Loaded

by Max Henry

  “Why? Tell me you’ve never looked twice at me; that you’ve never looked at me that way,” he asked.

  Steph swallowed thickly, and reached toward the handle again. His body heat enveloped her, and a strong hand covered hers. He pulled her away from the door, and into his firm front.

  “You have, haven’t you? You can’t even say no.”

  “I may have once, a long time ago, but it doesn’t mean anything,” she snapped. “You’re a guy, and I’m a girl. It’s bound to happen.”

  “But when it happens to both people at the same time … that means something.” But it’s not the same time anymore.

  She stiffened as he guided her hands across her front, and used her instability to secure her body to him.

  “Let me show you how a real man treats a woman,” he whispered in her ear.

  “No, Ivan. I want to go home.”

  “Why, Steph? Why can’t you give me a chance? Why couldn’t it be me who makes you happy?”

  Her brows drew down in a frown. “Because you’re frightening me.”

  His hands pressed harder on her hips, and she could feel his intentions against her backside. His voice took on a less persuasive tone, and more of a vicious growl. “What makes him so fucking special? He treats you like shit, fucks you when he wants, and leaves you in the cold.” His hips rocked into her. “I’d never let you out of my sight, Steph.”

  “I can see that,” she deadpanned, trying in vain to use the humour to ease her welling panic.

  “Give me a chance,” he grumbled as a hand crept up her side, toward her breast. “One night, and then you decide.”

  The room spun, and she choked back her tears. Crying wouldn’t help her out of this. Crying wouldn’t help her get home. She squinted hard, and tried to focus on the answer, but the thoughts in her head blurred until all she could make out was a dense, white noise.

  Ivan spun her in his grasp, and caressed the curve of her jaw with the backs of his fingers. She stiffened, eyes still shut, and a frown pulling so tight a headache bloomed in her temples.

  “Go with it,” he breathed.

  Steph shook her head, which caused him to grip her tighter.

  “Come on, Stephie,” he whispered as his lips skated over her neck. “Remember how good we were when it was just us.”

  “But we were only friends, Ivan. We were never anything but,” she whispered.

  “Fool yourself all you want, Steph, but I know what I want, and I’m sick of waiting for it.”

  She wriggled, and twisted until she managed to get one of her hands between them. He pressed harder, and a cry escaped her lips as he pinned her wrist the wrong way between their bodies. Tears eased over the curve of her cheekbone as she pushed with her shoulders, her thighs, anything she could use to attempt to lever herself away from him.

  But it was no use—Ivan held her like a constrictor, inching tighter with each movement she made. The fight had left. She didn’t know what to do anymore. Thinking about it left her wanting to crawl into a dark hole until the night was over, and the dawn of a new day sorted the problem for her. There’s no chance. His body was taller, wider, and ten times stronger. If only she’d kept up those boxing classes at the gym …

  Steph opened her eyes, and Ivan smiled down at her. The same smile she’d seen since they were kids—the one which always made her feel home. But now … now it made her heart ache. How could her closest ally be the snake in the grass? How could she have been so stupid?

  “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” she said in a last ditch attempt to get him to stop.

  His muscles tensed further. “What do we have, Steph? You kidding yourself that I’m your closest friend, and me kidding myself that one day I’ll be able to go to bed without wishing you were there?”

  Her shoulders slumped. All exit signs switched off, and she resigned herself to the outcome—as distasteful as it was. Her chest weighed heavy with betrayal as she whispered her last request. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  Steph’s eyes drew down to avoid the grin that spread over Ivan’s face. She couldn’t stomach how happy he was about it … not when she felt as though she’d signed her soul away for nothing more than a jaded memory. “I’d never hurt you.”

  But you already have.

  Whatever light remained within, fell black.

  He ran his fingers over the matte finish, and breathed a sigh of relief. His baby was okay.

