Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  “Davy, do you remember the night we met?”

  This statement had him pause, so she stopped and turned to watch his expression turn from quiet determination to bemusement.

  He offered a lopsided grin. “Sure. We were at The Circus. Terminatryx played and you’d somehow persuaded the barman to give you a triple shot of vodka in a tall glass.”

  “A shaky-handed double.”

  “And you were so drunk they found you passed out in the bathroom, and you’d puked all over yourself, the toilet seat and the floor.”

  Rae grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

  “And who was the one who took you outside and brought you some warm soapy water? And helped you rinse the vomit out of your hair?”

  “Yeah, you. I didn’t get to see the live music. Pity.”

  “We were both so silly when we first met.”

  “What do you mean when we first met? Look at us.” Rae gestured vaguely between the two of them. “We’re still silly. I mean, what the hell are you doing hanging out with me? And it wasn’t such a long time ago, either. Unless for some reason two years is an eternity.”

  Davy offered a meaningful look which suggested it was. Then the moment broke when he laughed and covered his face with his hand as he half turned away. “You’re so dense sometimes. I really dig you, okay? In a big way. Is that such a crime?”

  He kissed her, a movement so sudden Rae didn’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise, purely enjoying the way his lips melded with hers. The sheer physical presence of Davy added a solidity to her life she welcomed, and she allowed him to enfold her with his arms and press her closer.

  They stood like that until a passing car hooted at them and Rae came to the startling conclusion they were making out on some random street corner.

  She pulled back but didn’t relinquish her hold on his hips. “We’re putting on a show.”

  Davy grinned. “Who cares? They’re just jealous they don’t have a hot piece of ass like I have right here.” He pinched her right butt cheek for emphasis.

  Rae blushed. “Ha-ha, Davy, very funny. Now let’s get going. We have chaos to cause.”

  Hand in hand, they traversed the City Bowl in the gathering twilight. Already people were seated around dinner tables. Golden rectangles of light spilled out from the apartment blocks surrounding them, the scents of cooked food wafting into the street. The wind gusted and scattered discarded cans and Styrofoam containers across their path while they walked.

  Rae didn’t want to admit it but her stomach churned. On one level her plan was horrifically simple, but what if it hadn’t been Theo who’d staked out her sister’s house? What if the police hauled them aside for loitering? Hell, what if the dude had a gun? She’d been in a dozen tight situations before, had been held at knife point by gangsters and experienced her fair share of near misses with the cops when she’d carried stuff.

  It was all too easy for something to go pear-shaped, and Davy’s recent encounter with pissed-off dealers didn’t help her frame of mind. Perhaps it would be prudent for her to lie low for a while. This entire situation with them dealing felt like a fisherman’s purse seine, the threads drawing tighter. If she didn’t bail now, while the going was good, chances were excellent she’d be trapped.

  Added to that was also the stunning realization that she was perfectly legal and quite capable of getting lumped with a permanent criminal record, something she’d like to avoid at all costs. A criminal record would put paid to any plans of traveling to the UK.

  “We’re at a crossroads,” Rae murmured.

  Davy paused, his hand tightening on hers. “Eh?”

  “No worries. I talk to myself sometimes.”

  He offered a quizzical look before they continued down a side road that brought them to Prince Street.

  She didn’t need to mention that they’d need to keep an eye out for the roving security patrols. Davy pointed at the house number nearest them–number 197. They still had a way to walk.

  Rae counted the numbers silently and squeezed Davy’s hand when they stood opposite the address Simon had given them. It was a ramshackle Edwardian-era home, almost completely enveloped by a rambling creeper that did a pretty good job covering the veranda where a rusty wrought-iron chair leaned on uneven legs.

  “Think he keeps a dog?” Davy asked quietly.

  Rae shook her head. “Only way to go is to look. Will you keep chips while I sneak in? Whistle twice if anyone comes.”

  He grimaced. “Are you sure? I can go in rather, if you like.”

