“Hold it and exhale through your nose. Completely deflate your lungs. The next part has to be done quickly. Tip your head back, swallow, then open your mouth and draw in a breath. Go.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed down, parting my lips and dragging in a quick lungful of air. It took over my senses; I could feel it as the warmth spread from my tongue, down my throat and simultaneously to my lungs and stomach. Each subsequent breath gave me another more meld, yet equally intense hit. My vision slipped for a second and I shook my head with a smile. That was good.
“As you were.” Jesse nodded and the girls stepped closer, as instantly inebriated as me. Their dance was more confident. That was his plan. “Good?”
“So good. What was that?”
“Carburetion. Ernest Hemingway style.”
“I should have known.”
“What?” he winked. “I’ve got to use my father’s lessons for something.”
More XO was poured, carburetion filled us with intoxicated comfort and we drank enough to fill the room with cognac vapours. Every inhale brought a new taste with it; cognac from the last exhale and feminine perspiration as the red lighting, small space and increasingly unrestrained movement gave the dancers’ bodies a glistening sheen. Their perfume, their scent, their aura overwhelmed; hands became hungry, movements became brazen and intentional. And still we drank more. Ernest Hemingway was onto liquor cupboard gold dust and Jesse Kennedy was a fucking genius. Cassie drank from me, Jesse drank from Cassie, Amber drank from Jesse and I drank from Amber. It was sweet, alcoholic torture; a glorious hit that thickened the blood in my veins and burned like wild, erotic fire. One tune meshed into another, dancing slowed until it was nothing but languid, needy touches that stepped so far beyond the line, the rule ceased to exist.
The room began to spin; every ounce of oxygen was replaced by lust, intoxication and control. The four of us played our roles well; the girls drank and danced and teased, keeping a distance that began to make my groin ache for freedom. And Jesse and I kept our hands, mostly, to ourselves, and that was more than enough of a task. I took one final shot of XO, holding my breath a little longer until I felt my entire mouth absorb the heavenly nectar; I tossed my head back and took in a lungful of air the second it slid down my throat. I kept my head back, my body totally relaxed, and I found a solace that had been nothing more than a mirage for years.
Twenty Four
“Men rise from the ambition to another: first they seek to secure themselves against attack, and then they attack others.”
Geoff had regurgitated the words of another and spat them back at me for years.
There was no first and second.
I did them both at once.
October 2nd, 2010
I woke up with a groan, a mouth that felt like the floor of a brewery, tasted like I’d been licking the barrels, and a motherfucker of a headache.
I couldn’t open my eyes, not at first; it was only when I caught the scent of familiarity that consciousness fully found me. Almost. I opened one eye and used it to scan everything in my line of sight, without having to move. I was on the sofa, I noticed that much. One of my arms was flung off the edge and had been since I passed out, judging by the complete numbness and the pins and needles when I tried to wiggle my fingers. My legs were dangling over the other end; I must have fallen asleep before I could get comfortable because my back hurt almost as much as my head. I was going to suffer today.
Still that scent surrounded me, like someone had stuck a diffuser under my nose, but my weary state of mind couldn’t place the smell. I opened the other eye and nearly fell off the sofa when I saw Charlie behind it watching me, her arms folded, back straight, shoulders squared like I was a kid about to suffer a grounding.
“Christ, Charlie.” I rubbed my hands over my face and swiped the grit away from my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
She pursed two rouge lips, lifting her eyes to look across the room at the sofa opposite me.
“Who’s your friend?”
I turned my head slowly to follow her gaze and for the second time in less that twelve hours, wanted to rewind time.
“Oh, him?” I nodded with feigned confidence towards a sleeping Jesse. “That’s John.”
There was no doubt that if she’d have asked for his second name, it would have been Smith. Let’s face it, I had no hopes of going beyond John Smith or Joe Bloggs.
“Hmm,” she pondered for a minute. “Who is he?”
I shrugged and sat up like I had a ton of bricks on my chest. “He’s an old friend.”
