Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  “What did you…”

  “Nothing. My face was pressed against the wall and the guy’s weight pinned me tight.”

  I feel her shaking, and I realise I’ve got to tell her the fucking truth. The whole fucking truth.

  “I could’ve screamed. I could’ve fucking yelled the place down and kicked out or elbowed him and told him to get the fuck off me.”

  “You were scared…” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t fear. I was scared, of course I was fucking scared, but it wasn’t that that rooted me to the fucking spot. It was the fucking hard on in my pants. It was the stench of the wall, the stench of him, the way I wanted a part of whatever fucking seediness was going down there.”

  “You wanted it?”

  “Wanted it, didn’t want it… it’s a fine fucking line. My dick wanted it, my brain not so fucking much.”

  Her voice is a choked little squeak. “What did he do to you?”

  I smile. “You’ve seen what he did to me, I just did it to your poor little virgin friend back there. He pulled my fucking pants down and put me in a chokehold then rammed his fucking cock in my ass. Only he went in dry. I at least allowed your friend a little grace.”

  “He choked you?”

  I nod. “Hard. He choked me hard. Fucked me hard, too.”

  She gasps, stiffens, and I know what she’s thinking. I know she thinks I was violated, which is true. I know she thinks this shit has fucked me up, which is also probably true, but that isn’t it. That isn’t why I’m telling her this.

  “He fucked me so hard the tears streamed down my fucking face, and I came for him. I shot my load in his hand, splattered the fucking wall with it.”

  “But you couldn’t not…”

  I laugh. “Oh believe me, Amy, I could. I fucking wanted it. I really wanted it. That fucking climax was one of the best I’ve ever fucking had. I shuffled out of there with my ass bleeding and my lungs on fire and my dick still wet with my fucking cum, and I loved it. I hated myself for loving it, even right there in the aftermath.”

  She shudders. “It’s ok… to be bisexual…”

  “I know it is,” I tell her. “It’s not that that bothers me. It’s the… seediness. The brutality. The fact that I came with my face pressed to a wall that stank of piss, with a man that stank of sweat, and I loved it. I felt so fucking ashamed.”

  “You had nothing to be ashamed of,” she tells me. “It was them.”

  I laugh again, and then I pull the covers back. Her eyes widen as she sees the state of my fucking dick. I’m hard enough to fucking blow.

  “It’s ok to be bisexual,” she whispers again.

  “My father knew,” I tell her. “He followed me outside and clipped me round the ear and told me never to fucking follow him again.”

  “He knew?!”

  “Of course he knew. He knew I was following him, too. The old cunt set it up. Nothing happens without my father’s say so. Nothing. He’s the fucking real puppet master. He pulls everyone’s fucking strings. And I’m just like him.”

  “I don’t think you are…” she whispers, and it’s so sweet. Her faith in me is so fucking sweet. I kiss her head.

  “It was the first real time he took me under his wing. He told me I should be on the other side of the fence next time, the side with all the power. He paid for hookers and brought me into his rancid network of rich clients, and taught me everything I needed to know about playing the system and enabling the rich to do whatever they fucking please as long as they’re willing to pay for it.”

  “You were just trying to please him…”

  “For a time. After that I was all in for myself.” I turn to face her, and her sadness for me is so beautiful. Beautiful but misplaced. “I’m a sex addict,” I tell her. “Or I was. I calmed it down when I got married, but it was always there, lurking behind the scenes. Claire wanted to know why I didn’t fuck her anymore like I used to. She asked what really turned me on, what she could do. It was a mistake to tell her the truth. She insisted I should have therapy. Every time she looked at me, her eyes were full of pity and disgust.” I pause. “Maybe yours will be too.”

  She kisses me. She kissed me hard. She tangles her fingers in my hair and presses her body to mine, and my heart pounds in my chest. “You will never disgust me,” she whispers. “Never. I love you.”

  She loves me.

