by Amiee Louise
“Get the fuck away from me,” I spit out angrily.
“Don’t be like that.”
He moves closer until he is inches away from me, and he presses his lips against mine. I thrash wildly until he moves away from me and I spit in his face.
“YOU’RE A SICK FUCKING BASTARD!” I shout.
“It’s always been you, Sammy, from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I knew we were destined to be together, you were such a sweet, handsome and shy boy. You were so different from all the others, you saw me, not what I could give you. I knew I wanted you, I wanted to feel that body against me.”
He is so close to me now, I can feel his breath on my cheek, and my stomach turns at the thought of his hands all over me. He strokes my face with the back of his hand, and I buck against my restraints again in the vain hope that he will just give up. I feel the familiar bite into my skin and feel warm liquid trickling down my wrists. Shit, I am fucking bleeding.
“Stop struggling, I would never hurt you intentionally, I love you. I’ve loved you for years, surely you’ve worked that out by now?”
I can feel myself trembling with white-hot rage. Come on, Sam, think. Buy yourself some fucking time, you can do this.
“If you really truly loved me, you would never have taken the woman I fucking loved away from me! We were fucking happy!” I growl, and he shakes his head.
“I didn’t plan on it, not at first, but she was getting too close, way too fucking close.” He grits out and takes a breath.
He strokes my face with his fingers, the same fingers he used to kill my Peyton. My stomach roils at the thought, and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit. He runs his fingers through my hair and presses his mouth to mine for a second time. I bite down savagely on his bottom lip, until I taste the metallic of his blood. I spit on the floor and attempt to awkwardly wipe my mouth on my shoulder.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I roar. I can’t control it anymore; I vomit all over him and all down the front of my t-shirt.
“Oh dear, oh deary-me.”
He laughs maniacally, and his eyes are wide. He’s high; I can clearly see the signs. Dilated pupils, wide, crazed eyes, the runny nose, the profuse sweating, and the jittery, agitated movements. All sure signs he’s been on the cocaine.
“I think we need to get you cleaned up.”
I look up at him, regarding me intently.
“Don’t fucking touch me! I don’t want anything from you; I don’t want you anywhere near me, you disgust me. You couldn't stand to see me happy, could you? I fucking trusted you, and you ruined everything!” I bellow, as he folds his arms and cocks his head to the side. He reminds me of a fucking cockroach, as he narrows his eyes at me.
“No, she ruined everything, how do you think it felt for me to hear you and her...at it night after night. The way she screamed, as you pleasured her, as you shouted her name as you came, it should have been me!” he yells and jabs himself in the chest with his thumbs. “IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!”
10
J.D. - Eleven Years Ago
“Strip.”
Sam complies and starts to clumsily remove his jeans. He unbuckles his belt, with unsteady hands and kicks off his shoes. I move over to him and place my hands on his.
“Breathe.”
I take control, ridding him of his jeans and his boxers. He lifts the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off. I am taken aback by the sight of his body. He has a lean, muscular frame; his pale creamy skin is a sight to beholden. Jesus, this man is sex on a stick. My eyes move down to his manhood, it is extremely impressive, he is huge, just like I imagined.
“Lie down and let me feel you, Sam,” I whisper, and I remove my clothes.
When I turn around, Sam is lying on the sofa, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. I climb on top of him and straddle his lean hips. I run my fingernails down his chest, and he shivers at my touch. I smirk at his reaction.
“Have you ever been with a man before, Sam?”
He shakes his head, and he blushes. His face turns the most adorable shade of pink.
“Just relax, we’ll take it slow.”
I kiss from his neck down his chest, and I relish the feel of his body underneath me.
“You feel incredible underneath me, Sam,” I breathe.
I am so turned on, and my cock is so hard, it’s fucking painful. Take control, you’ve waited so long for this moment. Control it.
“Bend over the sofa and grip the back,” I order, and I get up, waiting for him to do as I say. When he doesn't move right away, I clear my throat, and his nervous gaze snaps back up to mine. God, I could stare into those green eyes forever.
“I said, bend over the fucking sofa and grip the back, NOW.”
My voice is commanding and impatient, as he lifts himself up. He bends over and grips the sofa so hard, his knuckles turn white. His tight arse is exquisite. I move over to my desk and open the drawer, removing what I need. I walk back over to him and whisper in his ear, “I need you totally relaxed for me, Sam.”
I lubricate my finger and spread it over his tight arsehole. He flinches at the cool lubricant, as it makes contact with his skin.
“Sh, shh, relax.” I soothe, and I linger at his tight hole, wanting to prolong this moment.
I want to bottle this moment and keep it for all eternity. I kiss a trail down his spine, reaching down between his legs, to grasp his impressive erection. His cock twitches in my hand and I can feel every vein throbbing under my touch.
“Christ, your cock feels so good.”