“The boxer you’ve been training, I take it?”
Fuck!
Busted.
I shifted nervously and stood up, swaying on my feet and licking my lips for some desperately needed moisture. I turned and headed to the kitchen for water to buy me some time. Charlie followed me, thankfully.
“How long have you known?” I asked, leaning over the sink and sucking in deep, sobering breaths.
“Since last month.”
Shit.
“What were you doing in Kent, Curtis? And who is this John? Why is he so important?”
“Who says he’s important?”
“I know you.” I felt her step closer, filling the space between us. She scraped her nails lightly down my back and then back up over my shoulders, and began to massage the knots that had formed. I tried not to gag. Or get a hard-on. “You don’t have friends.”
“Yeah, well, you put a cap on my free time.”
“Shh,” she soothed. I felt like a schmuck for playing to it. “I don’t mind.”
Silence was all she got. I didn’t believe her, but how could I tell her that? As her hands slid higher and found their way into my hair, a throat was cleared behind us. I stood up straight and pushed Charlie away.
“John,” Charlie smiled and dread made my chest tight. “I’m Charlie.”
Jesse looked at me. I looked at Jesse, pleading with him to play along. He got it.
“Hi, Charlie.”
She leaned close and kissed one cheek, then the other, and kept her hands on his shoulders to assess him. She was scoping, sussing out potential prey; I’d seen the body language enough times to know Charlie’s silver spoon radar was in action. Jesse looked at me again and I shook my head with caution, my face blank, my eyes warning him the best I could.
“Nice to meet you,” she said finally, stepping back and grabbing her bag off the counter. “Curtis, there’s a note in the bedroom for you. See you tonight.”
She took a final long glance at Jesse as she passed. I was relieved he looked like a hungover hobo, and we stood still until we heard the door of my apartment close, signalling her departure.
“Who is that?”
I scoffed, eyed Jesse’s paled skin and expected to see a patch of piss on his pants. I flipped the kettle on and grabbed us each a bottle of water from the cooler.
“That’s Charlie.”
I hoped that was all I’d have to say. Hearing her name was enough to remind me of the shit I was in; I’d been playing the carefree, training, stripper-club-going guy for longer than I was allowed.
“And that means what?”
“It means stay away. Whatever it takes.”
“Hey, I’d never touch your girlfriend.”
I laughed. If only it was that simple.
“That’s not what I meant. I told her your name is John for a reason. She can't know who you really are.”
He looked terrified, “Why?”
“Trust me when I tell you she’ll have you, and your family, living on economy tinned soup before the month ends, if she finds out.” His eyes widened and his teeth scraped his bottom lip. “A story for another time, Dr Kennedy. You’ve got study group.”
He looked down at his watch; his training one, thankfully. Fortunately it was a sports watch and not the Breitling I’d seen him wear. “Shit!”
“Calm down.” I handed him a flask of coffee. “I texted the front desk
. There’s a car waiting to take you back and I’ll have someone drive your car back later.”
He tipped his head back, “You’re smarter than you make out.”
“I’ve been chasing my own tail for years, I know how it works. Go.”
He smiled his thanks and bolted from the apartment with his coffee. I took mine and walked onto the balcony as a frantic Jesse jumped into the town car and it pulled out into the light early Saturday morning traffic.
I tried to drink my hangover away with good strong morning juice, but the note Charlie had left in the bedroom was calling to me; beckoning me to follow the rose-scented trail that would enlighten me as to what my next mission would be.
***
“Is it safe to assume this John character is off limits?”
We were in the back of Charlie’s car, heading to tonight’s place of work; a house in Richmond that was home to Eamon Fitzpatrick, owner of Fitzpatrick Aviation; a private jet charter company with a net worth of £6.5 million. It was Mr Fitzpatrick’s eightieth birthday party and Charlie wanted to walk out of the party with at least two thirds of his worth. How she got invited? I had no idea and I was trying not to feed my imagination. I couldn’t allow myself to be jealous and possessive over someone I despised.
