Conor Thames 2

by R. J. Lewis

  He rested his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling, listening to her quiet breaths, feeling her warmth and softness. It made him heady with desire.

  He wanted to explore her slowly and intimately this time, staring into her eyes as she came apart beneath him, but he couldn’t bring himself to fuck her gently. He couldn’t let the same emotion slip from the first time. He felt like he’d been cut wide open, and she’d seen all his pain. He couldn’t bring himself to be that transparent again. It made him feel weak and angry and all he wanted to do was hide away, to remain impenetrable. Eight years he had mastered this art; he physically couldn’t confront doing the opposite again.

  His eyes trekked to the night table where her cell phone was charging. The sun began to rise, and soon the alarm would go off. She’d get up and start the school rush, and he’d see Penny again, smiling, ready to feed him more hugs.

  He smiled softly, looking forward to it.

  After eyeing it for so long, he reached out and took the phone off the table, turning it on. She hadn’t hidden her passcode from him, freely accessing it near him multiple times in the day. She had nothing to hide. He entered the pin and went through her phone, starting with her gallery, all pictures of Penny dating from a year ago. He lapped those up, though something tugged inside him to look elsewhere.

  When her messages came up, he saw endless conversations. Jem asked how he was, how he was coping, etcetera. He saw messages from Laura, all girl shit. He didn’t pay it any mind.

  Finally, he saw messages from Locke, and on a deeper level, that was what he was searching for. As he scrolled through, he found it was one-sided. Locke barely responded back to Charlotte, and Charlotte was catty and flat in most of her texts. Just as he began to consider Locke really had been philanthropic in his attempt to help Charlotte, he found the same strange text randomly scattered throughout the conversations.

  The same line used after long periods of time.

  A line that made Thames furrow his brow in question.

  I need you, Charlotte.

  I need you.

  I need you.

  Charlotte, I need you.

  What the fuck?

  What did he mean he needed her?

  Thames put the phone down, his head a sea of murky thoughts. What the hell did Locke need her for? And she’d never responded every time he’d said it.

  He felt like his insides were ablaze. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt hatred for Locke. He hated him for snapping his fingers and demanding his need for a woman that wasn’t his after he was cold and rude to her.

  And had his dove gone to him?

  The lying snake that he was. This man had promised his woman that he would look after Conor in prison. Such a bold lie.

  His hand shook. He ran it down his tired face, aware as ever he was working himself up, and now was the worst time to feed the angry blackhole inside him.

  It didn’t have to mean anything.

  There was nothing to suggest something bad was happening. Charlotte was his, and he felt it deep in his bones.

  But Locke’s demeanour astounded him.

  Jem was right. Locke wasn’t that little boy anymore. Thames needed to stop feeling sorry for the guy, and he did. He really did because all he felt now was this pulsing anger coursing through his mind at the mere thought of him using Charlotte.

  There was something…something else bubbling under the surface.

  “Are you cooking his books?” he asked aloud, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

  He’d known she was awake long before he’d picked up the phone. He’d heard the change in her breathing, felt her eyes on him in the dark. It was why he considered fucking her again.

  Her response was quick. “Yeah.”

  His nostrils flared. “Do you have any idea how dangerous a man like Locke is?”

  “A danger to everyone else.”

  He looked down at her. “Do you really think he wouldn’t hurt you, Charlotte?”

  She answered softly. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Then you don’t know a thing about Max Locke.”

  She slid her arm off him and sat up. She clasped her hands together in her lap and stared down at them. Her face remained calm as she spoke. “I think I know him more than you, Conor.”

  He eyed her for a few moments, wondering if she knew about the hole. She must have, and it wasn’t really a secret, either. It was public knowledge, though nobody talked about it in Blackwater. Like Locke said earlier, he had eyes and ears everywhere.

  “Charlotte, don’t tell me you have a soft spot for Max Locke,” Thames said in a low tone. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  She shook her head. “I definitely don’t have a soft spot for him. I just know why he is the way he is.”

  “Is this about the hole?”

  She tensed, her eyes widening as she looked at him. Yeah, she knew Locke had eyes and ears everywhere too. Did she think he could hear them now? The paranoia in her disturbed Thames.

  “See, this is a problem,” he growled, working his jaw. “He’s forced you to do his books. You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  “Of Locke?” She let out a dry laugh. “There are scarier people than him, Conor, and no, he didn’t force anything on me. That part I eventually volunteered to do. I meet with some clients of his who want their money squirrelled away. It’s not just him, and there are safeguards. It’s a system that is very complicated, very difficult to crack.”

  “That system can put you away for a long time.”

  “He would never allow that.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He gave me his word.”

  This girl. Thames wanted to strangle her, fuck sense into her, tell her all the cruelty Locke was responsible for to make her understand how dangerous he was and how little he cared for anyone but himself.

  “Locke would happily throw you under the bus if it meant saving his own ass,” he told her, firmly.

  “But he doesn’t work that way,” she argued calmly. “He doesn’t do things that don’t make sense. He’s logical in everything he does. Everything, Conor.”

