by Max Henry
“We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Her expression was void.
“I bet you’ve never crossed the law.”
She looked away. Didn’t think so. How could she be the girl for him if she hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of the life he endured? The last week away from her had screwed with his head, made her more than she was. He simply held her on a pedestal, and he was a right tool to think she would be the one to help level him.
“I better go. I think I’ve seen enough to know I was right—ya don’t need me around.”
Pete pushed from the couch, and winced at the ache in his thigh. Great. Now he’d have a fucking physical reminder of her for the next week at least. With his back turned to her, he moved for the front door, only to still when she side-stepped into his path.
“Don’t leave.”
“What’s left to say? I saw it in yer eyes; ya feel sorry for me. Worst of all, ya don’t take a single thing I said about the menace I’m becomin’ seriously.”
“So maybe I don’t know enough to understand, but I don’t want you to leave like this.”
He blinked slowly, and drew a breath. “Like what, Steph?”
“Sad.”
****
He hesitated, and hope bloomed in her chest that she may have him. The hope died the instant his frown grew, and the cold indifference returned to his gaze.
“Nah,” he shook his head. “You’re like the rest; ya pity me.”
He moved to side-step her, and she blocked his advance. He growled, and tried again. As wary as she was, Steph blocked him again, and flinched as he raised his hand.
“Get out of me way,” he boomed. His accent thickened with his anger.
She shook her head. “No! Fuck you. You storm in here when you want to, and then don’t leave because you don’t want to. This time, you can do as I say. Sit.” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the couch.
“And then what?” He smirked menacingly. “You’ll bring me a giant teddy, and a hot cocoa?”
“If that’s what it takes, then sure.” She thrust her hands on her hips, and squared off with the bully.
He watched her, silently, while his jaw ticked. “I don’t want to hurt ya.”
Steph smiled, much to his annoyance. “Well isn’t this a fine conundrum,” she exclaimed. “Now you have a chance to show me how much like your father you are.”
Wayward adrenalin surged through her limbs. At that point in time, she honestly believed she could take him if he chose to rush her. She steeled for his next move. Suspense built to an unbearable level while Pete stayed frozen in position, probably to put her off. Steph may have believed he changed his mind, if it weren’t for the unsettling darkness which clouded his usually brilliant blue irises.
“Move,” he instructed low, and forcefully.
“Make me.”
He took one step toward her, and she knew immediately that his strength would win. Instead she executed Plan B, and darted to the front door. He eyed her with amused curiosity as he continued to walk toward her. He stopped a mere handful of steps away as she finished dragging the low bookcase across the door.
He roared with laughter. “Ya think that’ll stop me?”
“Gotta give it a shot,” she said, and giggled. His laughter was infectious; even though she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure she should laugh.
He started toward her again, and Steph threw herself on top of the bookcase. She sat perched before the door when he stopped, more or less nose-to-nose. “Are ya tryin’ to change me mind about ya?”
She held his intense gaze. “Maybe.” Cripes, that came out far too squeaky for her liking. “Did it work?”
He smirked, and then scooped her up with his hands under her butt. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her lungs pulled tight as she tried to guess his next move. He turned them both around, and paused. Did she tell him where the bedroom was? Had he forgotten? His lips brushed over hers, and she parted them. To her horror he laughed, then set her down.
“What the …?” She stood aghast as he pushed the bookcase back to its home, and opened the door.
“Goodnight, Stephanie,” he said over his shoulder, and then stepped into the dark.
She stared at the door as it closed, clicked shut. Frozen to the spot, she was flabbergasted.
He’d fucked her again. And still not how she wanted him to.
Pete reached the bottom of the stairs, and tipped his head back to scream silently at the sky. Why was it every little defiant thing she did made him want her more? Her constant arguments got him hot, so much so he was positive if she pointed a gun at his face he would cream his pants. The situation wouldn’t do. Yet he couldn’t shake the gut feeling she could be that anomaly, that woman who matched his fucked up set of personality traits perfectly.
He wanted to tell her every little detail, but at the same time protect himself from the horrible pain of being pitied again. He’d had it with the fuckin’ pity. He wasn’t a charity case, a poster boy for neglect. Pity did nothing to change his past, and pity sure as fuck couldn’t undo the worst day of his life and give him a brother again.
The dark, matte bodywork of his rat-rod gleaned under the street light as he approached. A couple of youngsters sat on a nearby fence, and waited for the owner to show so they could grill him with twenty questions. Not tonight, kids. Normally he wouldn’t mind letting them take a closer look, even sit inside. Because he’d been that boy once; marvelling at all the things he could only dream of being able to have. He remembered what it was like to feel the buzz as he recounted how it felt to ‘drive’ such a cool car to his mates.
“Hey, Mister,” the eldest of the two called out.
Pete eyed him as he paused by the driver’s door. The kid looked all of seven.
“That’s an awesome car you got. Can you take us for a ride?”
His gut wrenched at such an innocent question from a kid who was simply curious of what it was like to ride in a car such as his. What if he had been some psychotic killer? Kiddie fiddler? Didn’t this boy’s parents teach him safety with strangers? Pete marched up to the kid, and stood before him—and his brother by the looks of it—with his arms folded. “Where ya live, son?”
