He ignores me.
I hear my mother tut. “We had such high hopes for you, Blake.” My father’s eyes meet mine for a brief moment before looking away as though he can’t bear to look at me.
I laugh. “So that’s it? I can fuck a supposed cartel member and spend my life shit faced drunk, as long as no one knows about it?” Neither of them says anything. I knew they didn’t care, of course, I did. They made that very clear after I crashed my car last year. They came to my hospital bed only to tell me that I was an embarrassment, and the second I recovered I was to leave the country. What kind of parents do that? That’s right, mine. I guess I just thought that somewhere under those layers of ice, they cared, that they genuinely wanted what they thought was best for me, even if they were deluded. But I was wrong, so wrong. All they care about is their image. I could die tomorrow and they would be more concerned with the PR fallout than the fact that they’d lost their daughter.
“You don’t give a fuck about me, so you’ll forgive me for not giving two shits about your career.” I stand up and turn on my heel, storming out of the dining room.
“Blake!” My dad shouts after me. I flip him off over my shoulder.
I rush out the front door and down the stone steps at the front of the house, my heels clicking as I go. I jump in the car and peel out of the drive in a blaze of wheel spin and flying gravel.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision. My relationship with my parents has always been turbulent at best. I’ve pushed and pushed them. When I look back now, I can’t really remember why it all started. I hate to be that walking cliché, but when I think about it, maybe I did just want their attention. I wanted them to care because if I think about it, they never have. I’ve always been a pawn, something they can and will use to whatever purpose. I guess I want them to love me. Is that wrong?
Rejection ripples across my chest, the pain an acute blow that takes my breath away. Insecurities rear their ugly head and I long to just not feel. It hurts. Everything they say and do hurts, and I hate it. I take a minute to just feel sad, to feel the pain, and then I pull my shit together and I get angry because anger is an easier emotion to deal with.
They think they can control me. They think they know me. Well, fuck them.
I walk past the queue of people waiting to get into Ice. Guys shout and wolf whistle as we walk past, and I smile. I’m wearing the sluttiest dress I could find, and in my wardrobe, that’s bordering on stripper wear. The red dress is short with a neckline that drops almost to my belly button. This dress needs to be memorable, and well, when this much of my tits are on show, I’d say it’s just that.
“Rhett is going to kill you.” Milly laughs. Little does she know.
I walk up to the door and smile at the bouncers. They open the rope and let us straight through. A couple of people in the crowd complain. They really shouldn’t, I’m Blake McQueen. I don’t queue.
As soon as I’m inside I scout the club, looking for one of my old friends. I spot Poppy near the bar, talking to a group of guys. Poppy Preston is the ultimate socialite, daughter of a fashion designer, party girl, model, and drug dealer.
“Blake!” She smiles when she sees me, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Babe. How are you?”
She holds her finger up and turns to the bar, slamming back a tequila shot. “I’m good. I’m so glad you’re back. It’s hard maintaining the front page on my own.” She laughs.
“Oh, I’m about to change that.”
She narrows her eyes. “Really? Do tell.”
“Well, I need your help. I’m in the market for a little sugar.” I cock an eyebrow. “And then, just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Of course.” She opens her clutch bag before she pulls me in for another hug. I feel her slip the plastic bag into my palm as her lips press against my cheek. “You always were quite the show-woman.” She laughs.
I slide a fifty into the top of her bra and wink as I flash her a smile. I pull away and turn around, heading for the back of the club where there’s a small smoking area. There are a few people out here, and I scan my eyes over them until they stop on a guy. I approach him and his eyes trail over my body. “Hey, I couldn’t ask you a massive favour and borrow your phone?” I Purse my lips together and shift my weight, popping my hip.
He smiles, running his tongue over his teeth. “Sure, sweetheart.”
“You’re a doll. Thank you.” I take the phone when he hands it to me, and I place a lingering kiss on his cheek. He actually blushes and I have to try hard not to laugh.
Moving to a quiet corner of the balcony, I pull the small business card from my clutch bag, dialling the number printed across the front.
“Detective Sanders.” A guy answers.
“I’ve just seen Blake McQueen dealing drugs in Ice.” I hang up before I get a response.
Next, I dial the number that I googled and scrawled in biro on the reverse of the card.
“Main Media, Stephanie speaking.”
“Stephanie. I’m about to give you a tip that will make the front page. Get photographers down to Ice as soon as you can.”
“Why? I need…” I hang up. Someone will show up.
I hand the guy back his phone. “Thanks.” He opens his mouth to say something but I walk away. I don’t have time for his blushing and flirting bullshit.
Back inside the club I find Milly and drag her onto the dance floor. My eyes constantly flick to the door until finally I see the guy I’m looking for, Derek Sanders, the detective who tried to caution me for smoking weed a couple of years ago. I remember his face when he watched me walk out with my dad, without even so much as a slap on the wrist. He was pissed, he even told me that he knew I wouldn’t get charged because of my name. He’s a guy with a chip on his shoulder—just what I need.