“What do you mean?”
“You two look good together. I thought he might like to join the team.”
“You don’t think that would draw attention?”
“I like attention.”
“He’s off limits Charlie,” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, and failed. “I don’t know what fantasies go through that peroxide head of yours, but I won't be a part of a muscle-head security entourage. Either we’re partners, or I’m out.”
I felt her shift on the leather and turned my head to look at her. She had a sly smile playing on her lips and I huffed when I realised she was scheming.
“Maybe John would be open to the idea.”
“Did you not listen to what I just said?”
“Oh, I listened. You’re not irreplaceable.”
My eyebrows lowered over my eyes, my nostrils flared and a tick began in my jaw when I clenched it in anger.
“You’ll regret it.”
Charlie’s eyes, unafraid, met mine and she simply flicked her head so her hair settled behind her back.
“Is that a threat, Curtis?”
“No.” I opened the door and climbed out, “It’s a promise.”
I waited next to the car for Charlie to get out, my dramatic exit made ridiculous by the fact that I was still her plaything, and stuck in the middle of nowhere – my plan for a grand departure had failed and I felt stupid. Charlie’s ego was no doubt at maximum growth when she got out of the car and I heard her shoes on the gravel as she made her way towards me. She’d played me, again, to look like the jealous boyfriend, the willing accomplice; the loyal, obedient pet.
“I can bring you to your knees, Cut Throat.”
She took my hand and smiled sweetly as her charm slipped into place and I began to shut down.
“I’d rather you were on your knees with my dick in your mouth.”
“That can be arranged, darling.”
She squeezed my hand, digging her nails in deep until I could feel them mark my skin and the masochistic high sent me propelling into character. A growl rumbled low in my chest and we stepped into yet another posh mansion.
The party was just another lame gig designed to celebrate the birthday of a multimillionaire, by displaying how much money the guests could threaten him with. These things were just a huge golden pissing contest, and it both disgusted and fascinated me. Where in the I Own Millions handbook did it say the world had to know about it? Did these rich folk never stop to think that by being at the top of society’s hierarchy they were actually in the most danger? Those who stood the tallest had the furthest to fall.
Bespoke suits. Haircuts that cost three times the average going rate just because of the district they were done in. Lighting that cost more than my apartment. Alcohol that cost an obscene amount of money, just because it was ‘top shelf’ quality and sat on a rich bloke’s hired bar, which, incidentally, held crystal of the highest quality. The rich bloke in question? He was bound to a wheelchair because of a polo accident in his forties, and was shoved in the corner so people wouldn’t have to pretend they cared.
Charlie and I stood in our usual position; I was seething, a slip of the mind away from losing control; a slight loss of control away from a raging hard-on and a vicious hunger to go with it. Charlie just stood by me, running her hand up and down my forearm. She was waiting to attack the handicapped birthday boy’s bank account, and simultaneously scoping out her next victim. One thing I could be grateful for was that she was nowhere near Nina which meant, for tonight, Skye was safe. That only filled me with a bone-numbing stomach-churning compulsion because I wanted to be wherever she was so I could take her, hide her from the world and protect her from the evil that dominated it.
“Are you ready, baby?”
I stood still. I didn’t move an inch; I just dropped my gaze and caught hers as she looked up at me. I gave a slight nod; Charlie took my face in her small, cold hands and tiptoed up to press her lips to mine. The second I gave in, she pulled back with a purr, taking my lower lip between her teeth. Releasing me, she swiped her thumb over my lips to clean them of the red stain and turned away. As I watched her disappear through the crowds of gloating businessmen and their trophy wives, I realised her game and why she’d kissed me. No one would suspect the woman, who looked back at me before she slipped out of the hall, would be exiting for any reason other than to meet her lover in a dark corner somewhere.
