Dirty Bad Savage

by Jade West

My throat let out a pitiful squeak of self-consciousness as his thumb hooked inside the waist of my panties. I trembled against him, hating myself for not fighting harder. I moaned out in defeat as his fingers slid between my thighs.“

  “Fuck,” he said. “Feels so nice.”

  Yes it did, he wasn’t fucking lying. He dropped to a crouch, low enough to slide the fabric down around my hips. My underwear dropped to the floor, and I was naked and exposed.

  “Gonna fuck you,” he hissed.

  Two fingers inside me made me groan like a whore. “Yes...”

  “I wanna see you.”

  I groaned, all out of words.

  “Wanna see your cunt bleed. Need to smell you.”

  Oh my fucking God. The squelching between my legs reeled my senses, but he felt too fucking good. I let him turn me, let him guide me, let him shunt me across the kitchen with his filthy wet hand between my thighs until we reached the bathroom doorway. I gasped at our reflection in the full-length mirror. My thighs were already dripping scarlet, bloody trails snaking their way to my ankles. His fingers squelched as he withdrew, an earthy metallic taint in the air as he clamped his bloodied hand across my tit.

  I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my own body, squirming for just a moment as he clasped the same bloodied hand around my throat. Crimson smears across pale skin.

  “So pretty,” he said. “I fucking like it.”

  “Fuck me...” I breathed. “Do it.”

  He pulled off his clothes in a flash, dumping his jeans to the floor as I watched his reflection. He was so gorgeous, absolutely fucking beautiful. I let out a grunt as he slipped his way inside. I parted so easy for his cock, so fucking wet. My pussy made such dirty noises, but none so dirty as him.

  He pulled at my hair, hissing filth in my ear as he thrust inside. His fingers frigged my clit, dancing just where I needed them, and I was gone, groaning like a dirty fucking whore as the sensations took over. He came hard, faster than usual. His eyes were fierce all the way, holding my gaze right the way through until he was spent. He dropped me like a stone, catching his breath. The dark nest of his pubes was glistening red, his cock still twitching amidst the scarlet lake spreading down between his thighs. His hands were bloody, his chest too, and he looked fucking magnificent for it. Like a warrior back from battle, decorated with the blood of his conquests.

  That’s when I got him. Really got him. Callum Jackson was no Masque in the making. Masque was filthy to the extreme, but he was considered, controlled, polished to a mirror shine. Callum Jackson was a wild animal, governed by raw instinct, the feral urge for sex, and sweat, and blood, and heaving, writhing, primal fucking flesh. His eyes were savage, his hair unkempt, his muscles taut as strung wire. He was savage.

  “You came back for that, didn’t you?” I whispered. “You came back to claim what’s yours.”

  “Is it?” he barked. “Is this mine?”

  I looked down at the mess on my skin. “What do you think?”

  “Dunno, Soph, don’t fucking know.” I made for the shower but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me so hard I slammed into his chest. “Never needed nothing, not from anyone. Not like this. I need this, Soph. Can’t fucking lose it.”

  “This is fucking crazy, we’re both fucking mad.”

  “Can live with crazy,” he said. “Just can’t live alone.”

  I touched his face, brushing a thumb over dark brows. “You aren’t alone, Cal, not anymore.”

  “Say it, then,” he snapped. “If you mean it, say it. Don’t fucking lie, though, Sophie, if this ain’t real for you then don’t fucking pretend.”

  The words came easy, too fucking easy. “I love you, Cal. That real enough for you? That what you needed to hear?”

  He buried his face in my hair, arms tighter around me than I’d ever felt.

  I was happy enough to ignore the dread in my stomach, happy enough to kick the practicalities out of sight.

  Happier still when we heard the bin crash over in the kitchen, and the night returned to normal.

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  Callum

  “It’s time, kid.” Raven was smiling, but I struggled to smile back.

  I’d been working all pissing day, trying to get these paintings ready for the dealer. Nothing I did looked right. They were all shit.

  “Not ready.”

  “They’re ready,” she said. “Trust me, baby.”

  “He won’t fucking like them,” I snapped. “They’re total fucking shit.”

