Leader of the Pack (Bryant Rockwell Book 3)

by Jacky Gray

  “No way.”

  “Way. She’s had a massive thing for you ever since you wheeled into class.” Luke snorted. “For two of the smartest people I know, you’ve both been pretty dim about getting your act together.”

  Ray wanted to believe him, but the memory was too raw: Jimmy Proud’s mates trapping his wheelchair on the ramp up to the technology block as the big man took vicious delight in letting him know what Liv had said. Ray’s attention returned to the room as Luke repeated his command to, “Tell all.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What Brotherton wanted, for starters. Was it about the new IT project? Or this thing with your dad … “

  “Neither.” Ray explained what had happened on Friday lunchtime. How Mr. Brotherton hadn’t asked to see him at all; it was just Jimmy’s trick to get him alone.

  “The bastard!” Luke’s words exploded, his hands curling into fists.

  “So now you know.” Ray shook his head sadly.

  “You surely can’t believe him rather than Jude.”

  Ray shrugged. “In an ideal world, maybe.”

  “Bollocks, mate. He’s just made it all up so you’ll stay away from Liv. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “If she dumps him like you said, that’ll be a start.”

  Luke looked grim. “Only a fraction of what he deserves.” Then his scowl got even grimmer. “We may have to keep an eye on Liv for a while.”

  Ray gave him a hard stare. “You don’t think he’d do anything to her?”

  “No, I’m sure she’ll be ok.” Luke’s expression said otherwise, and his body language suggested there may well be dead bodies involved.

  25 Cherry Picking

  At the clubhouse, Jimmy forged ahead to secure a place in the queue at the bar, and the girls caught him up a minute later.

  “What’re you drinking, Liv?” Vicky asked, having already done the whole “I’m not going to preach, but make sure you take it easy” speech.

  “Dunno. Coke, I suppose. Or grapefruit juice.”

  “Why not have them together, like a cocktail,” giggled Laura.

  Jimmy frowned. “Coke and grapefruit juice? Sounds revolting. I’m not buying that.”

  “You don’t need to. I’m getting the first round.” Vicky smiled sweetly as she flashed a twenty-pound note.

  He was visibly torn between wanting to save face and taking advantage of the unexpected generosity. “Mine’s a pint of lager, then.”

  “There you go, Liv. Try it.” Laura passed over a half-pint glass swirling with brown sludge.

  “Looks disgusting. Like a glass of …” Jimmy declined to finish.

  Liv sipped tentatively, breaking into a grin. “Mmm, it’s gorgeous.”

  “They call it a muddy puddle.”

  “I can see why; it looks just like one.” Jimmy nodded at Vicky. “Thanks for the drink. I hope you won’t be offended if I whisk Liv away to meet some friends.”

  Vicky’s smile seemed a little perfunctory, but warmed up as she addressed Liv. “Don’t forget you promised us a dance later on. We need your energy to liven us oldies up.”

  “Sure.” Liv couldn’t decide if she were imagining the strange tensions between those around her, or merely on her way to full-blown paranoia.

  “Sounds interesting.” Jimmy took her hand and, once they were out of hearing, said, “Your Vicky’s quite a looker; it must run in the family.”

  Liv smiled mechanically. Since learning more about him, she found Jimmy’s remarks a little too smooth. The way his friends were eyeing her up and down unnerved her, but he seemed to enjoy the attention.

  She was pleased to recognise Paul, a friend of Luke’s she’d met briefly last month.

  “Hi, Liv. I never got to tell you what a great Tallulah you were.”

  Shaking his outstretched hand, she blushed at the compliment. “Thanks. I heard you did your bit as Batman at Diana’s party.”

  He grinned. “You could say that. Nothing like in your league though.”

  She smiled and, once again, Snarky’s misgivings were quashed as Wimpy suggested Jimmy couldn’t be all bad if guys like Paul stood by him. Luke talked about Paul like he was some kind of hero.

