He looked chastised. “I just didn’t want you to feel bad. I thought if I asked you about it you would realise it doesn’t necessarily bother me.” He shrugged and sighed. “I wanted you to feel relaxed, and I want you to be able to be honest with me.”
I frowned sceptically.
“I like you,” he said. “I want to see you again. And I wanted you to know that… well that I’m interested.” He gritted his teeth and looked away. “Shit, I’m no good at this.”
“No good at what? Questioning someone?” He winced at the anger in my voice. “Then I’m afraid to tell you you’re in the wrong job!”
He sucked air through his teeth. “I don’t mean that. I meant the whole flirting thing. I haven’t done it for years.”
I froze, peering at him intrusively. “Are you married?”
His eyes flicked to mine. “Was. I was married for eight years.” He looked away and sighed. “My wife left me for another woman.”
I blinked at his honesty.
“It kind of knocks your confidence. This is the first time I’ve… I’ve…”
I pursed my lips. “To be honest at least you know it wasn’t anything you did wrong. You just didn’t have the parts.” I shrugged. “If she’d left you for another man then I get that it knocks your confidence, thinking that your sex skills were bad, but she just prefers pussy to cock.”
My bluntness suddenly changed his seriousness. His lips twitched and then he nodded. “I never thought of it like that.”
I noticed my friends hovering, the late hour making them ready for home. I lifted a hand to them and turned back to Jamie. “I have to go.”
He genuinely looked disappointed but nodded when he looked over at the others. He frowned at Marcus when he caught his narrow glare. “Looks like your brother isn’t too keen.”
I swallowed the laugh. “Marcus isn’t my brother.”
He snapped his wide eyes to mine. “He isn’t… he’s not…”
“No, relax.” I giggled. “He’s my bodyguard.”
“Oh.”
“You do know he’ll already have your home address, your bank account details, and how many shits a day you have all scrolling down his phone.”
Jamie looked horrified for a moment. But then his shock turned into a kind smile. “I’m glad you have someone looking out for you. Your job isn’t safe.”
I stared at him, shocked at his concern.
“Can I have your number?” His question came with another fierce blush.
“You really want to see me again after I’ve told you what I am?”
He scowled. “You’ve told me what your job is, Dove. You haven’t told me what you are.” He seemed annoyed with my question. “All I can see is a beautiful woman who I would like to know more about. Your job is your job. It doesn’t tell me who you are inside.”
“And it wouldn’t cause a problem with your job?”
He shrugged. “My personal life is my own business. I’m not in the habit of declaring my relationship status to my boss.”
He seemed authentic. So, pulling out my phone, I told him to put his number in the contacts list. Within a second, his own phone rang and he pulled it out, giving me a wink as he saved my number to his own contacts.
“So I’ll see you soon?” he asked with a hopeful expression.
I smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He beamed at me, his huge smile declaring his happiness in his eyes as well as his face. “Okay, Dove Holland. I’ll be in touch.”
Then grabbing my hand, he yanked me across the table and pressed his lips to mine. At first, his forwardness shocked me after he had been so reticent, but when the heat of his breath touched my lips, I moaned and opened to him. He slid his tongue into my mouth, his own groan rumbling up his throat. His hand slid behind my neck, holding me still as he deepened the kiss and pushed the boundaries daringly. Eventually pulling away, he licked his lips and cringed. “I’m sorry. Too soon? I told you I’m shit at…”
“Shh,” I whispered with a press of my fingers against his lips. “I enjoyed your minute of fearlessness.”
He stared at me to see if I was mocking him but then he grinned and chuckled. “I’ll try to bring it out more.”
I winked. “You should. It was hot.”
Leaving him laughing, I joined my friends, the girls grinning at me and Marcus glaring at me. A heaviness set in my gut and I groaned to myself quietly. I had a feeling I was in trouble. But then again, where Marcus was concerned, I was always in trouble.
Ah well, it livened up my life.