  “What is so logical about employing you?”

  “He confides in me.”

  “Confides in you?”

  “He turns to me,” she tried to explain, though she looked like she was grasping for straws. “When he needs me, I’m there. He trusts me.”

  She couldn’t be serious.

  I need you, Charlotte.

  No, he couldn’t handle this shit. Shaking his head, he slipped out of bed and paced the room. She watched him closely, hardly breathing. He sensed she noticed the anger rolling off him. He wouldn’t lose it, not like he would have before, but he really missed those days just then. He missed the dominance. He missed the curses. He missed the hurting. And at the same time, he didn’t miss any of it either.

  No, no, he didn’t miss it at all.

  “Have you ever stopped to consider he might be manipulating you?” he asked, stopping in front of the bed to look at her. “He’s cunning enough.”

  “He’s not manipulating me,” she replied, looking weary now. “Conor, you have to trust me, okay? Locke’s done nothing wrong to me.”

  “Except make you launder his money.”

  “First of all, most of what I do is legal. Secondly, that other stuff is impossible to prove.”

  “It’s never impossible, dove. There will always be a trail buried somewhere.”

  She remained resolute, shaking her head with confidence. “He would never watch me fall. Locke isn’t that kind of man.”

  “Don’t tell me what kind of man Locke is,” he gritted out. “You know nothing, Charlotte.”

  Her breaths came out fast now. “I’m not going to argue about this, Conor.”

  “You should never have turned to him.”

  “I never did.”

  “But you let him help you.”

  “I needed it. I had nothing. We were
running on fumes, and I’d depended on you to keep everything balanced.”

  Those words hurt more than they should have. He went still, hardly breathing. “Do you think I ever intended for that to happen?”

  “Conor, no –”

  “I killed Billy –”

  “We aren’t addressing Billy, goddammit!” she snapped suddenly.

  “I shouldn’t have killed him, I know that –”

  “It’s done, Conor, it happened –”

  “If I’d just stopped kicking him, if I’d been under control, you wouldn’t have struggled –”

  “I’m not blaming you for what happened, Conor, and I’m not trying to revisit it, either. Please, stop. If anything, I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. I’m simply telling you that I was running on fumes, had nothing to fall back on. I was young and he offered me a lifeline.”

  He stared at her with confusion. “You act like you had no one else.”

  She didn’t back down. “I had no one else.”

  “What about my mother?”

  “What about her?”

  “She would never have let you struggle.”

  “I understand that –”

  “And Jem. He was there for you.”

  “Yes, he was, but god, Conor, what was I supposed to do exactly? Whatever help they would have given me would still have paled in comparison to what Locke offered me.”

  “Anything would have been better than his help.”

  “Why do you hate him so much?” She threw her arms up in the air in defeat. “You grew up with him! He was your friend – he’s still your friend!”

  “The Max we grew up with is long gone.”

  “Because of the hole?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I heard what you said to Jem the night he took you out, the night you suddenly started hating him. You said you felt guilty –”

  “Jem made it clear I shouldn’t be,” he cut in swiftly. “I had a weak moment, Charlotte.”

  “Jem has weak moments too,” she replied. “He just hides it better. I wouldn’t follow his advice –”

  “Charlotte, you don’t understand –”

  “When you go through hell, Conor, you don’t come out the same. I thought you’d know this more than anyone. And Locke? Locke was an innocent child. Who did he have when he got out?”

  Thames simply shook his head at her. She didn’t get it. “You don’t know what we went through,” he rasped, looking haunted. “You don’t understand the hell that day brought on all of us. What happened to Locke was awful, Charlotte, but that doesn’t excuse what he is now.”

  “I’m not saying he’s normal. I’m simply saying that boy you grew up with is still in there.” Her eyes misted. “And that boy needs you. And he needs Jem. And he needs Dominic. You all need each other. The past, the past is coming back, it’s all coming back and you’re all drowning. And Max, he’s drowning quicker than all of you combined, baby.”

  “You don’t get it…” Thames shook his head, images flashing through his head of that day. If he thought long enough about it, he could still feel the cold in his bones.

  He might still remember the way that man in the green jacket looked.

  “I know I don’t,” she said softly. “I know you all went through hell that day. But what about after? He is living that day on repeat every single day of his life.”

  “I tried bringing Max back,” he said quietly now, lost in thought. “Jem tried. Dom tried. We all did our best, Char.”

  She sucked a breath in, looking bitter. “You didn’t try hard enough. You all gave up. Focused on yourselves –”

  “Jesus, dove.”

  “No, it’s true!”

  He didn’t respond. Maybe there was more than just guilt in him. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he might remember chasing skirts while Max watched from the distance, a void.

  “This town abandoned him,” she went on to say hoarsely. “Everybody buried it. What do you think that does to a little boy, Conor?”

  “He was offered help.”

  “From adults he couldn’t trust. There is a poison in this town you’re not privy to, Conor.”

  “Are you justifying what he is?”