  The novelty of sitting with a bunch of lads quickly wore off as the conversation disintegrated to nothing but sports she had no interest in. Or people she’d never met – and never wanted to from the tales they told. Sipping her drink to disguise her distaste, she wondered how much of the tales were exaggerated, or even made up, in an attempt to shock her.

  Someone started talking about the big match and they lost interest in scandalising her, their attention engaged by the heated argument between Paul and Jimmy. As she scanned the room, she became aware of one pair of eyes spending more time on her than anywhere else. Pretending not to notice, she continued her scan, trying to remember the name of the blond lad with dark, thickset eyebrows. Apart from Paul, none of the other names had registered long enough for her to remember.

  The room set-up looked familiar. At every party she’d ever attended, hardly anyone sat at the tables round the edges. Most people huddled in the crush between the bar and the dance floor, standing round in groups talking. No one had plucked up courage to start dancing, yet.

  She recognised the song playing as one of her favourites, but by the time she’d found the others and persuaded them to dance, it would be almost finished. The next one was bound to be something she hated. This happened to her all the time: They played all the good tracks at the start when no one wanted to dance. By the time she found a dance partner, the floor would be heaving with people shuffling without rhythm to appalling indie music or tuneless techno-crap.

  The football debate moved to rugby, and Jimmy’s attention was consumed by his attempts to score points off Paul, so she went for a wander, searching for her sister. As she approached their table, Vicky looked up and called her name.

  “How come you’re not dancing? I thought you liked this one.”

  Frustration, much? “I love it. But I’m not dancing on my own.”

  “Doesn’t PC dance?” Laura laughed at Liv’s blank stare. “Prince Charming.”

  “He’s a boy, isn’t he?” Vicky grinned. “Not until he’s had a skinful and then only to a slow one so he can have a good grope.”

  They all giggled. “Sad, but true.”

  The DJ tried his hardest to start the party, and the three of them grooved away in their seats. But the older girls wouldn’t agree to get up until he announced the Mavericks’ “Just Want to Dance the Night Away.” Even then, they refused to budge until they’d polished off their drinks for some Dutch courage.

  After a while, they were joined by Laura’s sister Sarah and a couple of her mates and they stayed on for half a dozen records. The floor began to fill as other groups of girls found the necessary courage. The next song veered toward the techno-rap spectrum and the girls exchanged “Do we stay or go?” glances. It didn’t take much coaxing as Laura complained her shoes were killing her and Vicky said she needed another drink.

  As they reached the bar, Liv felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a rather annoyed Jimmy.

  “Where did you get to? I thought you were with me.”

  “Sorry, I fancied a dance and you were busy talking cricket. Then football. Then rugby.”

  “Ok, point taken. You don’t do sports.” Not best pleased.

  She tried to pacify. “Why? Did you want to dance?”

  “Maybe later on. I’ll need a couple more pints to hush up all the ‘You can’t dance’ voices in my head. You know?”

  Liv grinned – boy, did she know!

  “Or three to keep up with you. You’re good. Almost professional.” He acknowledged the flummery with a wink and she melted all over again.

  “I’ve got another one of them puddle things. It’s over with the guys.” Taking her hand, he led her over to his gang and she guzzled the drink like summer in Spain. It tasted different than she remembered
, but she put it down to the fact it had no ice, making it several degrees warmer.

  “Bet you can’t finish it in one.” The thickset guy, who she finally figured was called Dave, pointed to the glass. It was about two thirds full.

  Snarky slid him a “puh-lease” glance.

  “If you do, I’ll buy you another one.” He leered at her.

  “No problem.” Liv could never say no to a dare. Snarky wound her even tighter. You do trust Jimmy, don’t you? Of course she did. She downed it with ease.

  Dave returned a while later with a half-pint glass of red stuff which positively oozed E-numbers.

  She frowned. “What’s that?”

  “Just Babycham and some cherryade stuff.” His slimy grin tried hard to pull off innocence and failed. “My sister drinks it all the time. Thought you might like to try it.”

  A glance at Jimmy confirmed he was back on a sport-rant, but she didn’t want to come across as a wimp. She sniffed. “Is it alcoholic?”

