“Got Greene on my radar, boss,” came the voice of his second-in-command. “Clocked him coming out of an ink joint, hand-in-hand with some blonde skank. Don’t that sound cosy for the big bad killer? I thought our intel said he didn’t have any ties locally - just the mom out of town?”
“Pussy ain’t necessarily a tie,” Antonio said impatiently. “You’d know that if you got any, shithead.”
“I’m telling you, boss – they look pretty tight.”
“So do something about it. Jesus Christ, do I gotta think of everything? Stay on them, see what you can find out. Unless you need someone to hold your hand too?”
Ending the call, he threw the cell down beside him in the booth and turned his attention back to the dark-haired girl pouting at him in what he could only suppose was meant to be an appealing fashion. But the mood had been broken and his interest was gone. There was only one thing he wanted now.
To send a message.
***
CHAPTER 44
“Feeling better?”
“Mmm, much,” Callie murmured, contentment in her voice and a soft, sleepy little smile on her face as she lay wrapped in inked arms. Between the warmth of Colton’s body pressed against hers and the comfort of the duvet tucked around them both, never moving again was sounding like a wonderful plan.
When they’d ended up in her bed, she’d been half expecting something hard and fast - some kind of making up for lost time. Instead, what had happened between them had been as unmistakable as it was unexpected.
He’d made love to her.
There was no outpouring of emotion, no big declarations to be made. Just those dark eyes locked on hers as he set out to prove what she meant to him. There was definitely an irony both in his chosen method and in its unquestionable efficiency.
“Colt?”
“Hmm?” he managed lazily, one of his hands buried in the long waves of her hair and his strong fingers massaging slightly as they cradled the back of her head while she used his bare chest as a pillow.
“What was your first time like?” Callie asked quietly, feeling him shift to look at her. “Humour me – I’m just curious. I have a hard time picturing you all young and clueless ...”
Colton snorted at that. “Trust me, I was. But I was a fast learner too,” he grinned. “Think I was ... maybe fifteen, only just. She was older – probably nineteen ... Drea de Rossi. Fuck, she was like a walking wet dream – you ask Sketch, I bet he remembers. Couldn’t believe my luck.”
“What happened?”
“Bitch chewed me up and spat me out,” he told her, tilting her lips up to his to plant a firm kiss on her. “Was a helluva long time ago, darlin’. So, come on - I ain’t crazy ‘bout the thought of any other fucker with his hands on you, but let’s hear it. Who was your first?”
“Jamie Fisher,” she sighed at the memory, laying her head back down on Colton’s chest so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “We were both fifteen. And a half. The half matters when you’re that age, doesn’t it?” She fell silent again, wondering what had made her start this conversation, having known where it would go.
But in some ways, despite having realised they were so deeply connected, she also recognised that they still knew so little about each other. And that was going to have to change sooner or later.
“He hurt you?”
She could feel Colton tense as he eventually asked the question, obviously prompted by her hesitation, and shook her head. “No, not Jamie,” she said, remembering the easy smiles and unruly mop of blonde curls of the boy who’d sat next to her in maths class. “He was a sweet boy. I didn’t sleep with him for the right reason, but I did really like him. Poor kid.”
“You break his heart?”
“Maybe a little – but I bet it didn’t hurt half as much as my step-father breaking his arm.”
“Guess he didn’t like anyone taking his little girl’s innocence, huh?” Colton said, obviously thinking he understood. Maybe even agreeing with the line of action.
“I suppose you’re sort of right,” Callie managed, her voice tight as she tried to find the words to explain. “He never even let me have a lock on my bedroom door. Tried to argue I’d just be up there getting stoned or screwing around. I ... I spent months trying to find a way to barricade that damn door at night ...”
FLASHBACK
The plan had seemed, if not quite a good idea exactly, then certainly like something that needed to be done. The only action left to her. A necessary evil and one she wished she’d thought of before Jamie had been hurt.
She had spent so long letting her mind drift in art class, thinking about how she would pull it off, that her teacher had asked if everything was okay. Callie was usually the only one of Ms Ryan’s students who could be counted on to consistently give her full attention and best effort, so she’d been more surprised than angry to find her still staring at a blank page of her sketchpad a full thirty minutes into class.
And for a split second, Callie had thought about telling her favourite teacher everything. Not there and then, but after school maybe. Ms Ryan would know what to do. How to make it stop.
But just as quickly, the doubts had crept into her racing mind. Why would a grown-up even believe her? Would Ms Ryan wonder why she hadn’t done something sooner? Maybe she’d think she’d wanted the attention ... Callie couldn’t bear the thought of one of the only two people who’d ever offered her encouragement looking at her in disappointment. Or worse, disgust.
So instead she had pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and forced a tiny smile on her face, assuring her teacher it was just a little mental block before setting about putting pencil to paper to work on the day’s challenge – drawing something that represented a song they’d heard recently.
Her quick sketch focusing on a girl kneeling with her head bowed by a gravestone as a tiny bird soared overhead, inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s version of Songbird, impressed as usual and earned her a little that’s-more-like-it pat on the hand.