  “I’m smaller than you. And quieter. Besides, I’m used to sneaking.” She offered him a rueful smile. “Go stand there by the lamppost slightly up the way and keep an eye out, okay?”

  She didn’t think he’d agree but after a moment’s hesitation, he pecked her on the cheek and held her close. “Be careful, my cherry.” He pressed the package containing the stash into her hands then turned and walked a small distance up the road, hunkered down and took out his cellphone. If anyone drove past, they’d assume he waited for a lift. Or so she hoped.

  A small lump formed in her throat. God, he’d do almost anything for her. It still bugged the living hell out of her that she’d taken him for granted for so long. Rae drew a deep breath to steel herself then unlatched the gate. The driveway she followed was paved with two rows of uneven brick choked by moss and dried weeds.

  Despite the dry summer they’d had so far, the tangled garden smelled of decades-worth of leaves moldering forgotten in heaps. To her left, the house presented its shuttered windows, from which faint cracks of light peeped through the slats. The guy obviously liked his privacy, and her mind whirred through countless suggestions as to how he decorated his home. If he were the sick fuck Simon claimed he was, did he keep a room filled with memorabilia? Like in the movies when the cops found a room with walls covered in magazine and newspaper clippings? Or did he live some sort of austere lifestyle? She imagined the old furniture, the bronzed hands on the wall with their little message about a family praying together staying together. Did three ducks flying in a row, or old sepia-tinted family portraits in oval frames glare their disapproval from beyond the grave?

  The faint sounds of a television program reached her. Good, the guy was occupied with the telly, she could hope, so unless a nosy neighbor took note of her progress, she could poke about with impunity.

  A rusty corrugated iron shed hunched at the top of the drive, choked by a fig tree that strangled one of its corners and sent snake-like roots spilling through each gap. The verdigris-covered padlock–open–kept the double doors shut, and it didn’t take much effort to wedge them apart slightly to peek in.

  Metallic emerald paint. Rae’s stomach lurched and she bit back a triumphant laugh. She had the guy. “Theo Chapman, you douche. You’re messing with the wrong people this time.” She would have paid good money to see that time Simon beat up on the guy. Sick fuck. Served him bloody right.

  Not bothering to close the garage door, Rae cast about and checked for a spot where she could hide the stash. The post box down by the gate, overflowing as it was with so much old newspapers, wouldn’t do. Too obvious. Then her gaze fell on an old watering can near what she reckoned was the kitchen door. Perfect. If she were dropping a package off for real, that would be the best place.

  Rae placed each foot down with care, mindful of the loose paving stones interspersed with gravel. Each step crunched far too loudly in her ears and she prayed no black widow spiders lurked in the watering can when she shoved the package into the opening. She left a corner of the plastic packet poking from the container, something that wouldn’t be noticed at a casual glance, before she turned.

  The dull thud of footsteps thumped inside, approaching the back and a cold shaft of fear stabbed through her gut. Theo must have heard something and came to investigate, and she looked around wildly for a place to hide. No time to make a dash for it down the driveway without alerting the man to her presence. Instead Rae darted
around the other side of the house. A gate blocked her escape. Damn, so she couldn’t work her way around back to the front.

  “Hello?” a man called, his voice reedy and oddly high-pitched.

  “Fuck,” Rae mouthed. If he investigated, she’d be trapped like a rat.

  Shoes grated on the loose pebbles.

  As much as she didn’t want to, the wild banana that proliferated right next to her suddenly held a lot of appeal and, as much as she despised spiders, she hated the idea of meeting Theo at close quarters even more. It wouldn’t be too much effort to climb over the gate, would it?

  * * * *

  It bothered Emily that Simon paced her kitchen’s length. Instead of making tea, she opened a bottle of red wine and gulped down three mouthfuls before she slopped her glass full.

  “Have some wine.” She pushed a glass toward him across the table.

