“That’s probably the best part of everything that’s happened today,” I gripe. “What I need is for dickheads to look where they’re going and not slam into me in the first place.” I move my arm, the grazes stiffening after having the sting of Betadine applied to them earlier.
“Maybe take tonight off, Ruby. I can call Stacey in to take over your shift. She won’t mind filling in.”
“I’m fine. I’m here. I’m not dying. I might as well work.” I stand up from the chair in the staff room and move toward the mirror to check my appearance.
“Are you sure?”
Once I twist my long hair up into a bun and secure it to the top of my head, I’m ready. “Just like any other night, OK?”
She tucks her dark hair behind her ear, eyeing me carefully. Everything about her behaviour toward me screams worry. Which, coming from a girl like Dakota, makes me uneasy. She’s been through things that no woman should have to go through and somehow she still manages to smile. When I'm around her, I feel stupid for my own insecurities. If she can still be strong, then I have no right quivering in a corner when I get a little scared.
Get angry. Stay safe. I am not a victim.
“I’m fine, Cody, I promise.”
“It's OK to be shaken. You've been through a lot this last year.”
“And you haven't?”
“This isn't about me. I'm worried about you.”
“This isn’t bringing back anything.”
“Are you sure?”
No. I’m not sure at all. I’m scared. The guy has my phone. Everything about me is on that thing.
“I’m sure.” I put on a brave smile. I am not a victim. “The police probably have him already, anyway. I’ll call them in the morning.”
***
“Let me drive you home,” Brad insists at the end of the night.
I don’t argue. Despite my protestations, I’ve been unusually quiet all night. Even if Dakota hadn’t told Brad about the guy running into me, he would’ve figured out that something was up. He knows me too well for me to hide anything.
Even in the car, I don’t talk much. I admit it—I’m rattled.
And I hate that I’m rattled. I hate that a chance encounter with a guy who is bigger than me has shaken me so much. Although, every guy is bigger than me. When I was a kid, my father would call me Thumbelina. He'd laugh and hand me a thimble to drink out of as a joke. I didn't find it funny. But he didn't exactly give a shit what I thought, which is probably why he never looked back after he abandoned me and my mum when I was twelve. Arsehole.
“Want to talk about it?”
“About what?” I turn to him abruptly, the memories of my childhood causing my fingertips to press into my thighs.
I am not a victim. I choose the life I want. No one chooses for me.
“Cody told me some guy was running from the police and knocked you over.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, although I’m not even convincing myself.
“Ruby.” He says my name in a way that I imagine a parent would when they know their kid is lying. I can't fool him.
“I feel like I’m overreacting,” I admit. “The guy ran into me, that’s all.”
“Considering what happened to you last year, I think you’re being pretty calm about it.”
The subject keeps coming up today. Last year. The pivotal point in my life when I realised that I could no longer do anything alone. That I had been heading down the wrong path and needed to help to find my way back. Last year....
I was in this relationship with a guy who was bad news. Not just a bad boy but a guy who was actually bad. Tony was his name. He was an arsehole, even in the beginning. But in the beginning, he was an arsehole to everyone but me. To me, he was charming, protective. He wanted me to be his.
I suppose that’s what sucked me in. He wanted me. And he wanted me with a passion. To a girl with daddy issues like mine, it was like holding out a crack pipe to an addict. I was sucked in by his smile, his strength. I loved that he looked so rough but was so gentle. I felt like I was in on some secret that only he and I shared. You know those romance novels where the villain is so passionate about the heroine that you forgive him his sins? It felt like that but it was real life.
I overlooked the fact that he was in a gang. I ignored the way he treated others. I told myself that it was all OK. I could ignore it because, despite all the bad, he was good to me.
Until he wasn’t.
It started off small at first. He wanted to know where I was at all times. He’d grab my arm a little too tight. He’d pull my hair or pin my hands so I couldn’t move—and not in a sexy way.
Warning bells were going off in my mind. I knew I’d chosen the wrong guy. I knew I should break up with him. But my fear of what he’d do if I tried to leave him kept me by his side.
Slowly, his grip around my arm tightened and my bruising got worse, though it was always well-hidden. Like the best of them, Tony was careful to keep his abuse to areas of my body I could cover.
But I couldn’t hide it. He had broken my spirit in a way that even Brad, who was more my boss than my friend at the time, noticed the change in my behaviour. Then he spotted some of the bruising and confronted me. Next thing, Tony saw Brad as a threat and tried to get me to leave my job. When I refused, the violence got worse. He didn't care about hiding the bruises anymore and punched me directly in the face.
That’s when I moved in with Brad for a while. He helped me get away from Tony. I thought I was safe. But it only angered Tony more. Things spiralled out of control and eventually he turned up at Quay, demanding that I go back to him.
Brad’s then-girlfriend Dakota recognised him as one of the gang members who had attacked and raped her when she was sixteen. I’ve never felt so sick to my stomach in my entire life. I had been dating a man capable of rape. I was disgusted with myself. Horrified. There isn’t a word in existence that explains how awful that moment felt. But it was the moment my world stopped turning. Everything about my life was wrong.
