by Max Henry
“Shit, Cass.”
She shrugged. “I miscarried anyway. Probably for the best.”
“Why didn’t you share this? It’s a hell of a lot to carry on your own.”
“I had Gary, so I wasn’t alone. Plus, I hate people thinking I only share that kind of stuff to get the sympathy vote, you know?”
Steph nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Did she what? Still got a few secrets of your own. “How did you get away?”
“With a lot of help from Gary. I owe him my life, I guess.”
Explained the mutual respect the two of them had, then. “And the guy? He’s not after you now?” Surely an abusive biker wouldn’t let a woman simply up and leave.
“He’s tried to get to me, but he lost the trail when I changed my name.”
Steph stared, at a loss of what to say. And she thought she had issues? “And Gary?”
“That’s why he fell off the face of the earth for a while—lose the scent and all that.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Cass threw her arms across her chest. “We didn’t all grow up with sunshine and rainbows in our back-yard.”
Steph levelled her with a glare as the waiter returned. “I would’ve thought you’d be the last person to judge a book by its cover.”
“Are we prepared to order?” The poor guy looked ready to wet himself.
“Fish of the day for me, thanks.” Cass glanced at the guy, giving him the sweetest grin.
“Lamb salad,” Steph ordered, and passed the menu over.
The waiter scarpered, and the two of them resumed the heated turn in conversation.
“I wasn’t judging, Steph. You’ve hardly shared anything with me other than how nice your family is, and what great memories you have of holidays with Ivan’s family, blah, blah, blah.”
“Maybe, like you, I didn’t want to be thought of as jumping on the pity-party train.”
“Well come on, spill. I’ve given you my secrets. What happened to you that’s so bad?”
Not even half an hour into the lunch, and the Cass she knew, and loathed had returned. Steph held half a mind to walk out and save the effort it took to get the self-absorbed idiot to understand she didn’t have to keep a brick wall around her weaknesses. So what if they’d both had shitty times in their past? Why make a damn ‘mine is worse’ competition out of it? Why not do what regular friends did, and enjoy the comfort they could give each other?
“Why do you have to always be such a bitch to stop people caring about you? Is it so damn hard to have a friend who knows everything about you?”
“What are you saying?”
“That every time we get a glimpse at the real Cass, you whack a few more bricks on your damn fortress, and become a total bitch to deflect the attention. Am I that bad that you can’t trust me?”
Cass dropped her head like a child scolded. “No. Truth is, I don’t know I’m doing it half the time.”
“You didn’t know you were being a teensy bit mean just then?” Steph cocked an eyebrow, pinching her fingers together.
“All right. I did. But I do it before I realise what I’ve done, and then I carry on because it’s easier than apologising.”
“And you said Pete was fucked up.”
“Thanks.”
“Truth hurts.”
“You still haven’t told me what it is I seem to need to know about you.” Cass twirled the pepper.
“I never said you need to know. I only wanted you to realise we all have demons. You aren’t alone. You don’t have to carry on like the bloody Lone Ranger.”
“Fine. I’ll try to be more open. But believe me when I say it’ll only be with you. I’m not quite ready to stand on my soap-box yet.”
“That’s all I ask.” Steph stayed locked with Cass’s intense stare. “What?”
“Fair’s fair. Tell me.”
She heaved a sigh. “Fine.” If Cass could do it, then why not take her own advice and open up a little more as well. “When I was fifteen, I was betrayed by a friend.”
“Nice and vague there, hon.”
“I was drugged, and left to trip out with a bunch of people I didn’t know.”
Cass kept on looking her way, expressionless. “Is that all? We’ve all had drunken, drugged nights we regret.”
“I was made to strip while I danced around a bonfire, and then after I passed out, my so-called friend … you know.”
“Left you to shack up with some other guy?”
She shook her head. The whole conversation was such a bad idea. “No. The friend was a guy.”
“So, he raped you?”
“Exactly.”
“Not that I don’t believe you—” Cass held her hands out. “—but how do you know for sure if you were unconscious?”
“It was on film.”
Cass’s face fell flatter than a pancake. “Sick.”
“I know. And the worst part?”
“What?”
“Richard told everyone I asked for it. He had the whole school calling me slut, porno queen, skank, you name it. Even some of the teachers looked at me sideways.”
“Who’s Richard?”
“Ivan’s brother—correction—dead brother.”
Pistol flicked the stub into the gutter, and blew the last of the smoke out his nose. He’d dropped Trevor at a local gym on the way to get Steph, secretly glad at the opportunity for some alone time with her. Not that he minded having Trevor visit; it was good to see his mug doing so well, but three in a house wasn’t him.
He watched with peaked curiosity as she stepped through the door with none other than Cass, and gave the blonde woman a brief hug before heading his way. The look on her face read ‘I know what you’re going to say’ as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and stepped around him. He watched her casually get in the car, and skirted the hood to drop into the driver’s seat beside her. Steph feigned ignorance, examining her nails as he waited for an explanation.
“Well?”
