“Love you too, baby. See ya tonight.”
I get in my car, and my phone rings almost straight away. Aidan probably forgot to tell me something.
“Did you forget something?” I ask, wishing he’d hurry up so I can get to work. No response. “Hello?” I hold the phone out in front of me. I answered a private number. I hold it back to my ear “Hello?”
“You got the email, Miss Lawson?” an electronically-altered voice asks.
Bile rises up my throat, burning a path along the way. The voice is just how those creepy electronic voices sound in the movies. But this is no movie. This is real. I swallow, praying I don’t vomit on myself. I need to hold it together.
“Yes,” I choke out.
“If you’re smart about this, you’ll do exactly as I say. You will not breathe a word to anyone, or these photos are going viral.”
“W-what do you want?” I ask.
“Five thousand dollars in cash by the end of the week. I’ll call you to set up a pick-up point. And when I say tell no one … that includes your pretty boyfriend. We know where he works, and it’d be unfortunate for him to fall victim to a nasty workplace accident.”
I hang my head and stare at the number five scrawled on the paper. “Who is this?” I ask, summoning what little courage I can find. I blink a tear onto the rim of my glasses and it blurs my line of sight.
“Just get the money. No one gets hurt. Make sure you answer your phone.”
The line goes dead before I get a chance to say anything else, but what else would I say, given the chance? Why me? Someone has naked pictures of me, now there’s a demand for money, and above everything, people will get hurt if I don’t do as I’m asked.
A vision of Aidan collapsed in a bloodied heap, creates a burning ache deep in the pit of my stomach. The thought of him dead has me scrambling out of the car and throwing up in the nearest garden bed.
Turning on the garden tap, I cup my hands under the stream of water and rinse out the acid from my mouth.
The name Mitchell Stone comes to mind, causing me to dry-retch. Is he behind this? He blackmailed Tara, but would he really go so far as to hurt his own child to get what he wants? It can’t be true. There’s no way Aidan could be related to someone this heartless.
Regardless of who’s behind this, I’ll pay them whatever they want … I will not lose Aidan. If it was all about the photos I might fight, but they’ve got me. And they fucking well know it. They know my Achilles heel. I can’t be responsible for what these people might do. Empty threat or not. I’m paying them in a heartbeat.
****
All week, I’ve barely eaten. When I do, my body wants to reject it … just like I wish I could rid myself of this anxious cloak draped over me. My regular happy disposition seems to have gone AWOL. A smile takes so much more effort, and idle chitchat has me ready to tear my hair out in chunks.
I’ve been locking myself away in the study at every opportunity, but what I’m most concerned about are the what-ifs that keep invading my head. What if I pay and they don’t give me the photos? What if someone’s lurking around outside now?
As if I don’t have enough to worry about, I seem to have developed a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder—locking doors, closing curtains in every room, checking window locks and sliding doors, every time I enter or leave a room. When I finally settle into something, the idea that someone could be outside grates at my nerves until I have to get up and check the locks again. I can’t get to sleep at night until I’ve checked all these things at least twice. Aidan tells me I’m being anal about it and I try to laugh it off, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t sleep until I’ve gone through the routine.
Somehow I’ve managed to keep up pretences with Aidan. He’s been busy training and organising stuff for his race this weekend, so the little time he’s been around, his head has been elsewhere, too. We haven’t been as close as we normally would, but it’s the only way I know how to hold it together. The closer we are the more emotional I become, and if I spill, he’ll get hurt.
****
“Supercross will be the big challenge this year, but I’m pretty stoked with where I’m at, for this point in the season,” Aidan says, adding more pasta to his bowl.
“I’m so proud of you, darling,” Lilian says, and smiles, bright as ever. It melts my heart to see Aidan and his family so happy. I know sometimes after a big day of work he’s not really in the mood to talk, but it’s been beautiful to see him include his mother tonight and talk about his passion. You’ve gotta love a man that makes an effort with his family.
“Reckon you’ve got a good crack at the title?” Frank asks, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his belly and toying with his belt. If he undoes his belt, I’m out of here.
“Yep. Reckon I do. The support crew are second to none, and Mac, well, he’s really helped me find form. And as for my fitness, all my training is certainly having a positive effect.” Aidan squeezes my knee under the table, and winks at me. Insatiable.
“Well, having seen you ride the other day, I’m Team Stone all the way,” I say and rise from the table. I excuse myself, and walk into the kitchen to put the apple pie in the oven. I don’t know where I’ll find the room, but seeing as Lilian made it herself with apples from the farm, I’ll find room, even if it sends me into a coma.
I push my phone aside on the counter, grab the pie and put it in the oven. My phone rings, and vibrates on the marble surface. Oh no. Any escape I’ve had tonight from reality is forgotten. I walk through to our bedroom and answer the call from a blocked number.
“Hello,” I say quietly.
“You got the money?” the same voice asks.
“Yes.” That one word causes a sharp ping in my chest. I’m giving in. It doesn’t feel right, but this is the only way out.
“Glebe Park, Saturday, three o’clock. You handover the money, you’ll get your photos. And remember to keep your mouth shut.”