Brad became an animal after blood and tried to take on Tony and his gang singlehandedly. But when the entire kitchen staff joined in, the gang took off pretty fast. After that, the police got involved and a manhunt ensued.
I hoped it would all be over.
But it wasn’t. I answered the door that night—stupidly—expecting it to be Shane. Tony grabbed me by the throat and my next memory is waking up in hospital—in traction—with Brad sitting in the chair by my side.
To say that Brad and I have been through a lot together is an understatement. It would be more fitting to say that he’s my family—the only real family I have. The only man in this world I truly trust.
“He has my phone,” I blurt out the moment he pulls up to the curb outside my apartment building.
“He what?” Brad turns off the engine and wipes his hand down his face. I hear his stubble grate against his palm.
I take a deep breath to force myself to say it again. “He has my phone. All of my information is on there.”
“Shit, Ruby. He can’t use it to find you, can he?”
I fold my arms across my chest and set my jaw. “All he has to do is hold the button down to ask Siri who I am.” I kick myself for not turning that function off. I read an article about it only a week ago; a woman left her phone in the bathroom and another woman contacted her to return it. All she had to do was ask Siri. The writer of the article felt blessed that it wasn’t a predator who found her information, but was compelled to warn others that their personal information was easily obtained by anyone who got their hands on their phones.
I remember thinking that she just told the degenerates of the world the perfect way to track down their prey. I’m an idiot for not acting that very moment. All I had to do was turn the voice recognition off so it wouldn’t activate when the screen was locked.
Something so simple.
Something I neglected to do.
Now I’m scared. Again.
I'm not a vict
im.
“What if he ran into me on purpose? What if he’s part of Tony’s gang and they targeted me?” The panic rises, burning my throat as I give it a voice.
Brad reaches across the console and takes my hand in his. “Come and stay with me and Cody tonight.”
Pressing my fingers against the corners of my eyes, I shake my head, focusing my thoughts. “I can’t just leave Coral and Shane there without telling them. What if he’s dangerous?”
“Then we go inside and tell them what’s happened. After that, you come and stay with us until we’re sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the Brotherhood.”
“I’m not a victim, Brad. I don't want to run scared.”
He creases his brow. “There’s a difference between being a victim and being cautious. There's nothing wrong with being cautious.”
“I feel like you're always rescuing me.”
“It's what we lost kids do—we take care of each other. We’re family, OK?”
3
LAUGHTER RINGS OUT the moment I get inside.
“Sounds like you have company,” Brad notes, closing and locking the door behind him.
Glancing at my watch, I check the time. After twelve. I’m glad I’m spending the night at Brad and Dakota’s. I don’t think I’d get a wink of sleep with that racket going on.
The conversation carries up the short hallway like a mouth of a trumpet.
“So, this guy, he came over the top of the wave and landed right on top of me. Broke my board in two and gave me this nasty scar on my thigh.”
I don’t know the voice, but by the surfing talk, I assume it’s one of Shane’s friends.
“Hey,” I call out, announcing myself as I enter the living area. I see Shane standing in the kitchen, beer in hand, and Coral sitting next to some guy who's wearing a fitted grey beanie, a faded tank top that was probably once red, and a pair of striped board shorts. He has his back to me so I don’t pay him any mind, just signal to Coral that I want to speak to her when she looks my way.
“Hey.” She smiles, tucking her mousy blonde hair behind her ear. “Just the person we’ve been waiting for.” Her British accent makes it sound as though she’s talking with a plum in her mouth, every syllable perfectly formed.
Before I can respond, the guy turns around. And my heart stops.
It’s him. The guy with my phone.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, sounding braver than I feel. I'm shaking and Brad bristles beside me, sensing my reaction.
The guy grins in a slow, lazy fashion. He’s amused by me. “Nice to see you again, too. I came to return your phone.” He turns and picks up a box from the bench where he was sitting. “And to give you this. I felt bad about smashing your screen.” He stands and holds the box out to me. “It’s a replacement,” he clarifies after I do little more than stand there, staring. I don’t know what’s going on.
“That’s really nice of you, Flynn,” Coral says, her voice saying the words carefully as she takes the box from the guy’s—Flynn’s—hand, looking at me with a question in her eyes that says, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
His eyes stay on me. “It was the least I could do.”
“He’s hot,” Coral mouths from behind him, doing this weird thing with her eyes that I think is supposed to be a waggle of her brows.
I don’t respond.
“Flynn—that’s your name?” Brad steps forward and speaks for me, rescuing me when it’s taking all my effort just to keep breathing.
They shake hands. “Yeah. Flynn Trotsky. I had a bit of a run-in with Ruby this afternoon—”
“I heard the police were looking for you,” Brad cuts in.
The corner of Flynn’s mouth kicks up and he glances at me, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’d be happy to explain that to you.”
My mind is completely blank. This guy who has had me worried all night is in my kitchen having a beer with my flatmate and her boyfriend. They were talking like old friends when we got here and he’s come to give me a new phone. He says he can explain why the cops were after him. The look in his eyes promises me a good story—one I could believe.
