A female vocalist with short dark hair moves up behind the microphone, and opens up her set with “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”.
“I’m out on this one,” I tell Willow. I unhook her hands from behind my neck and lower them to her sides.
“Aw, stay!” she says, and sways into me. She pouts her lips and I almost forget that there’s something pretty fucking important I have to do. She hiccups again, and takes a step back. I think she’s had enough to drink. I’ll have to tell Gabby to take it easy on her with the shots.
“You have fun with the girls, and I’ll be back. Just promise me you’ll save me another dance.” I kiss her softly on the lips.
“Promise,” she says, and turns to Sarah, who curls an arm around her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WILLOW
I stumble into the alleyway and lean against the brick wall, out of reach of the glaring floodlight a few feet away. I need a good dose of air. This is why I rarely have more than a couple of drinks. I’m such a lightweight. Mind you, I’m feeling all squishy and warm inside, and my man’s here. Life hasn’t been this rosy in the longest time. Finally I’m beginning to see the light, the one I’ve been searching for.
In the distance I see two men talking, standing close. Their voices are low, a mumbling of words I can’t understand. I narrow my gaze and take a few steps closer. The taller one’s back is to me, standard white T-shirt and jeans, but I take a moment to gaze over his strong shoulders, the shadows falling on the curve of his large bicep. Wait—Ryan?
He reaches into his back pocket, and hands the other man what looks like a wad of cash. He takes a small plastic bag from him and tucks into his pocket where the money came from.
Oh no.
No, no, no, no. This is not happening.
I can’t believe it. Ryan is a drug user.
How did I not know?
The other guy, skinny with messy strawberry-blond hair, walks farther down the laneway, disappearing into the shadows. Ryan turns in my direction. He baulks ever-so-slightly when his eyes meet mine, and then takes long, purposeful strides towards me.
I stumble back, widening the distance between us.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He reaches out and cups my upper arms with his large hands.
“You said,” I spit out, digging my index finger into his rock-hard chest.
Ryan winces and narrows his eyes. He squeezes my shoulders and pulls me closer. “Said what?”
“You told me you were a good guy.”
“Willow—”
I point in the direction the shady character left. “That right there, what I just saw doesn’t look real good to me.”
“Not what you think, Willow.” His voice is firm, unwavering.
“Show me what’s in your pocket, then. Prove to me that this is all in my head.”
Ryan’s body tenses. His hold on me tightens. The longer he pauses, the more the anger and fire inside me grows. Blood pumps loudly in my ears, and my heart wants to jump out of my chest.
No. I’m not doing this. No matter what I feel for this man who made me open up, hope for a future with someone—this is a deal-breaker. I’ve done this before. Never, ever again.
With both hands I push against his chest with all my strength. He lets go of me and takes a step back, his mouth agape.
“Drugs ruin lives … they ruined my life,” I choke out, and then break into a sob. Hot tears stream down my face as I step backwards to the exit door.
He grabs my wrist, the look in his eyes conflicted. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except a forced breath.
I throw a flippant hand in the air. “I don’t do lies either, so best you not say anything.”
“Willow,” he calls after me. The door slams shut behind me, leaving my heart out there in that alleyway.
I powerwalk towards Gabs and Mick, who are locked in a gaze. They sway to a slow song on the dance floor. “Gabs, we need to go,” I manage to get out, without a sob cutting in halfway.
“What the hell?” she says. Her brows bunch in concern. “What’s happened?” She wipes her finger over my damp right cheek. I shy away from her before she gets a chance to touch the other. Instead, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.
“Now, Gabs,” I say, more forceful this time.
She pulls out of Mick’s embrace and steps towards me. “Sorry, Mick,” I mutter.
His expression turns from a soft smile to some form of shock, as his jaw goes slack. He blinks rapidly and looks towards the door to the alleyway, and then back at me.
“Let’s go, honey,” Gabs says and nods. I tighten my hold on her hand until we’re safely in a taxi and on our way home.
****
RYAN
If someone had beaten me black and blue and left me in that alleyway to die, I’d be feeling a damn sight better than I do now.
Of all the people to catch me.
Sweet suffering fuck! This shit can’t be real.
Willow has to know the truth, but if I tell her it could jeopardise the whole sting. Talk about a rock and a fucking hard place.
I scrape my hands over my face and rub my eyes. I need to get out of here, but Christ knows what kind of hell is waiting for me inside.
I yank open the heavy door and head back in. There’s no sign of the girls. Way to kill the party, Ryan.
Stalking my way to Mick at the end of the bar, his brows raise in a silent question.
“What the fuck happened, hotshot?” he says through gritted teeth, close to my ear.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I knock back the last of my beer, and slam the glass down on the counter. It’s a miracle it doesn’t splinter to pieces.
“Righto,” Mick says.
I make my way out the back to where I parked my Ute. I might be over the limit to drive, but I’ll be fucked if I care right now. Without another word, Mick gets in beside me and is silent, thank fuck, until we get inside my apartment.
