by Amy Daws
I frown. “Hayden’s very talented as well. He’s got a great eye for designing smaller detailed pieces.”
Hayden pulls a face at my defensive addition to his story. “None of that is making me money yet. I just do it as a hobby for friends. For now, my brother’s business keeps us all very busy.”
“And that earns you a proper living?” Camden barks, taking a large swig of his dark beer, all evidence of playing vanished. I down a gulp of mine as well.
Hayden nods. “Yeah, I’m living with my brother right now, but not because of financial reasons.”
“His brother just had a baby,” I interject. “She’s three months old and beautiful. Hayden is great with her.”
Hayden frowns at me again. “She’s a great niece. I’m very attached.”
“So you’re close with your family then?” Tanner asks kindly.
This makes me nervous. Diving into family details so quickly wasn’t expected. I thought they’d start talking football to be honest.
Hayden swallows but keeps his tone light. “My family is great. My parents and youngest sister live in Essex. I live with my brother not far from here. And I had an older sister who passed away four years ago.”
My brothers all look at him in stony silence.
“Fuck,” Camden says first, his face paling slightly as he looks at me with a renewed sense of appreciation.
Gareth’s moody expression turns cold and bleak. Tortured. I lean forward when his eyes start to look glossy, but Booker’s comment distracts me.
“Is that why you don’t drink?” Booker’s prying voice is challenging and cocky, clearly not worrying over any ounce of decorum.
Hayden cuts his eyes to Booker and I see Booker actually shrink in his seat. “Partially. It’s complicated,” Hayden replies, sipping his water. “So what about you lot? Can I ask you questions, or am I the only one under fire here?”
Tanner laughs and they eagerly start discussing football. This feels better. Talk of emotions at a table full of British lads is never top on anyone’s list of hot things to do in London. Gareth remains eerily silent the entire time, though, staring at his glass with morbid intent.
“Wanker,” I hear Booker mumble as Hayden answers Camden’s question about who his favourite footballer is.
“Booker, a word,” I hiss, knowing I can’t take another second of his pouty teenager act. I pop out of the booth, motioning with my head like a maniac. “Can I trust you guys not to be arses while I’m gone?”
“Probably not,” Camden replies, taking a swig. “But it’s worth a shot.”
I roll my eyes and Booker follows me to the loo hallway. I stop and turn a murderous gaze on him. “What the hell, Booker?” I seethe, barely able to contain my temper.
“What?” he barks back defensively.
“What are you trying to do? Win the award for the biggest arse of a brother tonight? Christ! I expect it from them, but not you. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“He’s not good enough, Vi,” he snaps back, shoving a hand through his short brown hair.
“You’ve barely spoken to him!”
“I don’t have to. I can tell. He doesn’t drink…at all,” he growls. “What is he? A recovering alcoholic? Boy, you really picked a winner.”
I shove him hard and catch him off guard enough that he stumbles back into the wall. “You listen here, baby brother. I’m still your big sister. I practically raised you. If I tell you someone’s important, they’re bloody important. End of.”
“Everything okay?” Hayden asks, coming around the corner. He narrows his eyes knowingly.
I cut one more withering glance at Booker. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay, well a pack of fans have descended and Gareth told me you’d know what to do?” Hayden looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.
I nod and sigh. Welly’s is supposed to be sacred. The pub owner loves the guys and keeps a lid on the fact that they stop in regularly. Most pubs broadcast it for business, but I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.
“All right, just maybe hang back here with Booker. It’ll be easier for us to get out that way.” I throw a warning look at Booker and he nods subtly knowing that Hayden is not to be messed with right now.
I pull off my denim jacket and toss it haphazardly at Booker. Hayden eyes me in confusion as I crack my neck and put on my own game face. I stroll over to our booth and blanch at the larger than expected crowd swarming the table. There’s at least six middle-aged blokes decked out in football fan gear and everything. Super fans to be sure. Two have slid into the vacated side where Hayden and I were seated. Gareth seems to be blocking anyone from sitting down next to him.