  He paused by the window and glanced out before he turned to face her. She disliked the haunted look lodged in his eyes. Without a word, Simon strode forward and snatched up the glass, spilling droplets that splotched like blood to the floor.

  A grimace twisted on her lips. She didn’t want to think about blood. And where the hell was her sister? Emily glanced toward the door.

  Simon groaned then threw himself down next to her on the bench. He pulled her into his embrace and placed a wine-stained kiss to her forehead. “Fuck. I wish none of this was happening.”

  “You’re telling me. What next?”

  He shrugged. “I’m hoping Paul can sort something out. Diplomatically, of course, but I’d like nothing more than to shove a fist through Theo’s mouth so he shits his teeth out in alphabetical order.”

  Emily had to giggle at the thought, the wine sending its tricky tendrils through her veins. “That’s the best just deserts I can imagine, though I’d be more worried you’d hurt your knuckles on that lowlife scum’s face.”

  Simon gave a small huff of laughter and examined his hands as though he remembered previous occasions where he’d beaten someone up. Had, Emily corrected. It was difficult reconciling those hands that had so tenderly touched her as being instruments of pain. She tried to still those thoughts before they led to places she didn’t want to dwell. Emily twined his fingers in hers and drew them to her chest.

  “And now?” He tilted his head.

  “I’m just trying to get over the nonsense.”

  “So am I, but we don’t need to worry, I don’t think. It will all be sorted. Just a pity it came so close to ruining a perfectly good evening.” He shifted and freed one hand, so he could tilt her face up to his.

  Those mint-green eyes sought hers, and warmth flushed through Emily’s body. This moment shouldn’t end. Nothing could come between them, not even stupid stalkers with perverted ideas.

  Emily straightened in his arms, curved an arm around Simon’s neck and pulled him to her, tasting his lips and questing with her tongue.

  With a small groan he responded before he deepened the kiss and nibbled down her jaw line, fingers straying to toy with her nipple. Small shocks from the contact brought on a response from her core and Emily squirmed in his grasp. The horrors of earlier fled as he shifted beneath her, the answering hardness in his groin telling her he wanted her as much as her treacherous body needed the reassurance of his presence.

  In one swift motion, Simon stood, scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom as if she weighed next to nothing. When they passed through doorways, Emily squealed and clung tighter, imagining her head connecting with a frame, but he maneuvered her to her bed expertly, laughing as he dumped her onto the springy mattress.

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No crazier than you for taking up with me.” He stood at the foot of the bed, regarding her, but made no motion to join her.

  Emily smacked the bedding with her palm. “Aren’t you going to lie down here with me?”

  “I’m just taking my time.”

  “Why?” Disappointment clawed at her.

  “Just trying to memorize the face and body of the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Her cheeks grew warm and Emily glanced at the window, the memories of seeing the silhouetted figure returning. “Draw the curtains, Simon.” Some of her joy fled but she wouldn’t break the moment.

  He obeyed, giving her an ample view of the taut muscles sliding across his shoulders, muscles she’d shortly be gripping. Now that thought warmed her, and she grinned at him when he plunged onto the bed. Their limbs tangled as he sought her lips with his.

  Hot breath tickled down her throat as he nipped at the soft skin beneath her chin. Emily moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt how hard his cock pushed against the denim. It rubbed against her crotch and made her so wet she wanted to unzip him then and there to shove his fullness as deep as it would go.

  “God, you’re turning me into such a harlot,” she murmured against his ear.

  “Only because you always were a bit of a harlot.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She didn’t get another word in because he silenced her with his lips, his tongue promising all manner of tortures to drive her beyond her senses. Fingers played her body as though she were an instrument, their touch pure torture as he helped her out of her clothing.

  Absolute bliss washed through her when his mouth found her nipples, sucking and teasing until she thrust against his leg, hoping her wetness would invite him to take things further. Much to her disappointment and growing need, Simon took his time, placing lingering kisses down until his tongue grazed her clit and he tasted the soft flesh on either side of her cleft.

