Craving Control

by Kylie Hillman

  “Oi, Kyle,” I call after him in my friendliest voice.

  We’re alone; separated from the crowded party space by a dense group of trees.

  He turns, happy expectation on his face. It dims when he sees that it’s me. If he thinks he’s disappointed now, he has another think coming.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  He wipes his nose with his sleeve. Apparently, Benji isn’t the only footballer using. Oh, well. I’m about to take Kyle from his current high down to the lowest of lows.

  “I want you to stay the fuck away from Maddi,” I state with menace.

  The dumbass bursts into laughter. Pressing my lips tightly together, I watch his hysterics with a damning eye. Either Kyle’s too high to know he’s in serious trouble, or he doesn’t have sufficient respect for me. Doesn’t matter which—I’m about to teach him a lesson he won’t forget.

  Stepping up to him, I re-enact the way my father got his point across last week by seizing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him close to me. Kyle is maybe an inch or two taller than me. It doesn’t matter because I’m much bulkier. When I bend him, he’ll break.

  “Do you think I’m joking, you ugly ginger freak? Go near Maddi again and I’ll fuck you up so bad, even your alcoholic mother won’t recognise you.”

  That gets his attention. “What the hell is wrong with you? Maddi’s like my sister. I’m not staying away from—”

  His doesn’t get to finish his statement. I let go of the front of his shirt, ramming my knee straight into his gut as I do so. The muted grunt that leaves him makes me smile, but it’s the way he falls on his face in the dirt when I hammer fist him on the back of the head that makes me grin.

  I prod his unmoving form with my shoe. He doesn’t make a sound. Pulling my foot back, I kick him in the ribs to make sure that he’s unconscious. The impact lifts him from the ground, where he flops back onto his stomach moments later. I use that same foot to roll him on his back—wouldn’t want him to suffocate in the dirt, would we?

  As I’m walking, I rethink that strategy. Do I go back and put him on his face again and hope he suffocates before anyone finds him? Or should I leave him how he is and hedge my bets that he’s not going to point the finger at me? My conundrum is answered for me when I spot Maddi making her way through the crowd near the bonfire.

  There’s no time to commit murder tonight.

  “Brendan!” Maddi yells across the field.

  She runs up to me with a huge smile on her face. I hold my arms open and she walks into them willingly. Closing her in my embrace, I hold her tight, and as usual, nuzzle my nose into her hair so I can draw in Maddi’s unique scent.

  All thoughts of Kyle flee my mind when her rose and vanilla scented innocence washes over me. If I could bottle her essence, I wouldn’t need to hurt anyone ever again.

  Tilting her head back, she grins up at me. “So, Sir-sniffs-a lot, are you surprised to see me?”

  “I am. Thought you were spending the night at home getting a head start of your final year at school.”

  Maddi quirks her right eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. “Well, Nita might have warned me that I was at risk of turning into a hermit if I didn’t leave the house soon. Plus I heard my brothers talking about heading out here and I thought you might need some company. The night is too beautiful to let them ruin it.”

  “You’re too kind,” I kiss the end of her nose. Her resulting blush hits me straight in the cock.

  When she turns her back to me to look out over the crowd, I pull her hard against my chest. Locking my arms around her waist presses her ass on my growing hardness.

  I need to have her soon. This waiting is bullshit.

  Her curves meld with my frame like she was made for me. Our bodies are like two puzzles pieces that have found their match. I’d give anything to know what her warm pussy feels like.

  I have a feeling we’ll fit together perfectly.

  “I’m glad you came.” I kiss her cheek, then rest my chin on her head.

  Her brothers appear in the corner of my peripheral vision. They’re stopping my guests and questioning them about something. Every time they receive a negative response—a headshake or a definitive no, the anger I can read in their expressions increase. As is their way, Benji and Joel seem to know that Maddi is here before they’ve laid eyes on her. Idly, I wonder if I should check her phone for a tracking device until I remember Kyle and realise that they’re searching the crowd for Kyle, not Maddi. I’d forgotten about the ginger freak lying unconscious in the trees.

