“Christ, Callie, just spit it the fuck out,” Colton demanded, impatience getting the better of him as he realised that maybe she hadn’t been saying what he’d thought after all.
“I’m not expecting you to pick up where he left off,” she blurted out. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Colton. But I have to break up with Michael. Not for you, for me. And I guess kind of for him. I owe him that much.”
Silence. This time long and uncomfortable.
She stared back at him, those damn doe eyes trying in vain to gauge his reaction. The unsure little ghost of a smile was almost pleading with him to understand. “Say something, Colt,” she tried lightly, only to be taken aback when he reached for her.
Colton’s fingers curled into the belt loops of her tight gray jeans and tugged, pulling her across the space between them until her hands landed on his chest for balance and he leaned down to plant an unexpected kiss on her forehead. “Go do what you gotta do, kid,” he said, his voice brusque compared to his actions, before simply releasing her.
“It ... It doesn’t have to change anything,” she said hesitantly. “With us. I mean it, Colton, I know how this works.”
“We’ll see.”
***
Driving home without recalling one bit of the journey, Callie must have replayed those two little words dozens of times in her head. Each time making subtle differences – to his tone, the look in his eyes, anything that might change their meaning. She’d never made the same mistake with him as others, except those few that were closest to him, almost always did. She knew that despite everything he was capable of, normal emotions weren’t beyond him.
But caring for her was one thing. Had she really caught a suggestion that he thought there could be something more between them? Something that wasn’t just them ending up in bed together ...
She didn’t know, certainly hadn’t expected it. Not that she flat-out thought he would use her. He just didn’t seem to do relationships. They’d been friends for a relatively long time now and she’d never heard him talk about a woman in his life that wasn’t blood-related. Past or present.
That didn’t mean there hadn’t been one though. He wasn’t exactly the over-sharing type.
Trying to push all thoughts of the biker from her over-active mind, the little blonde heaved a tired sigh as she fumbled her key into the lock and let herself into her apartment. There was no point worrying about Colton until she’d done what she’d said she was going to do – something she should have done a long time ago.
And much as she longed to just climb into the comforting cosiness of her pyjamas and maybe indulge in the glass or two of wine she’d had to forgo over dinner in order to drive home, she couldn’t let this fester any longer. It didn’t matter that it was late, there was only one way to do this and that was fast. Like ripping off a band-aid.
Then, just like with a band-aid, the hurt would all be out in the open. All the better to heal ...
But that was as far as Callie got in her thought process, before freezing even as she balanced with one hand against the wall of the hallway to kick off her boots, startled by a crash that seemed to cause her heart to leap into her throat.
It took a second for the rational side of her brain to squash the infinitely more imaginative side and tell herself that Michael was the only one with a key and just because she hadn’t noticed his car where he usually left it, that didn’t mean it wasn’t there or that he hadn’t simply parked in another spot.
“M-Michael?” she called out, hating the shaky quality to her voice. “Is that you?”
“In the bedroom,” came the muffled response. One that had her sagging against the wall in relief – right before the irritation set in. How had she allowed herself to be trapped by someone whose presence should have only given her happiness and instead made her feel like her space had been invaded by a near-stranger?
Despite everything, it was anger that was bubbling up inside her when she threw open the door of her bedroom and all but stormed in to confront him. “You scared the absolute fucking shit out of me!” she raged, trying to regain control of her emotions when she realised she was almost on the verge of furious tears. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Slumped on her bed, leaning back against the pillows, Michael stared back at her wide-eyed. He’d never seen her lose it like that. Come to think of it, he’d never seen any such strength of emotion from his cool, calm girlfriend – good or bad.
“Came t’see y-you, baby,” he tried, forcing a wide smile back on his face and holding out an arm to her. His hand sloshing the contents of the glass he was holding over her black and cream duvet cover. “Whoops!”
Callie closed her eyes and willed herself not to explode. There was no point when he was like this.
“Don’ be like that, Callie, don’ be like that,” he frowned, rubbing at the damp patch in vain. “It was an acciden’. Anyone can make a m-mistake. Did you never make a mistake?”
“Jesus, Michael, you’re completely wasted!” she sighed. “I’m not doing this with you when you’re in this state.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he slurred, lurching off the bed and stumbling towards her. Trying to kiss her cheek, but missing and getting her ear, even as she recoiled in disgust at the reek of alcohol. “Sorry, sorry. I did ... try an’ find some ... m-mints. In the drawer you keep ‘em in. Nope. None. Know what I did ... did f-find though? Hmmm, Callie? Know what I found?”
“No!” she said sharply, exasperation getting the better of her. “You’re not in the fucking courtroom now - what did you find, Michael?”
“I’ll tell y-you. I’ll tell you what I ... found,” he smirked, waving a finger in her face. His other hand grabbed one of hers in a sudden burst of speed, what could only be described as a snarl twisting his lips. “There, you little slut! That’s what I found.”
“What the hell ...” Callie started furiously, trailing off as she realised he’d pushed something into her hand and it all started to fall into place. She knew even before she slowly uncurled her fingers what had sparked all this and, sure enough, found the simple scrap of discarded foil in the palm of her hand.