“FUCK OFF, MARCUS!” I grumbled when we walked through the front door.
He’d lectured me about the dangers of random men all the way home, and he was beginning to get on my nerves. I’m sure he thought I was sixteen and he was my goddamned father.
“No, Dove. You need to be aware…”
“Aware?” I cut him off as I slung my bag onto the side table that pressed against the hallway wall. “Aware of what?” I stared at him incredulously. “You know.” I prodded him in the chest, the alcohol running through me making me loud and brash. “For once I would like a man to be interested in me because I’m me! I want to know what it feels like to have a man genuinely interested in me!” I spat, my rage at fraying point. “To ask me normal questions like, ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ and ‘What are your plans this weekend?’ Not, ‘Do you take it up the ass?’ or ‘Can I choke you while I fuck you?’”
Tears burst behind my eyes and I swiped angrily at them, turning my back on him. He jumped backwards when I spun back round.
“I’m sick of this shit, Marcus. I’m tired!”
“Then stop!” he bellowed back at me, his own anger now rupturing. “Stop!”
“Oh, it’s always so simple for you!”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “And how simple would it be when we’re dropping you six feet underground?”
“Guys…” Ren whispered behind me, but I was too damn furious to stop.
“You want him, Marcus. You all want him. And Sam won’t allow me to stop until you fucking have him! Whether or not I’m still alive doesn’t matter to your boss!”
Marcus took a step towards me, pinning me under his glare. “You know it’s not like that, Dove!”
I shook my head in frustration. “It’s exactly like that, Marcus. I’ve wanted to stop this for a while now, you know I have. But Sam keeps pushing…”
“Guys…”
“No!” Marcus shouted, his face puce with his rage. “Don’t you dare pass the guilt here, Dove. You fuck men! And you’re too caught up in the life to stop fucking men!”
He hissed, his face shooting to the side when my palm fired across his cheek. “How dare you!”
“Guys!” Ren snapped loudly.
Marcus covered his mouth with his hand as though he could take back the words. The tears that had puddled in my eyes dripped over the edge. I shook my head at him when he stepped forwards. “Go. Just go home, Marcus.”
“Shit. Dove. Please.”
“GO!”
Closing his eyes as his jaw clenched, he pulled in a breath then turned and stormed back out of the door.
I dropped my face into my hands and fought for control. I could feel Ren behind me, watching me, unnerved by the argument. “Fix me a couple of lines.”
She didn’t say a word but she moved. Everything was wrong. I craved for normality, yearned for life to allow me a breath. But it wouldn’t ever be. This was why I wanted to coax out Viktor. I wanted it to end. All of it.
Trying to settle the rage inside me I turned and froze. Flick was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was blank but his narrow eyes made my stomach twist with nausea. He sighed heavily, his large chest lifting under the shift of his soft grey shirt.
I bit back more tears when they surfaced, aware that he had heard everything, including what Marcus had said. Bracing myself for his wrath when he pushed off the wall,
I frowned when he opened his arms. I was struggling to hold myself together. I wanted time to freeze for a while, to allow my emotional breakdown privacy.
When I only stood staring, my whole body not daring to move in case it pushed me over, he whispered, “Come here.”
I thought it was a trick, but when he remained still and patient, I found myself slowly closing the gap between us. I whimpered when his arms slid around me, his safe, strong embrace comforting me in more ways than he could imagine. He held me tight, filling my essence with him as I cried into his neck. His scent seeped into my senses, his unique fragrance that I had never forgotten making my tears fall harder. I had missed so much. I had witnessed so much. Yet the thing that saddened me the most was that I had hurt Flick so much. He would never understand why I had left him behind, and as much as I wanted him to know, he couldn’t ever know. It would break the fraying thread that was precariously holding us together. I wouldn’t say we had a friendship now, and as much as I needed to keep him away, I longed for him. I wanted to hold onto him forever, until I took my last breath.
“You came back.” I hiccupped into him.