  She slapped my hands away from the paints like I was a little kid at nursery. I didn’t mind with her, though, didn’t mind anything she bloody did.

  “It’s ok to be nervous. The best artists always are.”

  She started arranging my canvases, lining them up for transport. I gave in, letting her take what she wanted, too pissing late for nerves now.

  “No Sophie?”

  “In meetings all day.”

  “No rest for the wicked, hey?” I flinched as she uncovered the final canvas, heart pounding like a fucking freight train. “Oh, baby.”

  Her eyes were wide and sparkly, just like on the painting. “Did it for you. For your girlfriend, like,” I grunted.

  It was my favourite of them all, the one of Raven. She looked just like when I’d met her, eyes so twinkly and skin so alive. I’d painted her with a black cigarette, the hint of a smile as she breathed out smoke into a night sky. I wasn’t expecting the crush of her arms around my neck, the warmth of her lips on my cheek. She felt good against me, with her strange hair and her strange clothes and her strange smell. Not clingy like when Vick did it, just nice.

  “I love it,” she breathed. “I really fucking love it, kid. Thank you.”

  I shrugged as she let go of me. “Weren’t nothing much.”

  “Whatever you say, baby.” A taxi pulled up outside, stopping right in front of the garage. “That’s my ride, straight to dealer HQ. Sure you don’t want to come?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, you’re alright.”

  “Don’t you go slacking off on me now. We’ll be needing more pieces for the exhibition.”

  My heart notched up another gear. “What exhibition?”

  She smiled so fucking bright. “Only the biggest fucking London exhibition this side of Christmas, baby. Gallery’s got a display, right up with the big boys, finest on the market. Current stuff too, a lot of urban, some modern. You’ll be there, Cal, you mark my words. Jack’s gonna shit a brick when he sees this stuff.”

  “Don’t joke,” I said. “Ain’t fucking funny.”

  Her red mouth narrowed into a vicious flash. “I never fucking joke about art, kid, and I’d never fucking joke with you.”

  “Sorry.” I put my hands in my hair, pacing about the place. “Just dunno what to think.”

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Aye. Lot on my mind.”

  I’d been waiting for it for weeks, but it still landed hard when it arrived. “You did tell Sophie, didn’t you? About the Stoneys?” I didn’t answer, just stared at my feet so I wouldn’t see her face. “Pissing hell, kid. I told you I’d keep my mouth shut, but you have to fucking tell her. She can help, it’s no money to her, Cal, not with parents like hers.”

  “I don’t want her money.”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t want you fucking dead. She’ll flip her fucking lid when she finds out you didn’t tell her, and I’ll be next in the firing line.”

  “I’ll sort it.”

  “You’d better, baby, or I’ll fucking tell her for you.”

  I guessed she weren’t joking about that, neither.

  ***

  Sophie

  I’d been in crappy meetings all morning, itching to get away and make sure the great art collection had gone down without incident. Cal had been brooding to shit over the past few days, nerves kicking in. He wouldn’t say that, of course, just shrugged it off as nothing.

  My phone beep
ed as I stepped off the tube, and I fumbled in my bag for the handset, expecting a berating text from Bex. The reality was worse. So much fucking worse.

  I have my sister stored in my phone under her full name. Alexandra Juliette Allison Harding. What the fuck did she want?

  The text made it crystal clear.

  Four missed Sundays and a complaint letter with your name on it. Tut, tut. Dad going ballistic. Be home at seven, I’m coming over.

  I text back instantly.

  Complaint letter?? Not convenient tonight. Busy, sorry.

  We were having steak, Callum’s favourite. Steak and sex, and probably more sex on the side. My phone pinged again before I could even switch the thing off.

  Non negotiable. Call it an official landlord visit. Rather me than Dad, trust me.

  My blood froze in my face. Reality knocking so hard I pulled up where I stood, brain spinning. I pictured the apartment; the dog-clawed sofa, the shredded cushions, the lacerated door panels. The dog bowls, the fur everywhere, Callum’s measly belongings on the dresser. Fuck. Serious fucking fuck.

  Make it eight, yeah?

  I crossed my fucking fingers.

  Seven thirty. I won’t be late.