  Thank the dark lords above for small mercies.

  When they eventually find him, Maddi has just become my unwitting alibi.

  That annoying “Hey, Mickey” song by that blue-haired singer from the eighties starts playing. I look around for the offender—everyone knows that the playlists for our bonfire gatherings are carefully vetted by me. Maddi squirms out of my hold and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. She peers at the screen, her entire face lighting up like a little kid at Christmas when she sees who’s calling. Jabbing the screen with her fingertip, Maddi places the phone against her ear and greets the caller in a voice I’ve never heard before.

  “Oh, my God. Mik,” she exclaims. “Are you at home or still in the city?”

  She moves away from me while she listens. After a pause, she continues replies in a sad disappointed tone. “Man, that sucks. I haven’t seen you for ages. I miss you.”

  A dark cloud filled with the blackest rage I’ve ever felt comes over me. It dims my eyesight and makes my entire body shake. My fingers curl into fists and I envision yanking the phone out of her hand and smashing it with my heel.

  Mik Kennedy is calling her and she’s talking to him in a way she’s never spoken to me. The light in her eyes is new, so is the way she’s holding herself. Maddi flicks her gaze toward me, then Mik says something else and she dances out of earshot to answer him.

  Maddi has her back to me now. Her full attention is on her conversation. My feet have a mind of their own. I head for her, not one-hundred percent certain of what I plan to do—I just know that it’s not going to be pretty when I get my hands on her.

  I’m two steps closer to her when my collar is seized from behind and I’m almost yanked off my feet.

  “I need a word with you,” Benji O’Brien enunciates each word as a cast-iron threat. He’s behind me, his mouth right next to my ear. Chills run the length of my spine. I shake them off, except they refuse to leave. I’m fucked. I’m left with no choice, but to brazen the situation out.

  “That so?” My breezy tone belies my fear.

  Benji rips me around so I’m facing him. He grabs me by the throat and pushes my chin up. His fingers dig into the pressure points on each side of my neck, and I immediately feel dizzy. Wrapping both of my hands around his wrist, I attempt to pull his hand away.

  It’s futile. His rage makes him stronger than me.

  “Tell me why I just found Kyle cunt up in the trees?” Benji shakes me to emphasise his annoyance. “Explain to me why he’s saying that you did it? Remind me why you went near him when I expressly told you to fuck off outta our lives?”

  Each question is punctuated with another shake. By the time he’s finished, my feet are barely touching the ground. Since we’re the same height, I can’t work out how he’s managing to manhandle me with such ease until I meet his eyes are discover that it’s not adrenaline fuelling him.

  It’s ice.

  Benji’s off his face and out for blood.

  “Listen, Benji,” I try to reason with him.

  “No, you listen,” he gets back in my face. “I can’t do fuck all about you and Maddi until she comes to her senses and works out how fucked up you are, but I can keep you away from my brothers. You mess with any of us—Kyle, Joel, or of my teammates—and I’ll come after you with everything I can find. The wrath of the Mayor will be the least of your problems.”

  This little fuck is getting o
n my last nerve. Unfortunately, I have no way out except agreeing to his demands. I can see a minimum of ten other partygoers watching our showdown, and not one of them is someone I’d consider a friend.

  Usually I like the fact that no one in this po-dunk town is on my level. Tonight, I wish that Hugo, at the very least, was here to be on my side.

  “Benji,” I try again. “I think you’re misunderstanding the situation. I have no reason to go near you or Kyle or anyone else.”

  “There’s no misunderstanding. I understand that you’re a pussy who won’t come at us front on.” Narrowing his eyes, he stares over my shoulder. With one final shake he lets me go. “Now fuck off and enjoy the rest of your time with my sister. Just know that time’s a ticking with her, too. She might be buying your bullshit right now, but she’s smart. She’ll see you for who you are pretty bloody soon—a spoiled, little coward who has to beat girls to get off.”

