by Max Henry
“Why does he want your ass then?”
Good question. In the event Murray managed to take him out, then surely the inheritance would default to another family member … unless that was his mother? “I’m guessin’ it’s got something to do with an inheritance I’ve been told I’m owed.”
“Been told?”
“Uh-huh. I persuaded me mother to tell me why she was here.”
“Yeah … about that.”
He glanced across at the guy. Tight features portrayed his struggle to find the appropriate words.
“She’s on the bill, too.”
Pistol chuckled. He caught Trevor stare at him, confused, and lost it. The full laugh started low in his belly, infecting his very being until he literally shook the car with his humour.
“What’s so funny? I mean, I know you don’t like her, but she’s still your mother.”
“Aye, she is. But fuck man, you’ll have to beat me to the head of the queue if you want to win that bounty.”
Trevor smirked. “That so?” An eyebrow quirked.
“That so.”
Steph startled at the rattle of the door handle, lost in an intense scrutiny of the state of her cuticles. She checked the time—twenty minutes he’d been gone. Twenty times he could have gone to the car and back. Whatever he had to say better be good if he fancied sleeping in the same bed.
“… matter for another day.”
She eyed Pete as he wandered through the door, head turned while he spoke to someone else. Who the hell came visiting at this ungodly hour of the morning? Her heart skipped a beat, hell, make that several beats as her thoughts flitted past the possibility of it being another woman. After all, they’d never had that conversation about their past; the one which listed the number, and frequency of previous conquests.
He met her gaze as he headed for the living room, and she understood the meaning behind the intensity with which he watched her reaction. He was worried. About what though? Her breath caught as a huge guy stepped through the door, and shut it carefully.
“Love, this is an old friend, Trevor.”
“’Ello.”
The accent was thick, but a singular word left her struggling to place it. An old friend. Did that mean he was from that part of Pete’s past? Was he a murderer too? An unwanted chill seared her skin with a vicious intensity. She could trust Pete, but not anybody else. Who was to say this guy would be as restrained? Maybe if he had the urge for blood, she’d be far too tempting of an offer? She rubbed a hand up her opposite arm, and smiled weakly.
“Hi.”
Pete rounded the sofa, and tucked her to his side. She felt a slight reprieve, but one look at the sheer muscle this other guy packed left her wondering how well Pete would stand in a fight against him.
“What brings you here?” Hopefully her question didn’t sound as forward to him as it had to her.
“Work.” He smiled, and she shook against Pete’s side.
“Trevor is a contractor,” Pete added with a lilt of amusement.
“Contractor, huh? Like you were?” She pulled free of his hold to scrutinise his expression as he answered.
“Aye.”
The room blurred between reality, and some two-dimensional canvas as her eyes glazed over. The guy was a killer, and Pete had brought him in here without a care in the world. Maybe he felt comfortable in the guy’s presence, but she preferred to keep herself off any possible hit-lists, thank you very much. What if the guy came back later to silence her? What if by meeting him, she already knew too much?
“What’s the matter love? I said he’s an old friend. You’re fine.”
Pete took hold of her by the elbows, bending his neck down to come eye-to-eye with her. She shook his words away with a few curt whips of her head. “Pete, friends who do that kind of thing don’t just drop by for a coffee at this hour.”
He stood straight, dropping his hold of her. “No. They don’t.”
“So how about you two level with me, and tell me what’s really going on?” Her knees buckled when her calves hit the armchair. The cushions let out a whoompf as she hit.
Trevor glanced to Pete, who casually shrugged his shoulders. “You sure about this?” he asked.
Something English. So he wasn’t Irish. How far did this bloody network of criminals go?
“She can be trusted,” Pete replied.
“Fair enough, but we’ve got some heavy shit to discuss tonight.”
“Half of it she already knows.”
“Only half, what about the other bit?”
“What about it?”
“What if the knowledge puts her at risk?”
“She’s already at risk.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. I sure as fuck ain’t goin’ to say I was happy to find out.”
Am I bloody invisible? “Um, excuse me?” Steph waved her hand around. “Over here?”
Both men looked her way like they only now remembered she was in the room.
“Can you try to talk to me, and not about me?”
“Love, it’s complicated.” Pete knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on her leg.
“Yeah, and if I’m involved, then I think you should stuffing well tell me why.”
“Pistol,” Trevor interjected. “I think we should talk about this first—in private.”
If it wasn’t for what he’d said, the man’s baritone voice may have actually been a little soothing. But the thought they would discuss matters that involved her, shit, were probably about her, somewhere she couldn’t hear sent her nuclear.
“What the fuck?” She stood, throwing Pete’s hand from her leg. “You’re going to talk about me like I don’t exist? Do you have any idea how demeaning that is? How fucking insensitive it is to talk about a person like they aren’t there? I have a goddam right to know.” She stamped her foot. “So you assholes are going to fucking well tell me!”
Trevor reeled back as though the verbal onslaught physically socked him in the nose. “Shit, fella. You’ve got a live one here.”
Steph jabbed a finger his way. “And don’t you forget it.”
The sound of her heaving breaths subsided, and she realised that behind her, Pete was laughing to himself.
