Pistol

by Max Henry

  The page flicked up, and pulled her from her musings as an email icon flashed simultaneously. No wonder it took so long. Computers had to be male, given their inability to multi-task. Steph clicked on the email, and slumped back in her chair.

  Steph,

  I had a visitor this morning, and as much as his behaviour has me on the verge of calling the cops, he made me realise something ... I miss us.

  - Cass

  Her fingers itched to hammer out a reply, to say how much she missed the friendship too. But one detail stuck—Cass hadn’t actually apologised. Nowhere in her message did it say she was sorry. Steph closed the window, and opened the online form she needed to complete. Her cursor blinked in the first empty field, and she pushed the sheet of data around the top of her desk. She skidded her chair out from the worktop, and leant underneath to retrieve her bag, and her phone.

  What did you do to Cass?

  She sat, and tapped her foot on the front of her filing cabinet. Her grasp clenched about the small phone as she willed it to make a noise. Steph scrambled not to drop it when it did.

  Had a chat.

  Right ...

  Are you sure that was all?

  He replied without hesitation.

  Yes. How’s your new office?

  I like how your desk is next to a window.

  Her knees hit the floor first as she slid off the chair, and crouched behind the side of her L-shaped desk. The car park was directly out her window, and she scanned the view for him. Nothing on the first sweep, but second time over she wondered how she missed it to begin with. A matte-black rat rod. Of course. Her phone vibrated next to her head where it still lay on the desk.

  I wish you’d save being on your knees for me.

  P.S. I like your new colour.

  Heat surged into her face. What the hell did he think he played at? This was exactly the kind of shit that made her mad at him to start with. So why was there a distinct heat between her legs? Steph pulled herself to her feet, tugged the pencil skirt she wore down, and stormed through the office. The front door swung hard with the speed she marched into the car park. The smirk on his face was clear—even from twenty feet away. Asshole.

  His window rolled down slowly; the tattoos on his arm twisted as he wound.

  “What the fuck are you up to?” she hissed as she approached.

  “Get in,” he ordered.

  “I can’t. I’m at work.” Steph threw her arms across herself in defiance.

  “Then tell them you’re havin’ an early lunch.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m too busy.” She wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know.

  He smiled lazily, and then opened the door to get out.

  “What are you doing now?”

  He cupped her chin, and ran his thumb across her lip. Without a word he turned for the office.

  “I asked you what you’re doing,” she called, panicked, as she followed him across the car park.

  He reached the door, and went inside. Steph flailed for the handle. “Where do I find the boss?” he asked the young girl on the front desk whilst Steph flew through the entrance. The girl pointed warily to Barbara’s corner office.

  Shit.

  Steph watched on in horror as he strode right in—then shut the door in her face. She hesitated, unsure if it would look worse to barge in after him. Her mind still danced around the idea when he opened the door, and walked out into her, forcing Steph to take two steps back.

  “You’ve got the afternoon off,” he smirked.

  Steph glanced over his shoulder. She groaned as Barbara held up a thumb, and grinned like a school-girl.

  ‘What the hell did you say?”

  “Never ya mind, Cutie.”

  A current sparked through her lips as he gave her a chaste kiss, and then walked to the front door.

  “Ya comin’?”

  Steph blew out a breath and turned to go retrieve her bag from her desk. She stood in front of her chair, and eyed him as he leant on the hood of his car. He watched her power down her computer. Why are you doing this? How could she fathom the idea of a ride in the car with him—destination unknown—after he barged in and took her day into his hands. Weren’t they meant to still be mad with each other? Aren’t you supposed to still be mad with him?

  Life had become so unpredictable over the last few weeks, that some days she was surprised she knew which way was up. Steph glanced at her feet as the PC did its final gasp, and checked she managed to get a matching pair of shoes on. Anything was possible given how much of a mess Pete had her head in. She ran her eyes over the desk to make sure she didn’t leave anything behind, and started for the car park. The deep, resonate sound of a V8 rumble to life echoed about the reception area as she opened the door, and walked into the sunlight.

  Her nerves skittered about her ankles like a kitten which threatened to trip her. She did her best to come off composed on her walk to the car. Pete leant over and flicked the door catch. He pushed it ajar for her as she approached. Steph smoothed her skirt over her thighs, and did what she could to look at least partially-elegant while she fell into the low passenger seat.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she placed her bag under her legs.

  “Not sure yet.”

  She stared at his profile as he pulled away from the office. “You’re telling me, that you come here, kidnap me, and you don’t have a clue where we’re going?”

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a playful grin on his lips. “Aye.”

  Steph shook her head, mouth set in a firm line, and looked out her window at the urban landscape. “You don’t get it, do you?” she whispered.

  He slowed the car for a red light, and then turned to look at her. “Get what?”

  “This is the exact reason why I was mad in the first place. You assume you can swan in, and do as you please with me—fuck the consequences.”

  He frowned, and looked to the front again as they pulled away. Steph watched his jaw work a knot. “I thought that was what ya liked?”

  She balled her fists at her side, and grimaced. “What part of our last argument did you actually listen to? Huh?”

