by Raquel Lyon
She shook him off. “They won’t catch him. They never do. And I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not anyone’s girlfriend.”
Really? “Does he know that?”
Her doe eyes reappeared, and Kendrick’s stomach flipped. How could he shout at her when she looked at him like that? It wasn’t her fault he was having to hold back from grabbing hold of her pert little ass and flinging her over the workbench. He really shouldn’t be thinking of her that way. He felt sure she could see the frenzy going on in his jeans expressed in his eyes, and attempting to hide the fact by giving her an unwarranted mouthful must make her think him a complete dickhead.
“Do you think I wanted that to happen? You think I went to work today looking forward to being threatened by a ten-inch knife? Because if you do, you’re out of your mind.”
Yep. Definitely thinks I’m a dickhead. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe…”
“Well, you thought wrong.” Her eyes locked to his, and he sensed something more than anger behind them. “You won’t tell them, will you… the police?” she said.
He paused as his eyes held hers and he struggled not to let his gaze fall to her lips. One more look at those and he wouldn’t be able to resist taking hold of her and kissing her senseless. “They won’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you.” She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and ran her teeth over it.
Shit. He looked. Christ. It was such a sweet, plump lip. He wanted to bite it too. Did it taste as good as the rest of her smelled?
“Chris can be… volatile,” she said.
“I thought you weren’t with him,” he said, forcing his eyes north.
“I’m not.”
“The word on the street says differently.”
“Look. If you really want to know, I kissed him… once. Two weeks ago. That’s it.”
One kiss? Was that all? Barbie clearly had more than one loose screw if he could be satisfied with one kiss, after tasting paradise. Kendrick pondered the new information, and allowed a wave of satisfaction to relax through him. “So what were you doing in there?” he asked, cocking his chin towards the office.
“Hiding.”
“Who from?”
“Everyone.”
“Why?”
Molly sighed and lowered her eyes, leaving him wondering what she was about to say, but before she could utter a word, the door flew open.
“Great. You’re still here. Sorry I took so long,” Yvonne said, and then, as if just noticing Molly wasn’t alone, added, “Oh, hi, Rick.”
“You two know each other?” Molly asked.
“Not really,” Yvonne said. “He fitted my spoiler a few weeks ago. So what was that text all about, Moll?”
“I’ll tell you later. Let’s go,” she said, looping her arm through Yvonne's.
Kendrick watched the girls leave and fought the urge to follow.
“Did you see me drive?” Yvonne giggled. “I loved it. What a rush.”
As Yvonne’s voice faded away, Kendrick’s heart sank. He’d wanted more time with Molly, wanted to find out more about her. Never had a girl intrigued him more… or got his dick to stand to attention with one look. What was it about her? She wasn’t his type at all. He liked his women confident, in and out of the bedroom, but one night with this girl and he was starting to see the appeal of a less demanding companion. He drew in a calming breath and shook away the picture forming in his brain.
Leave it, Rick. Stay away.
After taking one last look around the workshop, he turned off the light and locked up behind him.
Chapter Six
Molly
Molly hated every minute of her time at the police station. She might not have been picking up her dad this time, but the feeling was the same. After waiting more than twenty minutes to be seen, and spending another thirty in the interview room, she was glad when the ordeal was finally over. More than once, the officer had flashed her a stare that made her squirm in her seat. She hated having to go over all the same questions again. Maybe it would have been easier if she’d had more sleep. Normally, a Sunday morning would mean a well-deserved lie-in, but her night had been a restless one—reliving the previous night’s events, as if watching a film on repeat. So much so, she’d actually felt relieved when the sun finally came up.
Why was her life so fucked up? If someone had told her, a few years ago, that her mother would have abandoned her child and run away to find herself, and that the child would have had to take over as the main wage earner and housekeeper, under the oppression of a drunken father, she wouldn’t have believed them. But that was her life now, and she had yet to see a way out.
She longed for the day she’d be able to call her wage her own, to look forward to payday, and possibly a little treat, but when, or if, that day ever came, what would her father do, then? He’d never survive on his benefits without her. Not that she should care. He wasn’t much of a father anyway. Some days she wished he’d drink himself into his grave. Life would be so much easier without him around. She’d be looking forward to going to university and getting the music degree she wanted, and then maybe she’d have a shot at one of the sought after jobs in a recording studio, she desired. Instead, she was working all the hours she could, and failing her final year at college. If things ended up the way they were heading, she’d turn out like her mother, longing for the life she could have had.
A life surrounded by music. That was her dream. She’d always loved music. Ever since her mum had taught her to sing her first nursery rhymes, it was all she’d ever wanted to do. But with a father like hers, acting as if she owed him her existence, what chance did she have of ever being anything other than a shop girl?
Walking out of the station, she stuck her headphones in her ears and remembered how Yvonne had interrogated her, on their way home.
“You like Rick don't you?” she’d said. “I can tell. I know you. You’ve been creaming ever since you laid eyes on him. It's his come-to-bed eyes, isn't it? Although, I’m sad to say, they've worked on too many girls. I could give you half a dozen names. Likes his women, that one, so if you're looking for someone to finally pop your cherry, I'd steer clear. He's the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, and I wouldn't want to see you get hurt.”