“What’s so fucking funny?” She whirled on him, hands firmly on hips.
“It’s the liveliest I’ve seen ya,” he snickered. “Even after everything I’ve done.”
Her jaw fell slack, and he brought a hand to cover the smirk that refused to budge from his face. “You asshole,” she whispered. “It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Love…”
“Love fucking nothing,” she screeched. “This is my goddam life you’re talking about, and not only do you not have the decency to include me in the conversation, but you think it’s a fucking joke.”
“Hey,” his face fell. “Your life is not a bloody joke. That isn’t what I was laughing about, and you know it.”
“You know what,” she said, throwing her palms up. “I don’t care. I couldn’t give a fuck about whatever lame excuse you’re going to give me this time. I’m sick of this shit, Pete. I thought we were over keeping secrets. But hey, all fool me, eh?”
“I’m not keeping secrets, Love.”
“You mean to tell me, going into another room so I can’t hear what you’re saying, isn’t keeping secrets?”
He pressed his lips firmly together, and scowled. She’d got him. Rage pumped a thick bass beat through her veins as she stooped to snatch up her bag. Every passing second that he didn’t reply, didn’t try to resolve the problem, ticked her off more. The bastard couldn’t care enough to stop her going. Well fuck him. This time she’d go, and this time she wouldn’t cave in at the first visit, the first time he touched her, the first whispered promise… Shit. One step at a time.
Steph forced herself to look the other way, to avoid seeing his reaction, the truth in his eyes. She kept her focus downcast as she beat a hasty exit, concentrating her focus o
n keeping the tears at bay, and pretending she was the stronger person in all of this.
Ah, who was she kidding? It hurt like a bastard, but like ripping off a Band-Aid, it had to be done.
“Steph.” Pete’s choice of name at such a time showed his distress. But still, the asshole didn’t make a single move to stop her.
She glanced around at his feet, confirming he hadn’t moved. Her heart ached too much to face him square in the eye. “Bye, Pete.”
The handle shook in her grasp as she opened the front door, and stepped through to the early morning air. If she wasn’t mistaken, the whoosh of the door shutting was accompanied by a sigh—yet from Pete, or Trevor, she’d never know.
***
Trevor looked at him with disappointment from across the room. What the fuck would he know? He’d been here all of five minutes, and already his appearance had fucked it all up.
“What are ya lookin’ at?” Pistol snapped.
Trevor shook his head; his shoulder length black hair swung with the movement. “You can be an ass, you know that?”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”
The big guy sauntered over to the now vacant armchair, and dropped into it. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” He turned away, hoping the guy got the hint, and cut the conversation.
“Ya such a bloody mug.”
“Excuse me?”
Trevor pointed to the front door. “That woman loves you, and you bloody shat all over her like she wasn’t worth an ounce of your respect.”
“Just you mind what you’re saying, boy.”
“What’s the matter?” He leered. “Truth hurting you?”
“Fuck you, asshole. If ya goin’ to kill me. Then fuckin’ well do it. Don’t bloody well torture me to death with heartfelt bullshite.”
“Why won’t you admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“You love her too.”
Pistol eyed Trevor from his position at the end of the kitchen counter. He didn’t know what he was doing there, other than being torn between feigning indifference by pouring himself a drink, or going after Steph. Did he truly love her? He thought he did, but to him love had always been made out to be some sort of enigma; that once you had it you’d know, because you’d simply suffocate if you couldn’t breathe the same air. Yet, here she was walking away, and he was … standing there.
“It can’t be love,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“We haven’t even been together for a month.”
Trevor shrugged. “So?”
“So, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. Ya can’t tell me, you flew ‘alf way around the world to be me agony aunt.”
“Son, you ain’t got the half of it. The two of us may have grown up over these past years, but one thing is for sure—you’re still the same old insecure little kid I knew all those moons ago. Why can’t you swallow your pride and admit it? Drop the bravado, Pistol—we all know the truth. The only person you’re fooling is yourself.”
The truth did hurt. If Trevor could see right through his charade after so many years, then sure as fuck Steph knew. Why did he try to deny how much his chest hurt at that moment? Why couldn’t he suck it up and tell her that every morning he woke without her by his side, he mourned the loss of another day alone he’d never get to do-over? Was it really that bad if a hard-ass like himself opened up to one person—especially one so fucking important to him?
“I guess I should … you know.” He thumbed toward the door.
Trevor nodded, and picked up the TV remote. “Don’t worry about me, Son. I’ve got some jet-lag to catch up on.”
He hid his smile as he snatched the keys to the rod from where they lay on the counter. The Pistol that he knew resided deep inside wasn’t going anywhere, but for once, he needed to let Pete out of the dark cage he pushed him into. If a future with Steph was going to work, he had to learn how to knit the two halves together. Pistol had to trust Steph with the details of what went on behind the lines of the law, and Pete had to accept the fact she was willing to make herself a part of that world.
The woman was a grown-up for fucks sake. If she chose to involve herself in his mess, then she would have come to that conclusion on her own.
At least he hoped she had.
This is totally the last time you walk home at dawn.