  He glowered at her, and then set his sights firmly on the road. The silence between them choked any words from her throat. “All of it,” he finally answered.

  “Then repeat to me what I said,” she asked tentatively.

  He sighed, and quickly rubbed his brow before he returned his hands to the white knuckle grip on the wheel. “Ya said it had never been about ya. That I did all this stuff for me.”

  He remembered. He really had listened. Steph fought back tears as she pressed the back of her tongue into the roof of her mouth.

  “It was never about me, Cutie.” He flicked his gaze to the rear-view, then indicated and pulled the car to the side of the road. “It’s always been about ya.” He turned in his seat to face her.

  She avoided his concerned eyes with what will she had left. How could he damn well do this to her? “How can you turn it around so that I’m the asshole in the situation?” Her chin shook, and the tongue-press slowly failed at holding back the water-works.

  “That’s not what I wanted to do at all,” he said. His hand reached across the centre to rest on her leg.

  Steph swatted it away. “Don’t touch me,” she barked. “Not now. I can’t be assed with you doing what you always do; using sex to get what you want from me.”

  He slumped back against his door as she stared with grave intensity at the floor under her feet. The way his arms crossed over his chest not only showed his frustration, but placed a literal barrier between them and whatever relationship they may have kidded themselves into believing they had.

  Where to from here?

  Had she finally done it, and pushed back one too many times?

  Her eyes dimmed with the sadness he had created. What kind of fuckin’ monster was he? All he knew when he went to her work was that he wanted her for the afternoon. But why, if all
he was going to do was hurt her? Hurt her? She’s hurtin’ you, asshole.

  And she had. The way she casually labelled him as purely after her for sexual pay-off had cut into him like a white-hot knife. How could she think that all he wanted from her was sex? Why not? All you’ve done is pin her down and have yer way. He frowned at the foreign sensation of nausea in his gut as he thought it through. Wasn’t that a fine turn of events? The thought that all he had done was use, and hurt her actually made him ill. There’s always room for a new first...

  “I don’t know what I can do to show ya it’s more,” he uttered.

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed back more tears. Her hands wrung in her lap. “Show me I mean more to you than a hooker would.”

  He sighed. How the fuck did she expect him to behave? “Ya said ya didn’t want roses, and that kind of romantic bollocks from me. So what do ya want me to do?”

  Steph shook her head. “I don’t know—care?” She shifted in the seat so that she faced him. “I used to think that the thrill of what you do to me; the way you use me, and demand things from me I don’t know I like, was enough. But the last guy I dated wasn’t romantic either, and maybe, I do miss that?” She shook her head again, and brought her hands up to cover her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want it? Or do ya think ya do, because it’s what yer friends expect ya to look for in a fella?” His thoughts flitted to his altercation with Cassie earlier. The woman was lucky he had this conversation with Steph now, otherwise he may have actually throttled the blonde on the spot.

  Steph’s grey eyes dug into him, her brow furrowed in the cutest look of intense concentration. “Maybe it is?” she said. “Maybe that’s why I’m so confused about it?”

  “If I brought ya flowers and a teddy right now, what would ya do?”

  Her lip curled at one corner, and she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Would ya like it? Or would ya take it to be polite?”

  “I guess ... I don’t know. I think I’d like it. But then again, it doesn’t seem like you.”

  Pistol exhaled heavily, and twisted in his seat to open the door. He stepped out into the street, shut the door, and leant his elbows on the roof as he surveyed the street. He located what he needed, and strode to her side of the car to open the door. “Come on.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Buy ya flowers.”

  Her eyebrows drew close, then apart, and then close again. Her poor brain sure got a workout today.

  “Well,” he said as he threw his arms out wide. “We don’t know if you’ll like them until we buy them.”

  She laughed, and the sweet sound made his heart soar. Fuck, that music was exactly what he’d missed. “Okay,” she ceded. “Let’s do it.”

  He shut her door, locked the car, and then held out a hand. Her eyes went between it, and his face, before she carefully laced her fingers with his. They started down the street toward the small corner-shop he had spotted. Steph walked in silence. He didn’t try to fight the grin that found its way to his face, and stayed.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, and drank in her vibrant hair; the way it made the colour of her ink pop. “I’m happy,” he said.

  She smiled coyly, and watched her feet as they walked. Pistol gave her hand a gentle tug, and pulled her into his side. He threw his arm around her shoulders.

  “Ah.” She winced, and ducked out of his grasp.

  “What?” His pace halted as he turned to her. “What did I do?”

  The tiniest of smirks quirked the corners of her lips. She drew her hair over the front of one shoulder, and then spun on the spot to face away from him. His breath caught in his throat, and he instinctively reached for his pack of smokes. The stick of tobacco he balanced between his lips did little to stem the urge he had to kiss the new ink, but at least it kept his mouth busy. He lit the cigarette, and stood back to take a better look.

  “Do you like it?”

  He paled at the nervous edge of her question. She was honestly worried that he wouldn’t. See how eager she still is to please you?

