to marvel at it.
My knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as I studied the building in front of me. A four-storey block of flats, red brickwork, with a narrow alley to the shared garden at the back. There were many similar blocks, crammed together next to a run-down children’s play park. Kids had wrapped the chains of the swings around the steel at the top, and there were black rubbish bags overflowing in the corner. It was a rough neighbourhood, but I’d expected nothing less.
Once I’d reached Brighton, it had taken less than an hour to uncover the man I was searching for. The drama had circulated the town like wildfire: The Man with the Tattooed Forehead.
I’ve never understood the attraction to social media myself, but humanity seemed to bask in it. As soon as I’d entered my first pub and asked a drunk punter at the bar if he’d seen a man with “Rapist” on his face, he’d pulled out his phone and scrolled through hundreds of reports and photographs that people had snapped of him. I’d nodded, barely mumbling my thanks before I took off.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, narrowing my eyes as I scoured the windows on the building. Some had yellowing blinds from cigarette smoke, others were boarded up, with football-sized holes in the glass. Movement behind curtains on the bottom floor caught my attention. Shoulder-length grey hair peered out at me
, an elderly woman sucking on the end of a cigarette, the large quantity of ash at the tip threatening to collapse at any moment.
I took a deep breath, trying to contain the increasing resentment in my chest as I thought about my plan. It sounded ironic. I was Wrath, and anger spurred me on each day, but it generated a lapse in my concentration if I let it overwhelm me. And I needed to concentrate right now.
He shouldn’t be hard to find. He would have pent-up anger of his own; Harry’s tattoo on his forehead would have imposed a creative end to his outlet. As soon as people caught sight of him, they would turn the other way and make a hasty retreat. He couldn’t even ply them full of alcohol or drugs because no one would hang around long enough for him to try.
I scowled, before taking another deep breath and letting it out. I needed to relax so I could focus on finding him first.
I glanced to my right, pleased to see that the teenagers had moved on. I removed my hands from the steering wheel, closed my eyes, and lowered the blocks in my mind.
The extraordinary intensity of the anger surrounding me was surprising, not only in the building ahead, but in the buildings to my left and right as well. Frustration, irritation, desperation. They swirled in my brain, like the black smoke of a bonfire in a breeze. I tilted my head, listening harder.
Shouts, screams, yells, and roars filled my senses and caused a twitch in my neck. The emotions seeped inside me, coursing through my veins like heroin flows through an addict. I smiled. I savoured this feeling every day in the gym. People with indisposed anger issues would visit me, hiring me as a personal trainer for the incredible way they’d feel calm when they finished my workouts. Science would tell you that exercise relieves stress and surplus energy, contributing to a sense of tranquillity and well-being, but I wasn’t only helping people to release their anger; I was absorbing it. Every invisible molecule of rage would leave my client’s body and enter mine, my heart hammering in my chest with every fresh influx.
The rest of the managers had thought me strange, getting involved in fist fights only to dispel the situation. While Pride encouraged confidence, Lust encouraged sexual desire, and Sloth encouraged laziness, they found it odd that I’d stop an argument or murmur soothingly to calm someone when they struggled to rein themselves in. I‘d explained to them during a meeting once, and they’d nodded as they finally recognised my motives. I wasn’t calming people on purpose; I was stealing their anger.