  While he’s throwing around accusations, I’m trying to get my throat to work. It feels like he’s crushed something vital. I’m mute for now, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about my dirty secrets getting out at this party. Most of the attendees were around when it all went down so they have a fair idea of what I’m like, and they know better than to spread gossip about me.

  Slapping a few cease and desists on the first people to mention the incident publicly was a quick way to shut everyone up.

  No, I’m worried about Maddi overhearing him. There’s no way she knows. She wouldn’t be seen dead with me if she did.

  Apparently, Benji has the same worry. He looks past me again, then spins on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

  “Heya,” Maddi prods me in the ribs. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t miss that phone call. I’ve been waiting for it all week.”

  I stretch my neck from side to side. Swallowing twice, I decide that I’m okay to attempt to speak again.

  “What was the phone call about.”

  Maddi’s eyes light up. “My best friend is having a birthday party. That was my invitation.”

  “I see,” I say.

  I really don’t. Feels like she’s trying to skirt the issue to me and, after my altercation with her brother, I’m not inclined to cut her any slack.

  “Yeah,” Maddi runs her eyes over my face.

  I try to keep my expression neutral. I must fail. Her throat works, annoyance narrowing her eyes. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, then she straightens her shoulders and stands taller. “I’m going to head home now.”

  She stands on her tip-toes and touches her lips to mine. It happens so quickly that I barely feel it. I’ve made a fatal error tonight. It’s time to put my father’s back up plan into place.

  “See you tomorrow?”

  “S-sure,” Maddi stutters her answer. Her hesitation comes from her dislike of lying—I can hear it in her voice.

  Without another word she heads off for the parking lot. Her stride is long, and she doesn’t look back.

  I watch her go with my pulse pounding in my ears. My mind races at a million miles an hour.

  She’s slipping from my grasp.

  The empty feeling in my chest screams at me to do something.

  I need leverage and I need it now.

  Whooping and hollering breaks out in the crowd behind me. Turning to see what the ruckus is, I find Benji and his entourage have pooled their resources and broken out the illicit substances. There’s a dozen chopped lines and several rocks of crystal meth lying on top of the closest refreshments table. Someone has pulled out a glass pipe and a smaller group of them are passing it around.

  I slip off to the side, shielding my presence from them by hiding at the edge of the trees.

  My phone is in my pocket. I slide it out, and after inspecting the settings to make sure the flash isn’t on, I start taking pictures of the shenanigans as they unfold. Their behaviour isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Hell, I participate as well on occasion.

  What makes tonight different is that Benji, the captain of the football team and all-round golden boy, has let his guard down. He’s not sneaking off to partake in seclusion.

  No, tonight his snorting and smoking out in the open.

  Benji O’Brien just handed me the key to keeping his sister on a silver platter.

  Truthfully, he’s signed his own death warrant as well.

  Because I know it’s going to kill him to watch me turn his twin into a shadow of herself.

  ELEVEN

  Three weeks later

  “Brendan, I’d like a word,” Wendy Markham says, rapping her knuckles on my window.

  Her tone brooks no argument. Judgement clouds her expression. It makes me want to shoot her down where she stands. Everyone else might think she’s the perfect lady, with her charity work and her unofficial status as the town’s surrogate mother figure, but I know the truth.

  My father took that woman everyway he pleased, then hung her out to dry, pregnant and penniless, when he was done with her. Her shame might be hidden from view, but I can resurrect it any time I please. Abortion isn’t something that’s easily lived down in our neck of the woods.

  I press the button to lower my window, then cut the engine. Always the country gentleman, I tip my Akubra at her.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Markham?”

  She looks at me with the expression of someone who’s just sucked on a lemon—pursed lips and screwed up nose. I think it’s safe to say that she doesn’t buy my act.

  “I wish to know your intentions toward Madelaine?”

  Straight to the point. My respect for her goes up a notch.

  “That would be none of your business.”

  Wendy pushes the point. “She’s seventeen. Barely more than a child.”