  He swallowed hard as Steph turned back to face him. “Do ya really need the flowers?” he asked, huskily. Her full lips curled into a suggestive smile, and she slowly shook her head. He reached forward to take her hand and pull her into the nearest semi-private spot he could find—the need to show her how aroused the new ink had made him dire—when a deep male voice calling her name turned any previous erotic thoughts to ones of murder.

  “Steph!”

  Pistol looked up the street at the tall, sharp-dressed, blond ball-bag, and scowled. He better not fuckin’ touch her.

  “Dave,” Steph replied with remarkably less enthusiasm. Knowing that she wasn’t happy to see whoever this tosser was only fuelled his irrational hate of the man.

  “Didn’t expect to find you here.” The guy’s sunny smile faded as he dragged his gaze over Pistol. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Afternoon off.” Steph closed her arms over herself.

  Anger burned behind his ears. How could this guy walk up and talk to her like he had a fucking right to her? The asshole hadn’t introduced himself, or bothered to ask who she was with. Pistol threw his cigarette down, and stamped it out.

  Challenge accepted, mother-fucker.

  ****

  Steph sensed Pete step behind her; the heat of his body framed her as he reached both arms over her shoulders, criss-crossed them over her chest, and tugged her into him. He was threatened, and he marked his territory. When it came to Dave, she couldn’t have asked for a better response.

  “Good to see you moved on,” Dave remarked.

  “Thanks.”

  “Especially to something more ... suitable for you.”

  She frowned, and placed her hands on Pete’s forearms. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”

  He smirked, the same way he used to when she asked him where he had been all night. “Only that you had a shit-show of ever finding yourself another guy like me if you choose to cover yourself in that crap.”

  Pete’s chin came to rest on her head, and his jaw worked a furious tempo side-to-side.

  “Why would I want another douche like you?” she asked.

  Pete’s chest vibrated against her back as he chuckled.

  Irate didn’t come close to being able to describe the storm that surged over Dave’s features. “So I’m a douche now, am I? And what’s this tool? Huh? A pillar of society?”

  Pete tried to draw his arms away, but she clamped her hands down. “A person should never judge a book by its cover, Dave.”

  The prick laughed. “Why? You going to tell me that he’s a choir-boy on weekends? The pussy hasn’t said a word for himself yet.”

  “What do you want, Dave?” The final slim strands of patience slipped from her grasp. Today was not the day to be doing this.

  “I simply wanted to say ‘hi’ precious, and know if you missed me.”

  The second time, Pete moved too fast for her to stop him. He stepped around her, and partially body-blocked her as he faced off against the taller Dave. “I think I’d be right in sayin’—” Pete stated with an eerily cool calm “—that nobody would miss ya if ya simply ... disappeared.”

  Dave moved closer until the men stood chest to chest. Steph drew back; the energy, and anger which radiated from the two of them unbearable. “Is that a threat?” Dave asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Promise,” Pete replied. He flicked his lip piercing with his teeth while he watched Dave step back.

  Steph moved to Pete’s side, and drew his hand in hers. She wanted Dave to be sure of where her allegiance lay, and it sure as fuck wasn’t with any delusional fantasy the guy had of them back together.

  Dave turned, and called over his shoulder as he left. “I hope you two freaks are happy being weirdo’s together.”

  The words should have stung, but all she could do was laugh.
r />   “What?” Pete asked as amusement twinkled in his eye.

  “He sounded like a kid who didn’t get his way—that was all. What a lame come-back.” Full, rich, and satisfying laughter spilled from her lips. She laughed until tears formed, and then blotted at them with the heel of her hand.

  “It’s good to see ya happy,” Pete smiled. “I think if he had left ya upset, I might have gone after him.”

  “And done what?” Her laughter subsided into hiccups.

  “Killed him.”

  Steph smiled up at Pete’s macabre joke, and then paled as her stomach lurched to her throat. He had that look; the same determination he showed the first night at the foot of her bed. The guy was serious—deadly serious. “Are you hungry?” she squeaked as she headed for the car once more. “Let’s go home, and I’ll make you something.”

  He started after her, blissfully unaware of her shock as he approached the vehicle to unlock it for her. “No flowers, then?”

  “No. I’m too hungry.” Lie. You’re too worried he’ll hurt somebody the longer you’re on the streets.

  “I can’t argue—” he said, and dropped into his seat. Steph did the same, and looked across the car as he continued. “—I haven’t eaten since breakfast. The worms are bitin’.”

  “Home for lunch it is then.”

  ****

  Steph sat opposite Pete at her modest, two-seater table. He literally devoured the BLT she made him, not looking up once in his mission to annihilate the meal. On the contrary, her sandwich lay mostly untouched. Those words still echoed through her mind, and left her appetite somewhere in last week.

  ‘Killed him.’

  He was so ... blasé about it. A part of her wanted to argue that he had joked, and that her overactive imagination made him out to be more dangerous than he was. But Ivan’s warning about the guy echoed fresh in her mind each time she tried to tell herself she over-reacted. Maybe she should take heed of her friend’s warning after all.