  She wanted to grab his face and thrust him against her, to force him to explore every crease and fold, to lick and taste her until she fell into the abyss of orgasm, but Simon worked his way back to her. Her face cradled in his hands, he trailed moist butterfly kisses over her lowered lids. The faint muskiness of her secret places lingered on his breath, not wholly unpleasant.

  He brought her to the point of orgasm more times than she cared to count, not once sinking into her. Rather he teased her until she sobbed for the completion he would bring. Only when Emily thought she could take it no more and thrashed about clutching at the bedding like some demoniac did he seek entry to her swollen passage.

  Emily snagged him with her legs and trapped him so the only way for Simon to move was to thrust fully into her. But even then, he played his game and sank in slowly, first the head of his cock then the shaft. The slow withdrawal had her arching her back, gasping for more, and he paused at the apex before pushing into her again, faster this time, gradually increasing his tempo until they were joined as one in a frenzy of gasping, two people drowning in a maelstrom.

  Afterward, Emily lay back and caught her breath, musing at the faint ringing in her ears. Simon trailed lazy fingers over her stomach, slowly working his way up to cup a breast, and she enjoyed just breathing him in, that particularly undertones of post-coital male scent underpinning his usual patchouli.

  Something occurred to her and Emily sat bolt upright from the certainty that Rae was up to no good. “Where’s my sister?”

  “She said she had something she wanted to do.”

  Emily turned toward him, suspicion making her heart rate spike again. “This ‘something’ hasn’t got anything to do with that freak of nature who’s been hassling me, has it?”

  He winced.

  “You’re a shit liar, Simon.” Emily got up and dashed through to the bathroom to clean up. Between Rae and Simon, goodness only knew what sort of madness they were busy concocting. Anger flared. He’d let her sister go out, on her own, into a potentially dangerous situation. Just like that. And she’d stupidly not suspected a thing and allowed Simon to distract her.

  “What’s up?” Simon came up behind her as she dried herself, his warm arms enfolding her and his cock still semi-hard, pressed damply against her buttocks.

  She rounded on him. “You’re insane, letting her go out like that. I
’m going to go and find them now, and you’d better get dressed, ‘cause you’re driving, since you obviously know where this fool lives.”

  How he managed to put on that hurt expression Emily didn’t know, and she had to restrain herself from smacking him hard. They stood staring at each other for a few heartbeats before Simon held his hands up. “Okay, okay, I’ll get dressed. But it’s not going to be anything hectic. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged and returned to the bedroom, the tattoos sliding atop those muscles in a way that made it difficult for Emily to remain angry with him for long.

  She grabbed fresh clothing: a dark olive green skirt and an old tattoo convention t-shirt she’d scaled off her friends at Chromium Ink. Emily ended up waiting for Simon to lace his boots.

  He grinned up at her while he tied the laces. “You know, you’re funny when you’re pissed.”

  “I just can’t believe you’d let her go off like that.”

  “You’re her sister, not her mother. You remember what it was like when people tried to tell you what to do when you were that age, don’t you?”

  “She could have gotten into a shitload of trouble.”

  “She’s got Davy with her.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Davy is about as effective as a dachshund against a Rottweiler. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his entire body.”

  Some of the humor left Simon’s expression and his eyes grew cold. “I think you underestimate a lot of people, Em. You’ve only seen one side of me, the side I want to show you. Don’t ever forget that. Likewise with Davy.”

  This gave her a jolt of fear. She folded her arms across her chest and took a steadying breath. “Okay, you have a point. But that doesn’t prevent me from caring very deeply about my sister, and I don’t want to see anything bad happening to her, you understand?”

  Simon fastened the last bow and stood, brushed his hands on his jeans and stretched. The cracking of his vertebrae made Emily wince, which only brought on a smile from Simon. Some of his colder side she’d glimpsed vanished.