  The sheer audacity of her statement has me seething. Gritting my teeth, I try my hardest not to give into the growing urge to tell her to take a long walk on a short pier.

  Who does she think she is?

  “What I have with Maddi is between us.”

  “You might believe that, but I’d hate to see her hurt in any way. As her—”

  “You’re nothing to her,” I cut off Wendy’s protests with the cold, hard truth. “And you’re nothing to me. Therefore, I’d advise that you cease prying into our private affairs and head back inside to do what you do best—service your biker trash.”

  I’m not sure which part of my tirade hits her in her soft spot, but something does. Her eyes fill with hurt, a teary gleam making her dark brown eyes shiny, and Wendy gives me her back. I hear her sniff, then she heads for the front door.

  Poking my head out the window, I call after her, “Would you mind telling Maddi that I’m here to pick her up? I’d rather not go inside; your house makes me itch.”

  Wendy doesn’t answer. I wait for a few moments, idly contemplating whether I’ll need to head inside to fetch Maddi myself, but Wendy comes through for me. I really shouldn’t have doubted her. Women like Wendy are nothing if not doormats. Easy to direct and eager to please.

  Maddi emerges from the side of the house, the gate slamming shut behind her. She tosses her bag over her shoulder, the agitated angle of her head alerting me to her dark mood. I push my door open and rush around to the side of my truck to open her door for her. She barely acknowledges me as she settles herself into her seat with an audible huff.

  “Hey,” I ask gently. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just get me out of here,” Maddi demands. She reaches out and snags the door handle from me. I let it go, squaring my shoulders when the door closes with a resounding bang. Hugging herself, she glares defiantly out the windscreen and summarily dismisses me.

  Flickers of irritation spark within me. I try my hardest to get Maddi to look at me again, but she stubbornly stares straight ahead. She gives me nothing. A quick glance at the gate she came through gives me a little more information to go on. The sounds of arguing coming from the backyard are a clear indication that her father and brothers are involved in he
r poor attitude.

  Settling myself back into the driver’s seat, I pause for a moment to give her time to explain herself to me. She doesn’t. So without another a glance in Maddi’s direction, I clip my seat belt and turn on the engine. We’re heading down the dirt track that leads back to the main road before I give her another skerrick of attention.

  My silent condemnation is my weapon. It’s my way of showing her how disappointed I am in her behaviour. When she doesn’t immediately apologise for her rudeness, the irritation that plagues me grows into something reckless. I press my foot down harder on the accelerator, increasing our speed to a dangerous level. I want a reaction. I want her on her knees begging me to stop being angry at her. I want her to acknowledge that I am exempt from her petty emotional displays.

  A quick look sideways tells me that it’s working. Maddi is fidgeting in her seat, plucking at the strap on her bag and pretending that she’s not taking surreptitious glances at me whenever she thinks I’m not looking.

  “Brendan?” Maddi attempts to gain my attention.

  I ignore her. It’s not her place to take control of the situation.

  “You need to slow down,” she barks at me.

  With a glare, I stare at Maddi until she drops my gaze and slumps back in her seat.

  Good. She’s slowly learning.

  “Please slow down.”

  Shaking my head, I let my accelerator foot answer her plea. My truck is souped up and has plenty more left in the tank. If she keeps ordering me around, I’ll keep driving faster.

  If Maddi stays silent, I’ll reduce my speed when I feel she’s sufficiently repentant.

  We reach the bitumen of the main road. The fearful gasp she makes infuriates me, so I don’t take my foot off the accelerator like I had planned. Instead I push it down further and increase our speed again. The wheels squeal and the back end of the truck tries to step out on me. I wrench the steering wheel, muscling the vehicle into submission, and head for town.

  The remainder of the trip is made in silence. The longer it lasts, the more I begin to doubt myself. Chills of disdain are beginning to emanate from Maddi’s side of the car. We’ve been getting along so well until last weekend at the bonfire that I’d forgotten how much she challenges me when I try to implement my usual highhanded tactics.