  The thought makes my stomach twist, but it’s beautiful. It’s everything.

  “I hate my father,” I tell her. “I hate everything he is. I hate everything he dragged me into, but mostly I hate myself for becoming just like him. But that’s going to change. I’m getting out.”

  She strokes my arm. “I’ll come with you,” she whispers. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Good,” I tell her, “because I’ll be going soon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  MELISSA

  I WOULD GIVE anything to tell Alexander who I really am, but I can’t.

  I’ve played him too much. I’ve lied too much.

  My dreams of open arms after a teary confession have shrivelled and died.

  He’s been so honest, and I’ve been such a fraud. I thought I knew everything, but I knew nothing.

  He’d never forgive me and I know it.

  I could die in his arms as he holds me in the aftermath of his confession. It kills me to know how close I am to having him. How close I am to making this real.

  I have to make it real.

  We lie in silence for a long time, just breathing. My hand rests on his hard cock but he makes no move to thrust against my touch and I make no move to bring him off.

  I wish we could stay here forever, but he moves as the light begins to glow through the window.

  “We should go home,” he says, and I move with him. Pull my dress on and tug my knickers up and take his hand when it’s offered.

  He calls a cab before we leave and I lean against him as we wait.

  The cards are tumbling down all around me and right now I’m numb to the whole thing. I only have one card left.

  One single card left and I’m intending to play it.

  I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow with immediate effect. I’ll say there’s a family emergency, I’ll say anything. I’ll confess to Alexander that I lied about my name and say I was worried for my brother. Worried people would find out I was a hooker.

  Maybe he’ll believe that. Maybe he’ll understand.

  Maybe he’ll never check his employee records, not since he’s leaving himself.

  Maybe we’ll escape into the sunset. Maybe he’ll come to love Joe as I love him.

  It’s worth a shot. It’s the only one I have left.

  It’s morning when the cab pulls up at his. I’m ready for a few hours’ sleep in his comfy bed before heading home to face the music with Dean, but as Alexander turns his key in the lock the alarm doesn’t beep with the countdown.

  And I know.

  Of course I know.

  I freeze on the spot as he steps inside, tugging away from him at the horror that Sonnie’s already at work in there.

  I can’t.

  Oh God, I can’t.

  He’ll know. He’ll know as soon as she stares at me, even if she doesn’t say anything… even if she doesn’t blow my cover…

  “I have to go,” I tell him.

  He turns back. “Go?”

  “Right now,” I say. “I have something on this morning.”

  His eyes dig into mine, and there’s an insecurity there I’ve never seen before.

  “Look, Amy, if I said too much…”

  I shake my head. “No! It’s not that!”

  I hear Brutus padding through the hallway and I hear Sonnie’s voice calling him back, and I’m out of time.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not that, I swear, but I have to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “I’ll see you on Wedn
esday,” I tell him. “I’ll be over at eight.”

  He’s still staring as I run from there. He takes two steps in my direction before I’m out of sight.

  I don’t stop running until I’m on the underground.

  DEAN’S EYES are wild as he opens the door.

  “Did you tell him?”

  I shake my head and he groans.

  He pulls the living room door closed as Joe watches TV with his cereals.

  “What the fuck, Lissa?” he hisses. “You said you’d fucking tell him!”

  “I can’t!” I hiss back. “I just can’t! He’d never forgive me!”

  “Then what?” he snaps. “My ass is fucking bleeding, Lissa, the man’s a fucking animal.”

  I lean against the wall, my heart pounding in my ears.

  “He wants me to go away with him, he’s quitting his job and moving away.”

  Dean’s face is a picture of horror. “Away with him? How can you go away with him? He doesn’t even know Joe exists!”

  “You think I don’t know that?!” I snap, and the tears are coming. I try to choke them back. “I’m going to resign tomorrow, I’ll tell him I lied about my name and hope he forgives me, I don’t need to say anything else, maybe he’ll never know.”