I move my hand back to his puckered hole and slowly push my fingers past the tight sphincter. He gasps at the intrusion of my fingers and whimpers with pleasure. I almost come on the spot at his reaction.
“Mmm, does that feel good?”
I move my fingers in and out of his tight hole, loving the way my fingers feel deep inside him. He moans softly and bites his lip piercing, causing my cock to twitch. Suddenly, I can’t wait to be inside him. I am almost desperate with want for this exquisite man, who is completely at my sexual mercy. I introduce another finger, and he pushes eagerly back against me. I smirk at the gesture.
“Look at what you’ve been missing out on all these years, Sam.”
He moves his trembling hands from the back of the sofa and grasps his growing erection in his hand. He strokes himself and the little noises he makes have me practically panting like a randy dog. I reach down into the pocket of my jeans and take out a rubber. I tear the foil packet between my teeth and sheath my hardness.
“Are you ready? I can’t wait any longer; I need to be inside you.”
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, in the most adorable way and he turns his head, so his eyes lock onto mine.
“Yes,” he rasps, and I take that a green light.
I smile and remove my fingers from his puckered back entrance. I grasp my cock in my hand, and as I slowly enter him, I think I’ve found heaven.
11
Sam - Present
Time to up your game, Newbolt.
“What would your dad have said?” His face contorts, as I mention his dad. “What would Jed have said? He wouldn’t want this; he wouldn’t want you to do this.”
He moves closer to me.
“You know nothing!” he spits harshly. “You know nothing about my relationship with my dad, NOTHING! How fucking dare you even speak his name!” he shouts, and he violently hits himself in the side of the head. I know I’m getting to him.
“I know that you worshipped the ground he walked on, you followed him around like a lost fucking puppy for years, desperate to please him. He was proud of you, though, that much was clear, and you looked up to him, any idiot could see that.”
He shakes his head, and I can see the tic in his jaw start to pulsate.
“NO! NO! I was a fucking disappointment to him! All he ever did was put me down and belittle me! I was the son who would amount to nothing in his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of carrying the f
amily name, he never took me seriously, I WAS A JOKE! A PATHETIC FUCKING JOKE!”
I look at him defiantly.
“Diamond Records was his life; how do you think he would react now if he knew you had pissed it all up the wall? His beloved legacy now belongs to someone else, all because you let the power go to your fucking head!”
He is literally trembling with rage now, and he moves closer to me.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
He slaps me with the back of his hand, and I blink a few times, smirking at him.
“Is that all you’ve got? The great Jed Dalton’s son hits like a fucking girl!” I mock and start to laugh hysterically.
Fuck me Newbolt, you’re losing the plot.
He grabs my vest and punches me square in the face. He removes the knife from his jeans, and before I know what is happening, he plunges it into my left shoulder. The pain rips through me, like a bolt of lightning and I howl in pure agony. He pulls the knife out as if it has burned him and flings it across the room where it clatters on the concrete floor.
“Why do you make me fucking hurt you, Sammy? WHY?” he bellows and runs his hands frantically through his hair.
I look him square in the eyes, as I feel a warm wetness trickling down my chest.
“How could you ever think I had fucking feelings for you? What happened between us all those years ago, was purely for my career. I did it for the boys, I took one for the fucking team!”
He shakes his head profusely and yells out angrily, “NO! NO! YOU DON’T MEAN THAT! YOU’RE FUCKING LYING!”
I narrow my eyes at him, and I see his nostrils flare at my words.
“I wanted my music career so badly, I fucked my manager, and you know what? It wasn’t even that good. You're disgusting, you fucking sick, pathetic pervert!” I roar, and that’s when he moves forward with a look of pure hatred on his face. He moves so close to me that we are nose to nose and his voice is low and menacing.
“You know what? I enjoyed killing Peyton and the little fucking cockroach that was inside of her. I did the world a fucking favour by ending both of their lives. ‘The whore and the rock stars child’. That would have made a great title for a novel, don’t you think, Sammy? Although, I howled with laughter when I stabbed her in the chest, and then I stabbed her in the stomach, over and over again, just to make sure the little bastard was dead!”
He smirks, and that’s when every ounce of my resolve finally snaps. My forehead connects with his nose, spraying blood all over his face; I am running purely on adrenaline, and I’m fuelled by burning, white-hot, molten rage. I throw myself forward with such brute force, I wrench the arms of the chair completely off, and it splinters easily apart. I get to my feet and straighten. I am trembling with such intense anger, I want this man to fucking die, and I want to be the one to end him.
The wooden arms of the chair are still attached to my forearms, and I swing my right arm forward until the wood connects with the side of his head. The force is so great, the cracking sound echoes throughout the room. He stumbles sidewards and collapses on his knees, but he doesn't go down. I see red, and I am blinded by such inconsolable rage, I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that I want to smash the life out of this sick, twisted piece of shit. I want him to look into my eyes, as I end his fucking life. I want to watch the light fade from his beady fucking eyes, just like he watched the life fade from my sweet Peyton's eyes.
