“Just like that? No fighting, no arguing?”
I thumped the table. “I want what’s best for him!”
“Quieten down, Hatton!” McAvoy barked. “Or your visit will be over.”
I whipped my head around to the bastard. The dark-haired, slimy prick was obviously taking pleasure in getting a rise out of me, the smile on his face riling me even more.
“My name is Hughes, not Hatton!” I yelled at him, finally losing my cool.
McAvoy pushed to his feet, my visitation over. Although I hated Dante’s father, hated what he’d said to me, I didn’t want the visit to end. I wanted to talk more about Dante before everything was stripped away. The guard headed for me, intent on stealing those last few moments I desperately needed.
My anger rose rapidly, the pain I’d kept bottled up exploding. I sprung to my feet and grabbed the table, flinging it to the side. Dante’s father scrambled out of his chair, looking shocked. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was what he’d said. And what I’d agreed to.
I would never see Dante again.
I’d lost my forever, like China had lost hers.
McAvoy came at me faster, another guard too. Before they could grab me, I dropped to my knees and let out a wail, the grief I’d held in for so long bursting forth. Hands grabbed my arms, but I just screamed and cried. I didn’t care what they did to me, didn’t care that I was going to be thrown into solitary.
All I cared about was that I would never see Dante again.
22
Clara
2005
Just over three years later, I walked out of prison a broken person. I was given parole and the unbendable instruction that I was banned from being in close proximity to underage boys. The wording made me feel like a vile, lecherous old woman. And I did feel old. Much older than my twenty-seven years.
Yet, even though Dante was no longer underage, his nineteenth birthday having just gone, I still couldn’t see him, his father’s words ringing in my ears. But after a month of driving myself insane, I found myself sitting in a car, staring at the house he now lived in. It hadn’t been hard to find, his name not common. I’d found his address on the internet, which was in a neighbouring suburb to Wera, on a rundown street, with equally rundown houses.
I was parked a little bit down the road, waiting for him to appear like some creepy stalker. But I couldn’t help it, my need to see him was just too great. I’d been here for over half-an-hour, praying that he would step outside. I had no idea whether he was home, other than there was a green Chevy in the driveway and a beat-up Holden that looked to be on its last legs.
Another five minutes went by. I wondered whether I should just get out and knock on his door, but was too afraid to. Afraid his father was there, afraid his relatives or friends would recognise me, and most of all, afraid that Dante wouldn’t remember me.
A minute later, the front door finally opened. I sat up without thinking, then quickly slumped back down, not wanting anyone to see me. But my eyes were still locked onto the door, my heart pounding a mile a minute. But instead of Dante, a kid shot outside. He looked like a tiny version of Dante, with his shaggy black hair and gorgeous wee face. My stomach dropped. Did Dante have a kid now? No, the boy couldn’t be his son. Dante would’ve had to be about fourteen to have him, maybe even fif—
I cut that thought off, realising it was possible, since Dante had definitely been sexually active at that age.
His replica ran for the green car, stopping as someone yelled out, “Angelo!” A split second later, a woman appeared in the doorway, waving at him to come back. She looked Samoan or Tongan. A memory sparked from long ago, of Dante mentioning that his older brother had a Tongan girlfriend and a son. I let out a sigh of relief, the boy looking the right age to be Dante’s nephew.
The boy ran back to the woman, but I was no longer concentrating on them. I was staring at the man standing in the doorway. He was absolutely stunning. He had wavy black hair, a Maori tattoo on his neck and left bicep, and was wearing leather pants and a white T-shirt. For a second my head screamed Dante! But stopped abruptly as another man appeared. I blinked, thinking I was seeing double, because they looked so much alike, only their tattoos different. The second man didn’t have one on his neck, while his left arm was covered in a colourful sleeve of tattoos. He was also dressed more casually, in ripped jeans and a Bob Marley shirt.
The memory of Dante in my office, wearing blue jeans and a Bob Marley shirt came back. Of him taking me on my office desk, holding me there as he fucked me. The man smiled at his brother, his cheeky grin blinding me to everyone around him.
