Hardened
Page 18
I’m very, very glad I decided to give my sexy dom another chance.
“Could we go out? I mean, I know it’ll be dark in a couple of hours, but I’d like a walk.” I roll over in Jared’s arms to nuzzle his bare chest. At some stage in the proceedings he lost his clothes, and now we’re curled up together in his huge bed.
“Sure you can manage that sort of exertion? You must be pretty sore.” He kisses my hair and reaches down to pat my smarting bottom.
“Ouch! Yes, but it’s a nice sort of sore.” I tip my face up to look at him. “Please, I want to climb on those rocks.”
“Okay, but we’ll need to be quick. It gets dangerous after dark, especially if you don’t know the terrain. Did you bring sensible shoes with you?”
“Of course. I brought my hiking boots, just in case.”
“Right. Just let me get a quick shower, then I’m all yours.”
If only. I shove that unexpected yearning to one side and wriggle into a sitting position. “Feel like sharing? I’ll wash your back this time.”
He rolls from the bed and extends his hand to me. “I’ll hold you to that. Come on.”
An hour later we’re striding through the thick gorse toward the nearest of the rock clusters, a pile of huge flat stones stacked one on top of the other, getting larger the higher they are in the pile. The overall effect is that of a giant mushroom, the whole crazy structure defying gravity.
“Are they natural?” I ask as we circle the rocks at the base. “They look as though they could just topple over, like a giant game of Jenga.”
“Yes, they’re natural. They’ve stood like this for thousands of years. I doubt they’re going anywhere any time soon.”
“How did they come to be like this?”
“I wondered that so I checked it out on Wikipedia. I gather the stone is millstone grit and it’s been eroded over the last few thousand years to carve out these weird shapes. Wind, rain, glaciers, and probably the odd spotty kid with a penknife. A lot of the formations have names, but you need to use a bit of imagination to understand them. It helps to get the right viewing angle too.” He stops and points to a huge tower about half a mile away. “That one’s called the Camel, and over there’s the Turtle. My favourite’s the Dancing Bear but you can’t see that one from here.”
“How far is it? The Dancing Bear?”
“Another twenty minutes or so. Maybe more—it’s uphill, and steep.”
“Do we have time? I’d like to see it.”
He laughs. “Ah, so eager. I do love an enthusiastic little sub. Come on.” He holds out his hand and I take it as we stride out through the crisp bracken blanketing the hillside.
Chapter Twelve
Molly laughs almost all the way up the steep incline as we scramble through the rock-strewn landscape. She’s a game little thing, I grant her that. Despite the discomfort she must be feeling—I wasn’t especially gentle with her earlier—she is undeterred as we climb. I like to think I keep myself pretty fit, but I’m panting hard by the time we crest a rise in the hillside and the Dancing Bear comes into view. Molly is barely out of breath as I point it out to her. She grabs my hand again and drags me forward. I fall into step behind her. With luck we can reach the gnarled lump of stone by nightfall, but we’ll need to pick our way back with care. Lucky I remembered to shove a couple of torches in my pocket before we left.
“This place has been used as a film set. There were some kids’ TV shows filmed here I think, and it was featured in a Bee Gees video.” I dredge up the trivia from somewhere at the back of my mind. I can be a mine of useless information when it suits me.
Molly glances at me, her eyes bright. “We should come here sometime, when there’s no one about, and make our own film. Or better still, you could take photographs. You could tie me to the rocks and record it all for posterity. Do you think the pictures would sell?”
I laugh out loud. “Oh, yes, I reckon they would. I’d produce them in monochrome, very trendy. We could probably display them in the National Trust shop. The tourists would go wild for them.”
“I’d want a percentage, obviously.”
“Goes without saying.”
“What’s the going rate for nude modelling?”
“Nude, did you say?”
“Yes, and in kinky poses, like those pictures in your studio. That must be worth a fair bit.”