  “A tiny bit, like ginger beer. It’s not strong, more like pop. Try it.”

  Sipping cautiously, she tasted a strong cherry flavour, but nothing more. Her lips recoiled at the sickly sweetness and she struggled not to flinch in distaste. “A bit sweet for me.”

  “Yeah, but you must be thirsty after all that dancing.” Another of Jimmy’s mates, whose name she still couldn’t work out, joined in the game. “If you can knock that back in one, I’ll buy you a muddy puddle.”

  Liv looked dubious but they’d started a slow handclap and were chanting her name. Snarky made chicken noises, so she took a deep breath and started to swallow. Some of it trickled down her chin and she leaned forward to avoid getting it on her dress.

  They all cheered when she raised the empty glass.

  Jimmy had joined in the chanting at some point, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Well done; I knew you were a trooper.”

  Alarm bells rang loud in Liv’s head as the room began to swim. “I need to go and wash this sticky stuff off. Back in a minute.”

  Stumbling away from the table, she heard dirty laughter erupting from the group, suddenly feeling very disoriented. It reminded her of being on the ferry to France when the floor kept shifting.

  She made it to the ladies and splashed water on her cheeks, washing her hands and around her mouth. It helped, but as she stood, the room swayed, and she grabbed hold of the washbasin.

  “Had a bit too much? Drink lots of water; it’ll help you sober up.”

  “Cheers.” She stumbled over to the water fountain and tried to get some water in her hands but it kept falling through.

  “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fill this?” Her angel of mercy had found a paper cup and filled it from the slow trickle.

  “Drink up. You’re a friend of Sarah’s sister, aren’t you? I saw you dancing with them, earlier. You stay here and I’ll get her.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled up at her saviour and drank the rest of the water. All the liquid made her need a wee, so she lurched into a cubicle. When she’d finished, she put down the lid and sat on it. Seconds later, she heard a bang on the door and Vicky’s concerned voice. “Are you ok, Liv? Have you been sick?”

  Up until then, it was the last thing on her mind, but now the thought had been planted, her body obeyed in double quick time. Getting the lid up before the eruption was a close-run thing; a split-second more and she’d have a floor to clean. She’d no sooner wiped her mouth with loo roll when the second lot came up: bright red and full of diced carrots. All the while, Vicky repeated her offers to help and requests to open the door.

  When she was sure it had finished, Liv cleaned herself up, flushed the loo and stumbled into the crowd of girls. “Why are there always carrots? I haven’t eaten any since last Sunday.”

  “Gross, but true.” Lauren attempted to lighten the mood.

  “And why do you always cry? Are the glands connected?”

  “Never mind the scientific stuff. What’s he been feeding you?” Vicky’s concern wore armour and carried a sword.

  “Babycham and cherryade.” A hiccup brought a nasty reminder of the awful taste.

  “Cherry Brandy more like. How many?”

  “Just one.” Liv’s nerve folded under the Spanish Inquisition. “But I knocked it back in one for a dare.”

  “Silly girl.” Laura frowned at Vicky, making a throat-slitting gesture. “We ought to get you home now.”

  “No, I’m fine. I just need some more water.” Sarah poured her another cupful which she downed like a thirsty person who hadn’t drunk for a week.

  As they returned to the table, Sarah worked on Vicky, obviously speaking from experience. “Liv’s probably better off dancing it out. I’ve done that so many times; the exercise clears the toxins out of your system and you’re ok the next day.”

  Vicky’s expression took as many prisoners as her tone: a big-fat-Greek zero. “Ok.” She turned to Liv. “But from now on, you stay with us and the only thing you drink is water. Got it?”

  “Yes, mum. Thanks. Sorry to be a pain.” Liv felt the sheep turning her grin woolly.

  “Let’s just hope you learn from this.” Vicky glared over to the table where Jimmy stood, regaling his gang with some anecdote.

  Vicky went to the bar, returning with a big jug of tap water and a tray of glasses, suggesting they all have at least one glass between every drink. They returned to the dance floor, loving the nonstop-music slot with 70’s and 80’s disco greats and classic Motown. At no point did it occur to Liv to worry about Jimmy. He seemed far more interested in playing big, tough gang leader than caring boyfriend: another nail in his coffin.

