Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Connect with R.J. Prescott
The Hurricane
By R.J. Prescott
Copyright © 2014 R.J. Prescott
All rights reserved.
First Published 2015 by R.J. Prescott
The right of R.J. Prescott to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted to her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN 978-0-9931838-1-2
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organisations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Interior Formatting by CassyRoop of Pink Ink Designs
I FELT LIKE A TOTAL FUCKING CREEPER as I leant, with my hands in my pockets, against the lamp post, and stared at her through the cafe window from across the road. For weeks now, I’d found myself in the same spot, wondering when I was going to grow a pair of balls and talk to her. Man, this girl was fucking perfect. At least that was what I’d built her up to be. I wasn’t sure I could handle the disappointment if she was anything less.
I tilted my head to the left as she walked from the kitchen with a pot of coffee. I didn’t want to lose sight of her. Even in that shitty uniform, she was gorgeous. The first time I saw her, I thought she was hot. Then again, every girl I fucked was hot. But this girl was something else. She was beautiful, and there hadn’t ever been much of anything in my life you could call beautiful.
Her blonde hair was tied back in one of those messy knots that she always wore to work. Loose, I knew it was long, thick, and curly at the ends. I was getting hard as I imagined her straddling me, that hair cascading down as I fisted my hands into it. Jesus, now I was standing on a street corner at 6.30am with a hard-on. It was official. I was definitely a creeper.
Just then, Danny said something funny, and they shared a laugh. Danny was an old man, and I was still jealous. What I wouldn’t have given to have her smile like that for me. She blushed as she glanced around with those beautiful blue eyes, suddenly self-conscious that someone might have seen her laughing. She never did anything to draw attention to herself, which made her the complete opposite of pretty much every girl I’d ever met. Even from here, I could tell she didn’t have any makeup on, but she didn’t need it. Her skin was flawless, and her plump, pale, pink lips were edible. I was sure a good kiss would darken them up. If I had my way, I’d find out soon enough. Her cheekbones were a little hollow, which wasn’t surprising given how tiny she was. I had at least a foot, and over a hundred pounds on this girl, and I realised how uneasy my size might make her. She was nervous and skittish, so I was probably going to scare the shite out of her. There was fuck all I could do about it, though. It’s not like I could have made myself any smaller. Maybe if I waited until she left, then sat down before she came back, I wouldn’t seem so big. Despite her size, she had killer legs that went on for miles, and a little hourglass dip at her waist that made me want to wrap my hands around it as I kissed her.
I shifted my weight to the other foot, willing my erection back down before some arsehole walked by and got the wrong idea. To make matters worse, I was fucking freezing. I’d left my hoodie at the gym, thinking it would help my cause to show off my body. It was pretty much the only thing I had going for me. Instead, I just felt like a fucking eejit, knowing that it was too cold for anyone but a total poser to be walking round in a t-shirt. It was the sort of thing that Kier and I would take the piss over. He’d be laughing his arse off if he could see me now.
Emily.
I whispered her name as I rolled it around on my tongue. I heard it yesterday when one of the other waitresses called out to her. It suited her. I thought once more about bottling it and heading back to the gym, when she turned and walked towards the kitchen. This was my chance to sit next to Danny before she came back.
Fuck it.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I headed across the street. I had no idea how much my life was going to change from the minute I sat down at that table.
OH, MY GOD, I AM SO LATE! I ran down the street, my heart pounding. The early morning commuters trying to make it into the office were oblivious to my plight as I dodged in and out of people. My thin summer shoes offered nearly no protection against the bitter bite of the frosty morning. By the time I opened the back door to Daisy’s Cafe, my teeth were chattering and my fingers were stiff with what I was sure was the onset of frostbite. I had no idea what I was going to do when winter really set in. I was barely scraping together enough money for rent and food, let alone having to worry about gloves and a winter coat.
“Mornin’, Em.” Mike, the owner, smiled as he turned the bacon over in the pan. For the last few weeks, I’d been pulling extra shifts at the cafe, and then studying when I got home. I thought I could handle it, but after waking up at my desk half an hour ago, I knew I was wrong. I wasn’t surprised that Mike didn’t seem mad. I’d never been late for a shift before, and more often than not, I was the last to leave. Daisy’s had heating, after all. Heating and company. Two of the things I was in need of most at the moment.
“Sorry I’m late,” I mumbled to Mike. I avoided making eye contact and raced to hang up my coat and tie my apron. Tapping down the pocket, I made sure I had my pad and pencil, and quickly scraped my hair back with one of the elastics kept permanently around my wrist. Wrestling it into a messy bun, I weaved through the kitchen and grabbed a pot of coffee. I passed Rhona who’d been at Daisy’s since the doors first opened.
“Slow down, love,” she said with a warm smile. “You just need to do the refills and take the order for table two.”