“Priceless, Molly. Absolutely fucking priceless.” I grab her and kiss her on the mouth before picking her up and swinging her around. Her booted feet fly out behind her as she whoops and wraps her arms around my neck. We roll onto the springy grass surrounding the rocks and I can’t recall ever feeling quite so at home in my own skin.
Just sex, my arse.
* * *
It’s dusk by the time we start back, and darkness falls quickly in this part of the world. I lead the way, using my torch to pick out the safe places to walk. “Keep close, and watch where you put your feet. It’s easy to break an ankle in a rabbit hole.”
She moves in close, gripping my hand in one of hers, brandishing her own torch in the other. Our progress is slow, but eventually the outline of Cote House Barn looms out of the murky distance. “Home sweet home,” I murmur. I’m more than ready for a slug of good, reviving caffeine.
Inside I set the percolator going while Molly sits on the bench in my back porch to drag off her muddy boots.
“We should have waited before having that shower,” she calls after me. “I’m filthy again.”
“Feel free. You know where everything is. Do you like fish?”
“Fish?” She pads into the kitchen in her stockinged feet.
“Rainbow trout to be exact, in a nice lemon sauce.”
Molly grins. “Sounds delicious. Can I help?”
“No need, I’ve got it covered.” I open the fridge and pull out the fish I bought earlier, on my way to pick Molly up from the station, right after I took a call from Charles Manning.
I phoned my lawyer’s office straight after speaking to Rachel yesterday, but he was with another client. I left a message, and he returned my call as I drove to the station. His advice pretty much confirmed my own assessment, namely the police might well try to tie me in to the offence as an accessory but I can put together a decent defence. The chances of being charged myself will drop dramatically if I help them with their enquiries, and that’s exactly what he advises I should do.
I’ll have to swallow my distaste and make that call. There’s no way I can keep it from Molly once the police become involved, but I prefer to explain it to her myself first. Over a nice dinner will do, which is where my visit to the fishmonger’s came in. Two beautiful, fragrant trout, their eyes glassy, peer up at us from the wrapper.
“Oh, real fish. From the sea,” Molly exclaims. “Are you going to cook it?”
“I just said so, didn’t I? In lemon sauce.”
“I thought you meant something you’d stick in the microwave—not real fish, fish that looks like it might swim off if you chucked a bucket of water over it.” She peers suspiciously at the trout as though expecting them to start flapping about at any moment.
I laugh. “These bad boys are going nowhere. There’s nothing wrong with microwave food if you’re in a rush but I prefer the real thing. And I like to cook. So, are you up for a spot of only-just-dead trout?”
She laughs. “I’ll get fat if I stay with you too long.”
“No chance of that, Molly. I intend to work you hard. Do you know how many calories you can work off in one orgasm?”
That drags her attention from the fish. She gazes up at me, wide-eyed. “I’ve no idea.”
“A hundred and fifty, maybe more.” That’s another snippet of trivia dragged up from I know not which corner of my brain, but Molly looks impressed. I put the trout back in the fridge until I’m ready to cook it. “Come to think of it, I’ll need to feed you well, Molly mine, to keep you from fading away to nothing.”
* * *
My trout is a triumph—succulent, tender, just the right burst of tang from the sauce but not so much that it might overpower the delicate flavours of the fish. I toss in some baby new potatoes and green beans, steamed al dente, and the meal is complete. Molly, still clad in just my oversized towelling robe, clears her plate with lots of oohing and aahing, then licks her fingers to capture the last drops of sauce. My cock leaps to attention and I postpone the serious conversation we need to have. Instead, I’m pondering the merits of ordering her to lose the wrap and drop to her knees right here in the dining room. I could put that nimble tongue of hers to good use. I turn that delightful prospect over in my mind as Molly stands to clear the table.
My train of thought is interrupted by a loud banging on my door. Molly drops the stack of plates she’s holding, her startled expression telling its own story as the hammering continues.
“What? Who’s that?” She clutches her chest in alarm.
