Dark Desires (Dark Romance Boxed Set)

by Cerys du Lys

  Revenge.

  La Taberna

  1

  She didn’t think they would let her out of the country. Every stage was an opportunity for them to draw her aside, her passport no longer valid, her name popping up on a watch list. Even the security x-ray machines – she was sure they had been set to scan for both metal and anyone who was a former convict with revenge on their mind.

  Even when she sank into her seat, she thought it must be some kind of trick, and that at any moment an air marshal would emerge from the cabin and come back to seize her before the plane had even left the ground.

  When the jet finally started to taxi out on its convoluted route to the runway, she began to relax.

  “Don’t like flying?” said the white-haired woman beside her, smiling sympathetically.

  “No, I don’t mind flying,” said El. “I just don’t particularly like where I’m going, or where I’ve been.”

  §

  With no luggage, she just walked straight through Customs at Alicante airport. A quick passport check and that was it, she was just another tourist among many. She changed her remaining cash to euros at the Exchange Cambio, then found her way to the bus and taxi ranks, her only guide a scrap of paper on which she had written that telephone number and the bar’s name and address that she’d found on Google.

  She asked a guy in some kind of uniform, and he smiled and answered in near-perfect English, “That’s about thirty kilometers. A taxi would be very expensive but easy. You want a bus, you get a Costa Azul towards Torrevieja, yes? Show the driver the address you want and smile and he’ll do anything you want.”

  Out in the full sun she thought she might melt. She took off her Muubaa jacket and slung it over her shoulder, then scanned the buses for the right one. Minutes later, she was in a window seat, savoring the air-con and the tinted windows. She would need some sunglasses and some cooler clothing before she did much else, and she tried not to think too hard about how little cash she had.

  Unexpectedly, she dozed. She’d barely slept the night before, and on the flight she’d been too wired to relax. It must have all caught up with her, and the deep seat, tinted windows and gentle motion of the bus had just set her off.

  She woke to a voice. Someone shouting back along the bus, a hand on her arm, gently shaking her.

  She started, sat bolt upright, arms raised to fend off that shaking hand. For a moment, then, she was back in prison and... and...

  There was a babble of voices, a woman backing away – the one who had woken her. She was only on the Spanish bus.

  She didn’t know what the woman was saying, or the driver, as he shouted back along the bus at her.

  This must be her stop, the address she’d given him as she climbed on-board.

  She stood, walked forward, muttered “Gracias” several times to the driver, who was still speaking, his voice lower now. She remembered what the guy at the airport had said and smiled at the driver, and that seemed to calm him. There was something about the language that seemed to make everyone sound irate.

  She stepped down into a blast of heat. If it was this hot in the evening, what must it be like during the day?

  The street ran parallel to the beach, one block back. White stuccoed apartment buildings with ornate balconies rose three or four stories around her, and a line of palm trees cast their jagged shade along a central strip in the road. She crossed, and found a side street that ran down towards the blue Mediterranean.

  Shops and bars lined this street. A supermarket with bright yellow and black signs and spinning racks of newspapers outside; the ‘Family Fun Bar’ selling John Smith’s and Carling and offering traditional fish, chips and mushy peas; a perfumaria and a parafarmacia; countless tapas bars and Chinese restaurants.

  She found a shop with a board outside offering ‘Sunglasses Game Boy Watches Shavers Binoculars & Gift Articals’, and bought a pair of ‘50s-style wayfarer sunglasses with thick frames for five euros.

  It was only when she walked back out into the street that she realized... the panic was gone. There was something about this bombardment of sensations – all the people and shops and bars, and the heat and the bright sunlight – that made this place different enough that she didn’t have that feeling of constantly being on the verge of a panic attack.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had been free of that feeling.

  She came to the beach. A wide promenade ran for as far as she could see in either direction, separated from the pale silver sand by ornate iron railings painted white. Apartment buildings and clusters of stark, white tower blocks formed the backdrop to the promenade, and sandwiched between these and the prom was a line of bars and restaurants. Striped canopies provided shade where the seating spilled out onto the prom, and placards stood outside, chalked with beer lists and menus, and adorned with flyers for music and karaoke nights.

  She turned right and started to walk.

  She recognized this place, having walked this virtual walk several times on Google Streetview after she had found the bar’s address last night.

  A short time later, she came to the bar. The slightly crooked board above the door read, simply, La Taberna. A white canvas canopy stretched over a cluster of cane-framed tables and chairs, and then, farther back, the indoors area was a small space with only room for the bar and a single line of tables.

  The place wasn’t busy; she could easily go in and have a table to herself.

  There was a guy in a black t-shirt at the bar. Tousled blond hair, a stud in the earlobe she could see and a group of three rings in the top part of the ear. He was leaning on the bar, talking to a young dark-haired woman who looked like she probably worked there too.

  El hesitated in the entrance, then turned, moved away, kept on walking.

  It was late. She had no plan now that she was here.

  She came to a place where thatched umbrellas on poles were dotted in a geometric pattern across the beach, and then she stopped, leaning on the metal railing.

  She swallowed, trying to squeeze down on that familiar flutter of panic that was just starting to ball in her chest.