“Seriously, what the fuck happened in that alleyway?” he yells.
“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” I say, and drag the dining chair out and sit. I rake my fingers through my hair and rest my head in my hands.
“You get the gear?”
“Yes, I got the fuckin’ gear,” I growl, tossing the small bag with white powder on the table.
He picks it up and shakes the packet, levelling the contents.
“That’s good, Palmer, but what happened with the girl?”
The girl. What’s happened is that I fucked it up completely. After seeing her there tonight, I never should’ve gone through with the buy. I should’ve kept this shit away from her, as far as possible. But there’s no way I could’ve cancelled the deal. We need this scum, and any resistance or hesitation on my part would’ve closed the door.
What I need most right now is to get my head around the events of tonight. Alone. There’s gotta be a way to fix it, but right now my head is completely fucked up. I can’t think straight.
“She saw the exchange go down, and I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it, okay? Let’s just focus on work, huh?”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “’Kay. So he sold you that many grams, just like that?”
“Yup.”
“I can’t believe the brazen balls on this prick. You’re a nobody in his eyes. Never met you before, and he was ready to do business so easily.”
“Clearly this scumbag isn’t known for his brains. He’d obviously been dipping into stocks, because he was half off his head. He gave me his number too, so we’ll get another tap set up.”
“Nice work. I’ll check the surveillance and see what the footage looks like.”
“Good. We done here?” I spit out.
He scoops up the number and plastic bag from the table. “Yeah, we’re done, Palmer. I’ll send the gear off to analyse the purity and organise the wire tap.”
“I’ll be late tomorrow,” I add as he opens the door.
> He nods, and gives me a genuine smile as he grips my shoulder. “Sure. Let me know if I can do anything,” he offers.
I nod, and lock the door after him. I make myself a shitty instant coffee and sit and stare into space, as I work out what the fuck I’m going to say to Willow.
****
I pound my fist against the door. It’s right on open time. Why the hell is the door still locked?
Gabby opens the door, and the metal bell chimes. Her eyes burn with rage, and her bright red lips are pursed. She looks about ready to punch me in the face.
“I need to talk to her,” I say, my breath laboured. It’s not like I ran here. What the fuck?
She gives me the evil eye and shakes her head ever so slowly.
“You,” she growls. “I don’t know what the hell you did to my girl, but I’m about to go all crazy on your muscly arse.”
Wait, Gabs doesn’t know what happened? Why wouldn’t Willow tell her best friend something like this? Is she petrified to confide in anyone?
“What did she say?” I demand.
“That’s the problem. Nothing. I wish she’d just open up and tell me so I can get a handle on how much pain I need to inflict on you.”
I lift my open palms in exasperation, and try to take a peek at the kitchen entrance to see if I can get a glimpse of her.
She places a hand to either side of the doorframe, filling the space with her silent don’t-come-any-closer stance.
“Please. This is all a big misunderstanding.”
“She didn’t stop crying, from the minute we left the pub to when we arrived at her front door. She wouldn’t let me stay. Had to be alone. It killed me to leave her like that. I’ve never seen her so upset, so unravelled.”
“Fuck,” I growl. “She means the world to me, Gabby. I need to fix this.”
Her shoulders drop, just slightly, and she huffs at her purple straight-cut fringe.
“She’s not here, so you can quit fussing.”
“Where is she?”
“Not feeling well. She’ll be in a bit later, but maybe you need to give her some space.”
“Can’t do that,” I state emphatically. Knowing I’ve hurt her only hurts me more. The feeling is foreign. Guilt. I’ve betrayed her. I’ve been unfair to her.
Why did I have to start something? Why do it when I’m undercover and I knew, right from the get go, that I could never really give her all of me? Was I using my work as a safety guard? That deep down, I knew I couldn’t fully commit? That I had an out if things went awry?
That frightened look in her gaze shot me straight between the eyes. The way her voice wavered when she’d said that drugs had ruined her life cut me right to the bone.
There’s so much blackness in her past, I can feel it, breathe in its stench. No wonder she wants to leave history where it is. It seems it’s wherever she left little shatters of her once-broken heart. I’ve just succeeded in smashing what was left.
Gabby flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “The purple-red thing you’ve got going on, suits you by the way,” I say, before turning to walk out the door.
“I’m not the one that needs buttering up, honey. Believe me when I say you’re gonna have to work your sweet arse off to get back in her good books. That’s if she ever lets you near the bookshelf again.”
I’m going to have to tell Willow about my job. It’s the only way I see this thing turning around. I need to straighten this shit out.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.”
****
WILLOW
The bathroom still reeks. Three freaking times I hurled this morning. Three! This is why I don’t binge drink. My body can’t handle it.
I crack open the small timber window and spray the room with a generous dose of vanilla air freshener. I dry heave again. Champagne is definitely off-limits for the foreseeable future.
A series of dull thuds land on my front door.
There are only three people that’d be coming around here unannounced, and two of them are working in the café right now. The other, I’m not interested in talking to. I hope there’s a Jehovah’s Witness at my door. Will you listen to yourself?