“How will I know who to look for?” I ask.
“We’ll find you,” the voice says, and the line goes dead. I throw my phone on the bed and let out a loud sigh, looking to the ceiling. At least on Saturday, this will be over.
“What’re you doin’, babe?” Aidan asks, wrapping his arms around my waist. The hairs on my neck prickle and I swallow. I try to summon my sanity’s return as I twist in his arms to face him.
“I’m wondering how in the hell I’m gonna eat this pie.”
“Well, I was thinkin’ about eatin’ something else,” he says and waggles his eyebrows. His hands wander down to my arse, and he squeezes tight.
I roll my eyes, and smooth my hands over his warm chest. “Whilst I agree with you, somehow I don’t think your mother would approve.”
He chuckles, and runs his teeth over my earlobe. “I’m not about to go and ask her permission,” he whispers.
“Come on, let’s have dessert.” I tug his arm towards the door, but his feet are planted firmly to the ground.
“I don’t need to go anywhere for that.” His eyes travel down my body, resting between my legs.
“Aidan.” I warn him, narrowing my eyes.
“Fine. Let’s eat pie, then.” He swats my arse a little too hard as we make our way to the kitchen.
****
And so I sit, waiting on a park bench, with an envelope full of fifty-dollar notes stuffed in my coat pocket. My future and mental health hang like the delicate breeze blowing through the trees around me.
Children play on a set of swings close by, squealing with laughter and delight. There’s a lot to be said for the innocence of kids. Clearly the people behind this lost their innocence a long time ago.
Mesmerised by two young boys kicking a soccer ball back and forth, I almost jump off the seat when someone sits on the other end of the bench. I slowly run my eyes over him—a young man, probably only eighteen years old, in a black hooded jumper and faded grey jeans. Is he behind this, or is he simply the messenger?
His
head turns toward me, revealing more of his baby face, but his scowl and overall appearance adds at least ten years. “Do you have it?” he says. His voice is quiet yet alarmingly firm.
“Yes … do you?” I ask coolly, wondering where on earth I found the guts to ask that.
“Hand it to me so I can check it.”
“How do I know you aren’t going to run off without giving me the photos?”
“I’m not leaving until I count it, trust me,” he says. Trust! As if I could fucking trust you!
He takes a USB stick out of his pocket, and hands it to me. “Here.” The stick almost slips out of my sweaty hand but I grip it tight, my fingernails digging into my palm as they trap it. I reach into my coat pocket and slowly hand him the envelope.
On my wage, it took me forever to save that. I missed out on many things just to make sure I had it there when I needed it, so I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else. Like my father. But the money doesn’t matter. Aidan does. His love is more important to me than anything. Certainly more than money.
His grease-stained hands open the envelope, and he roughly flips through the notes as if he can speed-count.
I take my laptop out of my bag, and insert the USB stick. I wanted to be prepared, although if he handed me a USB with nothing on it, what would I do? Blackmail is a game with no rules, the power and control are all completely one-sided.
When it loads, ten files are displayed in the window. I open up the first, scanning a familiar photo. I quickly close the lid of the laptop. I don’t need to sit here with him and browse through one by one, although whoever the hell this guy is, he’s probably had more than a good look at them.
“Nice doin’ business with ya,” he says as he stands, stuffing the envelope in his pocket. He walks away from me across the park, through the tall trees, and then disappears.
My heavy head falls forward, and I’m close to pulling a muscle in my neck. I bury my eyes in the heel of my hands. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I combine the two. What a fucking relief.
It’s over.
I breathe in, filling my lungs deep. I can finally breathe. Please let it be over.
I need a drink. The stiffest one I can get my hands on. But more than anything right now, I need Aidan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
* AIDAN *
It’s been a hell of a weekend, and although it was a tough round, I still managed to get on the podium, albeit third. Fucking Jones got one up on me too, but thank Christ he only got second, because if he placed first I’d be hearing his gloating for weeks. That shit would be enough to make my ears bleed.
Rest assured, I’ll be taking a few lessons out of this weekend. I’m feeling sore and sorry today, but a relaxing night at home with my girl will have me back on my feet. Maybe a good old bubble bath is the ticket. Never fucked her in the bath before. The shower seems to be our location of choice in the bathroom, but I reckon the bath would be sensational. That followed by a date on the couch, just wrapped up together.
When I walk through the door, Eevie is pouring herself a glass of wine in the kitchen. I unload my pockets onto the counter.
“Hey, sexy,” she says cheekily as she puts down the wine bottle and glides over to me. She leans her whole body up against me, and slips her hands into my back jeans pocket, clawing at my arse. I am so getting lucky tonight. Pushing her tits against me, her mouth meets my lips and she groans as she teases me with her tongue.
I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but it’s like the old Eevie is back. We’d both been working hard, and the poor girl has had her head buried in that damn laptop. I can tell she’s had a lot on her mind. “What’s got you in a good mood?” I say, not wanting to make too much of a big deal of how she’s been lately.
“I just finished off something that’s been … hanging over me.”
“Good to hear, babe. What do ya feel like for dinner? I can cook.” Even though I’m exhausted.