A year ago, I would have listened.
A year ago, I would have smiled.
I would have been a puddle at his feet, begging for him to like me, take me on that wild ride of dizzying highs and crashing lows that I can feel just by looking at him. It’s a sense I have.
Bad boys. They’re my drug of choice.
But that was before.
I won't be a victim again.
“I don’t care.” I finally speak up. “I’m not interested in your gift. God only knows how you got it.”
“I purchased it. I can give you the receipt if you'd like.” The grin on his face diminishes but doesn’t completely disappear. The glint in his eye doesn’t change a bit.
“I don’t care,” I repeat. “I don’t want it. And I don’t want you in my home. I didn't invite you here.”
“I simply came to offer recompense.”
“Well, it’s done. Now you can leave. Forget you met me. Forget where I live. If I see you again, I’ll call the cops and tell them where you are.”
His grin kicks up again. “But you won’t tell them tonight?”
“Stay for five more seconds and I will.” My words are bold, but my stomach is churning.
He nods once, understanding. Then he turns and thanks Coral and Shane for their hospitality before he leaves.
It’s as he walks out that I let my eyes search his visible skin, breathing a little easier when I don't find the circular symbol of the Brotherhood tattooed on his neck or hands. In fact, he doesn't have any tattoos at all that I can see.
“Why be so rude?” Shane asks the moment the door clicks shut.
I don’t respond. I'm too busy trying to feel as tough as I acted.
Breathe.
“Ruby?” Shane waves his hand in front of my face as I stare straight ahead.
Flynn might seem like a nice guy to my roommates. But that’s how they always seem.
That’s how they draw you in.
They convince you that the things they do aren’t really that bad, and before you know it, you’re in too deep.
I won’t be letting that happen again.
I am not a victim anymore.
4
‘LIFE IS TEN percent what happens to us and ninety percent how we react to it.’ I read that once on Instagram. Ever since I’ve decided to get my life on track, I’ve started following accounts with inspirational quotes, printing them out and attaching them to a board in my room that I look at every day. I want to be positive. I want to make positive choices. I don’t want the negatives things to get me down. I don’t want what’s happened in my past to define me.
Because of this, I chose not to stay with Brad and Dakota. Sure, the whole incident scared me. But after the way Flynn left without any sort of resistance, I remembered that quote and decided that perhaps I was overreacting. Perhaps I was letting my past cloud my judgement. Perhaps I can carry on with my life and never have it overlap with Flynn Trotsky again. At least that’s what I’m hoping. The kind of guy Flynn Trotsky is doesn't fit into the new life I envision for myself. A whole other type of man does.
That’s why I was a bit put out when I told Shane and Coral why I treated Flynn the way I did. Coral understood. But Shane said, “You were rude. He's a cool guy. He tracked you down and bought you a brand-new phone to replace the one he damaged. You should apologise.”
Since I don't like being told what to do by people who don't pay rent, I stood my ground.
“I think I reacted just fine considering he was being chased by cops when I met him, Shane. He could have been dangerous.”
“He said he can explain that. You should give the guy a chance.”
“I don't have to give him, or any other man, anything. If you like him so much, you keep the phone.” I pushed the box into his chest and picked up my old phone
, taking it with me into my room and slamming the door.
That’s where I stayed for the rest of the night, fuming over the whole situation instead of sleeping. There is no way I’m apologising to that man. I was the one wronged. He ran into me. He broke my phone. He caused me to get swooped by a fucking magpie.
My head still hurts.
By the time I open my eyes the next morning, it's more like lunchtime. It took so long to fall asleep that I ended up oversleeping.
When I trudge into the kitchen searching for coffee, I find Coral at the table, folding her clean laundry.
“Where's Shane?” I ask, flicking on the kettle and spooning instant coffee into a mug. I gesture to ask if she wants one but she shakes her head.
“His place. He was running out of clothes, and until he puts a ring on this finger”—she holds up her left hand and wiggles her ring finger—“then I'm not washing anything for him.”
I pull a yogurt from the fridge and peel back the foil. “Most girls would do it to try and make themselves indispensable.”
She folds a pink-striped T-shirt. “Most girls wouldn't stick around for as long as I have either.” She collects all her folded things in her arms and sighs. “That man has some serious commitment issues.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
She shrugs. “My visa expires again soon. I guess I'm trying to decide what to do about it.”
“You're not going to extend it?”
“I have a life back in London and a job that won't keep forever. I love Shane, but if he won't commit after all these years....” She lets out a long breath. “Maybe it's time for me to move on.”
Wow. This conversation is a huge surprise to me. Shane and Coral seem as solid as any couple can be. Despite his lack of a serious commitment to her, they're always together, always happy. But I guess appearances aren't always what they seem.
Shane and Coral met a few years ago when Shane was on a working holiday in London. He does something with advertising and after he left, he arranged to travel back and forth while they kept the long-distance thing going. Finally, Coral decided to do the flying and relocated here for three months, and well, we all know the rest. I assumed the next step would’ve been applying for permanent residence. I guess I was wrong.
A Beautiful Danger (Beautiful #7) Page 2