“We cleared the air.”
“Aye. I can see that.”
Steph sat ready to roll; her bag at her feet, and hands in her lap. “Why are you waiting?”
“How do two woman hell bent on the destruction of each other end up huggin’?”
“We talked.” She drew the words out.
“And? What did ya talk about?”
“You; how big you are.”
His mouth dropped open. So this is what mortified feels like.
“Joking, Pete. Christ, calm down.”
He shook his head, and turned the rod over. “What’s she doin’ at your office?”
“On assignment.”
“Assignment?”
Her fingers drew circles over the fabric of her skirt. “Every now and then we might be sent on a special job. Usually it’s a team set up in one of our offices, but some of the bigger clients like us to do the audit on site.”
“You’ve done that before?”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch; being ass-holed from desk to desk while they try to fit you in around their staff. Everyone knows what you’re there for, and they all look at you like they’re about to drop at your feet and admit they fleeced the company’s money.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Hardly. Anyway, she was lucky enough to get an inter-office one, so they’re all camped out in the meeting room for the week.”
Cass would be there for the week. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious how long their reconciliation would last.
“She told me how she met Gary.”
“Bet she enjoyed doin’ that.” He laughed at the image in his head of Cass while she admitted she wasn’t perfect after all.
“You knew?” He could see her eye him in his peripheral.
“Uh-huh.”
“Everybody bloody knew except me,” she muttered. “The way she said it though, it was like Cass thought it meant she was better than me, or some shit. Apparently I grew up in a ‘privileged’ house, so how could I know what i
t was like to rough it. I think she thought she was Wonder Woman, or something.”
He glanced at her as she stared out the window, her jaw set. “Granted, you had a better upbringing than some of us.”
“Great. Not you, too?” he sneered at him as though he’d started emitting the smell of a week-old corpse.
“It’s the truth ain’t it, Love?”
“Like I said to her—” He expected Steph to start waving a hand back-and-forth in time with her head, Jerry Springer styles. “—just because things look rosy on the surface, doesn’t mean I haven’t had crap to deal with too.”
“When you were a teenager, right?”
“How did you know that?” Her frown narrowed.
“The pictures at ya house. They’re all so proper, until you magically sprout tattoos, and coloured hair. How many years between them?”
“The pictures?”
He nodded.
“Three.”
“What happened?” Truth be told, he didn’t want to know. It didn’t take a genius to work out which way his mood would plummet when she explained why there had been an obvious gap in the record of her life.
She huffed, and crossed her arms over herself. “Richard tricked me into doing something that left me pretty self-conscious.”
“That was when ya had your fallin’ out then?” The Rubik’s Cube aligned another colour.
She nodded.
“Love, it still sounds like the PG version. I’m a big boy; I can handle it. What truthfully happened?” He dropped a hand on her leg, and felt the instant tension.
“He drugged me, and filmed me while he raped me.” She spat it out so flippantly, so detached. “He showed it to all his friends, and rumours spread pretty fast.”
How could she drop that kind of shit on him, and not even bat a lash? The rod skidded to a stop with a dramatic squeal of rubber.
“What the fuck, Pete?”
He threw the door open, and proceeded to pace the length of the block. Movement didn’t help. The rage inside was at boiling point, and the outlet for the steam, as always, was his fists. He slammed knuckles into a block fence, a bus shelter, a mailbox. Yet, still the rage grew.
He’d never been faced with this predicament before—the desire to kill someone who was already dead. If only he’d known the truth about the fucker before he topped him off. He would have kept the bastard breathing for a week while he tortured him.
“Pete?” Steph’s shaky voice broke into his black fog.
“Not now, Love,” he seethed through gritted teeth.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing,” he replied a little too brash. “I can’t think like this. I can’t, I don’t know, I … urgh!” He slammed a few more inanimate objects for good measure.
Finally, the rage eased, chased hot on the tail by disgust. Disgusted at what he was, of what he became, of how easily his temper took over. He stumbled to the block fence, and crouched next to it—fists shaking with adrenaline.
“It was a long time ago.” Steph slid down next to him.
“It’s not right.” He threw an arm around her shoulders, and tugged her off balance toward him.
She crashed into his side, throwing her hands up to brace herself and stop them both going over.
“If I’d known …”
“Then what? You can’t wind back the clock, Pete. I realised that a long time ago. All you can do is grow from the experience.”
He frowned, and met her pleading eyes. “How? How can something that fuckin’ disgustin’ shape you for the better?”
“It made me strong enough to be with you now, through this trouble with your mother.”
“There’s other ways to be strong, Cutie.”
She shook her head in the crook of his elbow. “Strong with resolve, or determination, sure. But to be strong like a survivor, a fighter, you have to go through the worst. You need to know why it is that you’ll never let yourself go back there.”
“Is that what we are? Survivors?”
“In our own way, yeah.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tugging her tighter to him. She chuckled within his grasp.
“Pete, you’re cutting off my air,” she choked.