“Let’s go out, get stuck into the wine, and then …” she says as she draws me in close, and nibbles at my ear. “… when I get you home, I wanna fuck so hard as many times as you can handle, until we’re reduced to a breathless mess, unable to do anything other than sleep.”
Holy hell. That’s one hell of a challenge. Of course, I’m totally up for it.
I snatch my wallet from the bench. “I’ll call a cab,” I say, unable to hide my excitement.
My girl is back.
I change my shirt, and Eevie comes out of the bedroom. She changed into a pair of spray-on jeans and a low-cut top. Tease. My eyes feast upon the subtle curves of her hips and those long legs. How does she expect me to hold it together after not having sex for nearly a week? Or is that the point? Maybe she wants the first time hot and fast, and the second … well, the second can be the marathon. Fuck, I love a good marathon. Yeah, that look on her face right now … she so wants it.
I’m gonna have her that fucking exhausted, but the smile on her face will be totally worth it. They’d better serve our dinner fast, that’s for sure.
****
We order several entrees and a few tapas-style dishes to share. Hopefully this will mean a quick meal. I don’t care if I go hungry. I can eat two bacon and egg rolls for breakfast to make up for it. And after the workout tonight, I guarantee I’ll wake up starved. Certainly not from sex, though. Geez, get excited much?
I fill Eevie’s wine glass, careful not to let her go too overboard. I know she seems keen for a bit of a drink, but she barely drinks anymore, and she won’t be able to handle as much as she thinks she can. There’s nothing worse than trying to fuck like a mad man while worrying she might throw up on me. That’s not my style. I want her to have just enough to get her relaxed and feed that hungry, horny animal inside her.
When I’m desperate for sex, I’m off my game, not as focused. Not only is sex having that contact, that connection between us, but it melts away the stress … I don’t know, it grounds me. I guess I’m used to having red-hot sex that many times a week, and when it suddenly ground to a halt it shook me up. But tonight, we’ll more than make up for it.
Eevie’s all smiles, like when she’d aced the last exam, but I don’t think she received any results today. Not that she mentioned, anyway. I’m not complaining; it’s just such a contrast to how she’s been the last week. Up, down, up, down. I was almost at the point of saying something to her, but I didn’t want to upset her. I’m not a relationship expert, and I’m still getting used to living together. I don’t want to fuck this up. She’s under enough stress, and truth be told, my brain’s been fried, anyway. I’m just glad she’s snapped out of it.
After nibbling at a few dishes, and a couple of glasses of Shiraz later, Eevie runs her foot up the inside of my calf. She might as well have grabbed my cock and knelt at my feet. Just that touch has the blood rushing to my pants. Taking my hand across the table, she runs the soft pads of her fingers over my hard callouses, eyeing me like she wants to devour me. Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip and then she presses those soft lips together. I clear the lump in my throat.
“Do you want some more to eat?” she asks, like she’s asking me an entirely different question. She might have as well said “Are you ready for sex yet?”
I move my head from side to side. No more food.
The corner of her mouth curls up as she takes my hand and dips my index finger into the remaining spicy sauce left on one of the plates. She leans closer, giving me a man’s-eye view of her tits and takes my finger into her hot, wet mouth. I nearly choke on the breath I rush in as she takes her lips to the base of my finger, sucking it hard and wrapping her tongue around it as she slowly releases it. She places my hand on the table and licks her lips before sitting back in her chair, her hooded eyes begging me to take her home.
I wave my hand in the air to get the attention of … anyone. Preferably someone who can help me with the bill.
“I can’t interest you in dessert?” the waitress asks, wide-eyed, like
I’d be a fucking moron not to have dessert here.
“No, we’re having dessert at home,” I bark out, blunter than I’d intended.
Eevie laughs softly behind her delicate fingers as I pass a couple of notes to the waitress.
Hand in hand, I practically drag Eevie along as we powerwalk to the cab rank. Thank fuck there’s one waiting. Eevie gets in the back first, and I slide in beside her, sitting in the middle seat. It’d be impossible to spend the ride home on the other side of the car … even if it’s only a ten-minute trip. The driver is playing some intense opera on the radio, and any other time I might say something, but this time, it’s perfect.
“Ten Elm Avenue,” I direct the driver right away so I can concentrate on the rest of the journey. I’ve given Eevie an orgasm during a cab ride before, and wasn’t that a fucking rush, but this time she won’t get a result. She’ll be so worked up, she’ll be begging for it by the time we get home.
The only thing that’s good about winter is layers. Layers to hide hands and fingers, and a swollen cock that’s close to climax. Being in the back seat of a cab in the dark has its advantages too.
I start trailing kisses on her neck and ear, making sure my two-day stubble grazes her soft skin in sexy little swirls. About a minute of this will do. Already she’s panting, her chest rising and falling faster than normal.
I slip one hand behind her back under her shirt, brushing my fingers like spiders’ legs over the little dimples at the bottom of her spine. All the while, my head is resting in the crook of her neck, my warm breath on her skin making her shiver. I move my hand to her hip, digging my fingers in and pulling her body closer. She groans softly, and throws her head back against the headrest, the violins masking her sounds from the driver.
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