What the hell had she been thinking? Just because a slip of sun peeked over the horizon, sure as shit didn’t mean it was warm out. Steph increased her pace in an effort at raising her body-temperature, but the early morning air whipped harder against her exposed skin, sending chills into every inch of her being.
Damn idiot.
Buses didn’t run for another hour, and there was no way in hell she was going to sit around on the side of the road and risk being mistaken for a hooker. No, she’d keep walking until she found something with caffeine, and an ‘open’ sign on the door.
Her phone vibrated in the recesses of her bag. Great. One guess as to who that would be. She ground to a halt all the same, and fished the thing out. Sure enough—one missed call from Pete. With the offending piece of technology wrapped in her fist, she pushed on, knowing damn well he would ring again. Whoever thought it was a smart idea for people to become so dependent on something that made them accessible no matter where they were, should be shot. Of course, she could ignore the calls, but that led to the next problem—he’d probably stalk her again.
Would that be so bad?
At least then she’d know that he gave two hoots about her. The phone vibrated again, and she flicked the screen over to see his name lit up with misplaced enthusiasm. Ugh. Her thumb slid the bar across, and she lifted the phone to her ear.
“I’m listening.”
“Love, where are ya?”
“Not with you.”
He growled down the line, and even with such a physical distance between them, her skin warmed. Damn you. “No games, Steph. Tell me which way ya went.”
“Or what, you’ll hunt me down?”
“If I fuckin’ have to.”
Such a caveman. “I’m angry, Pete. And I’d like some time to think things through.”
“What things?” His agitation at the direction of the conversation had her looking around … just in case.
“Us, where we’re headed, if it’ll work.”
He sighed. “You think it won’t?”
“We can’t go twenty-four hours without arguing.”
“Only because you’re as bull-headed as I am.”
She snorted. “Am I? Am I really, Pete?”
“Ahh, maybe not. But ya still stubborn.”
“About what? Not killing people willy-nilly?”
He groaned. “I don’t do it ‘willy-nilly’. There’s method to me madness, ya know.”
“Some days I wonder.”
Steph powered on down the road, holding the silent phone to her ear. It seemed neither of them knew what to say next, but ending the call didn’t quite feel right.
“What do ya want me to do?” His question was barely above a whisper—resigned.
She shrugged, despite the fact he couldn’t see. “I don’t know.” Steph stalled, and sat on a low, block fence. “I struggle with all of this, you know. You might have grown up in this kind of world, where drugs, murders, and illegal activity were normal, but I didn’t. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on my place in all of it, something like this happens, and I wonder what on earth I was thinking.”
“I do the same.”
“Struggle? Pfft.”
“No, Love. Wonder what I was thinking. Wonder why I’m dragging ya into this shite.”
“You’re not dragging me, Pete.” She rubbed her brow, frowning at the way he so easily blamed himself. “I’ve done everything willingly.”
“Can ya be sure, though? How do you know?” He huffed. “Perhaps ya do need the time away from me; it might help ya find clarity.”
/> Steph straightened her back like a ramrod, her jaw falling slack. Thinking it on her terms was one thing, but for him actually say it … “Okay.” She bit her lip to fight the tears. “I’ll give us time.”
“Love …”
Steph pulled the phone to her chest, burying the receiver so he didn’t hear the sob escape. Why the hell was she so cut up over Pete suggesting the same thing she’d mentioned mere minutes ago? Her hand shook as she brought the phone to her ear. “… remember that, eh?”
“Yeah, I will.” She didn’t have the foggiest what he’d said, but a part of her deep inside said it would have hurt more to know. He sounded so … desolate. Was this as hard for him?
“Bye, Love.”
“Bye.” She slammed the end button before the rush of air from her chest broke free with a loud wail. She had to be strong. You’ve been through worse. Sure, but it never made it easier each time around.
The pain at losing him, losing the chance to see him, to touch him, to feel him every day, burned. Panic rose, and her hands throbbed with the need to call him back, to undo what they’d said. But that would be wrong—at least she could see that. Running back to him because of the immediate pain would leave her at square one; being unable to distinguish any reason other than lust for her attraction to him, for her addiction.
The sun rose over the bank of trees opposite her position, and early morning traffic thickened as the early commuters hit the streets. Steph stayed in the same spot, her mind a mess of what-ifs, until the blaring of a horn snapped her out of the daze. She looked at the middle-aged man in his SUV swear at the car he swerved around, and smiled.
You’re not the only one having a bad day.
The time on her phone read 6.40. If she hustled, she could make it to the bus stop before the first connection to her work arrived. At least the staffroom had full facilities for her to get ready. She’d be pushing it to shower, and get dressed before everyone else arrived. Still, she had no other option. Totally don’t need people asking why I’m getting ready at work. They could ask all they liked, but she wasn’t under any obligation to tell.
She gathered her bag from her feet, and set a quick pace along the sidewalk. Her feet ached, but the pain was nothing compared to how her chest felt. Her heart had been squeezed through an old-fashioned wringer, and her lungs were as though somebody had lined them with cement. Every inch of her body seemed drawn, tired. The events of the past few weeks had finally caught up on her.