I clear my throat loudly as I approach and poke one gentleman on the shoulder. “Oi! Pardon me, but I need to talk to that bloke right fucking there.” I hitch up my accent to sound thicker and more Manchester by dropping off the ends of most of my words.
The heavier-set of the bunch turns on me with his nose wrinkled. He reeks of alcohol and fish n’ chips. “Get stuffed.” He turns back to the table like I don’t even exist.
I could be offended by his cheek. However, I’m a Harris, so I’m not so easily derailed. I tap the man next to him. This guy has to be pushing fifty and idolizing Gareth like he’s fucking royalty. “That fucking footballer has loads of explaining to do, so I fucking need to get in there. Get out of me way!” I exclaim, ramping up my performance to be a bit more wild and dramatic.
Several of the guys turn and look at me now, clearing a path for me to slide through. Gareth’s eyes land on me with a silent cheer of appreciation. Then he realises he’s on, so he’s got to react. “Freya! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Don’t you Freya me. Your arse is coming with me, mate. You haven’t rang me in weeks!” I crow out in my best jilted female voice. “And bring those worthless brothers of yours. All of yous is about to get it good from me and me flat mates.”
“Oi, shove off ya bird,” one bloke croaks from a few bodies away.
I frown and motion for Gareth to come along. He attempts to slide out, but the older man steps in front of him. “You don’t have to shove off just ‘cause of this fucking jersey chasing slag!”
My jaw drops and Gareth’s eyes turn a menacing shade of brown. I’ve done this little song and dance for Gareth several times before, and most blokes are keen to sit back and enjoy the show of a pro footballer getting his butt chewed from a relationship gone array. Gareth and I have become quite good at our performances. He even lets me slap him across the face if we get going really well. This has satisfied years of oppression that I suffered for being the only Harris in our household that could never break out of a headlock.
“She ain’t no jersey chaser,” the heavy one says. “I think she’s a proper tart. How much for a rub and tug, blondie?”
The man lays a hot sweaty palm right on my arse and Gareth’s eyes turn to flames as he lunges across the table. But before his hands connect with his throat, the man’s body is wrenched backward and out of the throng of people.
Shouting begins all around me and I shove past the gawking crowd to see what’s happening. My eyes turn wide as I realise it’s Hayden who has the man in a painful-looking headlock. It reminds me of the full nelson wrestling hold they do in America. The man’s lip is bleeding and one eye is partially closed from a fresh punch. His obese belly is hanging out from beneath his jumper as he struggles to breathe against his arms that Hayden has gripped up under his ears.
“Fucking apologise to her,” Hayden roars, his face beet red with fury I’ve never seen in him before. His arms bulge angrily beneath his shirt as he holds his restraint firmly.
The other men all make a move for Hayden, but in a blink, Gareth twists one guy’s arm behind his back, causing the man to drop to the ground writhing in pain. Tanner and Camden have shoved a couple others away from Hayden and stand as a protective barrier between them.
“She’s a fuckin’ jersey chasing
cow! What the fuck are you on about, mate?” the man grumbles, causing Hayden to crank his hold on him. The guy cries out with a high-pitch squeal that would be comical in any other setting.
“Fucking apologise!” Hayden roars again, a vein popping out angrily on his forehead.
“All right, I’m fucking sorry! I’m sorry!” the man screams out again. Hayden releases him and gives him a swift kick in the arse, toppling him into the feet of his mates.
Just then, Booker shows up, joined by the bar owner with a menacing-looking bat. “Don’t try a thing, or I’ll call the cops on the lot of ya.”
Everyone freezes but Hayden, who moves toward me and places a hard hand on my back. He walks me quickly to the door. I glance back and see the bar owner pointing the bat at the football fans with a look that says not to fucking try a thing.
“Hayden,” I say as we step outside into the dark London night.
He avoids eye contact with me as he looks up and down the street nervously. As if some divine intervention has been bestowed upon us, a large fifteen-passenger taxi van is parked on the corner letting out another group of football-looking fans. Why the hell are these guys all coming out of the woodwork tonight? Is it fantasy draft night or something? Regardless, we have a getaway vehicle now.