I creep up the hallway towards the door, avoiding the squeaky spots where I know the floorboards will give me away. What I presume to be a fist, pounds again.
“I know you’re home, Blondie.”
God. I can’t do this.
“I need to talk to you. Please, open up.”
Talk? He wants to talk? I want answers, and if he wants to talk, I’ll let him, but I’d better get the truth.
I grit my teeth as I reef the door open. The handle bites into the wall. Plaster crumbles to the floor.
“You wanna talk?” I yell out.
Dark rings hang beneath Ryan’s bloodshot eyes, and his hair is wild. He’s still wearing the same T-shirt and jeans from yesterday. Did he even go to bed?
My stomach churns as an uneasy feeling eats away at me inside. Don’t feel sorry for him.
“Yes, I do,” he says softly, as he moves into the doorframe.
I hold up one hand, halting him. “There is just fine.” He takes a step back. “Why were you talking with that guy in the alley?” I blurt out.
Might as well get straight to the heart of it.
“Work,” he says, clear conviction in his tone. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was telling the truth.
“Work, huh? Did you buy drugs from him?”
He scrapes his hand over his face. His red-tinged eyes glisten once they meet mine. “Willow …”
“It’s a simple question.”
“You need to listen to me. It’s not what it looks like.”
“You said that already. I know what I saw. Why can’t you just tell me the truth? Aren’t I worthy of that?”
He glances downwards. “Fuck, this whole thing … I can’t,” he says under his breath.
When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with sadness, and his cheeks are flushed. I won’t feel sorry for him. He’s the one in the wrong here.
My gentle giant was too good to be true. He can’t even come up with something believable. Work. What a joke. Do I really look that stupid?
“Let me tell you something, Ryan. I didn’t give up everything to make a fresh start to be back in this position again.”
“Please, Blondie. There’s something I need to tell you.” His shoulders sag as he sighs loudly. “I’m an—”
“Are you going to tell me you didn’t buy drugs?” I prompt, hands on my hips.
“No,” he growls and shakes his head.
“No?” So he admits he did? God! I can’t do this. It doesn’t matter what he has to say anymore.
“I’m trying to tell you that—“
“Drugs,” I bark out, with a stiff poke to his chest, “are the reason my brother is dead.”
His jaw drops open, and his glazed eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” The genuine look of remorse in his eyes hits me square in the heart, causing a deep pang in my chest.
Toby would have loved having a big brother like you. But he’s dead. Dead!
“I can’t be with someone who dances with the devil. I won’t.”
“Willow,” he pleads.
“You need to leave.”
I slam the door in his face and retreat to the lounge room. Angry at the sight of it, I pick up the cover to my favourite DVD and throw it against the wall. The cover cracks and falls with a bang to the floor.
His Ute roars off down the street. The tears start.
It’s over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RYAN
The fire in her eyes, the curtness of her words … I never thought Willow had that in her. Having it directed at me? It fucking hurt like a bitch. She looked ready to shove her hand down my throat and rip my lungs out.
If only she’d let me finish. I shouldn’t have left without telling her the truth. I was so taken aback when she told me about her brother, that I lost my v
oice. Fuck! What happened to him? Did some hopped-up junkie king-hit him in a pub brawl? Did he overdose? Whatever the fuck happened with her ex, I’d bet my last dollar this is all weaved together somehow.
No fucking wonder she lost her shit in the alleyway. Her emotions were so raw, so consuming. Drugs ruined her life.
If only I could tell her I’m on the other side of this. That my life’s work is to rid the streets of poison. To take out the germs of society. To protect the innocent.
I’m not supposed to take advantage of my position to get information on people, but I’ve gotta find out what I’m dealing with.
****
“Skipper, you’ve gotta help me with something. I need information. I’d never ask for something like this, but it’s … important.” Ever since the Stone takedown, Skipper has had my back.
“I’ll see what I can do. Email me the info.”
“Will do.”
I send through her name, address, birthdate, and what I know of her family—deceased brother, parents still alive.
Within an hour, Skipper calls back.
“You sound like you’re in a fucking wind tunnel, man. Where are you?”
“Long story,” Skipper says, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I did a background check, as you asked. For starters, I have a different birthdate on her birth certificate and licence. I’ve got July nineteenth.”
But Willow told me her birthday was the other week? In December.
“Right, anything else?”
“Not so much as a parking ticket or a speeding fine. Before two years ago, there’s nothing on her record. No previous addresses with the Motor Vehicle Registry.”
“Okay.” This just keeps getting weirder. She’s thirty. Surely she got her licence more than two years ago? Something’s wrong here.
“About ten minutes after I looked her up, I got a call.”
“From who?”
“Pete Duffy.”
Say what? Why the fuck would my controller get involved in a simple query like this?
“What did he say?”
“Well, after he dragged my arse into his office, he wanted to know why I was trying to access her records. He went ape-shit. I’ve never seen him so fired up.”
Sting Page 20