  “And what if he does know?” Dean’s eyes are like coals. “What if he finds out you fucking lied about everything? That even your fucking confession was a lie?”

  I shrug. My laugh is deranged through the tears.

  “Then it’s all fucked anyway.” I suck in a breath. “And so am I. I’m fucked without him, Dean. I can’t go on. I can’t.”

  He pulls me into his arms and I feel like the terrible crazy bitch I really am. I feel like hell. I feel like this is everything I deserve for lying so much and not giving a damn for the consequences. Not giving a damn about anything but getting into Alexander Henley’s bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I’m so sorry for what I made you do.”

  He breathes into my hair and he rocks me, and it makes me feel even worse to know he still cares, despite everything.

  “Fuck, Lissa,” he whispers. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’d have done it all myself.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ALEXANDER

  I SHOULDN’T HAVE FUCKING SAID anything, but it’s done now.

  She couldn’t hide the panic in her eyes, the crazy tension in her limbs as she freaked out and ran from me.

  A couple of steps, that’s all I took, still fucking scarred from chasing that poor fucking cleaner down my street a few weeks back.

  I should’ve chased Amy harder. I should’ve dragged her inside and made her listen to me.

  I should’ve told her I loved her.

  Because I do. I do fucking love her.

  It’s not Melissa that’s cleaning my house this morning, it’s the girl from last week.

  She’s still petrified of Brutus, I hear it in her voice when she calls him, tells him to get his sorry ass back where she can see him.

  It makes me smile through the fucking panic.

  She looks horrified as I step into the kitchen. Her eyes are wild as she gushes out apologies.

  “Oh hell, Mr Henley, sir. I didn’t see you there, I swear. I’m sorry, oh drat, I’m so sorry.”

  I wave her apology away as I take a seat at the island.

  I feel exhausted as I give Brutus a pat, and I’m starving. I’m really fucking starving.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” the cleaner asks, and I’m about to say yes before I really look at her.

  The poor woman looks as exhausted as I am, working her ass off to clean up after me before seven on a fucking Sunday morning.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, and her eyes widen.

  “Sonya,” she says, “but everyone calls me Sonnie.”

  “Well then, Sonnie,” I say. “Why don’t you sit yourself down for five minutes and I’ll get us both one.”

  She looks like she’s going to faint as she takes a stool. As though this is some kind of test.

  It isn’t. I put the beans in the machine with a smile.

  And then I ask her if she wants to join me for some muesli.

  SONNIE IS A CHATTY SOUL. She tells me how my dog isn’t really so bad when you get to know him.

  She says Melissa told her so, and she was right.

  I still feel a rush at the name, a debt of gratitude for the fact that she provoked the tiny spark of hope in me. Without that spark of hope I’d never have met Amy.

  Without that spark of hope I wouldn’t be anywhere.

  “Tell me about Melissa,” I say, and Sonnie grins.

  “Lissa is all kinds of awesome, Mr Henley, sir. She’s damn sorry she couldn’t be here on a Sunday, what with her brother and all, but ain’t nobody gonna be keeping her from her Monday through Friday, that’s for sure.”

  “Her brother?” I ask, and Sonnie looks unsure. “You can tell me,” I say. “She’s been an excellent help to me, I should thank her.”

  “You haven’t met her yet?”

  I shake my head. “A few moments in a meeting room, that’s all. She buys me bacon and orchids. I appreciate it.”

  Sonnie’s grin is intoxicating. “Well, sir, she’d be damn happy to hear you say so. The girl thinks you’re class-A amazing.”

  “She does?”

  She nods. “Hell yeah.” She leans across the island. “Between us, she met you before. She wouldn’t say nothing, oh no, so I’m doing her a favour. Would make her year if you hung around one morning to give her your thanks.”

  I sip my coffee. “She met me before?”

  “Outside some school gates. You gave her one of your fancy cigarettes.”