Hayden grabs my hand and pulls me down the sidewalk just as my brothers come barreling out. “This way,” he shouts over his shoulder to them.
We get to the open door of the van. The driver looks like he’s about to argue, but Hayden says, “Two hundred quid for a quick lift.”
“Five hundred,” Gareth says, hopping in past us without pause. The driver’s eyes grow wide as the rest of my brothers barrel in after him.
Hayden holds my hand to help me up and I pause at the step. “Are you okay?” I ask, touching his face.
He yanks away from me and snaps with an acerbic tone, “Fine, get in. We need to leave.”
Hayden folds in behind me. “We should drop you guys first. I don’t want them seeing where Vi lives if they get it up their arses to try and follow.” Hayden turns to look behind us, but seems satisfied enough to turn and face ahead again.
“Smart thinking,” Camden says and then leans forward to give directions to the driver.
“Vi, I’m so sorry,” Gareth starts, punching the back of his seat angrily. “I never would have had you do that if I thought those wankers were that belligerent.”
I shake my head and start to reply.
“She shouldn’t have done it to begin with. Belligerent or not.” Hayden’s voice is cold and threatening.
“Look—” Gareth starts, leaning forward to get in Hayden’s face, but Booker’s voice stops him in his tracks.
“He’s fucking right, Gareth.” I turn back to see Booker staring angrily out the window from the far back row. “That’s the last time you have Vi get you out of a fan jam. Get a fucking bodyguard. It’s not like you can’t afford one.”
The van grows eerily quiet as our baby brother’s chastisement descends over all of us.
“It’s not all Gareth’s fault. I’m a big girl. I chose to do it,” I say, coming to his defense.
“Well, you chose wrong,” Hayden growls. “Had I known what you were doing—”
“I still would have done it! You’re not my boss, Hayden,” I snap.
“Vi,” Camden warns.
“What? It’s true. I’m not going to let you all manhandle me into what you think is best for me right now. This is horse shit. I’m a fucking adult. I’m tired of you all interfering.”
“Vi!” Tanner snaps out of nowhere. “I’m bloody grateful Hayden was there tonight. That scene was rubbish and scary as fuck! I for one am glad you have him. Just stop with the independent woman, feminist shite and say thank you to your bloke for defending you the way he did. It could have been so much worse.”
Tanner’s outburst stuns me. He rarely gets ruffled feathers and holy shit are his feathers ever ruffled right now.
“I am thankful you were there, Hayden,” I whisper to him. He still hasn’t looked at me. I want him to understand, though, that I don’t have to be taken care of all the time or scolded like a child. My independence is important to me. But he looks like he’s warring over something bigger than the pub skirmish. I want to push this issue, but I need him to come back to me first. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. He still won’t look at me and the lower part of his jaw shifts as if he’s in pain. I grab his hand and twine my fingers with his. His shoulders drop and finally, he turns his glossy eyes to me. “I’m really sorry.”
The anxiety and fear-stricken look on Hayden’s face right now makes me feel ill. I rub the back of my fingers down his cheek and he exhales a breath he’s been holding for miles. He leans into me and rubs his nose on my temple, sucking in a shaky breath. The touch feels important. Like he’s telling himself that it’s okay for him to care about me.
After a few moments of driving in silence as we all sit and stew about just how bad that could have been, Tanner lightens the mood.
“Think you might have lost some fans tonight, bro.”
We all burst out laughing, and I glance over and see the corners of Hayden’s mouth turn up. Eventually, we pull up to our dad’s Chigwell house. My brothers each give Hayden a matey pat on the back before exiting the vehicle. Gareth stops and makes a point to shake Hayden’s hand. They exchange a silent, heavy look and then we depart…back to Brick Lane.
SCARS
Seeing that disgusting specimen of a man put his hand on Vi made everything inside my body snap. My mind, my temper, my muscles, my sanity.
My heart.
