by Lucy Wild
“You can,” he said. “It’s just like sewing a blanket.”
“You’re not a blanket.”
“Please,” he said, his eyes blinking several times. “I need your help.”
“Go to a hospital. Call an ambulance.”
“I can’t. There might be more of them.”
“More of who?”
His back straightened. “Look, there isn’t time. Please just help me.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “I can’t do this.”
He put his hands on top of mine, looking me straight in the eye. “Yes you can.”
“Oh, God,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “What do I need to do?”
“There’s alcohol in that little bottle. Pour it over the needle while I get my shirt off.”
I did as he asked, unscrewing the cap whilst he started working on his buttons. He winced as he got his arms out of the sleeves, his chest coming into view. He had rippling muscles which were coated in a sheen of sweat. I suddenly found it hard to pour the alcohol, my hand shaking. “Don’t be nervous,” he said, looking up at me. “You can do this.”
I couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t nerves about sewing him up that made my hands shake. It was the sight of that chest of his, even with the multitude of old scars that crisscrossed it. “Turn round,” I said, my voice weak. “Face the other way.”
He did as I asked and the next few minutes were the hardest of my life. He talked me through what to do in great detail but it didn’t make it any easier. I had to push a needle through his skin. It was a toe curling thing to do. And I didn’t just do it once. I had to do it six times before I was done. I counted every single one. It didn’t get any easier. I looked at the half empty bottle of alcohol as I worked, wondering if I could take a swig. I decided against it. My hands might start shaking again.
He didn’t make a sound while I worked. “There,” I said, successfully tying the last knot on the third attempt. “I think we’re done.”
“Thank you,” he said, standing up and flexing his arms, twisting from one side to the other.
“What the hell happened up there?” I asked as he sat next to me on the edge of the bed.
“Unwelcome visitor,” he replied.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Who were they? What did they want?”
“They wanted you.”
“What?”
He looked up at me. “I told you, it’s my job to keep you safe.”
“Was that the person you mentioned? The one who’s looking for me? I…I don’t get it. I’m no one special. Why would anyone be after me?”
“That wasn’t them. That was an employee. Or a contractor like me.”
“A contractor?”
“Hired to find you just as I was hired to hide you.”
“What did you do to them?” I asked, looking down at the blood still coating his hands.
“I dealt with them.”
A darkness washed over his eyes and all of a sudden it was like he was looking through me. It was as if there was a much deeper pain inside him than those on the surface. My hand fell on his back, avoiding the makeshift stitches. He didn’t move. My hand stayed there, offering him what support I could. He still looked in pain, his eyes going down to the floor as I shuffled a tiny bit closer. “Would they have hurt me?” I asked in a quiet voice.
He nodded. “I’ve no doubt they would. But don’t worry, I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. My fingers traced lines up to his shoulder as he twisted his neck to look at me.
There was a long silence as he looked at me. “I need to go deal with things,” he said at last, getting to his feet.
“What? I thought you dealt with him?”
“I did. Now I need to arrange for him to be collected.”
“Collected? What is he, a parcel? Did you…did you kill him?”
“No,” he said, turning away from me. “He did that to himself.”
He headed up the stairs slowly, stopping halfway to lean on the wall. I watched him go, looking at the wound on his back. Once he was gone and the door was closed, I lay back on the bed, my hands shaking violently. I felt like there was no air in the cellar all of a sudden. I’d sewn up his back. How had I done that? It already seemed like a dream, not something I was capable of doing.
My eyes closed and at once the image of him with his top off swam into my mind. It was a hell of a chest. He had a hell of a body. His arms looked like they could lift me up and toss me onto the roof without any effort. No wonder I hadn’t been able to get away from him when he’d spanked me. What would those arms feel like wrapped around me? What would his chest feel like if I ran my hands down it? And what was hiding in those trousers of his?
For the first time, since I’d been dumped in the cellar, a smile crossed my lips as I thought about it, about that and many other things, none of which a decent, respectable girl should ever find herself thinking about.
FOURTEEN
JACK
“It’s been a long time,” Jerry said when I opened the door. “How you been, Jack?”
“I’ve been better,” I replied, motioning for him to come inside.
“You working again?” he asked. “Feel free to tell me to go fuck myself but when I get a message saying Jack needs me, I think that’s bullshit. He aint needed anything getting rid of for what? For five years? Maybe more? But I looks it up myself and sure as hell, there it is in black and white. You need a man with a van. So what’s going on, Jack? You get bored working for that loan company? Hey, don’t look so surprised. It’s kind of important in my line of work to keep an eye on my clients. No doubt, you been keeping just as keen an eye on me. So you know my prices have gone up, right?”
“Christ,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “You still don’t stop for breath, do you?”
“Hey, in my particular line of employment, you never know when you might take your last so you gotta make the most of it, am I right?” He elbowed me in the side as he let out a barking laugh. “So where’s the asshole who thought he could take on Jack Rutherford? What kind of dumb fuck was he anyway? Burglar down on his luck? Someone from the old days wanting revenge?”