The empty wrapper of a condom she sure as hell hadn’t used with him.
“So, Callie, did you ... ever make a mistake?” Michael demanded as he swayed in front of her, obviously feeling – despite everything - like he’d got the upper hand.
“Yes,” she said softly, finally lifting her gaze to meet the triumph in his eyes at her admission. A spark that died as quickly as it had flared when she qualified her answer. “Yes, I made a mistake – but do you know what, Michael? He wasn’t it.”
“You ...” he struggled for words, all but floored by the stark assessment. He realised this wasn’t going at all to plan, as he floundered for something to hurt her with. He’d wanted to confront her with his discovery, make her plead for forgiveness, shed tears for him – but ultimately, he wanted her back. Back and desperate to make amends.
Instead he was lashing out with the one piece of ammunition she’d given him in all their months together. “You’re every inch the little whore your mother always said you were!”
He knew he’d gone too far as soon as the cruel words were spoken, but it was too late and he imagined she might have responded in that same stunned way if he’d hauled back and struck her. He almost wished he had.
“I didn’t m-mean ... It’s the drink talking--” he tried, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.
“You were the only person I ever told,” Callie whispered, wiping almost fiercely at the hot tears that had escaped down her cheeks despite her effort to hold them back. “Get out.”
“Callie, wait!” He stumbled after her, finding himself the one desperate to fix things. Trying and failing to stop her flight from the bedroom. If he could just make her see ...
“Get off me, Michael!” she protested, as he grabbed for her. “Don’t touch me – stop it!”
They’d never k
now whose fault it was, if he’d drunkenly fallen over his own feet or if he’d pulled her off balance. If she’d pushed him away too hard or tripped in a bid to extract herself from his grip.
It was only as he struggled to his knees afterwards that he’d realise the vase chock-full of white anemones had fallen casualty to their struggle - but that the dull crack, still audible through the shattering of delicate glass, had been his girlfriend’s head against the edge of the very coffee table that had once held the flowers.
“Callie?”
***
CHAPTER 24
Dashing beads of sweat from his brow with his forearm, Sam reached for the pack of smokes on his nightstand with a groan before realising his lighter was in the pocket of his jeans and retrieving them would involve getting up ...
“Need a light?”
Turning to look at his unexpected companion, he was greeted by the tiny flicker of a flame and an arched eyebrow as he took in the sight of her beside him – laying on her front, propped up on one elbow and with her feet kicking lazily in the air, in nothing but a tiny thong, sparking her lighter on and off with a little smile.
“Not sure I wanna know where you were keeping that,” Sam drawled, shaking a cigarette into his mouth and leaning over to let her light it for him. Settling back against the pillows and taking a long drag, then holding it out to her as an afterthought. Watching as she took a delicate little puff and leaned in to blow the smoke playfully down his bare chest.
“Did I do a good job, sergeant?” the redhead asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. As innocent as she could manage anyway, which – leaning over him topless and with a naughty twinkle in her hazel eyes - wasn’t very.
“Huh?” he managed less than eloquently, given the decidedly distracting view that had certainly taken his mind off ... well, everything except the obvious.
“I mean, I know it’s not my business – I ain’t trying to pry. But Will wanted me to cheer you up. So did I do a good job?”
Sam nodded, a grin back on his face as he considered the tactics she’d employed more than successfully. He could see why the girl had gotten the presidential seal of approval. “You did real good, sweetheart,” he assured her, even offering up his cigarette again, but she was already scrambling out of bed with a bright smile and zero trace of self-consciousness.
“It’s okay, I know the drill,” Ashley shrugged easily, even as she retrieved her bra from the floor and her skimpy silver dress from the back of Sam’s chair. “I’m just glad I could put a smile back on that handsome face. Besides, I gotta be at work in like an hour.”
“Where’s work?” he asked from where he lazed in bed, an arm folded behind his head. Not sure why he was even curious.
“Dixie’s?” she tried. “You know it? The--”
“Strip-joint across town. Yeah, I know it. You want a lift?”
She stopped in her hunt for her missing heel even as she spotted it peeking out from below his jeans, ducked to retrieve it and then considered his offer again sceptically. “You don’t have to ...” she started.
“Wouldn’t ask if I couldn’t be assed,” the biker told her, already sitting up to pull on his boxers. “Just fancy the ride.”
“What, one wasn’t enough?” Ashley teased, planting a kiss on his lips as she handed him his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. “Thanks for this, Sam.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “Reckon I should be the one thanking you, doll.”
Fluffing her long red locks, she smirked and patted his chest with her hand. “Trust me, honey, you already did.”
***
... little whore ... every inch ... your mother always said you were ... little whore ...
The harsh words kept running round and round in her throbbing head, over and over, no matter how hard she tried to block them out. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to take it back, that he’d said he was sorry. It was done. They were done.
She could only assume she’d been knocked spark out when she fell, coming round groggily to Michael leaning over her as he begged for forgiveness with drunken tears staining his cheeks. They must have looked quite the pair, she’d thought absently – him stinking of alcohol and crying, her with blood pouring down her face.