I can’t say I blame her. I have a pretty good idea who’s out there and I’m already kicking myself for ever letting her become embroiled in this car crash. Christ, why didn’t I at least tell her what was happening instead of letting myself be led by my dick? It’s too fucking late now.
“Don’t move, you might cut yourself on the broken plates.” The shattered remains of the crockery surround her bare feet. “I’ll get rid of them, then I’ll find a brush.” Already I’m striding for the door, determined to leave Stevie and Brad in no doubt as to the lack of welcome here.
“I’ll go get dressed,” says Molly, ignoring my warning as she picks her way through the shards of broken flatware and follows me out into the hall. She darts for the stairs as I head toward the front door. The thumping is getting louder, and is now accompanied by shouting from outside.
“Open your fucking door.” It’s Brad’s dulcet tone. I entertain the hopeful notion that he might be alone.
“Brad? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s fucking me. Open up, I’m freezing my nuts off.”
Shit! Shit, shit, shit.
“Not this time. I want nothing more to do with it, whatever pile of crap you’ve got yourself into.” I’m still playing dumb about the shooting at the petrol station, as much for Molly’s benefit as anything else. I’ve no doubt she’s hearing all of this.
“There’s a grand in it for you. Let us in, you twat.” He punctuates his request by booting my door. The thud reverberates around the house. It’s only the knowledge that Molly is upstairs and probably terrified by all this bloody racket that propels me down the hallway.
“All right. For fuck’s sake, stop making all that noise.”
“Get a move on then. We’re fucking dying here.”
We? I stop, my hand on the lock. “Who’s we?”
“Me, Mikey, and Stevie.”
My heart sinks lower. Apart from getting me locked up eight years ago, Stevie was also one of the idiots who started the riot on G wing and brought my previous encounter with Molly to such an untimely end. There’s every chance he’ll remember her.
“Jared, who is it?”
I spin around. Molly is right behind me, wearing a loose T shirt of mine and a pair of jeans. She frowns as the thumping starts up again.
“I looked out and saw a van in your driveway. Who’s out there? Are you going to let them in?” She turns and heads back toward the stairs. “Maybe I’ll just gather up my things then I can be off and leave you to it. I don’t suppose you’d call me a cab to the nearest station, would you?”
“No!” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I mean, stay. Please. I’ll get rid of them.” I hope.
She looks doubtful, but offers me a brief nod. “I’ll wait upstairs.”
That sounds like a decent plan at least. I resort to yelling at Brad through the closed door.
“There’s someone else here. It’s not a good time.”
“We heard. We’ll stay out of your way. You and your little lady won’t even know we’re here.”
“Yeah? Well you can stay out of my way by going somewhere else. I’m telling you, Brad, just fuck off.”
“No, you fuck off.” A new voice takes up the quarrel. Stevie. “You’ve got five seconds before I blast this fucking door off its hinges.”
For fuck’s sake! This is all I need. “Have you come up here with bloody guns? Brad, what are you thinking of?”
“We’re thinking you’ve pissed around long enough. Stand back from the door unless you want a face full of this as well.” It’s Stevie again, and I have no doubt at all that he means it. The man’s a card-carrying lunatic.
I twist the lock and pull the door open. “You can have five minutes, no more. In the kitchen.”
The three men troop past me, each one toting a rucksack. Brad treats me to an apologetic grin and a shrug. Stevie’s expression is positively beatific. I recall he always appears that way when he has a double barrel shotgun in his hands, as he does now. He enjoys the sense of power a firearm gives him, but his intellectual capacity is not far up from an amoeba, so he has zero chance of harnessing that potency or of channelling it anywhere useful. Stevie might be more lethal if he had a few brain cells to rub together, but he’s dangerous enough as it is. My third unwelcome visitor, Mikey, is just plain stupid. He’s harmless enough on his own, just a lumbering heap of muscle and brawn really, who does as he’s told. Paired up with Stevie the psychopath, he’s a disaster waiting to happen.