His hands slid from my back to the tops of my arms before he gently moved me back to look at me. “Of course I came back. I just needed a moment to breathe.”
I nodded, understanding. “Ren is in, along with Gary.” Without saying anything else, I took hold of his hand. His skin against mine tingled, and for a brief second I had to close my eyes to cope with the influx of emotion. Then, biting it back, I pulled him gently up the stairs and into my bedroom.
Flick’s eyes were everywhere, feasting on my possessions. His gaze roamed over the soft yellow walls and the white furniture, his eyes soaking up every one of my cosmetics and perfumes. He looked to each picture on my walls, to the weightless curtains blowing gently. Silently he observed the tiny blue flowers that were stitched into the white cotton of my duvet cover, and the tiny blue fairy lights that ran through the iron bars of my headboard. Then his eyes shifted to the chair in the corner of my room and a small smile accompanied a deep, broken inhalation. Dropping my hand, he moved to the chair and picked up Mr Twitty. I stood breathless, my heart hammering inside my chest with a ferocity that made me dizzy. Just watching his fingers slide over the stuffed owl’s fur brought back a slur of memories that hurt. Memories I hadn’t allowed to be liberated for a long, long time.
“You still have him.”
I didn’t answer, I just stood watching his long fingers dig deep into the owl’s round stomach as though clutching it would ease the pain inside both of us.
Keeping Mr Twitty in one hand, Flick walked back over to me, took my hand, and pulled me down onto the bed beside him. I couldn’t work out his expression, whether he was mad, or sad, or even stunned. I stiffened, not daring to breathe, when he reached up to me and lightly ran his knuckles across my cheek.
“You’re so very beautiful.”
My throat started to close in. It wasn’t the words, nor was it the context of them. It was the utter conviction he said them with that made me grope around for air.
“With an ugly soul,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
I couldn’t help but scoff. “How can you say that? You have no idea what I’ve done.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. But I know for sure that whatever life threw at you, you did what you did to survive.”
He wiped at my tears with his thumbs. I hated the sorrow on his face, the grief he had for my life reflected back at me through the depths of his pure green irises.
I was suddenly angry. But not with him. With life. With what I had done. I pulled in an angry breath and glared at him. I needed him to see the real me, to run as far from me as he could. Before I poisoned him like everyone else that became close to me. Leaning forwards and making him look at me, I sneered at his innocence. “I killed him, Flick.”
He didn’t even flinch. “I know. But it was self-defence, Dove.”
I shook my head and laughed coldly. “Not him, you fool. Yes, it was kill or be killed with the pizza guy.” For the first time in my life, I hated Flick. I hated his simplicity, the life he had. I hated that he had moved on and married, forgotten me. I hated how sheltered from real life he actually was. “You have no idea, Flick. No – fucking – idea what I have done. Who I am.”
His fingers wrapped around my wrists, Mr Twitty dropping to the floor with his jerky movement as he yanked me towards him. “Then tell me.”
Another cruel laugh tore from me. “I haven’t just killed to protect myself. Don’t you dare look at me as though I’m perfection. You always did that. You always looked at me like I was the answer to every problem in your life. You always expected me to be so much, Flick. I could never live up to who you thought I was, who you wanted me to be!”
He reared back with the hatred rolling over me, my words finally shocking him enough to listen. To see. “Dove?”
I slapped at his chest, the heartache emptying from me in huge waves of violence. “I plotted his death. I planned it for weeks. I mapped out exactly how to kill a man. A bastard. A cunt. I wanted to watch the blood drain from him. I wanted to hear his final breath leave his body. I wanted to watch him writhe in agony underneath me. And I wanted his screams to be the very thing that allowed me peace at night.” I slapped at him again. “That’s who I am, Flick. I’m that person. Not a fucking gift from God, and certainly not your pure, innocent little girl.”
“Tell me!” He was as angry as me, his words coated in vehemence. “Talk to me. Tell me. TELL ME!”