She breezed into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Daisy’s was one of the only cafes around that offered unlimited tea and coffee refills with a meal, which meant the place was usually packed for breakfast. After running around topping up coffees, I said hello to Danny as he sat down at his usual table. We chatted for a bit and, promising him a fresh pot, I headed to the kitchen to pass Mike the order for table two. As I walked back out, I froze. Sitting next to Danny, and glancing at me over the menu, was hands down the hottest guy I had ever seen. His nose had a slight crook in it, which made me think it was onc
e broken, but that was the only flaw in his otherwise perfect face. Razor-sharp cheekbones, tanned skin, and dark hair added to the beauty that seemed completely at odds with his stature. If it weren’t for the broken nose, he could be a model, but I knew that whatever this man did was dangerous, because everything about him exuded violence. I had no idea who he was, and the fact that he was sitting with Danny should have eased me, but it didn’t. My internal alarm was going off big time. From the set of his shoulders, to the sheer size of him, he looked like nothing but trouble. Whoever he was, it looked like Danny was raking him over the coals about something.
Danny was a small, wiry man, who couldn’t have been much younger than seventy-five. The deep grooves in his face and leathery skin spoke of hard living, but he was no frail pensioner. Mike was twice the size of Danny, but even he was a little bit scared of him. From my very first shift at Daisy’s, he’d strolled through the door a few minutes past opening, plonked himself in an empty booth in my section, and beckoned me over – which soon became our morning ritual. But that first day was different; I’d been absolutely petrified of everything and everyone. Most regulars had gravitated toward the other girls’ sections, wary of the new girl messing up their order. Danny had no such compunctions, though. He’d sat straight down and called out, “Hey, sunshine, come and get me a cuppa coffee. I don’t bite.”
Shaking like a leaf, I filled his cup, and by sheer force of will, avoided spilling the scalding liquid all over his lap. If he noticed my nerves, he’d never said anything. He rattled off his order then unfolded a crisp, clean newspaper, and read silently until I brought out his breakfast. When he was finished, I removed his plate and refilled his coffee.
“Thank you, sunshine,” he said, without smiling and without looking up from his paper.
Things went on that way for a few weeks, and when I finally stopped shaking, he spoke to me. It was never anything too personal, just remarks about the weather, questions about school, and what I thought of my professors. In the beginning, I did my best to find one-word answers, but just over a year later, Danny was the closest thing I had to a friend. I wanted to run and hide in the kitchen. But hiding wouldn’t do me any good, it never did. Ten horrific years of my stepfather, Frank, knocking me around had taught me not to speak unless spoken to and not to make eye contact. Whenever I felt threatened, those were the rules I fell back on.
Moving quickly through the tables, I wiped down a couple, gathered up a few dirty dishes, and after dropping them off at the kitchen, I could procrastinate no further and headed to Danny’s table.
“Two full fried breakfasts please, sunshine,” Danny croaked, with his usual scowl. If he ever did smile at me, I was a little worried that his weather-beaten face might crack. Lowering my eyes, I gave him a small nod but didn’t reply. It was our usual routine, and he was familiar with it. Without asking him, I filled up his coffee cup, and my hands trembled. It had been months since that happened, and I knew if I had to ask Danny’s companion if he’d like coffee, my voice would crack. I turned toward him with the coffeepot in my hand, and my eye caught on the sleeve of his white t-shirt. The biggest bicep that I’d ever seen strained the seams, and beneath, the edge of a tattoo was visible. It looked like a series of intricately woven Celtic designs. From what I could see, the artwork was beautiful.
“O’Connell, do you want coffee or not?” Danny snapped at him. I flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but he did, at least, save me from speaking.
“Yeah, sure,” the guy replied lazily, almost bored. I shook badly again, and I was sure that I’d spill it, but I didn’t. Gathering up their menus, I all but whispered, “I’ll be back with your order soon,” and fled to the kitchen to hide. The guy’s eyes were boring a hole in my back as I walked away. Ten minutes later, their order was done. Taking their warm plates through to the cafe, I placed the identical breakfasts down in front of them and escaped.
“You keep your eyes off that, boyo. That one’s not for you,” I heard Danny warn quietly.
Danny was born and raised in Killarney, Ireland, and I very much doubted that the forty years he’d spent here in London had softened his accent much.
“Why was she shaking so badly?” The man Danny had called O’Connell asked in a deep, husky voice with a slight Irish lilt that was just about the sexiest thing that I had ever heard.
Danny sighed deeply before answering. “You probably scare the shite out of her. That one’s special, but she ain’t for you, so you’d best mind yourself and leave her to her business. Now, stop looking after something you can’t have and think about what I said,‘cause if we have one more conversation about you drinkin’ and fightin’, you eejit, then you and me are gonna have words!”