His gaze skims over the crowd until he spots me. Of course, I stand out in my bright red dress. Our eyes lock and I smile, popping my clutch bag open and feeling over the contents until my fingers brush the small bag of cocaine inside. I take it out and pinch it between two fingers, holding it up in front of my face for him to see.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Milly hisses, trying to snatch it away. “Are you trying to get…” Derek pushes through the crowd and is only a few steps from me. “…arrested?” I take the blow and shove it inside my bra. His eyes drop to my tits, a scowl etched into his features.
He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the crowded dance floor. Slowly people start to notice the scene as I’m escorted out of the club, and greeted by another two uniformed officers.
A couple of reporters are waiting on the street, and I can’t help but smile.
“Search her.” Derek barks at one of the officers. Lucky me, he’s a hottie—or, at least he is in that uniform. “It’s in her bra.”
The guy’s eyes pop wide as he nervously steps up to me and starts patting me down. I hear the continuous click of cameras as his hands roam my body. His eyes meet mine and he swallows as he runs his fingers under the material of my dress, and then my bra. I flash him a sensual smile as his fingertips come dangerously close to my nipple, and push my chest out, bowing my body into him. He pulls his hand away with the bag of blow between his fingers.
“Oh, will you look at that.” I smirk. He releases an unsteady breath and takes a step back. If it was just this one I could probably seduce my way out of getting arrested, but well, that’s not the point now is it?
“Blake McQueen, you are under arrest for the possession of a class A substance. You do not have to say anything…” I zone him out as he pulls my arms behind my back, fastening the metal cuffs around my wrists.
“I prefer less clothes with my handcuffs,” I say.
He cinches them a little tighter and guides me towards the police car, opening the door and pushing me inside. The constant clicking and flashing of the cameras are like music to my ears. I even see people holding their phones up, videoing. The car door closes and I spot Milly hangin
g back near the club door. Her eyes lock with mine and she shakes her head, pressing her phone to her ear. Three guesses who she’s calling, either Rhett, my dad, or Felix.
I stare at the grey concrete ceiling, picturing the look on my parents face when they see that picture plastered across the front page of The Sun tomorrow.
After hours, I hear the bolt slide back on the heavy metal door before it creaks open. A police officer steps in and tells me to follow him. I stand up and pad bare footed across the cold floor before he leads me down the hallway, past the locked cell doors, and out into the reception area. An officer looks me up and down, and then places my shoes, jewellery, and clutch bag on the desk.
“Sign here,” he says in a bored voice.
I frown and sign the paper, sliding my shoes back on. I glance around, trying to see who got me out. When I’m lead out into what I assume is a waiting area, I see a guy in a suit on his phone. He glances at me and then hangs up.
“Miss McQueen. I’m Harold Jacobs, your solicitor. Your father called me.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where is my father?”
“He said he will be in touch in a few days, until then, try not to get arrested,” he says acerbically. “There’s a car waiting outside for you.”
I turn without saying a word and stride out of the station, ignoring the car. There are no missed calls on my phone from my father. However there are six from Rhett, three from Felix and a text message from Milly involving a lot of swearing and exclamation marks.
I flag down a taxi and take it to Red. Fucking over my parents holds a certain thrill, an adrenaline rush of sorts, but now, after getting arrested, they can’t even be bothered to come and get me themselves. Not that I think for a second that they care, but I, at least, thought this was worthy of my father’s personal attention. I was sure he’d come and tell me what a failure and disappointment I am, but apparently I’m not even worthy of that anymore. My mind starts reeling, fighting between hating my parents and hating myself because I care and I shouldn’t.
The taxi pulls up to the back of the club and I enter the code for the rear door. It clicks open and I make my way down the dark corridor to Felix’s office.
When I open the door, he’s on the phone. His eyes go wide when he sees it’s me, and a small smile lights his face, but it quickly disappears when he studies my face.
“Uh, yeah, she actually just walked into my office.” He says into the phone. Shit, Rhett. I shake my head adamantly and he stammers. “Uh, yeah, she’s fine. I’ll call you back dude.”
He hangs up and drops his phone on the desk. “Blake?” He stands and takes a step towards me. I hold out my hand, keeping him away from me. I’m not here because I need his friendship right now. He stops, his eyebrows dropping into a deep frown. “What the fuck? You got arrested. It’s all over the news channels.” Huh, it made TV?
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Rhett is doing his nut,” he snaps.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Felix, I came here for some blow, not a therapy session!”
He watches me and I can see the judgement in his eyes. “Blake, don’t do this.”
“Are you going ton sell to me or do I have to go elsewhere?” We all know he sells everything, even if we don’t really talk about it.
“Rhett will kill me.”
I lose it. “I don’t give a fuck about Rhett. I don’t give a fuck about your judgement, or your misplaced loyalty right now, Felix. Yes or no? There are plenty of other dealers.” I snap. He flinches as though I just slapped him, and wordlessly moves around me.
A few minutes later he comes back with a bag and hands it to me. “I’m not…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m worried about you…”
I lift my hand cutting him off. “I’m fine. Thanks.” I take a wad of cash out of my purse and throw it on his desk.
Clutching my handbag to my chest, I walk a couple of miles back to Milly’s flat, and when I get in, my feet are covered in blisters. Louboutins were not made for the streets of London.