Molly had wondered if Yvonne was ever going to pause for breath. “Don't worry,” she’d finally managed to say. “He won't be going anywhere near my cherry.” And nor would anyone else. She had enough drama in her life, and the last thing she needed was another man treating her like shit, even if this particular one did make her insides melt.
“Well, someone has to. Aren’t you in the least bit interested to know what it’s like?”
Yeah, she was interested. She thought about it more often than she wanted to, but all of her fantasies involved a different version of her—a less dowdy version that didn’t come with unwanted baggage. “I wish you’d stop asking me that. You know I’m waiting for the right guy.” It was as good an excuse as any, and sticking to it had worked for her so far.
“At this rate, you’ll end up an old maid.”
“I'm only eighteen.”
“Yeah, and how many other eighteen-year-old virgins do you know?” While Molly struggled to come up with a name, Yvonne continued, “Look, I’m not saying you should give in to Barbie’s advances, but maybe Rhys knows someone short of a date.”
“I am not being set up with one of your boyfriend’s mates.”
“Why. What’s the harm? He hangs around with some pretty stuffy guys in his English class. There are bound to be a couple who’ll take you for a date without you feeling the need to clutch your panties tighter.”
“You’re talking as if I’m scared of men.”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“No. I just don’t think it’s a big deal that I don’t have a man in my life.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Molly had been grateful to end the conversation with a glare at her friend, as they’d arrived back
at Molly’s house. She was so sick of having to justify her lack of a boyfriend. Yvonne didn’t understand. Even if she did find someone she was interested in, and who was interested in her, he’d soon run for the hills when he saw what she had to deal with at home. It wasn’t worth the hassle, or the potential heartbreak, however much she craved it. No. She was better off staying single.
Arriving at the bus stop, she checked the timetable and, noting it was ten minutes until the next bus, sat down to wait.
“Already done the deed?”
Molly looked up and found Kendrick staring down at her. Again? What the hell?
“You must have been up at the crack of dawn?” he said.
“Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep,” Molly said.
A smell of grapefruit wafted through the air, as he perched himself on the end of the bench, causing Molly to shuffle along. Why did he have to get so close? Even with a foot of space between them, she could feel the heat radiating from his thighs.
“Where’re you going?” he asked.
“Home.”
Her answer appeared to amuse him, as he reviewed the space between them. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Shouldn’t you be going to the station?” Molly said.
“I am.”
“Then why are you sitting here?”
“Maybe I needed a rest.” He leaned in and his sweet aroma invaded her nostrils. “I don’t bite, you know.”
Take no notice, Molly. Look away. “Maybe not, but I don’t feel like talking.”
“Why? You got something better to do?”
She wished she had, because looking into those eyes, she was finding it hard to want to do anything else. “It depends what you’d consider better. I have to get home to make my father’s lunch before I go to work.”
“What? He’s not capable of making his own lunch?”
“He’s… he’s not very well.”
“I’m sorry. What about your mum?”
“I don’t have a mum.” Not strictly a lie. Her mother didn’t deserve the title. And her father had all but lost the rights to his.
His head lowered to study his hands dangling between his knees, and he nodded. “Do you play pool?”
“That’s a bit random.”
“There’s a club. The Pocket Scratcher, just off Tirdle Road. I’ll be there tonight, if you fancy a game.”
“I’m working ‘til eight,” she said, hoping to brush him off, as her bus pulled up at the stop.
Kendrick watched her board. “See you about half past, then,” he shouted.
After taking her seat, she risked a furtive glance back as the bus set off. Kendrick was standing with his hands in his pockets; he took one out and raised it in farewell.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived home with her mind in turmoil. Had she just been asked on a date? It sounded as if she had, but maybe he was only being friendly.
I can’t believe you’re considering it. You’re letting his sexy charm reel you in, like it has with all the other girls. You’re not like them.
“Where’ve you been?” her father said gruffly, shaking her back to reality, as she stepped through the door. “I shouted. You didn’t answer.” Molly knew that look. It was the one which always crossed his face right before he exploded, and she wasn’t in the mood to take his crap. “I had to make my own fucking lunch,” he said. “What’s the goddamn point of you living here? You’re a fucking waste of space.”
“I’m the waste of space? That’s rich. If it wasn’t for me there’d be no food in the house at all.”
“Then, where are the groceries?”
She pushed past him and went to the kitchen. “I don’t get paid until tonight,” she lied. In truth, she’d been paid yesterday, but the longer she kept it a secret the longer she could dream she had some money to call her own. Looking down at the tomato sauce bottle standing in a scattering of crumbs, she asked, “A ketchup butty? Seriously?”
He stood in the doorway, scowling. “The fridge ain't exactly full of caviar.”
“There are eggs, but I suppose they would require you to remember how to use the cooker.”
“Watch your mouth,” he said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a can. He flipped the ring pull. “I’m down to my last three beers. Find some change and top me up, will you?”