I froze, the weight of my life finally taking the final part of my resolve. Then, lowering myself on to the bed and turning away from him, I told him the rest of my story. Every single horrific minute of it.
Eight years earlier
I STAYED IN the house for about seven months. Many different girls came and went, some staying weeks, some only days. Many men came and went also, but they would stay only hours.
Yet, strangely, as the other girls entertained all the men, I was only ‘used’ by Oliver. No other man was allowed near me, and I often thought he had a soft spot for me. He would bring Ren and me food on many occasions, and he always brought Ren a new colouring book and crayons, or jigsaws and various puzzles on each of his visits. I knew they were to keep Ren out of the way while he used my body for his pleasure, but a part of me was grateful to him for noticing her.
By now Ren was ten, and as much as she was still a child, I knew she was aware of what went on in the back bedroom. But we never spoke of it – well, not for a long time. I could see the knowledge in her eyes, and as much as the sadness overwhelmed both of us, the food Oliver provided kept us alive. And as long as Ren was fed and watered, with a roof over her head and shoes on her feet then I would continue to lay back and slide open my legs for a man who hurt me as much as he cared for me.
I often thought of my mother in those days. Her life, and her choices, that had once seemed horrific now came with a little more perception. I contemplated whether she only gave the many men, including Bob, the time of day because they helped to feed and clothe us. But I knew in my soul that I would never see her again. That ached at my heart because I wanted to take her hand in mine and tell her I forgave her, and that I understood now. Yet it would never be, and wishing for something that would never happen was a fruitless task.
The day I turned sixteen, I wondered if Oliver knew it was my birthday when he came to me with a pretty blue dress and some fancy underwear. The dress was knee length. The neckline was low and showed off the tops of my breasts, but the cut was longer than the usual mock leather skirts he liked me to dress in when he visited. The spaghetti straps gave it an almost innocent look, yet it had a deep split up the side that reached my upper thigh. The material was a soft, pale blue, and the way the fabric floated over my small hips made me fall in love with it.
“Put this on.” He didn’t give me any other directions before he placed so
me shoes on the floor and walked out of the room.
Ren quirked an eyebrow and looked up at me from where she lay on the floor, colouring. Her eyes moved to the dress and she smiled. “Oh, you’ll look so pretty, Dove. Can I do your hair?”
Her excitement was contagious and I grinned, nodding eagerly. I considered the chance that Oliver was taking me out to eat some place nice, maybe sneak me a glass of wine even though I was underage.
So an hour later, I had slaved over making my lipstick and mascara look professional and sexy, and Ren had fixed my usual unruly curls up with small pins. I slipped my feet into the small heeled shoes and then made my way through the house to Oliver.
He stood on the backdoor step, blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the balmy night air. On hearing me, he turned. His eyes widened before they slid down the length of me.
My chest stuttered when a sad smile covered his previous wide one. I didn’t like the way my instincts were telling me to run. To run fast and far. And then I noticed mine and Ren’s belongings forced into a small black bag on the kitchen table.
“Oliver?”
As if he was aware he was showing too much emotion in his gaze, he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a stern glare. “Don’t ever question me, Dove.” Although Oliver could sometimes be cruel, there was a warning to his words that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with unease.
Anxiety trickled through my bones and I blinked at him, my body rigid as I fiddled with my nails, the blue varnish Ren had painted them with being chipped ruthlessly under my nervous scraping.
“Have I done something wrong?”
I wasn’t sure I could survive on the streets again. Although the house wasn’t luxurious - it was cold and damp and the toilet didn’t flush properly - but for the last seven months it had been home. And suddenly it was all being snatched away again.
Oliver winced when my voice broke. I braced myself for his backhander when he walked across the space between us. But, unexpectedly, and very softly, he slid his hand over my cheek, his fingers delicately brushing my hair and forcing a few curls to ping out of the clips. His eyes were warm and he sighed, chewing on his lip as if troubled by something. “You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetie. I have.”
Dove Page 9