  “I’m saying even though it changed him and he is the way he is now, he still cares for you all. He does, Conor, don’t shake your head. Listen to me. He cares for you. He just expresses it differently.”

  “No, Char,” Thames retorted severely. “He doesn’t express it at all.”

  He didn’t.

  Locke was an enigma now. One Thames could never come close enough to crack.

  “I would have traded places,” Conor said just then, the air in his lungs growing light. “I tried, Charlotte. I tried…”

  He lightly brushed a finger along his bottom lip, remembering the searing pain of that knife as it cut into his mouth.

  “I fought, too,” he continued in a daze. “I stuck around. I searched for him and…that man…”

  “That man what?” Charlotte pushed desperately. “What happened, Conor?”

  He felt a chill run down his spine. He still felt the fear of that day. He’d relived it so many times in his cell. Why did it have to follow him here, in this house, in this bed with his love?

  His face turned cold. “Stop going back there, Charlotte. Stop using his past to excuse what he is now.”

  “Fine.” Looking defeated, she turned away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s late, or early, I don’t know. I need some coffee. I need some food. Then we can bring it up again –”

  “He’s using you, I think,” Thames interrupted, his voice dropping into a quiet murmur. He tilted his head to the side, waiting for her to look back at him. When she did, he continued. “Dove, he didn’t have to hire you. He didn’t have to save you. He didn’t have to implicate you in all his dirty dealings. Have you considered why he’s brought you into the fold? Wouldn’t a man like him just hire a bunch of dirty men already experienced in this sort of shit?”

  Charlotte went mute, but her expression dropped. Ah, there it was. A look of doubt clouded her features. She blinked it away and quickly shook her head, determined to believe otherwise. Thames understood Charlotte saw the best in those around her, that she was clouded by thinking the best in Locke, but she didn’t know the man was happy to destroy lives. He had no attachments. He just had things. And she was just a thing to him. A thing he could use and use and use until she wasn’t of use anymore. He wouldn’t put it past Locke to tell her about the hole just to soften her enough to trust him.

  “I love you, dove,” Thames said, solemnly, letting the anger go because it was pointless to get so wound up. Because he couldn’t stand to see her so down. He crawled into bed, moving to her swiftly. She startled when he pressed a harsh kiss to her lips, and then she sank into his touch. She loved him. He felt it and it calmed him. But he pulled away still and looked hard at her, uttering firmly, “But if Locke ever crosses the line, ever puts you in a dangerous situation, I will kill him.”

  Charlotte stared at him in shock, and then…in fear.

  Thames knew she could see his darkness. Could see what he was capable of. And he let her see it because he wanted her to know that he was being serious. That Locke wasn’t going to fuck her over without dying for it.

  “He promised me you’d be okay in there,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She studied him intently, looking depressed at what she saw staring back. “He said nothing would happen to you.”

  With a lifeless voice, Thames retorted, “He lied.”

  Her lips parted and tears filled her eyes.

  The alarm went off. The perfect disruption. She clamoured out of the bed, rushing to get ready.

  Rushing to be away from him.

  The Hole

  He landed in the water in the worst way, fighting to find the surface. His arm cracked at something and he screamed – a soundless scream underwater – as the pain tore through every inch of his body.


  He surfaced, arms flailing to stay afloat.

  The current swept him away, moving violently. Many times his body seized and he was submerged in the waters, fighting for the break in the air.

  He gasped, dry heaving as he gulped in water.

  Every time he managed to stay afloat, to keep his eyes open, he focused on the sky. Trees whizzed by, a muddy portrait of autumn colours.

  Then he felt his body drop suddenly.

  He fell down a short waterfall, submerged once again underwater. He kicked and kicked for the surface. His limbs were having trouble moving. His legs felt stiff. As he just barely surfaced, he was distinctly aware his body was growing stiff. The cold was in his veins now. He was growing numb.

  He would not last like this.

  He cried out as he tried to swim, but the current was still moving heavily, carrying him away. The pain in his arm was debilitating. He swallowed more water, spat out bile and fought his hardest.

  But it was no use.

  The current kept steeling him down a fixed path in the waters. Like a beast itself, it possessed him whole, taking him further into its mouth.

  He dropped again.

  This time the drop felt long and the plunge at the bottom was deep. Conor’s stomach dropped. He kicked to the top. He could see rainfall creating tiny ripples on the surface. He broke through, gasping for air, crying out from pain and cold.

  He kept waiting for the jarring movement of the stream.

  But it was…still now.

  He was in a large pool of water.

  A lake.

  Thunder tore through the skies again, lightning struck; it was the perfect reminder of today’s hell. He knew he would never think of thunder the same way again. That every time he heard it, he would be reminded of this day, of this very moment.

  Blood pooled in his mouth. He gulped it down, unaware he’d been bleeding so heavy.

  As he swam for shore, he felt his body shutting down. Exhaustion weighed him down as he trudged. It took everything in him to move, to reach the rocks, to climb up them.

  He collapsed to the wet ground and buried his face into the dirt.