In that moment, I knew he was Dante.
And I stared.
I soaked in the sight of him, absolutely glorifying in it. It was like I’d been walking through a desert and had finally found an oasis. My oasis. And he was a tall drink, so fine I couldn’t rip my gaze away from him. My eyes moved over him, starting from his gorgeous head of messy black hair. Hair I remembered running my fingers through, pulling on it as we made love. My gaze moved over that face of his, still so beautiful, just older. And his body. Now, that had changed considerably. He was much taller, over six foot now, and more muscular. His biceps were rippling, while his legs were longer, filling out his jeans much more than when he was fifteen. I wasn’t looking at the boy I’d fallen in love with, I was looking at the man I would never stop loving.
His family got into the green Chevy and drove off, Dante saluting them as they left. He disappeared back inside his house, leaving me staring at his door, wishing it would reopen so I could catch another glimpse of him. But even if it did, it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. I needed longer. Much, much longer. A lifetime’s worth.
Without thought, I got out of my beat-up Civic, my Volkswagen long gone, and headed for his house, feeling like I was being pulled towards him. I stopped at his gate, finally coming to my senses. His father’s words rang through my head, reminding me why I shouldn’t be here.
‘I don’t want him to remember the rape. I don’t want him feeling guilty ’bout you goin’ to jail. I want him to be a kid again.’
But what if Dante’s memories had come back?
I pushed his gate open and headed up the path to his front door, needing to find out whether he remembered me or not. Because if he didn’t, I would walk away. Would let him live his life without the memory of his horrific past.
But if he did remember me, why keep away?
I hesitated, knowing that it was unlikely, since he’d never visited me in prison.
Or maybe he just didn’t love me like I loved him.
I shook that thought out of my head, recollecting the times he’d made love to me, and how we’d talked into the night up north.
He had loved me.
I knew that much.
Praying he had his memory back, I sucked in a deep breath and knocked. Footsteps approached the door. My heart started slamming against my chest, fear and hope fighting with each other, fear at the moment winning.
The door opened and another man appeared before me, a tower of muscle, gorgeous yet dangerous-looking. He had tattoos covering his arms and SKINS inked across his neck in bold letters, telling me he was from Dante’s gang.
His eyes widened. “Mrs. Hatton?”
“It’s Hughes now,” I said without thought, not knowing who he was.
He smiled, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Shit, you look the same, well, not your hair, it’s darker, but shit, I thought you were still in prison.”
I blinked at him, not knowing how he knew all of that.
“You don’t remember me, do ya?” he said. “Can’t blame ya, I don’t look the same. I’m Jasper Rakete. I wuz in your English class.”
My mouth dropped open, the man standing before me looking nothing like Dante’s fat, unattractive friend. He didn’t have one ounce of fat on him. His arms were toned and his face sculptured, only the scar cutting across his upper lip marring his perfect featur
es. A gust of wind whipped back his curly brown hair. He shoved a tattooed hand through it, FUCK YOU written across his knuckles.
He smiled at me, revealing a gold-capped canine. “Everyone looks at me like that. They can’t believe it’s me.”
I didn’t reply, still dumbstruck by his appearance. He was also a few inches taller than the last time I saw him, at least six-foot-five.
“Jaz, is my parcel here?” a woman called out, breaking the silence.
His smile dropped. “Fuck.” He flicked his hand at me. “Go. Dante’s missus will do her nut if she sees you.”
My heart fell at his words. Dante was married?
“Leave,” he hissed. “She’s mad as a hatter; she’ll fuck you over.”
A woman grabbed his arm from behind, Jasper’s towering form blocking her from view. “Jaz, who is it?” she asked.
“No one for you, Kara,” he replied, mouthing leave at me.
But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t budge an inch. I was frozen in place, both wanting and not wanting to see who this woman was.
“Get out of my way, you big oaf,” she snapped, her accent sounding Croatian or Russian.