  After dancing for half an hour without stopping, Liv felt really dehydrated. She went off to the ladies again, thankfully with no repeat of her previous experience.

  When she came out, Jimmy was waiting for her, his expression suggesting uncertainty about her prolonged absence, instead of his previous annoyance. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Yep. Except for the red drink; it made me sick.” She decided it wasn’t worth making a fuss over something which had mostly been caused by her inability to refuse a dare.

  “Oh, no!” His flinch suggested he wouldn’t have been much help. “You did throw it back a bit fast; maybe you’d better take it slowly in future.”

  “I won’t be drinking that again for a long time.”

  He nuzzled up to her. “Did I tell you how sexy you’re looking in that dress? I like the way you dance as well; you’re a right little raver.”

  She grinned at the retro phrase – no doubt courtesy of his Scottish chef buddy, Hamish.

  Encouraged by her reaction, Jimmy bent to kiss her, but they heard voices getting louder as people approached. With a frustrated growl, he took her hand and pulled her down the corridor. “It’s too public here, come with me.”

  Liv stumbled as she tried to keep up. “But we ought to get back, Vicky will be ...”

  “In a sec. I just want to show you something.”

  26 Stand by Me

  Jimmy opened a door off the corridor into a small games room with a pool table, a dartboard and some padded chairs.

  “Whaddya reckon?” He switched the light on above the pool table and picked up a cue. “Gimme a game? As I remember, you were quite good.”

  The balls were racked up like he’d pre-arranged it; he whipped the plastic triangle away. “Give me a game? For old times’ sake?”

  How could she resist those puppy-dog eyes?

  He bent down and broke up the pack, potting nothing, then handed her the cue. As she bent down to line up over one of the yellow balls, he came up behind and adjusted her stance, moving one leg further back.

  “Hold on, see if you can get further down.”

  Her puzzled expression gave away her cluelessness, and he demonstrated his meaning by pressing down on her back until her face nearly touched the cue. Somehow, it worked, and she potted the ball.

  As in their previous encounter, her competiti
ve streak kicked in. She quickly assessed she’d have a much better chance with the shorter ball, even though the angle was a lot trickier. Once more, he came up behind her, but this time he didn’t say a word as she made her choice and strove to get into position. This put all manner of pressure on her and, for an instant, she forgot everything he’d taught. It slowly started coming back, and she tensed up, willing him to back off. She started drawing the cue back in preparation to take the shot when his quiet command to wait stopped her. As he moved closer, she shivered.

  His hands captured her hips. “Don’t forget to loosen these up.” He pushed them forward and back, triggering a memory of the last time and what he might have done if Vicky hadn’t turned up.

  It took everything she had to keep her voice light. “Don’t crowd me, I’ll miss.” She made the shot as quickly as she could, missing by a mile.

  “You could never miss, sweetheart. Not with legs like these.” He stood back and she turned, catching the direction of his gaze and the appreciative smile. It brought back a vivid memory of her bending over the pool table with one leg raised, giving him an unobstructed view of everything her skirt should have covered.

  “Stop looking at me as though you could eat me.” Oops. That didn’t come out right. She tried again. ”Come on, it’s your go.”

  He put his hands on his hips and laughed out loud. “Oh, sweetheart. No one tempts me the way you do. It’s so cute. Positively edible.”

  She glanced at the door, realising for the first time what a vulnerable position she’d gotten herself into as he took a step closer. “Um. Your go.”

  “Every word coming out of your mouth is an invitation to do naughty things. And I’m not the type of boy who refuses invitations.” He pulled her close and kissed her, his hands roaming over her body.

  Recoiling at the foul tang of cigarettes and alcohol, she was glad when he kept it short, releasing her mouth to murmur his appreciation. “Wow, you certainly are in good shape these days.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say which didn’t sound like pure provocation, so she said nothing. He obviously took this as a sign to continue, and kissed her more deeply.