The plan hadn’t been scrapped though, just shelved until she got home. And Callie told herself she was more determined than ever to see it through, to get her life back to something like normal. But that had been easy to think in the brightly lit art room, surrounded by her classmates and under Ms Ryan’s watchful eye.
Now, in the darkness of her bedroom, it was a whole other story.
She’d gone to Casey’s studio straight after school to help clean up, show him her latest designs and watch fascinated as he inked bold letters across some big burly biker’s knuckles. It had killed some time, time that didn’t have to be spent in surly silence at home, and the tattooist had bought her a burger and a milkshake for dinner. He usually did on Fridays, his treat.
Usually they talked about his customers, her art, movies, music. Whatever came to mind. But this time, Callie had left Casey to do most of the talking and – just like Ms Ryan – he’d ended up asking what was wrong.
And for exactly the same reasons, she bit her tongue.
Now, in the darkness of her bedroom, she wished she hadn’t. She trusted Casey and, even though he was nearly ten years older than her, he was her friend now. He was a proper grown-up, with an apartment and a car and a job and he would have found a way to fix things, she knew it.
With the chair from in front of her mirrored dresser propped under the handle of the door to secure it, Callie had changed from her ripped jeans and vintage band t-shirt into soft navy sweatpants and a simple white vest top and sat cross-legged on her bed to plait her long hair and take off her make-up.
Then, finally ready for bed, she took a deep breath and padded barefoot across the room to remove the chair. This time, she’d make sure he had no way to deny what was going on …
***
The fingers that had been caressing her hair had stilled the moment he realised where this was going and the eyes that met hers when she found the courage to look up were black with barely contained anger.
�
�Where’s the bastard now?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. The minute I left home, I never looked back. Wouldn’t know if he was alive or dead.”
“I know which one I’d prefer,” Colton growled. “Darlin’, where the fuck was your mom when this shit was going on?” The tears that sprang into her eyes didn’t go unnoticed, no matter how much she tried to hide them, and it made his heart sink. “Jesus, Callie, don’t tell me she knew?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” she said quietly. “She just ... didn’t believe me. It came down to his word over mine and she ... she took his side. Called me a jealous little whore. It was bad enough she blamed me for my dad running out on us, now she reckoned I was after her man or just trying to split them up. I was fifteen, Colt ...”
FLASHBACK
For hours, she lay under the covers in the darkness, listening for every creak of the stairs and every step in the hallway outside her room. And then it came. The slow downward turn of her door handle. It was the same thing that had woken her up in the night before, but after that first time and ever since she’d learned to put the chair to good use, that was usually as far as he got. Not this time.
It took everything in her not to sit bolt upright in bed or run to throw herself against the door and block his path, but instead she forced herself to lay trembling right where she was. She kept telling herself this was the only way she could make him stop for good. Soon, it would all be over. She kept that mantra on repeat in her head.
He’d paused, probably wondering why there was nothing to obstruct him this time. Trying the handle had seemed to just become a habit with him, especially on the nights he’d get drunk with his poker buddies. But Callie knew from the way he’d complain to her mother about what she was getting up to, or his increasingly violent threats to her when he managed to catch alone, that one day his patience – if you could call it that – would run out.
She had been waiting in fear for the night when he simply ripped the handle off the door or kicked it in. That was why she had to act and act now. No matter how terrified she was of him and his explosive, alcohol-fuelled rages.
Laying still, her eyes squeezed closed, she heard the door start to slowly push open and fought to make her body relax against its will. He had to think she was sleeping. She couldn’t let him catch her out. Not now. She was only going to get one chance at this ...
She had to force herself not to hold her breath as she listened to him clumsily trying to keep his heavy steps quiet on his way across her room. She could practically feel that lecherous gaze roving over her body, having deliberately kicked her duvet down to her feet and left only a thin sheet covering her.
Hearing him mutter something to himself, Callie could smell cigars and beer and her stomach rolled, even as she felt him carefully try to tug the sheet down. She let him, hoping and praying it was dark enough to cover the fear and revulsion that she was almost certainly failing to keep from showing on her face.
“Dirty little tease ...” he mumbled, just loud enough for her to make out.
Even when his thick fingers trailed first over her bare shoulder and then across her breasts, she tried not to move. And when she heard the sound of him fumbling with a zipper, she waited until his own breathing grew ragged – desperately trying not to think about what he was doing - to make her move.
In an instant, she’d hit the switch that flooded her room with golden light, flown out of bed and barrelled past him as he stood rooted to the spot, with one hand in his pants. Then, with a hatred that it shouldn’t have been possible for the eyes of a fifteen-year-old girl to hold, she met his stunned gaze for the briefest of seconds, threw open the bedroom door, and screamed at the top of her voice for her mother.
“I ... You ...” Larry Ketner was never usually a man lost for an answer, but he was floundering now as all the pieces seemed to click into place for him. Even through his alcoholic haze. “You devious little whore!”