I shoved my hands in my trouser pockets, leaned back against the bar and kept my eyes on the door Charlie just left through, ordering a cognac over my shoulder. I took deep breaths and listened to the pop of the lid of the decanter and the sweet sound of the barman pouring my measure. I mumbled thanks when he slid it me, emptied my lungs and took the shot with my eyes closed. I inhaled like I’d been starved of oxygen. I had. For years. I kept my eyes closed, relishing in the effect and acknowledging, just for a second, the rage that had crept up, infiltrated every cell in my body and bubbled not far beneath the surface.
Opening my eyes, I sensed danger; in the pit of my stomach, I knew something wasn’t right. The unexpected worry almost brought the top shelf cognac back up. I scanned the room, my eyes falling on a guy dressed entirely in black. He was moving slowly, edging closer to the door Charlie had not long left through. I tried to keep my cool, but was struggling. My fingers twitched with the urge to ball my fists. Like an animal sensing impending danger, a snarl began at the back of my throat and I scanned the room, searching for the source of my instincts. I looked around for anyone making eye contact with him, and back at him for any signals from him to another. I saw nothing, but still he edged nearer and nearer. He was suspicious. I knew something was wrong. I moved slowly to follow him, trying to keep my cover. The second he left my sight, I pushed my way through the party and left through the same door. The hallway was dark; a slither of light from under the door at the end of the passage was all that could be seen, and the dark figure was heading straight towards it.
Towards Charlie.
Visions of Skye and me in the gym filled my mind and I centred from it to give me what I needed to protect Charlie. Whether I wanted it or not, it was my duty to keep her safe. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. Thanks, Mo. I followed slowly, carefully, keeping my distance so he wouldn’t hear my heavy footfalls. I sensed his suspicion and stepped into an open doorway as he turned around. And then I followed him again. He was a few steps away from the door, his arm extended as he reached for the handle. Something inside me snapped and before I had time to try to control myself, I lunged at him, wrapping my arm around his neck and we fell through the door and into the room as I tackled him to the floor. Charlie gasped and stood up from the desk, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. A
voice both alien and familiar told me to stop, but I quashed it. The unexpected rage had lodged itself deep, refusing the reasoning of the voice inside my head.
Shoving him over onto his back, I mounted him; one punch turned into three. Three turned into five. He was defenceless. Dazed. I’d caught him off guard and it was too late for him to fight back. I still didn’t stop. I couldn’t. He should have been prepared. Uncertainty struck and I looked up at Charlie, holding the intruder down with my hand wrapped around his throat. She was standing with her arms crossed over her stomach and she was smiling; a serene, satisfied smile. The one she got when she watched a plan play out.
There was no light from the computer screen; a warm lamp sat on the corner of the desk was the only source of light. The man beneath me gave up, dropping his hands from a defensive position to above his head, hitting the floor with a defeated thud.
“How much did you pay him?” I growled, my voice gravely and rough.
Charlie sat down on the desk chair and crossed one leg over the other.
“I had to make sure I still had you, baby.”
“How much did you pay him?” I repeated, tightening my grip around his neck, detached from the guilt I should have felt hearing the sound of him struggling for air.
Her smile dropped. “It’s done, let him go.”
“How much?”
She shifted and swapped legs, regret flashing across her eyes as she looked at the man I held captive. What was happening to me?
“Fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand pounds to take a beating?”
She nodded, the realisation of what she’d done hitting her square in the jaw like I wanted to do with my fist. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as a frenzy began to boil in my blood.
I knew what was happening as the searing fury took over and my eyes remained locked on Charlie. It was a release. It was the freedom I’d been looking for for years. Without warning, my resentment for the life I lived had snuck up on me and he was paying the price – someone who had been paid to do this. He hadn’t elected to step into a ring with Cut Throat Curtis. He hadn’t volunteered to be at my mercy. I knew I should have let him go, kicked his ass out the door and calmed myself down. I couldn’t, and deep down – gradually rising to the surface to leak from each and every pore – I didn’t want to. I needed to punish something and I had chosen my prey.
Revival Page 13