Molly stored the ketchup in the cupboard and wiped a cloth over the worktop. “Your beer’s not my problem. I buy food not alcohol. Use your own money.”
The can slammed onto her newly cleaned work surface, splattering it with foam. “What’s yours is mine, darling, or haven’t you noticed whose house you’re living in?”
Sighing, she threw the cloth into the sink. What was the point? “You want me to leave? Abandon you like Mum did? She ran away from you, and so could I.”
Leaning forwards until his face was almost touching hers, he bellowed, “Don’t speak about your mother that way. She did what she needed to do.”
Molly stuck her chin in the air defiantly. “Why do you keep defending her? When are you going to get it into your head she’s not coming back? She doesn’t care about us. You need to get your shit together, get a job, and stop pining for something you can never have.”
She felt the sting on her cheek before she knew it was coming. Of course, she should have known. It wasn’t the first time. Her father had two states of consciousness: half-comatose, with glazed eyes and an automated arm movement, and violent. She preferred the former. Her fingers shot to her mouth and drew back red. Great. Another burst lip to add to her tally. Time to come up with another excuse.
“I’m sorry,” her father called, as she ran to her room and slammed the door.
Turning on her stereo, she cranked up the volume. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. Sorry, didn’t make up for the way he treated her.
Chapter Seven
Kendrick
Kendrick was having second thoughts as he entered the club with his brother. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to score Johnny a place in the poker game. The dudes in the back room were pretty scary. He’d been in there a couple of times, but he knew when to call it quits. Things could get hairy if you broke the rules. And there was only one rule. Lose. He hoped Johnny caught on quick.
It had seemed like a good idea, at the time. Johnny was so keen, and Kendrick thought it a way to get into his good graces. Grease him up a bit in the hope of tapping him up for a loan. But what if Johnny got in too deep and lost everything? Somehow it would turn out to be his fault, and Johnny would never forgive him.
Kendrick caught the barman’s eye, through a cloud of tobacco smoke. The hulk of muscle, now a bit flabby around the edges, ambled over. “We still good for the eight o’clock entry, Pete?” Kendrick asked, half-hoping Pete’s answer would be no.
“All set,” Pete said, placing a couple of beers in front of them. A segment of ash dropped off the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, as he eyed Johnny. “You got balls, kid. I’ll give you that,” he said in a gruff, gravelly voice. “Watch your back in there.”
“No problem,” Johnny said.
Kendrick turned his back to the bar and leaned against it. “How much dough you got?”
“A couple of hundred. Why? Do you think I’ll need more?”
“No. And if you’ve any sense, you won’t bet it all and you’ll get out after you lose the first round.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Johnny took a sip of his beer. “Do your discerning words mean you’re taking your own advice and studying hard?”
“Who are you, my old man?”
“In the absence of the real thing… as good as.”
“Think again, and get off my back. Dogging me ain't gonna improve my grades. It’s not easy watching your mates rake in the dosh when you’re supposed to be keeping your head in the books.”
“You’ll get your chance when you’ve finished studying. I’ve told you. I’ll see us right. I’ve got plans.”
“Yeah, yeah. I
know. But you won’t be setting us up in business any time soon if you insist on giving all your cash to the dickheads in the back.”
“Don’t worry about me, little bro. I’ve got it covered. Speaking of which,” he tapped his watch, “time to party.”
Kendrick watched Johnny fade into the haze of smoke hanging over the corridor leading to the back room, and ordered another beer. Leaning over the bar, with one Doc Marten nervously grinding onto the surrounding metal footrest, he wondered how long he’d have to wait.
“All right, bud? You flying solo tonight?” Kendrick turned at hearing the familiar, fawning voice of Rhys. “It’s not like you to be dateless,” he said.
“I’m here with my brother. He’s out the back.”
“With the Schofield brothers?” Rhys sucked in a breath through a closed tooth smile. “It’s not like you’re new around here, anymore. You know the score. Their lot and ours don’t mix.”
Kendrick gave Rhys the once-over. How he considered himself in the same league was a mystery. The guy was stuck in a time warp. That slacks-and-a-pullover look died about thirty years ago. And who was he to tell him the score? He hardly knew the guy, but he’d seen him around the meets enough to realise this chickenshit was so far up Barbie’s ass, he could taste what he’d had for his lunch. “Johnny can take care of himself.”
Rhys tucked a lock of blond curls behind his ear. “He’s your brother, and Barbie will consider it guilt by association.”
“What do I care what Barbie thinks? Besides, he doesn’t need to know, and he’d better not be hearing it from your mouth.”
“Chill, mate, I can keep it shut,” Rhys said, waving a note at Pete. “I brought that tenner I owe you.” He handed the money to Pete, who nodded and stuffed it into his back pocket.
A smile tugged at Kendrick’s lips as an idea came to him. “Fancy a game? I’ve got some time to kill.”
Clearly puzzled by the sudden friendly gesture, Rhys considered his proposal for a second, and then shrugged. “Sure.”
After a minute or two of silence, while they secured a table and racked up the balls, Kendrick began fishing. “You’re seeing that bird with the pink Subaru, right?”