  She was in a country she had never visited before with maybe a hundred euros in her purse and nowhere to sleep. These things didn’t matter, she knew. She really didn’t care what became of her. But she still had needs: she was hungry and thirsty, and she would have to find somewhere to pass the night – she had already gone something like 36 hours with virtually no sleep.

  She’d been operating on shutdown, she realized. She’d stopped herself thinking for so long now, restricting herself to only what she needed to function. Now, though, she needed to wake up.

  Now, she needed a plan.

  §

  She bought a cone of French fries doused liberally with mayonnaise, and carried on walking along the promenade. A soft breeze came from the sea now, and at last that heat was lifting. This was a more residential district; the buildings rising up behind the beach were lower and flat-roofed with wide balconies. Gates that opened onto these buildings’ cactus-filled gardens bore signs that read Propiedad privada, and then, for good measure beneath, PRIVATE.

  She came to a beach stall selling soft drinks, inflatable sharks, polystyrene body boards and other cheap tat. Next to the stall: a canopied bar, bedecked with English and Spanish flags, someone singing bad karaoke from inside the building. On the beach stood a row of six blue toilet blocks covered in posters for a long-past cabaret night.

  As she walked it became dark, and the people she passed grew rowdier.

  She suddenly felt unsafe, alone out here with these groups of young men, loud and threatening with drink.

  Increasingly, now, there were gaps between the buildings, some of them sealed off with wire-mesh panels and signs that read Construcciones. At the next empty lot it was easy to prize two panels of fencing apart far enough for her to squeeze through. The ground was uneven here, chewed up by excavation work that looked long abandoned; piles of bricks a
nd gravel were overgrown with sparse grass and creepers. She passed these, and found a place against the off-white wall of a neighboring building, dropped to her haunches, then sat.

  The wall was cool against her back, the ground hard.

  Someone passed by the fence, a man with a German Shepherd dog, and she was sure it was a security guard come to eject her. She held her breath, and the man passed.

  She knew she would not sleep. She was too uncomfortable, and her head was racing from thought to thought.

  Practical concerns about what she would do with no money and nowhere to stay.

  Thoughts of what she was here to do, how she might track down the man who had ordered Jeremy’s murder.

  Thoughts of what she might do when she had done so.

  And then, just as sleep stole up on her, vivid flashbacks to what had only been the night before, even though it seems so long ago now. The look in Danny Taylor’s mismatched eyes, the sheer, venomous hatred. The popping sound as the shaft of his penis had fractured in her grip. The feelings she had experienced at that: the shock, the sickness, the horror ... and the utter conviction that this was just the first step of whatever journey lay ahead.

  She remembered Ashti’s words: I am imprisoned for revenge, and it was the best feeling I have ever known.

  She slept, finally, curled into a ball and lying on her side on the hard, dusty ground of that abandoned building site.

  She slept, and she dreamed, and in the morning she knew what she must do.

  2

  The sun didn’t breach the horizon until well after six, but the sky had been lightening for a good hour or more before that and El had woken early. She tried to get back to sleep again, but it was cold and her shoulder and hip were sore from the hard ground, her whole body stiff and aching. How had she slept so soundly? She must have been exhausted.

  She let herself out through the gap in the fence panels and went down to the beach. The sea was a deep golden color from the rising sun, as if someone had spilled paint into the water.

  She found a bench and sat, pulling her leather jacket tight against the chill in the morning air. Her stomach felt raw and empty, but it was still far too early to do anything about that. She had hours to kill yet before anywhere would be open.

  When she could make herself sit no longer she stood and started to walk, heading back the way she had come the previous evening. Back to the cluster of tall hotels set back from the beach, to the start of the long strip of bars and restaurants. Past the hole-in-the-wall fast food place where she’d bought fries, now with a metal shutter pulled down across its frontage. She came to the thatched umbrellas dotted across the beach, and then, at last, La Taberna.

  The front of the bar’s white canopy had been pulled down, flexible plastic windows and a zip-up door like the awning of a tent. Inside, chairs had been placed upside down on the tables and a small woman was sweeping the floor. Other than that, the place was closed to the world.

  El walked on past.

  §

  She walked, because she didn’t know what else to do.

  With only 85 euros in her purse and no idea how long she would have to make it last, she couldn’t afford to sit down to breakfast in one of the numerous beach-side cafes. She couldn’t afford even to buy a coffee and sit there nursing it. Any non-essential food or drink would be an indulgence right now. She bought a cheap and nasty hot dog from a stall, and carried on walking.

  When she passed La Taberna again mid-morning the cleaner had gone and there was no-one there, so she carried on walking.

  The day had heated up quickly once the sun lifted clear of the horizon. Now, El carried her jacket tucked through the strap of her shoulder bag, but even so she was soon far too hot in her black skinnies and t-shirt. Her big Michael Kors boots didn’t help, either: they were comfortable for all the walking she’d done this morning, but so damned hot!