Jasper let out a holler and grabbed the back of his heel, as though she’d stomped on it. A gorgeous blonde woman with pale blue eyes pushed in front of him, so pale they looked almost colourless in the bright sunlight. They were heavily rimmed with black-eyeliner, while her mouth was soaked in a bright red lipstick. She appeared dressed up to go out, her tight red dress moulding a figure not that dissimilar to mine. If anything, she resembled me quite a bit, just with blue instead of grey eyes, blonde instead of mousy-brown hair. She was also in her early instead of late twenties. She brushed a few strands of blonde hair off her face, her left wrist and hand wrapped in a rosary tattoo.
“Yes?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.
I focused on her hand, relieved to see there wasn’t a ring on her finger. “Um... can I please speak to Dante Rata?” I pushed out.
Her face hardened. “Who are you?”
“I’m...ah...” I went silent, not wanting to give her my name, afraid she’d know it. Know that I was the ‘Blonde Bombshell’ who’d ‘Seduced’ her partner. But I wasn’t blonde anymore, or the bombshell and seducer that the papers had made me out to be.
I was just Clara Hughes.
A broken woman who wanted her forever back.
She stepped closer to me, intruding into my personal space, her beautiful face turning vicious. “I’m sick and tired of you bitches coming around here, thinking you can steal my man.” She poked my chest with a finger. “Dante’s mine and I will never let him go. Got that?”
I looked over her head at Jasper, who was swirling his finger next to his head, indicating she was crazy.
She gave me a shove when I didn’t answer her. “Fuck off before I slice you up.”
But I didn’t leave. I’d been shoved around a lot in prison, had even been stabbed, the scar on my back a lasting testimony. Just the thought of it made me stand taller. I wasn’t scared of her. I’d stood up against much bigger women. Women who were in prison for assault and murder. No, the only thing I was scared of right now was Dante not remembering me.
“Not until I speak with Dante,” I said, my words now steady like my resolve.
Her hands whipped out faster than I could react, knocking me down the front steps. I hit the footpath, yelling out as I landed on my right arm.
“That’s just a taste of what you’ll get. Now fuck off!” she hollered.
She stepped back inside the house and slammed the door shut. I sat up and looked at my scraped arm, wincing, a touch of blood colouring it. Yelling started up from inside, pulling my attention away from my arm. Jasper was yelling at the woman, swearwords liberally thrown in. Then the door flew open. Jasper came rushing down the steps towards me.
The woman appeared in the doorway. “Jaz, leave that bitch alone!” She disappeared back inside the house, hollering, “Dante!”
Jasper bobbed down in front of me and took hold of my arm, his gentle handling in contrast with the gang tattoos colouring his bronzed skin.
“It’s not bad,” he said. “Just a scrape.”
He jolted as yelling came from the house. He swore and jumped up, rushing back inside.
“Don’t you fuckin’ shout at me to calm down,” the woman hollered. “I’ve had enough, Dante, had fucking enough. You will quit that fucking job!"
“You can’t fuckin’ tell me what to do!” a yell came back, obviously Dante.
“Yes, I can! Because I’m the one who has to deal with these bitches turning up on our doorstep, thinking they have a right to my man.”
“Stop fuckin’ pushing me!” he shouted.
My eyes went to the window. Although the curtains partially obscured my view, I could still see inside. Could see Dante’s girlfriend push him, the woman going nuts over a simple visit. Yes, I wanted Dante back, but I had only asked to speak to him, not to jump into his bed.
“You will quit!” She shoved him again.
“Stop it, Kara!”
“Only if you promise to quit that job!”
She went to give him another shove, but Jasper yanked her away from Dante, barking, “She’s not from the strip joint, you jealous bitch. It’s his teacher!”
Everything went quiet. Then Dante appeared in the doorway. He jumped down the front steps, heading for me. Nervous, I dropped my head, allowing my hair to fall forward, hiding my face from him.