“In a manner of speaking,” I said, leading him up the stairs. We stopped on the landing, Jerry looking down at the body of my attacker. “Payment when I get paid?”
“Hey, I aint normally in the credit business so to speak. I’m a cash up front kind of guy. Don’t borrow, don’t lend, that’s my motto. But,” he paused before grinning, showing his rotting teeth, “seeing as we’re old pals and you’ve thrown a lot of work at me in the past, I’ll say yes just this once. For a friend. You need the full clean and steam?”
“If you would.”
“Got the shit out in the van. Also got myself two guys since last time you saw me. They’re good, Jack, real good. I mean they come in and do it so well, your wife thinks what the fuck, how did my house get this sparkling? He must be having an affair, the son of a bitch. You know what I mean?”
“I thought you always liked working alone.”
“My back aint what it was, Jack. I’m getting on. But then so are you. Are those a couple of grey hairs I see. I tell ya, the first time I saw a grey hair, it weren’t on my head if you know what I mean? I was looking down at the old tackle and fuck me if there weren’t a hair as white as snow white’s sweet pussy just looking up at me. I tells myself, Jerry, you aint no spring chicken no more. I’m fifty-eight, Jack. Fifty fucking eight. I can’t keep doing this forever. I needs myself, what you call it? Apprentices. That’s what it is. I tells myself, Jerry, you get yourself some apprentices or you aint gonna be good for shit in a couple of years. So I trains them up and they do all the lifting and shifting, the cleaning and steaming. I just…supervise.”
“So where are they?”
“In the van, waiting for the word. You tell me you’re good to g
o and in they come and if you want, they’ll wash your pots and scrub your balls for you too, I got them so well trained.”
“Just getting him gone will be enough for me. I’ll keep my balls in my pants.”
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, kneeling down and looking at the body. “Well, bud, you fucked up coming into my friend Jack’s house, I’ll tell you that. But don’t you worry, you’ll soon be in a much better place.” He slapped the cheek of the corpse before standing up again. “Let’s do it to it,” he said to me before heading back downstairs. He pulled open the front door while I stood on the landing and waited. It was like a well oiled machine, watching him at work.
His two guys were the strong silent type, in comparison to Jerry. He had them up the stairs quick sharp and they got the body wrapped and carried down so fast, I marvelled at the sight. “Didn’t I tell you they was good?” Jerry said, watching as the men carried a very long and slightly bulging length of carpet out to the open back door of their van. It was inside a few seconds later and then they were back, cleaning equipment in their arms. “Be sure not to miss anything,” Jerry shouted up to them before turning back to me. “I swear to God, Jack, the first job I took those two on, they left a fucking shoe behind. A goddam shoe, can you believe that? We’re about to drive off and I looks in the back and says, ‘Hey, where’s his shoe?’ and they looks at me and shrugs. I nearly lost it with them but they’ve been good. They aint put a foot wrong since. Or should I say, a shoe wrong?” He barked out another laugh before leaning on the wall behind him. “So are you working again?”
“Not really,” I replied. “Just a one off.”
“Well, hey, one off’s is all well and good but you bear me in mind if you decide you want a two off or a three off. I got overheads now, Jack.”
“Yeah, next you’ll be paying taxes.”
He barked again. “That’s a good one, Jack. That’s a real good one. Now you go get yourself a drink while we finish off. I can’t gab all day.”
“I bet you can.”
“You’re a funny guy, Jack. That’s why I miss working with ya.”
I found a bottle of whisky in the kitchen. “You’ll do,” I said, pouring myself a glass.
By the time it was empty, they were done. “Fast and slick, like your mum,” Jerry said from the doorway as the other two carried their cleaning gear outside. “Quincy himself wouldn’t be able to tell anything happened up there.”
“Thanks a lot, Jerry,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
“Sure you do. Now you take care of yourself. You aint no spring chicken no more, either.”
“Don’t I know it.”
He was still laughing when I shut the door. I listened to the van driving away before heading back to the kitchen. The whisky was calling to me. I sat at the counter, sipping at it, listening to the faint sound of her. She was singing down there. What was that tune? Then I remembered. Hush a bye baby. Did she still sing that?
I closed my eyes, thinking about the last time I’d heard her singing that song. She was in the backyard, playing on the swing. I nodded and waved at her as I passed by. She grinned back at me before carrying on singing.
Inside her father was waiting for me. “I’m in trouble, Jack,” he said, pacing up and down in the kitchen. “I need your help.”
She’s coming,” Drake added, appearing from the shadows, plucking a speck of dirt off his jacket.
“You’re his assistant,” I said. “You’re getting paid enough, why haven’t you prepped anything?”
“There wasn’t time,” he replied. “We only found out today.”
“Will you promise me something?” Geoffrey asked, looking scared for the first time ever. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe. Whatever happens to me, you keep her safe. She means everything to me, Jack.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I said, showing just wrong a person can be.