I am driven by the need to watch as he takes his last breath, just as he watched Peyton take her last breath. I move in front of him and kick him so hard with my boot that he falls flat on his back. I hover over him, and I repeatedly hit him with the piece of wood attached to my right arm. He is screaming and pleading with me to stop.
“NO SAMMY PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE!”
The sound of his incessant whining and pleading only fuels me to hit him harder. I am willing to do prison time, if justice is served.
"IS THAT WHAT YOU DID TO HER? DID YOU MAKE HER FUCKING BEG FOR HER LIFE, YOU SICK FUCK!" I roar.
The red mist has descended, and I can’t stop myself. I am so focused, and hell-bent on vengeance for myself, the woman I loved and my unborn child. It is like the past year of grieving and the intense fucking hatred I feel for this vile excuse for a human being, is rushing to the surface, it is overwhelming. At this moment, I feel like I am the angriest man on the fucking planet.
As I continue to rain down blow after blow on this sorry sack of shit, I remember all those nights I spent lying with Peyton, her scent, and the way her beautiful, svelte body felt against me. I realise that I am crying uncontrollably. He took her from me, and I will never ever forgive him for that, but Peyton’s sweet nature would not have wanted me to kill him, no matter what he has done. I stop abruptly, and as I look down at his battered and bloody body lying in front of me, I realise that this is what became of the once great Johnnie fucking Diamond. I kneel, reaching into his front pocket where I know he always keeps his phone, and call 911.
12
Sam
I come around in an all too bright room with a throbbing head, a throat like Gandhi’s sandal and a dull ache in my shoulder. My hand and my wrists are bandaged. Ouch! That shit fucking stings! There is an officer of the NYPD standing next to my bed, with his hands behind his back. My mum and dad are on the other side. My mum looks as if she has been crying and my mum almost never cries. My dad is silently standing with his arm wrapped around her, being the rock she needs. I turn my head slightly to see Cole stationed outside my room; that’s when I see her. She is standing awkwardly near the door, and I instantly think, this can’t be fucking happening to me. What the fuck is going on? Am I dreaming? Are my eyes deceiving me? I feel like Alice in Wonderland, I have fallen down the rabbit hole and entered someone else’s life. A parallel universe, where she is standing right in front of me, living and breathing.
She is more defined, tanned and so much thinner than I remember. Her eyes are still that sparkling sapphire blue, which haunted my dreams every single night. She is still so impossibly beautiful, and she takes my fucking breath away. Her hair is now pillar-box red and cut into a short, sleek bob, but it is definitely her. My Peyton. I look to the tall, muscled, light coffee skinned officer standing next to my bed. He is wearing a grey suit, with a silver pinstripe tie, a detective badge pinned to his belt and a handgun in a brown leather holster, concealed inside his jacket. A look of pure confusion crosses my face, as I struggle to focus on what is going on.
“What the fuck?” I croak, and her eyes are glazed, but she doesn’t say a word. “Mum?"
My mum steps forward and clasps my hand in hers.
"I'm here, honey," she says in her soft, familiar American drawl.
She reaches over to pick up the glass of water on the table next to my bed. She hands me the glass, and I suck water through a straw to hydrate my dry throat. I polish off the glass of water in one long pull. The liquid feels like heaven, as it slides down my throat in an ice-cold cascade.
"How long have I been here?” I rasp, as my dad moves forward and pats my uninjured shoulder.
"You’ve been here for three days, son. The police found you collapsed from blood loss at the side of the road. You were in a bloody awful state, but we had you transferred to a private hospital. They patched you up, so you’re good as new, and you're going to be just fine,” he says in a tone of quiet concern that only a father would have for his son.
I narrow my eyes at the officer, who is regarding me intently.
"Who are you?" I say frostily.
“I’m Detective Paxton Devin, Mr. Newbolt. My kids are huge fans," he says in a thick, prominent New York accent.
I nod curtly and smile weakly, and as my eyes find hers, I am somewhere between shock and disbelief. The officer sees the exchange between us and looks curiously from her to me.
“We’re going to need to ask you both a few questions, but for now I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Newbolt, Miss Stonebridge. You look like y’all h
ave a lot to discuss.”
He smiles, nods and leaves the room. Why the fuck is he calling her Miss Stonebridge? I want to scream at him that that’s not her name, but I am pulled from my thoughts by my dad stepping closer to my bed, looking from me to her.
“Do you want me to get Cole to come and remove her?” he says with more than a hint of venom to his voice.
I glance at her, and she looks so tiny, scared and vulnerable as tears roll freely down her cheeks. I shake my head, without breaking our eye contact.
“No,” I say gruffly, as my mum squeezes my hand and kisses me softly on the cheek.
"Me and your father are going to find a decent cup of coffee in this God-awful place, are you going to be ok, darling?"