The three of them fill my kitchen. No one comments on the debris littering the floor. Stevie lays the gun down on the table, then plonks himself in the chair closest to it. The others make themselves comfortable too, all three peering at me with varying degrees of expectation.
“Coffee smells good. Is there anything to eat?” Brad stands and heads in the direction of my fridge.
I ignore him for now. I have more pressing concerns. “Give me the gun. There’s no need for that in here.”
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” Stevie reaches for the shotgun and pulls it closer to him.
I decline to answer his question and instead pray that Molly has the sense to stay upstairs out of the way, just until I can send them on their way again.
“So, what do you need now? Cash?”
“We got money. We got loads of money.” This from Mikey, who hauls his rucksack from his shoulder and upends it onto my table. A shower of banknotes scatters everywhere, in various denominations, and all look to be used.
“Fucking hell! What have you done? Where did that come from?” I gape at the pile in front of me and wonder how such a perfect day went to absolute shite so fast.
“Tesco. Or should I say the back of the security van after it left Tesco.” Brad leans out around my fridge door to smirk at me. “Like I said, a grand’s yours just for the bother of putting us up for another day or two. Just until the fuss dies down.”
“You robbed a security van? On top of everything else? Where? When?”
“Just this side of Harrogate. About an hour ago.” Brad’s a mine of useful information, imparting a stack of facts I have no desire at all to hear. He emerges from the fridge with a loaf of sliced wholemeal, a tub of butter, and some halloumi cheese. “Anyone want a sandwich?”
“You came straight here? Are you mad? The police will be about five minutes behind.” I’m horrified. The terms of my parole were perfectly clear. As if things weren’t already precarious enough this is a cluster fuck of epic proportions. “You’re leaving. Now. Take your fucking cash and bugger off.”
“Don’t be like that, J. Mikey, count out his share.” Brad dumps the food on the table between the shotgun and the stolen loot as though this sort of conversation is quite normal as we wait for the coffee to percolate. I suppose he’s right. It always used to
be in our circles, but I move in different company now.
“Mikey, don’t bother. Keep it and go.” I reach for the nearest bundle of notes, intending to start shoving it back where it came from.
Stevie shrugs. “Please yourself, dickhead. It’s all the more for us. No one’s going anywhere for a while though. Which reminds me, we need to say hello to your little lady friend. Give her a shout, there’s a good lad.”
Bastard. I itch to plant one right in the middle of his smug face but he’s too near to that bloody gun for my liking. I shake my head. “Leave her out of it.”
Brad does at least have the grace to appear regretful as he slaps butter onto slices of bread, though I’m not convinced it’s just Molly he’s thinking of as he leaves greasy smears all over my table top. “No can do, mate. For all we know she might be phoning the rozzers right now. Best to get her down here with us, where we can keep an eye on her.”
“You go get her, or I will,” snarls Stevie, reaching for the gun.
I make up my mind, and head back out into the hallway. Molly is halfway down the stairs, rooted to the spot, her eyes like saucers. It’s obvious she’s been listening to the conversation from the kitchen. I offer up thanks that she did at least get dressed as soon as the din started, because I know full well that Stevie would have hauled her down here naked if she hadn’t been. I can’t help thinking these disastrous conclusions to our scenes are getting to be a habit.
“Jared? Is that…?” She looks bewildered. And scared.
I nod, my expression grim. “An old acquaintance of mine.” I have my back to the men in my kitchen so I mouth the rest to her. Don’t let on you know them.
Still out of sight to all but me, Molly nods her understanding. She knows as well as I do the likely outcome if they realise she’s an ex-officer.
“Molly, some friends of mine have dropped in. They’d like to meet you.” At least I can be certain they won’t know her first name. Molly was always Miss MacBride to the inmates of G wing. I extend my hand to her, then wrap my arm around her shoulders, squeezing for good measure. She’s shaking as she appears in the kitchen doorway to face the three thugs, who each regard her with varying degrees of curiosity, speculation, and undisguised lust.