I empty the contents of the clear plastic bag onto the coffee table and cut it into messy lines with shaking hands. It’s been a long time since I did hard drugs. Sometimes you need to know your vices and I just know that giving into this one would be the death of me. But right now, I want to be everything my parents think I am, because why not? If you’re going to do the tie, you might as well do the crime. I want to get so fucked up that they’re no longer a thought in my mind, until this stupid pain disappears to nothing. I can almost hear those little lines of white powder whispering to me with promises of soothing numbness.
I roll a twenty pound note and inhale deeply before slumping back against the sofa cushions. The drug hits the back of my throat and races through my blood stream like a freight train. It moves through my veins like a soothing blanket, comforting me like an old friend, embracing me in its warm arms.
As soon as that thought crosses my mind I think of Rhett, of his strong arms, the way he holds me, making me feel as though the world can’t touch me. He’d hate to see me like this, but he’s not here, so I need this, the loss of feeling. Everything is too real, too raw.
My chest starts to ache again, so I lean forward and snort another line, and another until I feel nothing but the blissful high.
28
Rhett
I pick up the phone when Felix calls me back ten minutes later.
“Hey.”
He sighs heavily into the phone. “Hey. Look, I don’t want to put this on you when you’re halfway across the world, but I think Blake is going off the rails. In fact, scrap that, she’s veering off the fucking tracks, rolling down the embankment on fire and exploding at the bottom.”
I clench my jaw, squeezing my fist tightly. “Why? Is she okay?”
I hear him sigh down the phone. “Go to your laptop and type her name into Google.”
“What? Why?” I open my laptop and type her name into the search bar. “You're shady as shit. Just tell me what the fuck is going...” I trail off as various angles of a series of images pop up on my screen as well as a couple of YouTube links. Blake is standing facing a police officer—so close she looks like she’s going to kiss him. A sensual smile pulls at her lips, and anger simmers in my chest, just waiting to boil over. The next shot, he has his hand inside her dress, groping her tit. “He’s a motherfucking dead man,” I growl.
“Yeah, keep going,” he says quickly.
I click the next image, and he’s pulling his hand away from her, a small bag of white powder in his hand, and in the next she has her hands pulled behind her back as the cop snaps the cuffs on her. “Shit.” I’ve been away for forty-eight fucking hours and she’s managed to get arrested already.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I’ll call my lawyer and get him down there.”
“She’s out already. I found out about twenty minutes before she actually walked through my office door. Her dad isn’t exactly father of the year, but his only daughter being charged for possession is not something he wants to shout about.” I hear the creak of his office chair.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting my impending headache. “Why did she come to see you?”
There’s a beat of silence. “That’s why I’m calling you. She wanted coke.”
“Felix. You didn’t give it to her?” I know what he’s going to say, and yet I really want to believe that he wouldn’t sell Blake coke. Now. After this. While I’m away. We both know it’s not going to end well.
“She told me that if I didn’t give it to her, she would get it elsewhere.” He stammers over his words.
“How much?” I snap, barely restraining myself. I’m going to kill him.
“A gram.” He rushes on. “But you don’t know her like I do, Rhett. She’s chaotic when she’s like this.”
“Exactly, and you just sold her enough coke to down a horse.” I drag my hand over my face. I rest my hand ag
ainst the nearest wall and hang my head forward. “Fuck.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but just…don’t judge her okay. The shit with her parents gets to her way more than she lets on.”
“I’ll be on the next flight back.” I hang up and slam my fist into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.
Blake is not supposed to be the girl I drop everything for, and yet right now, all I feel is panic and very real fear. I shouldn’t care this much. After all, didn’t I peg her as a statistic the first time I met her? She’s the girl that shines so brightly she can only possibly burn out. People like Blake are always the same, they over compensate, masking their fucked up, tragic inner selves with a shiny façade.
But in the last few weeks, I feel like I saw her, really saw her. She’s beautiful in every way, but she’s damaged, like a butterfly with a crumpled wing. On some level, I think she needs me, and perhaps I need her to need me. When did something that should be so simple get so complicated?
The second I get out of the airport I get straight in my car and head for the girl’s apartment. My phone is pinging, email alerts flashing with images of Blake partying, dancing on bars, missing half her clothes. It’s four in the morning, and if she’s not at her apartment, then I will damn well drag her out of whatever club she’s still in.
Pulling up outside her apartment, I jog across the road to the main door. I press the buzzer and there’s no answer, so I press every one until someone gets pissed off and buzzes me in.
I can hear the loud music from half way down the corridor, and when I get to her door, the wooden frame is practically vibrating with it. I’m surprised her neighbours haven’t complained yet.
I ring the bell, but there’s no answer so I use the key Milly gave me. I’ve never actually used it before because I feel like it’s an invasion of her privacy, but the panic that’s gripping me now leaves me with no reservations.
The door swings open and the blaring rock music fills the room. I go to the sound system and switch it off. The sudden silence feels deafening as I listen for any sign of Blake. It’s then that I notice the remnants of the cocaine on the coffee table, the fine powder coating the glass like dust. The clear plastic baggie is empty. Shit.
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