  That was the best I was going to pissing get.

  ***

  Only one canvas remained in the garage. Callum’s work in progress was a six foot cityscape. Along the bottom of the image lay a dying man, and a crowd were huddled around him, taking selfies, smiling pretty for the camera.

  “Feels like that,” he said. “Round East Veil, anyway.”

  He was pensive, sitting on his stool, eyes downcast.

  “It’s going to be great,” I smiled. “Better than great. Bex says the dealer really rates your work. He’s going to love this one.”

  “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it, Callum Jackson.” I squeezed his muscled shoulders from behind. “You’re a star.”

  “Don’t feel much like one.” He reached up for my hands, pulling me forward until I was flat to his back. I folded my arms around his chest, breathing him in. “Just wanna go home.” Home. He called it home. “Need to talk and need to fuck. Need to be where you are.”

  “Talk? What about?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled at his tone.

  “Just some shit going down. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?”

  I let out a sigh, but it didn’t ease the nerves in my gut any. Here goes nothing. “About later,” I said, “something’s come up.”

  He spun around on his stool, guiding my hand to the heat of his crotch. “Something’s coming up, alright. Can’t wait to fuck you.”

  “I’m serious,” I groaned. “I’m going to have to give this evening a miss. Sorry.”

  He looked taken aback. “You got plans?”

  “No... Yes... it’s complicated. Got some family crap kicking off, I’ll call you when I’m done, though.”

  “I could help?” The look in his eyes was so genuine, it broke my heart to shoot him down.

  “There’s nothing for you to help with. I’ll call when I’m done, first chance I get.”

  He shrugged. “Alright. I’ll go to Vick’s. Crash on her sofa ’till I can come over. We’ll talk, though, yeah? Later?”

  I swallowed the panic in my throat, head swimming with cleaning chores, and DIY and explanations. “Of course.”

  He started clearing his paints, putting them ever so neatly back on their racks. “Case can go with you, she don’t like Vick’s shed no more.”

  “Casey’s probably better off with you,” I said. “I’ll be busy, and it’s difficult... you know... taking care of her.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t wanna take Case?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I sighed. “Can’t I just see you both later? Please?”

  “Guess that’ll have to do.”

  I kissed his beautiful mouth, lips tight against his like I never wanted to leave. I wished I was brave enough to tell my sister to get stuffed, hand in my notice on the property and set up a new life on my own. I could do. I could stand tall, hold my ground, tell them that I loved my job, and I loved that dog, and I loved Callum Jackson, too.

  The flare of panic along my spine didn’t agree.

  Casey whined her furry head off as I left, big brown eyes following me along the path. I looked back over my shoulder at the low swing of her tail, the tilt of her head as she waited for the whistle.

  And then I kept walking.

  ***

  Callum

  “Thank fuck you’re here.” Vicki was in her usual spot, puffing like crazy on a roll-up. “Had Ty over here again. He said we’ve got three days, Cal. Three bastard days!” Her hands were shaking life a leaf, tiny and white. “Where we gonna get fifteen hundred from in three days?”

  “Fifteen hundred?!” I snapped. “It’s twelve we owe.”

  “Interest,” she said. “They want fifteen or there’ll be trouble. He weren’t messing around, Cal. I know him, he looked wired, but he weren’t bluffing. They’re coming for us. Oh God, Cal, what about Slay?”

  “Chill the fuck out, Vick. Ain’t nobody coming for you, I’ll sort it.”

  “How?” Her eyes were desperate, scared like Casey’s were when I found her on the street, wet and cold and hungry and so fucking sad. “I should pack, go to Mam’s. You could come too, Cal, hide out til we get it together. Maybe your mate Sophie could get us one of them mutual exchanges? We could move. We could put you on the tenancy too, if you wanted.”

  I reached out for her tobacco, itching for a roll-up. “Gotta talk to you, Vicki. Been needing to say it for a while. Sophie ain’t just a mate, Vick. Not anymore. We won’t be getting no exchange, neither. You’re staying here.”

  She stopped breathing, I swear. Just hovered without any words, staring at me like I’d taken a crap on her doorstep. “You with her? Like Facebook-official?”