The word “mine” screamed in my head as I bulldozed through the crowd and wrenched him away from her. This scene was so much worse than the one with Ethan at Club Shay. I actually feared for Vi’s safety tonight. A fear that ripped through me like a pain that I’ve never felt before.
Fuck.
Fuck!
This is all happening too fast. Too quick. Too much. She’s just so open and trusting and giving. She’s got no idea about the deeply rooted fear that lives inside of me every time I’m with her. We make our way back up to her flat in a heavy silence. A silence that I’m not even sure how to fill at this point.
I’m fucking falling for Vi. And that terrifies me so much because she somehow turns me into a loose cannon. I lose all my control and all my sense. The immense possessiveness I have inside me regarding her safety and well-being is…terrifying.
“Do you want to talk about tonight?” she asks quietly, squatting down in the dark kitchen to pat Bruce affectionately as he laps at the fresh water she’s just poured for him.
I sigh heavily and ruffle my hair. “To be frank…I just want to take you to bed and bury myself inside of you until I can’t think anymore.” I don’t tell her that being inside her is the only time I feel like I truly have her.
She rises to her feet, watching me with a sombre expression. Then, she bends over and peels her dress up over her head. Her hair cascades around her shoulders as she stands before me in nothing but a black strapless bra, a black thong, and her black heels.
Desire throttles me as she drops the dress to the floor. In four strides, I’m on her. Kissing her harshly and painfully. Roughly, I toss her up on top of the counter and she flinches at the cold granite against her bare arse. I grab her jaw gruffly, squeezing tightly as I cut my narrowed eyes to hers in warning.
Her head tilts back as her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. I place my finger in her mouth to jerk her face back down. She responds with a firm bite into my flesh and then soothes the connection with a deep suck on my digit from root to tip. I pull it out and punish her harder with my tongue, thrusting it deeply into her mouth so that she only feels my presence in her, snuffing out any sensation of her own returned kiss.
When I break away from her, arousal floods into the pools of her eyes. She wants it. She feeds off of it. My aggressive passion. She bites her lip and grips my shirt, ripping it open wi
th one harsh yank. The sound of buttons hitting the counter and floor don’t slow her from tearing off my shirt. She kisses my peck and rubs my bulge through my denim pants, releasing a sexy as fuck moan as I thrust my cock into her greedy hand.
Unable to wait another second, I cup her arse and lift her up so she wraps her legs around my waist. They grip me tightly as I walk us into her bedroom, shutting the French doors on Bruce’s crestfallen face.
I toss her sexy fucking body down on the bed and lie down on top of her. “What do you want, Bunny?” I ask, my voice husky. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” I’ll give you anything, I think to myself.
Her long lashes lift and her blue eyes twinkle, piercing me with something I didn’t expect. “Make love to me,” she says.
My heart seizes in my chest and I huff out a nervous breath.
Her face falls as she stammers, “I didn’t mean—”
I cut her off, kissing the doubt right off her mouth. I swallow it whole and bury it deep inside of me to live with the self-doubt that is commonplace in my own soul. I frantically tear off the few pieces of fabric separating our skin to skin contact and then work towards kissing every bare inch of her luscious body. Finally, our mouths reconnect as I rest my back against her grand headboard and she straddles me. My bare cock pulses with need against her slickened folds.
Assurances that condoms were no longer necessary happened the last time we were intimate, so I’m rock hard with anticipation over feeling her bare on me for the first time. She places my tip at her entrance and quirks a sexy brow as she slides slowly down on top of me. I groan loudly at the incredibly intimate wetness gripping my shaft. My fingers bite into her lush thighs as I breathe deeply to maintain some control of myself.
Fuuuuuck. She feels so fucking good. So fucking right. So fucking everything.
I bring her mouth down to mine, desperate to connect our bodies even further as she gyrates against me. Her tight nipples brush against my chest and I cup the heaviness of one breast in my hand. Needing to taste her everywhere, I break our kiss to pay homage to her perfect, pink bud. I suck hard and tap my teeth down lightly. She cries my name out with a throaty moan.