  Thanks to the detour via the hospital, he had exactly forty minutes to get to work if he fancied being on time. Not enough time to take a drive past Cutie’s place, which only served to aggravate his thin temper further. She hadn’t called, messaged, been on Facebook—nothing. He needed to know she was okay. What if his mother had got to her first?

  Fuck work. He had to check on her first if Gary and Janie wanted him to be able to think straight on the job.

  Pistol slumped into the driver’s seat, and gunned the car to life. Half an hour on a good day to get to her house from here, and in this traffic, he could bet on that doubling. He flicked his indicator on, and edged into the first gap in the evening carnage. Every cell of his body buzzed with the need to move faster, to get there, to make sure she was okay. No doubt he’d find her doing something mundane—washing, cooking, reading—and all his panic would be over nothing. But the possessiveness had taken over him, and he couldn’t be trusted to spell his name correctly until he knew that there wasn’t a damaged hair on her head.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and looked at the other cars as they crawled along. Nine out of ten vehicles looked as though they rolled off the factory floor that way, and the drivers all merged into one similar stereotype of suburban executive. His observations only proved what an anomaly Steph was for him; to be able to find a woman with the same tastes in tattoos, and style, as well as a woman so compassionate that she could see past his flaws.

  Steph wasn’t one in a million—she was once in a lifetime.

  He couldn’t lose that. Not when her existence in his life was the final piece to his puzzle. Without her, the picture would never be complete; he’d never be worth looking at. Her serenity, and her natural need to help others filled in the voids of his personality. She was the part of him he couldn’t be on his own. She leveled the scales. Evened his madness.

  She made him feel.

  Why had he been so hell bent on pushing her away at the start? Why did he feel the need to play those stupid games with her, all in the name of testing her resolve? If she had waked away, he would have deserved every ounce of misery he had gotten. The woman had opened her heart to him, and all he did in return was show her she wasn’t worthy of his trust. Fuck, the girl had to see something special in him to still be around. Something he sure as shit couldn’t see himself, anyway.

  The traffic finally flowed a little faster, and he sighed a ‘yes’ as they all crawled onto the home stretch before the highway. Pistol settled into the seat for the long haul when his phone rung. He plugged it into the Bluetooth, and answered, expecting an update from Derek. Hopefully the geezer had tracked his ma down, and found out what she was up to since the hospital. The wench’s sudden silence since their meet-and-greet gave him an uneasy twist in his gut, but it would pale compared to what he felt next.

  “Pete. Can you pick me up?”

  The blood drained from his face hearing how her voice shook. “What’s wrong, Love? Where are ya?” He glanced in his mirrors, planning his next maneuver before she spoke.

  “Ivan’s.” Her sobs echoed about the confines of the rod. “Do you know where that is?”

  “I’m already on my way.” Cars veered aside as he slung the rod into an incomprehensible space to manage the next u-turn. Horns blared, but nothing registered except the sound of her tears as she cried down the line. “Stay on the phone, Love. Tell me what happened.” Blood roared through his ears as he drove, knuckle bones set to burst through the skin of his hands with the grip he had on the wheel.

  “
I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I trusted him. I’m so stupid,” she repeated.

  He pushed himself to control his breathing as he wove through the traffic to the fucker’s house. “What did he do, Love?”

  She simply bawled.

  His chest ached with such intensity he was sure his heart was about to implode. What had happened to the guy who could give such pain without batting an eyelash? Why, when it came from Steph, did he feel his first real remorse? “I’m not far away. Are ya safe?”

  “For now.” She sniffed. “I … I don’t know if I knocked him out, but he hasn’t come after me.”

  Better fuckin’ not.

  “Walk towards the main road, Love. I’ll meet ya. Don’t fuckin’ stay outside his house.”

  “I’m not. I ran to the park down the street.”

  “Good girl. Now start walking.”