  “Not like on pissing Facebook,” I groaned. “But, yeah, official. Said she loves me.”

  The memory felt warm in my chest, a good feeling.

  Vicki made this horrible scoffing sound, just like my mam used to make when I said I was gonna be an artist one day. It went right through me, pulsed straight to my fists. Then she laughed, a cackley laugh. Didn’t suit her like it suits Raven. “Loves you, does she?! Pissing hell, Callum, I’ve heard it all now.”

  “She does,” I snapped. “Ain’t nobody ever said that to me before, Vicki, nobody. I love her, too. Gonna get her to help us out, just until this art stuff comes through.”

  Her mouth shrivelled up like she’d been chomping on something sour. “Have you even listened to yourself lately? Sophie loves me, says I’m her boyfriend. Whatever, Callum. Like someone like her’s ever gonna be with one of us. She don’t even bloody know you, Cal.”

  “I am her boyfriend, Vick. I swear down.”

  She jabbed her hands in the air like some kind of crazy. “Where is she, then, this girlfriend of yours? Why ain’t she come over with you, sat down and met your friends? Where’s her friends? Have you met them? Met the family? Where’s her Facebook status, eh? Last time I checked it said ‘single’, Cal, I’ve been checking her out. Bet she ain’t gonna be changing it, neither. Posh bitch like her ain’t gonna admit to being with someone like you, Callum Jackson, she’s playing you for a fucking fool, man.”

  “Dunno about her status, Vick, you know I ain’t on that shit. I’ve met her friends, though. They’re cool.”

  “What about her fucking family, then? She’s from that Harding lot, saw her old man in the paper last week selling that mansion down Billionaire’s Row to some foreign king or some shit. Think he’s gonna have you round for family dinner, do ya? Oh, Callum, pass me a cucumber sandwich, will you? There’s a good fellow.”

  “Don’t be like this, Vick,” I hissed.

  “Someone’s gotta be!” she snapped. “Someone’s gotta give a shit enough to talk sense into that thick skull of yours. She’s messing with you! Likes a
bit of rough, no doubt, wants to feel like a bad girl. She’s a stupid, selfish, stuck-up bitch.”

  “She ain’t,” I barked. “She fucking ain’t, Vicki.” My temper was flaring, getting close to the edge. “Don’t be jealous, alright? You’re my best mate, always will be. Ain’t nothing gonna change just ’cause I got a girlfriend.”

  Her eyes were so angry. “Jealous?! Of her?! I ain’t fucking jealous, Cal, I’m fucking looking out for ya.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do fucking say so. You ain’t all that much, Callum, and it’s no good thinking you are. Just ’cause you got yourself a posh fuck buddy and some crappy garage down Haygrove. It don’t make you Brad bloody Pitt. You’re Callum bloody Jackson from East Veil, always bloody will be.”

  I stayed quiet, fighting back the urge to punch her spiteful little mouth. I felt that twinge in me, right down deep, the one that says I’m no fucking good and never will be. Vicki just kept on going.

  “What the fuck you doing here, then, eh? If you’re so bloody in love?”

  “Came to see you.”

  “Why’s Casey here? She weren’t last time. Shed wasn’t good enough for her the other day. Not today, though, eh?”

  “Sophie’s just busy, got some shit to do. She’s calling later.”

  “Ah, so she’s your girlfriend, but she’s got some shit to do, so you can’t go home...”

  “Ain’t like that. Thought you’d be pleased to fucking see me.”

  She laughed so fucking mean again. “She’s probably off with her real boyfriend. Some posh guy who talks nice but don’t fuck so good. That’s why she’s with you, Cal, make no mistake about it. She just wants your big fucking cock.”

  “Shut up, Vick.”

  “What’s she busy with?”

  “Dunno. Don’t matter.”

  She shrugged. “Fucking soft, you are. Playing you for a right fucking fool, she is.”

  “I could go home now if I wanted, wouldn’t matter.” My mind flashed back to Roger in his stupid posh suit, fucking her in the room next door and laughing about me. “She’s for real, Vick. I’m gonna bring her round here soon, so you can meet her properly.”