The boy nodded over his shoulder to the house they sat outside of.
“Come with me.” Pete started up the path, the two boys in hot pursuit. More than likely they hoped he was going to ask their mother if he could take them out in the rod.
He reached the front door of the old weatherboard home, and rapped a closed fist hard against the worn paintwork. The shuffle of feet up a timber hallway preceded the door being swung wide. A large woman stood with a hand pressed to her hip, and eyeed him with suspicion. She held out a thick arm, and tucked the younger boy to her side after they both skirted Pete to join her.
“What d’ya want?”
Lovely. How lady-like.
Pete shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stem the desire he had to choke her. The contempt she held him in irked him more than the fact her kids tried to get in the car with a stranger. “Yer two boys here asked if they could come for a ride in me car.”
“So?” She sneered. “What of it?”
He fisted his hands so hard the knuckles of his right cracked. “Shouldn’t ya be worried that yer boys weren’t wary of a stranger? They don’t know me from Adam. For all ya know, I could have had them dead and buried by mornin’.”
The eyes of the eldest boy widened, but he held no remorse at the kid’s shock. Hopefully he’d learn his lesson, because it sure as fuck looked like his mother wasn’t about to teach him.
“Is that all you want? You came up to my door to tell me how to parent?” Her stare grew narrow, and the edges of her nose crinkled.
“It seems somebody needs to. How about ya teach yer kids some rules about safety, lady. Show them that ya give a fuck about them.”
He shook his head as he rocked on his heels to dissipate the rage inside.
“Didn’t think so.” She leered with the smugness of somebody who was certain they won.
“If I did,” he replied. “I’d be sure to show them I cared about them by givin’ them the skills to stay alive.”
“You done?”
“I was before I started, Love.” He took a step back, and turned. It sickened him to think some people couldn’t care less about the safety of their kids. But what could he do? Adopt every child whose parent was a useless moron? He drew a cigarette from the packet, and slotted it between his lips. The stick would stay unlit until he reached home due to his firm rule of no smoking in the car, but at least the presence of it would help suppress his need to draw the smoke deep in his lungs.
He primed the rod’s engine, and turned it over; the throaty V8 rumbled to life with a roar. The street was empty, except for him. Another fact that pissed him off about those kids. He could have snatched them—if he was that kind of weirdo—and nobody would have been around to know. Pete edged the rod out from the curb, and idled past the driveway of Steph’s complex. He ducked his head to look out the chopped windscreen, and peered up at her unit. The lights were off, but the pale blue glow of the TV flickered through the blinds. He warmed at the thought of her up there; legs tucked beneath her on the couch as she watched whatever it was that showed this hour of the night.
He shook the thought of her plump, pink lips from his mind, and punched his foot down on the accelerator to speed off into the darkness. She would move soon, and he realised she hadn’t told him exactly when. Shit, she hadn’t told him her new address. Surely she didn’t try to get rid of him? Not after the way her eyes had darkened with desire as he brushed his lips over hers. Surely not?
Then again, she had told him he was some kind of crazy stalker. And stuck a fork in ya leg. Maybe all she had done was simply a ruse to throw him off? Distract him so he didn’t ask? He frowned at the thought. It couldn’t have been. There were too many tells to show he affected her. The quickened breaths, the rose of her cheeks, the way her pupils changed in size when he touched her. She was hooked—he knew it.
Problem was—he was hooked worse.
****
Steph gently fingered her lips where his had touched her so fleetingly. How she wanted him to have kissed her again. Her body came alive at the fantasy of how he could have thrown her down on her bed and made love to her. You’re a dreamer, girl. He wasn’t the kind of guy to ‘make love’. No. What he would do would be rough, forceful, and maybe bruise. The complete opposite of the intimacy she’d experienced.
Her core tingled at the idea.
Dave was a competent lover—no doubt a skill his current piece on the side enjoyed—but he was also predictable. Missionary, against the wall, on her stomach, on her back, legs up, and legs down. Steph could count the positions on her hands, and still have digits to spare. The crazy show she had put on for Pete had stirred a primal desire inside of her which she only now recognised as being the root of her animosity toward Dave.
She wanted more. To explore. And she resented Dave for not caring enough to ask. Maybe he shouldn’t have to ask? But why then, did Steph get the impression he wouldn’t have been on board with the idea if she had been the instigator, anyway?
Pete would be though. She hadn’t the slightest doubt he would be all over the crazy things she imagined at night as she lay alone in her bed. He had that ... that what? Craziness to him? Wickedness? Sexuality. He’d said that was what they were doing; they explored their sexuality. And wouldn’t they be? Especially if they tried the stuff she’d only ever fantasised about.
Steph rubbed the chill from her arm, and stood from the couch. No, she shouldn’t think like that. God, what would her friends, her family think if they knew what sordid shit went through her head? Wishing your lover inflicted pain wasn’t natural. There wasn’t a single thing okay with the need to feel those tattooed hands about your throat as your body slammed into the wall from the impact of his hips. Was there?