  Scratches, and scuffs resounded through the car while she moved on the other end of the line. Her breathing came through ragged as she fought to catch her breath after so many tears. He listened to the sad symphony as he drove, flexing his hands around the steering wheel to stave off the urge to hit something. He bumped the car through parking lots, and petrol stations to cut the lines of traffic, and turn off the main road. Thankfully Ivan’s was in the opposite direction to the rush, and apart from red lights, and the odd intersection, he managed a relatively quick drive.

  Pistol rounded one of the last corners before Ivan’s street, and sucked in a breath. She held her shoes in her hand, and walked head-to-shoulder to balance the phone since her other hand was busy gripping the sides of her cardigan together. The tyres squealed to a stop, and he ignored the haphazard way he parked as he leapt out to get to her. He needed to get his arms around her before she spent another second alone in such a state. Greif could be a soul-sucking bitch, and right now he could bet she grieved the loss of her trust.

  Steph pocketed the phone, and lifted her face to him as he approached. The look literally ground him to a halt. He expected pain, despair, anguish. He expected more tears.

  Not a void.

  Her expressionless face chilled him to the core. Recent tears streaked her cheeks, but the eyes they fell from held nothing, not an ounce of emotion what-so-ever.

  What the fuck has the asshole done?

  “Cutie?”

  Her lip trembled, and he took the final step to where she stood, shaking. Her body crumpled into his arms, and he held on for her, and for himself. She needed the comfort of a person she could still trust, and he needed the comfort of her trust in him to make it all right again.

  “What’s he done to ya?” he cooed as he swept her strewn hair over her shoulder.

  She wept into his shirt, her shoulders shaking, and her back heaving as she drew air.

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll fuckin’ gut the bastard.”

  Her sobbing eased, and she lifted her face to stare at him. He expected her to argue, to fight his anger. She floored him when she nodded her resolve, and buried her face into his shirt again.

  She’s accepted it; who you are.

  He meant what he had said—he’d make Ivan pay for doing this to her. But first, he needed to get this woman home, and show her how important she was to his world.

  He needed to see her smile again.

  The wind left her lungs, and Steph stood frozen to the invisible tether on the sidewalk.

  He was here for her. He cared.

  She couldn’t explain what it was that made her dial his number first, other than a deep-seated knowledge he would be the only one who would understand that right now, all she needed was comfort. Her dad, Ben—they would have rung the cops, run through the motions, all while she suffered in solitude. But Pete, he knew. He knew that what she needed was to be held, to be loved, and to be assured the pain, and heartache would pass.

  She tried her best to smile, to show him how relieved the sight of him left her, but nothing came. An emptiness echoed so loudly within her, that she couldn’t foresee another day spent without this feeling of utter betrayal. How could Ivan do that to her?

  Yes, she’d got away—clouted the side of his head with the sports trophy she’d managed to grasp—but not before he’d half stripped her, and made it clear what he intended to do. Time proved to be no better judge of character than she was. It didn’t matter that they’d known each other for the better part of their lives; he still tried to do the one thing she never thought could happen twice in a lifetime.

  And, he knew about the first time.

  That’s what left her heaving the contents of her stomach into his neighbour’s garden when she had finally got away. He knew what she’d been through as a teenager, and yet he tried to do the exact same thing. The guy must be that fucked up in the head that he couldn’t see anything other than a delusional attraction between the two of them.

  And she was that fucked up in the head that she honestly thought a guy, and a girl could be friends. Idiot.

  “What’s he done to ya?”

  Pete’s words struck a lonely chord in her heart. He hurt for her. He cared about what had happened, and he came for her. There had to be more to their relationship than sex. A fuck-buddy wouldn’t come for you after a single tear-riddled phone call. A friend with benefits wouldn’t skip work to be there.

  She caught the threats he muttered over her head as he alternately stroked, and fisted her messed-up hair. A mere twelve hours ago she would have felt sick at the promises spilling from his lips, but tonight … she felt nothing. She didn’t wish Ivan dead, but she could understand how a person could feel the impulse to exact that kind of revenge.