“Shit, sorry Love.” He slackened his arm, but only a fraction. He wasn’t quite ready to give her up.
“Let’s go home. I’ve been informed Trevor loves a good steak, so I thought we could stop by the butcher.”
“That, to this. How do ya do it?” Minutes ago they’d been discussing a horrific piece of her past. Minutes ago he’d lost the plot, let his rage take over. And now she was talking about cooking for him, and his friend?
“I don’t like to dwell on things, which—” She prodded him in the chest. “—is your problem.”
“Aye. That it is.”
“Come on.” She wriggled out from his hold, and stood before him with her hand out. “Let’s go.”
He smiled, and took the time to look her over. Pure perfection in one colourful package. At the drop of a hat she’d managed to talk him through the situation, and bring his temper back to an even keel. Imagine what a great mother she’d be. Did he seriously think that? God, here came the wedding bells now.
“What’s the matter?”
He realised his expression must have soured with the thought. Not that it was entirely bad—just poorly timed.
What a way to end an interlude that started with a woman being violated—weddings.
***
“Is Trevor not home?” Steph tossed her bag on the armchair, and poked her head in a few doors for good measure. Nothing.
“Cutie, if I wasn’t so sure ya loved me, I’d be a little jealous of Trevor right now.”
“Why?” She rounded the corner to where Pete stood in the kitchen; one inked arm draped over the open door of the fridge.
“Because you sure seem to talk about him a lot for a man ya haven’t known more than a couple of days.”
She scoffed. Insecure much? “Hardly. I like the guy, that’s all. He’s like an oversized toddler; all full of energy, but no idea where to put it.”
Pete laughed. “Yeah, he is.” He emerged from the fridge with two bottles of water.
She accepted the one he held out, and twisted the top free. “How long have you known him?”
Pete leant onto the counter with a faraway look. “Since we were eleven. He used to be an underground boxer, made heaps. But I guess hanging around the town we grew up in sucks ya into a life outside the law for good.”
“How could you grow up in the same town? He’s not Irish?”
“Not born there, no. Moved across with his parents when he was nine.”
“Fighter, to hit-man. Seems a logical progression. He doesn’t come across as the kind of guy who kills people for pleasure, though.”
“Just because it’s his job, Love, doesn’t mean he does it for fun. Do you do your job because ya love it?”
She snickered. “Hardly. Point made.”
“I’m sure if the opportunity came along he’d get out of the business.”
“I hope he does. He’s a nice guy, deserves more.” The conversation only proved how much she’d been getting around in the world with a pair of Hollywood endorsed blinkers on. Before she met Trevor, she would have said a hit-man had to be some sort of brooding, blood-thirsty, border-line cannibal. Tall, scarred, and obsessed enough to sleep with his weapons.
Didn’t that go to show how much she knew?
“Did you do anything about your mother today?”
Pete hesitated, clearly fighting with the urge to keep her out of the affairs. “Talked through a few things with Trevor.”
“What’ll you do?” She couldn’t believe they were discussing a plot to murder his mother like a strategy to afford a new car.
“Break her until she begs me for forgiveness.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” From what she’d learnt so far, the woman was as heartless as an organ donor’s cadaver.<
br />
“That’ll be the fun part.” He grinned in that special way that sent cool shivers down her spine. “Gettin’ her there.”
“Lovlies!”
She smiled at Trevor as he burst through the front door.
“What did I interrupt?”
“Nothing,” Pete answered. “Nothing you and I haven’t discussed already.”
The big guy stopped next to her position on a stool, and drew her hand into a kiss. “Darling.”
A deep huff sounded from Pete’s direction.
Trevor winked at her. “So easily wound up.” He slapped Pete on the shoulder. “Settle down, tiger.”
She laughed at the testosterone floating about the room while Trevor left to shower. “He’s such a clown.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be sure to give him a fuckin’ red nose if he keeps that shite up.”
She snorted, and slid off the stool. “Help me get dinner on, would you?”
Trevor wandered into the room, dark hair wet on his shoulders. “Smells bloody brill.”
“Of course—I made it.”
Pistol grinned at Steph as she ribbed the big guy. He slid three plates onto the counter, and then fished knives, and forks from the top drawer.
“Got some news from Stinky,” Trevor commented, pulling up a chair.
“Yeah?” Stinky was the guy a person went to when they needed information … on anything. The man was a damn encyclopaedia on legs. Aptly named Stinky due to his fetish with aftershave. “What about?”
“Paddy.”
He glanced at Steph, but she carried on mashing the potato like nothing had been said. If the girl was curious about who these people were, and how they fitted into his life, she sure didn’t show it.
“Apparently,” Trevor continued, “he’s none too happy about the amount of time your old lady’s been spending in the infirmary. Turns out the woman used the dosh she got for travel insurance on another bag of smack, and the old bastard’s been getting the bills for her stay.”
Pistol chuckled. “That’d be her.”
“He’s booked her a ticket back to Ireland.”
“Shit!” Steph shook her hand as a pot clattered to the stovetop.
“Ya right?”