The bed dipped as she sat, and her centre buzzed with the tension she’d brought upon herself with thoughts of such madness. Was it mad though? Or was she mad for thinking that kind of behaviour was? Far out, she needed to change the subject. All this confusion did a number on her headspace. Steph hooked her thumbs in the waist of her track pants and drew them down. Her feet fluttered as she kicked them into the corner. She tucked her legs up and slid under the sheets to settle in for sleep, and to find a way off this train of thought. Back to reality tomorrow, and out of this crazy made-up world she had dreamt herself into.
Steph sighed. The ache in her belly grew for a man she knew could never be more than a whimsical illusion of lust.
Steph looked up at Cass, her eyebrow cocked in confusion. “The page is blank.” She held the piece of paper out for Cass to take back.
“I know,” she hissed. “Grumpy pants is watching, so I had to pretend to be doing something legit.”
Steph smiled, and shook her head. “What’s up then?”
“You tell me.” Cass’s eyes narrowed as she rested her arms on the top of the partition.
Steph shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.” She did. She knew exactly what her friend referred to; the stale mood she’d been in the last week as she moped around the office like someone had died.
Well, hadn’t they? Kind of? She hadn’t heard a thing from Pete since he left last Friday. Every damn noise her stupid mobile made, she had launched herself at it as though he magically found her number in the clouds. That’s how pathetically desperate she was to see a man she stabbed again.
“Well?” Cass prompted.
“I can’t say here.”
“Where then? You name it, and we’ll do lunch.”
Greg walked by, and stopped behind Cass to eye them. Steph flashed the sheet of paper to indicate they were at work, and he nodded as he carried on.
“That guy is such a pain in the ass,” Steph growled. “And a creep. Did you see the way he kept touching that new girls back when he showed her around?”
Cass nodded. “Couldn’t miss it. Anyway, lunch.”
“Yeah.” Steph screwed her mouth to the side. “How about Subway? I haven’t had that in a while.”
“Deal. As long as you don’t give me grief for having two cookies.”
Steph smirked, and nodded. “Fine. Deal.”
Cass slipped back to her cubicle as Steph sat and suppressed the jittery bugs in her gut. How the heck was she going to break this one to her bestie? Tell her she’d fallen for a crazy man? Tell her she wanted him to push her around like a common whore? Mm-hmm. Loony. You’re loony.
She looked at the clock on her monitor, and relaxed. It was barely time for her morning coffee. Enough hours until lunch to practice what she’d say then. She reached out, and plucked a list of numbers from her in-tray. Her eyes roamed over the data, and she cringed at the amount of time it would take her to enter and collate it all. Her fingers tapped on the desk top, and she mused over what sort of environment the new office might be. Would there be friendly people like Cass? Or a bunch of people a lot older with not much in common? Did they socialise outside of hours? Her breath shuddered out as a sigh while she searched the hard drive for the template she would need. Focused on the endless folders that contained client records, she jumped when her desk-phone buzzed.
Steph picked up the handset, and answered automatically; her focus still on being able to locate the AWOL template. “Hello?”
“Miss Drake. You have a visitor at reception.” The old bag’s tone was cooler than usual.
“I’ll be right there.” Her heart flew to her throat. Nobody ever visited her at work. What on earth could they be here for? The visitor had to be family when Cass worked in the same office. Unless it was Ivan? Which would be worse. He worked on the other side of the city, so what was so important?
Steph played out a million dire scenarios as she made her way through the maze of desks to the entrance. She pushed open the frosted glass door that divided the reception from the offices. Her heart stampeded madly against her ribcage. Her heels clicked on the tiles as she rounded the corner of the front desk, and lifted her gaze to her visitor. Steph’s heart stopped beating.
Him.
Here.
Why?
Pete drew a lazy smirk, and stepped up from the armchair he had waited in. “Hey, Cutie.”
The old bag behind the desk peered over the top of her glasses at the two of them. The woman probably drank in every detail for lunch-time gossip.
“What are you doing here?” Steph whispered.
“Sightseeing,” he replied, deadpan.
“I’m kind of busy. I—”
“Bollocks. You’re a fuckin’ terrible liar, girl.”
The receptionist’s head snapped up so fast Steph swore the bag would need a neck brace. Heat flushed her face as she looked away from the woman’s glare, and back into the amused twinkle of Pete’s eye. “I was about to have coffee. You’ll have to sign in as a visitor.”
He nodded, and stepped to the book on top of the reception desk. The receptionist eyed him as he wrote his details down. Steph covered her smile when he shot the woman a wink, with a side of dashing smile.
“This way,” Steph gestured when he re-joined her by the door. “Hopefully there aren’t many people in the staffroom.”
“None would be best.”
She wanted to believe so badly that he’d said that because whatever he wanted to talk about was personal. But the gravelly tone of his voice, and the proximity he followed her suggested otherwise. Steph passed Cass’s desk, and averted her attention to the worn carpet. She couldn’t stomach a guess at what her friend would do when she saw who was here.