  Confusion read clear on Pete’s face as she nodded her understanding, before burying her face in his clothing to breathe in the safe smell of musty cigarettes, and the warmth of his body. As her free hand wound tight in his waistcoat, it dawned—he wore this last night, too.

  “Where have you been?” She pulled back to look in his eyes, wanting to see if he chose now of all times to lie to her.

  Nothing but respect shone back. “Hospital. I got in a scrap with me mother.” He ducked his head so she could see the matted blood, and split skin on his scalp.

  “Shit, Pete.” Her fingers snuck up to caress the skin around the wound. If only I had healing hands.

  He shrugged his arms about her waist. “It’s nothin’. Right now I want to get ya home.”

  Surely he doesn’t want to … Had she been that naïve? Of course he’d want to take her home, and get his end away. It was what he did. “I, I can’t do that.”

  “Come home with me?”

  “No. I can’t … you know.” Tears sprung anew at the thought of it. “Not after—“

  “Shit woman, I’m not going to fuck ya. How could you even think I’d do that?” A moment’s tense silence passed. “Did he …?”

  “Get that far?” she coaxed, hiding her face. She couldn’t stomach the worry in his eyes.

  He nodded.

  Her chin shook as she wrenched her head frantically side-to-side.

  A huge gust of air rushed over her head as he looked to the stars; arms still around her. “Thank fuck.”

  Steph steeled her expression once more, and Pete finally let go. He slipped both hands to her face, and held her gently whilst placing a tender kiss on her forehead. Not another word was spoken as he ducked down, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. He carried her to the car, leaning her weight into his chest as he opened the door with the arm he’d previously wrapped around her back.

  The rigidity of her posture eased after he buckled her into the seat, and placed her things carefully at her feet. Being inside his car gave her a strange sense of comfort. The confines of something of his signified her safety.

  All around her was Pete, and as long as she stayed within his world, nothing could touch her.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  ****

  The water in the shower echoed through her bedroom as he e
ntered and placed her phone on the charger at the nightstand. He paused, and looked at the door. Don’t do it, ya moron. He itched to be close to her, to feel every inch of her wet skin slide over his, but he wasn’t a predator like Ivan. He knew a woman’s boundaries, and as much as he loved to push them with Steph, he never did a thing to her that was morally unacceptable.

  Derek’s eldest had a lot to answer for—that was certain. He couldn’t shake the lurid thoughts of revenge from his mind, and he sunk down onto the edge of Steph’s bed to wait for her. While she’d undressed, and taken a moment to cry some more in private, he’d phoned Gary and explained that something urgent had happened; he wouldn't be in to work. The big guy hadn’t asked any further, and truthfully he wouldn’t have given any more in case the fella couldn’t hold his tongue around Cass.

  Right now, he had to take care of Steph, yet he had to do it without letting her think she could stay so close. How are ya goin’ to do that, ya idiot? Fuck knows how, but there was no question. He couldn’t sacrifice her ultimate safety for his needs. Yeah, look how safe she was just now.

  Fuck.

  He had left her in harms way by ignoring the threat Ivan posed. He’d placed her in danger by trying to keep her from it. If he’d been that remiss, how did he hope to keep her safe from his mother at arms length? The whole way he went about it had been wrong. He didn't need her out of the picture to be safe—he needed her in it every fucking second of the day.

  Steph emerged from the en suite wrapped in a towel, and his resolve strengthened at the sight of her glistening skin. “You’re quittin’ ya job.’

  “What?”

  “You’re going to work for me, where I can see ya, and I can protect ya.” He shook his head. “No more of this. I can’t handle it.”

  For the second time that night, she floored him. “I guess.”

  He stood, and drew the sheets back, helping her from her towel, and into the bed. She watched him as he placed her towel on the rail, stripped, and flicked the light out. He rounded the bed, and drew the sheets back on his side, and slipped in beside her.