The rest of the conversation was lost on me. The idea of Danny threatening this mountain of a man with anything would be enough to make me to smile, if he hadn’t mentioned the fighting. Truth be told, you only had to look at O’Connell to know that he was dangerous. It was hard to tell how tall he was, but by the way he was crammed into that booth, I’d guess he was big. Broad shouldered and ripped, he looked every inch a fighter, but with that relaxed, almost bored, indifference about him that sold the package. He could take care of himself, and he knew it.
A few more of my regulars made their way over to my section, and after doing my rounds with the coffee and rushing back and forth with orders, I realised that the seat across from Danny was empty. I let out a deep breath and began clearing the table.
“Give my compliments to Mike,” Danny told me, as I stacked up the plates.
“Sure, Danny,” I replied. “Can I get you another coffee?”
“No, thank you, sunshine. My bladder control is not what it used to be, and I’m gonna find it hard enough to get back to work as it is.”
This was more information than I needed to know. I was sure that he threw it out there just to get a rise out of me, and I humoured him by rolling my eyes.
“Make sure you wrap up warm, then,” I gestured toward his coat and scarf on the bench. “It’s bitter out.”
I dealt with ringing up his check, and before he’d even closed the door behind him, Katrina Bray was up in my face. With her shirt pulled tight against her impressive cleavage, and a skirt rolled higher than her apron, she stomped her way toward me.
“What the hell was Cormac O’Connell doing in your section?”
I gave her the one-shouldered shrug. “I have no friggin’ clue, and you’re welcome to serve him next time,” would be my response of choice, but I kept my mouth shut. Katrina was the last person that I needed to start an argument with.
“You have absolutely no idea who he is, do you?”
She obviously deduced this for herself, given the vacant look on my face. Without waiting for an answer, she flounced off in a cloud of cheap perfume. Rhona, having heard the whole exchange, shoulder bumped me on her way back to the kitchen.
“Go on, girl. ‘Bout time that madam had a bit of competition, and once upon a time, I wouldn’t have minded a piece of that boy, myself. I wouldn’t be turning a blind eye if I was twenty years younger.”
“Need some help?” I motioned to the dishes in her hand, trying to change the subject. It had completely escaped her notice that I was neither flirting, nor being flirted with. I was no expert, but I was sure that you actually needed to talk to someone to start a relationship.
“No thanks, love, I’ve got it. Your section is getting pretty full.”
She nodded back toward the cafe. Seeing she was right, I hurried back to take orders. People were pretty slow about coming into my section to begin with, but once they saw me waiting on Danny every day, they slowly started drifting over. The breakfast and lunch shifts flew by, punctuated by evil looks from Katrina. I guessed from her attitude, that O’Connell was on her hit list and she hadn’t scored with him yet. Which would put him in the minority, from what I hear. When Katrina wanted a guy, he usually didn’t offer much resistance. She had nothing to worry about from
me, though. If O’Connell came in here again, she was welcome to him. However good looking the package, I didn’t need that kind of trouble in my life. It wasn’t as if he’d ever give me a second look, anyway.
By the time my shift ended, I was glad to be heading to class. Waitressing was okay, and it was nice to have some company, but school was where I really lost myself. Getting a place at UCL had been the scariest and most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to me. None of it would have been possible without my former teacher, Mrs. Wallis. I had been wriggling around in my seat, trying not to let the chair touch any of the fresh bruises hidden under my sweater when she had approached me. With tears in her eyes, she had told me she knew I had a difficult home life, and as I was nearly eighteen, there was a way of escaping. If I wanted her help, I would have it. That was the nearest that I ever came to breaking down. Part of me wanted to scream at her that if she knew, then why didn’t she tell social services so they could get me? I think we both knew that would only have made things worse, though. I didn’t scream at her or cry, but actually setting out the bare bones of a plan was terrifying. The fear of being caught, and of my stepfather, Frank, discovering what I was doing, had me feeling sick every minute of every day. Using Mrs. Wallis’ address, I had applied for university places and identification. When I turned eighteen, I changed my surname legally. I accepted a place studying applied mathematics at University College London and now, eighteen months later, the only person who could ever connect Emily Thomas from Cardiff, South Wales with me was Mrs. Wallis, an elderly home economics teacher who was the only person I’d ever trusted.
I’d breezed an access course in accounting over the summer, but my heart was in the maths. It was clean and pure, and in my world of grey, it was black and white. If I had any chance at building a future then I needed qualifications. The dread of being caught was always ever present, though. I guessed that Frank was looking for me but getting my degree was worth the risk. His need for power and control wouldn’t allow me to walk away from him. If I committed to staying in one place long enough to finish university, I had to keep a low profile. It was my best chance of evading him. So, I did what I’d always done. I made no eye contact and never initiated conversation. It worked in high school, but university was a completely different kettle of fish. The guys here were relentless. Politely turning down unwanted advances, without causing offense, had become an art form that I’d perfected. It was the safest way to live, but I was lonely. There were days that I desperately wanted someone, anyone, to call a friend. In lecture room three, on that frosty Tuesday afternoon, I got just that.
The Hurricane Page 1