Callie screamed again, even though she could hear footsteps approaching at a run. But it only served to get her panicked step-father moving again and the brutal backhand he dealt her to silence the screams knocked her to the floor and set off a burning flare of pain in her cheek.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Gloria Ketner demanded, white-faced and breathing hard. Her dyed blonde hair was a mess and, without her make-up, she looked ten years older than she was. She’d obviously been dragged out of bed by the screams and seemed like she didn’t know whether to be scared or pissed.
“Your precious husband was in my room,” her daughter spat, picking herself up off the floor. “Trying to touch me – touching himself! And he hit me to stop me screaming. Now you have to believe me, mom. You have to make him leave ...”
“Damn kid’s hysterical, Gloria,” Larry laughed awkwardly. “Musta had a bad dream or some shit. I came in to see what was wrong and one minute she’s rubbing up on me, next she’s attacking me and screaming blue murder. Ain’t my place to say it, but the girl needs serious therapy!”
“You lying bastard!” Callie all but cried in frustrated disbelief, hot tears already starting to well up as she recognised the look on her mother’s face. “Mom, no, you can’t believe him - you just can’t! Please ...”
“It is late and that is more than enough!” her mother snapped, each word delivered in clipped tones, her voice rising to a near shriek as her nervous gaze darted from the man she’d married to the girl she’d all but given up trying to understand. “I don’t want to hear this. Not now and not at all, you hear me?”
“But I’m your daughter,” Callie managed, in barely more than a whisper. She didn’t even bother trying to wipe away the tears that spilled over and coursed down her cheeks. “You’re supposed to believe me. You’re supposed to protect me. Mom ...”
“Stop these filthy lies, Callie,” Gloria practically pleaded, in what seemed to be a change of tactics, wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself and moving towards her daughter. But instead of taking her in her arms, as it looked like she intended to, she grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Larry has only ever tried to be a father to you and I’m asking you to stop this now. For me, Callie. Honestly, you two are going to have me on medication at this rate – and I expect you to get this ... this misunderstanding all straightened out.”
“What? No!”
But even as Callie shook her head frantically, Larry was nodding his agreement with a slow smile spreading across his face. “Don’t worry, Glo. I got this,” he said, steering his wife towards the door. “Nothin' I can’t handle – that’s what bein’ a dad’s all about, right?” And gently pushing her into the hallway, he closed the door behind her before turning to his devastated step-daughter, the smile disappearing. “Now ... where were we?”
Before she could move, or even make a sound, one large hand flashed out and clamped over her mouth while the other gripped her wrist like a vise and jerked her closer. Her gray eyes were wide above his hand as she struggled to free herself, lashing out with her free arm.
A teenage girl was no match for a full grown man though, and a heavily built one at that - no matter how much she tried to fight. Plus, he was safe in the knowledge that his wife wouldn’t interfere any further. After all, she was trusting him to straighten it all out.
Finding herself pushed down on the bed, Callie still struggled beneath his weight, turning her face away from his hot breath as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.
“No, no, don’t ...” she sobbed, feeling him grind hard against her and hearing the tear of fabric as one strap of her vest top gave way under his pawing hands. She was just about on the verge of giving up and wondering if she could simply disappear into herself far enough to block out the living nightmare that offered no other escape.
That was when she saw it, out of the corner of her eye.
The penknife on her nightstand.
***
Colton didn’t trust himself to speak. S
he didn’t need a show of anger from him right now, so he simply wrapped her up tight in his arms – determined that no one would ever hurt her again as long as he was still breathing.
“I thought I knew what I was getting into,” Callie mumbled into his chest. “I thought I had to prove it. Make sure that, when I did take off, they couldn’t bring me back. I ... I guess I didn’t really think about how determined he’d be to get away with more than just sticking his hand up my skirt.”
“I’d cut the fucking pervert’s hands off ...” he growled, sickened by the thought of what the girl had been forced to go through alone. But underneath, he recognised that – even as just a kid - she hadn’t let herself become a victim. Had in fact come out the other side all the stronger, more independent. And he knew what it must have taken for someone like her, who hated depending on anyone, to tell him.
“It was a long time ago, Colt,” she whispered. “I’ve never told anyone except Casey. Not even Sketch or Lana. Not the whole story anyway. I just ... I dunno. I don’t want to rake over old ground, but I felt like I should tell you. I mean, I know about your mom and stuff ...”
“I get it,” he said finally, his voice rough. If she was thinking it could change how he felt about her though, she couldn’t be more wrong. He was proud of his tough little bitch. “And you were right to tell me, darlin’. Just wish the bastard had to pay.”
Her arms tightened around his waist and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, where he could feel hot tears on his skin as the inadvertent tension in her body over how he’d react seemed to finally melt away.
“I ended up telling Michael half the story,” she added quietly, just a little hint of hurt creeping into her voice and making him frown. “When he wouldn’t stop going on about meeting my family. I didn’t admit just how bad things had been – but he still managed to throw it in my face when we rowed. That was what happened when I hit my head. He tried to stop me storming off after he said my mom was right about me.”
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 28