I needed another drink. He wasn’t fine. I was wrong about it all. I left her without a father. I failed them both. I lifted the bottle to my lips, thinking about how complacent I was back then, how certain I was that nothing could get through the ring of steel round Geoffrey Sanders.
She was still singing down there. I couldn’t bear it. She was a kid again, sitting on the swing and happy as anything for a few more days until it all fell apart, all because of me.
I got up, bottle in hand, staggering to the left as the alcohol coursed through me. She had to shut up. I couldn’t listen to that singing anymore. So I headed for the cellar, ready to tell her to shut her goddam mouth else I’d shut it for her.
FIFTEEN
BELLA
When he came staggering down the stairs, I thought for one hideous moment that he was injured again. Then I saw the bottle in his hand. He wasn’t hurt. He was drunk. Or at least he was well on his way to being drunk. He stopped when he reached the bottom of the steps, looking at me as if he was about to say something.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m not.” He walked across to me. “I’ve fucked up, Bella.”
“What? How? Come and sit down a second.”
He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his face turning to mine as he leaned over. He stared at me for a second too long before muttering, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”
“How what was supposed to go?” I felt the anger in my voice. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I need another drink.”
“Join the club.”
“Hang on,” he said, passing me the bottle. “I’ll get some glasses. They say you shouldn’t drink alone.”
I watched him go. There was no stagger to his walk. The effect of the booze was obviously wearing off. He stopped at the top of the stairs. “You want anything else?”
“A book to read?” I asked, wincing as I did so, not sure how he’d react. But he just nodded and headed out of the door. I looked at the bottle. Could I get him drunk enough to let me go? Was it safe out there after what had happened? Was there really someone after me? But could I believe this man? I got the feeling he was just telling me what he needed to in order to keep me where I was. But if that was true, where had the cut on his back come from?
He was back a couple of minutes later, two glasses in his hand and a few books under his arm. Maybe if I got him drunk enough, he’d talk to me, tell me the truth. Then I could decide what to do.
That was the plan anyway. What actually happened was quite different. He passed me a glass and I poured myself half an inch, putting a far more generous measure into his. “To keeping you safe,” he said, tapping his glass against mine.
“To keeping me safe,” I replied, taking a sip. The liquid burned a trail down my throat and I let out an involuntary cough.
“Not used to it?” he asked, draining his drink and reaching for the bottle.
“No, I’m a big drinker,” I replied, taking another sip as he took the bottle and poured more into his glass.
“Liar,” he said, refilling mine. “Bad girls lie. Good girls tell the truth.”
“What about bad boys?” I asked.
“What about them?”
“Do they lie or do they tell the truth?”
“They tell the truth.”
“Then tell me the truth. Why am I really down here?”
“I told you, to keep you safe.”
“But who’s trying to hurt me?”
“Someone bad. Listen, Bella, I would tell you if I could. But I’m not allowed. Hell, I’m not even supposed to talk to you. I’m supposed to leave you down here and just keep you fed until he gets you out of here.”
“Until who gets me out of here?”
“My employer.”
“Who is?”
“Enough with the questions. You don’t get to interrogate me. I’m in charge here.”
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“That’s enough of the lip. Say anything else and there’ll be troub
le.”
“But I need to know.”
“Right, that does it. Bend over the bed.”
“Excuse me.”
He snarled at me. “Bend over the bed now.”
Part of me wanted to push him. “Or what,” was on the tip of my tongue. But then I saw that darkness back in his eyes. It scared the hell out of me. I stood up and turned round, bending forwards at the hips, the flat of my hands on the middle of the mattress.
“Don’t move,” he said, moving behind me. I felt him lifting the back of my dress up my hips, revealing my thong. He grabbed it and yanked it down in a single motion. I gasped at the violence of his grasp. My thong slid down to my ankles. By the time it reached the floor he had already spanked me. The sound was deafening but I felt nothing. Then a second later, the stinging pain raced through me, my ass growing hotter as he spanked me again and again, each blow jolting me forwards against the bed. I bit my lip, trying to keep quiet for as long as possible, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt.
His hand moved from left to right, covering every inch of my ass in harsh slaps. Then he moved lower, the pain increasing as he slapped the tops of my thighs. “Get your legs apart,” he snarled and I obeyed at once, terrified of what he might do if I refused. His hand slapped down on the middle of my pussy and I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. I let out a scream of shock and anguish.
“You’re a bad girl,” he said, his hand back to slapping my ass. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” I said.
“That’s the wrong answer.” Another smack on my pussy. “What are you?”
“A bad girl,” I said, my breath ragged.
“You’re getting wet for me, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.”
“Bullshit. I can feel it.” He grabbed my hand and brought it to my pussy, pressing it to my folds. “What do you call that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re fucking wet.” He leaned down to say it, his hand by my ear. The weight of him against me cost me my balance and I fell forwards onto the bed, him landing on top of me.