He squatted down in front of me and took hold of my arm. “Sorry ’bout my bitch of a girlfriend,” he said, examining it, his touch doing things that Jasper’s hadn’t. “At least it’s not bad, just a scrape.” He let go. “Hey, you all right?” He brushed my hair aside.
I looked up at him, capturing his gaze. His eyes went wide and his jaw slack, Dante appearing dumbstruck. I stared back, praying it meant he recognised me, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
He went to say something, but jolted as his girlfriend grabbed his arm, shattering the moment. I hadn’t even seen her come outside, Dante completely capturing me.
“Get up, Dante,” his girlfriend said. “She’s fucking fine.”
He jerked free and rose up, turning on her. “Why the fuck did’ja hurt her for?”
His girlfriend grimaced. “I thought she was one of those horny bitches who think they can get a leg over.”
“I’m a dancer, not a bloody whore!”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Is that what you call yourself now. A dancer?”
His gaze flicked to me. “Don’t, Kara—”
“No, you’re obviously ashamed of what you do, so fucking quit.”
“It pays the bills.”
“Yeah, with money that gets stuffed down your G-string, rubbed all over your cock.” She turned her attention to me. “When you taught Dante, did you think he’d end up taking his clothes off for women? Grinding against them, getting his cock groped—”
“Kara!” Dante barked, the veins in his neck sticking out. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”
She sneered at him. “But it’s true. So tell your teacher what a big fucking failure you’ve turned out to be.”
“If you think I’m such a fuckin’ failure, why the hell are you with me?”
“Because I love you and know you have so much more potential than taking your clothes off for horny bitches.” She turned her gaze on me. “Tell him, Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is. Tell him he’s better than being a stripper.”
“Why the fuck would I care what she thinks?” Dante snapped at his girlfriend. “I don’t even know her.”
And that was it.
He’d confirmed it.
He didn’t remember me.
I pushed to my feet and ran, ran through the gate, ran for my car, not looking back, my forever now a never, Dante destroying me with only a few words.
23
Dante
2011
Jade pulled into the drive
way of the rehab centre. It was a large brick one-storey structure, the entrance a mass of dark glass. I ducked my head and eyed it up, knowing this was the place I was going to be staying at for the next month.
And I wasn’t happy about it.
At all.
But I knew I needed help. My alcoholism had spiralled out of control after I saw a woman I loved get run over by a car. I’d just broken up with her, leaving her because she’d lied to me about carrying my child. It had been my brother’s, who she’d been with before me. I understood why she’d lied. Beth had been scared of losing me to Kara, my ex having come back into my life again. And I had wanted to be with Kara, but knew she was another addiction I had to give up.
She was bad for me.
Even worse than the alcohol.
Although my drinking would eventually kill me if I didn’t stop, Kara was far more dangerous to my health. She was volatile, a livewire who stormed through life, taking whatever she wanted, and if she didn’t get it, she got violent. And although I knew she loved me, I didn’t want that in my life anymore. Instead, I wanted to make a go at the rock career Jade was offering me, the man a highly successful music producer. I turned to face him, grateful he’d come into my life. Because if he hadn’t, I was sure I would be dead by now, my last bender completely shattering me.
Worry clouded Jade’s expression. He was an American born Korean, with a face so pretty he could pass off as a chick if he popped a wig on. And he had offered to dress up as a woman in an attempt to entice me into having a relationship with him. He’d become obsessed after watching videos of me, film that had been taken without my knowledge. Craven had blackmailed Kara into planting cameras in my bedroom so he could sell the tapes to his porn customers. Thank fuck the bastard was now dead, gunned down like the scum he was.
Anyway, when Jade realised he couldn’t have a romantic relationship with me, he decided to op for being my friend instead, as well as my record producer, the guy genuinely interested in making me famous.
“Well, we better get you inside,” he said, giving me a sad smile. He’d told me that he was going to miss me like crazy. I’d told him to get a fucking boyfriend.
Jagged Pill (Broken Lives Book 3) Page 27