He’d tried to help, had tried to call an ambulance, make her go to hospital. He was still swaying on his feet and his words still slurred into each other more often than not, but it seemed the shock of what had happened had proved a fairly sobering experience. He’d desperately warned her again and again that she must be concussed, that she needed stitches.
But she just wanted him gone.
She knew he hadn’t meant for it to happen, didn’t even blame him, but that didn’t change the fact she just didn’t want him touching her or even being in her home for another second. Not when he could use that against her.
So she’d ended up pleading with him to go, almost hysterically when he had at first refused. How she’d finally gotten her way was actually something of a blur, along with stumbling to the bathroom where she’d tried to clean herself up.
Sinking to the floor with her cell phone beside her and a now blood-soaked washcloth still pressed painfully – and rather ineffectually – to the deep gash at her temple, Callie choked back a sob and leaned back against the wall. She wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t going to either throw up or pass out.
One glimpse at her face in the mirror and she hadn’t been able to look at the extent of the damage, instead gritting her teeth and simply clamping the cloth over the wound in a frightened bid to at least stop the bleeding. She knew both her hands were already stained red though and could still feel the wet warmth soaking into her hair as she closed her eyes against the pain ...
Just typing out those two tiny words on the keypad, through tear-clouded vision, had seemed nearly impossible. She’d got there in the end though, the phone slipping from her fingers as she finally laid her aching head against the cool floor tiles.
So tired ...
Her last hazy, fractured thought that she half-wished she hadn’t sent Michael away. That she just wanted someone, anyone to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. But she didn’t have that. Never had.
Pls come.
She reached out. Hit send.
***
“Listen, boyo, you go tell Will to get his goddamn cock outta whatever passes for pussy round here or-- Ayyy, that’s more like it! What did I tell ya? Here comes the welcomin’ committee ...”
Busy pulling on his cut as he strode through the clubhouse, the redhead in tow, Sam looked up at the thickly accented shout and a broad grin lit up his face. “Shay! I’d know those dulcet tones anywhere – how you doin’, bro?”
“All the better for seein’ yer pretty face, blondie,” the brash Irishman declared as he grabbed his brother’s face in his hands and planted a dramatic kiss on his forehead before pulling him into a back-slapping hug. “Prospect here seemed ta think none o’ yas would want disturbin’ – although looks like the wee lad might no’ be far wrong.”
“Dumbass.” Dozer earned himself a clip round the ear from his sergeant, before being duly sent on his way to tell Will their guests had arrived, while Ashley got the universal five minutes sign as she waited patiently nearby. “Always good to see the mother charter out here, dude. So where’s Chip?”
“Bumped into Colt when we were parkin’ the bikes – left ‘em yakkin’ in the yard. Left Chippy yakkin’ anyway. Colt’s pretty much just gettin’ his ear bent. Kid’s met a girl,” Shay explained, rolling his eyes. “Correction – met’s too strong a word. Kid’s seen a girl.”
“Just the one?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest, bemused by the seemingly underwhelming revelation.
“Thee one, to hear him harp on. You’d think she’d fell out o’ the bloody sky at his feet, wings an’ all.”
“When really ...”
“Smiled at him when she served his coffee. Twice,” Shay added with a solemn nod, devilish brow
n eyes twinkling. “I know what yer thinkin’. An’ yer right ... June wedding would be nice.”
And the two brothers duly cracked up, only laughing all the harder when Chip himself walked through the door in front of Colton. The expression on the hitman’s face was unreadable, even under the onslaught of the apparent would-be Romeo's tales of latte-laced love.
***
“Callie?”
The cryptic message had been strange enough, but not answering her phone for the sixth time of asking had set alarm bells ringing loud and clear. And arriving only to find the apartment door not properly closed only made matters worse.
Cursing the late-night newsroom meeting that had kept her own phone turned off, Lana reached in her shoulder bag and retrieved the tiny can of pepper spray she kept stashed away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was already wondering if she should just call the cops or if she was letting her imagination make her overreact.
“Callie?” she called again, pushing open the door and peeking inside. “You home, babe?”
Getting no response and hearing nothing either, the reporter all but tiptoed inside, something immediately twisting in her gut as soon as her gaze fell on the smashed glass. Flowers scattered over the wooden floor in a puddle of deep pink – blood diluted with the water from the vase. Blood that darkened as she followed large drops towards the bathroom.
Her mind racing, Lana tried to focus on the lesser of the evils. A dropped vase, cut hand maybe, the sight of blood prompting the SOS call ... It was a train of thought that crashed to a halt the moment she rounded the bathroom door.
“Jesus, Callie!” she gasped in horror, her hand flying to her throat and her bag and the pepper spray dropping to the floor at the sight of her younger friend’s body crumpled and lifeless.
***
The cross-charter reunion had been in full swing at the clubhouse when Colton’s cell phone rang ...
In the back of their minds, they all knew there was business to discuss, but Sam had been as good as his word and amid much good-natured, chivalry-related, abuse in his absence, they were waiting for him to return from dropping Ashley off at work. Of course, Shay had been all for making the trip across town too once he’d heard what she did. Never mind the fact he’d already spent hours on his bike just getting to Haven.
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 16