  The flash of memory is so faint. “The girl with the sparkly tobacco tin?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know about that, Mr Henley, sir. Depends how many schoolgirls you been giving your smokes to.”

  I laugh. “I don’t make a habit of it.”

  “Then I guess she’s the girl with the sparkly tobacco tin, sir,” she says.

  How extraordinary.

  I’d be taken aback if I wasn’t thoroughly versed already in the peculiarity of coincidence.

  “You said she couldn’t be here because of her brother?”

  Sonnie looks so sad. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “Please,” I say. “If I can help her…”

  “Her parents died,” she tells me. “Poor soul was only just eighteen, back last spring. Takes care of her younger brother now, just a wee little soul he is. So much to take on for a youngster.”

  I feel a genuine pang of sympathy. “She lost both her parents?”

  “Hit and run,” Sonnie says. “Awful, truly awful. Guy who did it got off with it, too. Some fancy lawyer to thank for that most likely.” Her eyes widen in horror as she realises what she’s said. “Not like you, sir. Oh no, not like you are.”

  I wave her horror aside. “It’s fine,” I say. “Fancy lawyers have a lot to answer for. I know.”

  “Lissa wanted to be a lawyer herself,” she tells me. “Before the accident, you know. I think you inspired her back then at school. Your little talk got her all fired up.”

  I feel so sorry. I tell her so.

  I ask her if she thinks Lissa would be suited to a place on our training program and she claps her hands in glee. “She’d love that, sir! Oh hell, yes! That would make her whole lifetime!”

  I’ll set it up before I leave. It’s the very least I can do.

  After all, I won’t be needing a cleaner for this house anymore. The orchids would be well and truly wasted on this empty place, and so would Lissa.

  I wave Sonnie off as she leaves for the day and she thanks me for my muesli.

  And then I fire off an email to Claude asking him for a final settlement figure on Amy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ALEXANDER

  I’M glad I’m going to be through dealing with Claude soon, beca
use the cunt fucking infuriates me.

  Back and forth all Sunday afternoon, grilling me on why I’m requiring a settlement figure.

  I give him nothing. I tell him to quote me a figure and mind his fucking business.

  His one fucking million is a joke, but I wire the funds anyway, just to keep this fucking easy.

  After all, Amy will end up with most of it.

  I’m calm as I head into the office on Monday morning. My resolve is steely and my nerves are cold as ice.

  I prepare my official resignation for the board and begin assigning my clients to capable colleagues.

  I need to keep this under the radar until it’s too late. Until it’s too late for my father to action any fucking comeback before I’m out of here with Amy in tow.

  I’ve no time for him when he charges into my office. There’s not even a fucking board meeting on today and I tell him so.

  His eyes are like pinpricks as they feast on mine, and they remind me just how much I hate him. How desperate I am to spend the rest of my life as far away from the seedy cunt as possible.

  He slams a file onto my desk and jabs a finger in my direction.

  “I knew there was something going on with you, boy.” He laughs a terrible laugh. “I should’ve guessed it would be a pissing woman. Sweet tight cunt is to blame for most of men’s problems. Don’t I fucking know it.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, old man?” I sneer.

  “Claude told me all about her.” He laughs and my blood runs cold. “I should’ve guessed it. Half a million for a piece of fine virgin snatch and it sends you all fucking doolally.” He shakes his head. “Now you’re after a settlement agreement for that same fucking pussy? Willing to pay a whole fucking mill for it?”

  “Stay out of it,” I snap. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Oh but it is,” he snarls. “Because she’s addled your fucking brain, boy. The woman’s playing you for a silly fucking fool.”

  “You know nothing about it,” I tell him, “and you definitely know nothing about her. Just get the fuck out of here.”

  “Amy Leigh Randall?” he asks, and my breath hitches. “Twenty-one years old, perfect bloodwork, lives in EC1 with her lovely parents and two delightful younger siblings, yes?”