  She found another shop, one that spilled out onto the promenade with its displays of sunglasses, straw hats, postcards and yet more inflatable sharks. Inside, she found a white camisole top, flower-patterned shorts, and flip-flops, and it all came to less than fifteen euros. At the café next door she walked straight through to the toilets, washed her face at a sink, and then ran wet hands through her hair, before changing into her new clothes. Wearing black since she’d come out of prison hadn’t been a conscious choice, but now it seemed unnatural to see herself in pale summery clothes in the mirror.

  When she left, one of the waiting staff gave her a dirty look and babbled at her in Spanish, but El just smiled, shrugged and walked out.

  On the promenade again, she turned back in the direction of La Taberna and almost immediately she spotted the square blue column of a public telephone. The phone was attached to the side of the column, partly shielded by a Perspex case. She stared at the instructions, but couldn’t follow them, so she just fed euro coins into the slot and dialed the number she had taken from Danny’s cell-phone.

  A male voice answered almost immediately. “La Taberna. Dígame?”

  “I... Hola. I...”

  “Inglés?” Then: “Hi, I mean, you’re English, right?” His accent was London with that Australian upwards inflection at the end of everything.

  “Yes, yes I am. I’d like to talk to the owner.” The man, as Danny had put it.

  “That’s what you’re doing. So what can I do for you?”

  “I... can I come in?”

  “Ah, you’re after the job? I didn’t know Lucy had even put the card up yet. Sure, come in. You know where we are? Gimme ten minutes and I’m yours.”

  §

  Her grand plan, the best she’d been able to come up with, had been to call and wing it. Well if winging it was just a case of responding to opportunities then that’s exactly what she was doing.

  Someone had rolled up the front of La Taberna’s canopy now, and a couple of the tables were occupied. Somehow eleven in the morning didn’t seem a bad time for your first ice-cold beer of the day when the temperature was this high and the sky a flawless azure.

  The same guy she’d seen last night was sitting at the bar reading a newspaper. In his frayed denim shorts and white t-shirt with the arms torn off, and the golden stubble, ear-rings and tattoo on one arm, he looked the perfect model of the beach bum bar owner.

  He glanced across as she came to stand under the canopy, and she saw he had pale blue eyes, almost silvery blue. “Hey, El, right?” he said, standing and giving her the once over. “You want to come through here so we can talk?” He indicated a table at the back of the bar and went over to sit.

  She joined him, and lowered herself into a chair, dropping her bag on the floor beside her. Close to, he was far younger than she’d expected, mid to late twenties, perhaps – about the same age as El. Those silver eyes fixed on hers, a gentle smile tugging at his wide mouth. Somehow, he wasn’t at all what she had anticipated.

  “Rob,” he said, leaning across the table to shake her hand. “So, El. Are you going to give me your résumé and tell me about your experience, or shall I just give you the job and sack you if you’re shit at it?”

  “I... I don’t know much about the job,” she said. “I just heard about it. Can you tell me some more?”

  He laughed. “So you’re interviewing me before you decide to take it, eh?”

  He spread his hands to cut off anything she might say in response to that.

  “It’s fine,” he went on. “I’m joking. Bar work. Hours as required, which right now looks like most lunchtimes and evenings, given that Keira’s just upped and left with no notice. Pouring drinks, cleaning up, running food orders out from the kitchen and clearing tables if you’re on floor. Looking shit hot and kind of available and making this the kind of place someone comes for a drink and stays for the evening. You think you can do that? Pay’s minimum wage and tips.”

  She nodded. She could do that.

  “So, have you got any experience at all?” he asked.

  She shook he
r head. “None,” she said. “I’ve never worked in a restaurant or a pub. I’ve never worked tables.” She glanced across at the bar. This looked like the kind of place where you’re lucky if they offer a choice of red or white when you ask what wine they have. “I’ve drunk enough wine to know I’d drink vodka here. I can look shit hot when I choose to and I can get on with anybody. Have I got the job?”

  He’d started laughing when she’d mentioned the wine, and now he sat back, grinning. “You’re going to fit in just perfect,” he said. Then he nodded down at her bag. “You need a place to stay, too? There’s a couch out back, and we’ll all turn a blind eye if you decide to sleep there until you get sorted. It’ll be like having a night watchman on the premises.”

  §

  She learned quickly. Lucy, the dark-haired girl she’d seen the previous night, showed her the ropes and talked her through the process of getting food orders through to Inge in the kitchen and back out to the right tables.

  She started that lunchtime, serving chilled drinks to a steady flow of customers – holidaymakers from Britain, France, Holland and Germany, mostly. Language wasn’t a problem: everyone either spoke English or was accustomed to dealing with people who only spoke English.

  Rob had vanished shortly after El’s perfunctory interview. He hadn’t even taken her details: payment was cash and tips, no paperwork involved, Lucy explained when El asked how things worked.

  It was odd being left to help run this place when she was a complete stranger with no experience, but Lucy and Inge didn’t seem too concerned, and the customers just assumed she actually knew what she was doing, which made it a lot easier.

  For a time, she lost herself in the work, dealing with customers and cleaning glasses and cutlery when things fell quiet. It was a skill she’d acquired inside: the ability to shut yourself down and merely function. It was a way of getting through, and that’s what she needed right now: get through, survive, get away with this for long enough to work out what she was going to do next.