He swirled his drink over the ice in his glass and said, “Well, Georgia, you dragged me here, are you going to talk to me, or what?”
I smiled inwardly at his cheek but said nothing. I didn’t want him to know I was amused.
“What would you like to know, Cam?”
He raised his eyebrows, apparently surprised that I knew his name. “I’d like to know about you, Georgia. Where were you born? Where did you grow up? How long have you been manager of the shop over the road?”
I corrected him. “I’m not the manager of the shop over the road.”
“Oh, sorry, I just thought the way you spoke to the girls, you were their boss.”
“I am,” I replied. “I own the business that owns the shop over the road.”
He leant back on his stool, studied me for a moment, and then knocked back all of his drink and placed it down a little too hard on the ledge.
What’s his problem?
“I thought Frankie Layton’s misses owned that place.”
How does he know that?
“She does, I’m her business partner.” His frown disappeared.
For a moment, I was confused by his reaction. Then realisation hit me. . . He’d thought I was married to Frank, to my dad. “I’m her daughter,” I clarified.
His mouth actually dropped open. Oh fuck, this news did not please him.
“You’re Frank’s daughter?”
“I am.”
He sighed deeply and ran his big hands through his hair. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered, as he once again shook his head.
“Is that a problem?”
“Drink your drink, Georgia, I have work to do.” He pulled the bits of paper out of his pocket and started looking through them again, totally ignoring me.
Instantly, rage took over. I stood from my stool and threw my drink in his face. “Fuck you!” I said before turning and walking straight out of the bar.
I don’t know what happened to me that night, but I knew I lost my grip on my own self-worth. I assumed Cam didn’t want to know me because of some piece of gossip he’d read in a Sunday tabloid regarding Sean and me. There’d been numerous spiteful stories about me, drinking, drugs, and underage sex with various different blokes. Once again, Sean and that fucking band had impacted on my life, and I was so sick of it.
* * *
I went out on Saturday night and celebrated my birthday by snorting a couple of lines of coke, popping one ecstasy tablet, and going back to a flat in Lewisham with a bloke named Tom and fucking his brains out. It was awful, but he loved it. When the cab pulled up outside at ten on that Sunday morning, he was begging me to stay and begging for my number. So I gave it to him. I saw him five times over those next two weeks and on the fifth date, he told me he loved me, so I ended it. I absolutely loved the power I felt. I loved it so much that for the next six months, this behaviour became a habit. I would be off my face, Thursday through Sunday. Meet a bloke, spend a couple of weeks giving them the best sex they’d ever had, and doing everything I possibly could to get them to say those three little words. Then, as soon as they did, bang, I dropped them like a sack of shit.
But it didn’t stop there. My destructive behaviour knew no bounds. I was hurting and angry, I wanted others to feel that way too, and so I would take my dates to Kings, the wine bar Cam owned. I always waited until I knew for sure that I had them by the balls, that way, I could guarantee they’d be all over me. I always made sure that I sat or stood right in full view of Cam. Every time. I was a horrible person. I didn’t recognise myself. My heart had taken another hit with Cam’s rejection, and this time, I was on a mission to make others suffer with me.
I could blame all of this on my age, but if I were being honest, it was all about revenge. Control and revenge. I wanted other people to feel just a little bit of the pain that I did, and I felt empowered when in just a matter of days, I was able to get a man to say those three little words.
I had only met this bloke, Lee, the Saturday before, but he was already making me feel sick with the way he kept telling me how beautiful I was. I must’ve been getting better at this gig because he was the third bloke I’d bought into Kings in three weeks.
Cam was only ever polite to me, always said hello, and always asked how I was. My response always remained the same. “Fuck you!”
But it didn’t put him off. Week after week, he would watch me walk in with my latest conquest with a certain kind of sadness in his eyes. I was standing at the bar with Lee, waiting to be served one night, when I noticed Cam coming out of his office. He saw me straight away and walked towards me.
“Georgia, how are ya?”
I turned away, but Lee had heard him, he looked from me to Cam and said, “Fuck off, mate, she’s with me.”
Cam totally ignored him. “Georgia, how are ya?” he repeated.
Lee had just been served and had our drinks in his hands. He put them down on the bar, turned to Cam, and said, “Look, mate, do yourself a favour, this one’s taken, she’s with me, so fuck off.”
I know it was a horrible thing to do, but at that stage of my life, I was an awful person. I looked at Lee, then turned to Cam, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m good, Cam. How are you, babe?”
Lee pulled me back by my shoulder so hard that I spun around and was facing the bar. I didn’t really see what happened next, but I assumed one of them threw a punch. I heard glass breaking, and people seemed to move in all directions. I turned back to see two of the bouncers grab Lee by his arms and start to walk him towards the door.
“Georgia,” he called out to me.
“Fuck off, Lee, we’re done,” I called back.
Cold.
Heartless.
Nasty.
Me.
That was who and what I was. I was on a downward spiral that I didn’t know how to escape from. I desperately wanted saving as much as I desperately wanted to suffer. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
Next thing I knew, Cam had a hold of my hand and was pulling me towards his office. I tried to dig my heels in and stiffen my legs, but he was too strong. So instead, I attempted to yank my hand from his grip.
“Get off me!” I screamed, but he just gripped tighter and pulled me harder, almost throwing me into his office.
He slammed the door and locked it behind us. “What the fuck are you doing? You idiot!” I screamed. He actually scared me when I looked at him. He looked so angry. He stalked over to his desk, poured almost half a tumbler of JD from a bottle, and then he stood still for a few seconds. His eyes narrowed and fixed on me. He was breathing heavily and looked like he wanted to say so much. The anger radiating from him was palpable, but he didn’t scare me, quite the opposite actually. He made me feel safe, and he turned me the fuck on.
He put the glass to his lips and drank the whole lot down.
Shit, that’s gotta burn.
“What I’m doing, Georgia is trying to keep both you and me the fuck out of trouble.”
“Well, thanks and all that, but I can look after myself.” He let out a little laugh and did his usual head shake.
“Why? Tell me why, Kitten, every other week, you waltz in here with a different little plaything in tow, licking at your boots and panting all around you? Why? Why do you do it? Are you trying to piss me off, or are you trying to prove something to yourself?”
“Like I told you before, what I do has fuck all to do with you, and why would my coming in here with a bloke piss you off, anyway? You don’t give a shit. You made that perfectly clear the night you dragged me over here for a drink and then totally ignored me when you found out who I was. So don’t fucking start with me about trying to piss you off.”
I kept my back to the door of the office but reached behind myself and turned the handle. It was locked and he must have the key. I lost my temper completely, grabbing the handle with both hands, turning it, pulling it, and then kicking the door.
“Open the fucking do
or!” I screamed.
I felt his hand on my shoulder. He pulled me around, and without warning, he crashed his mouth into mine. I grabbed his hair and pulled it as hard as I could. Despite the force of his kiss, his lips were soft and warm, and he tasted of whiskey, or bourbon, or whatever the shit was he drank and he smelled delicious. I’d had months of mindless, faceless sex and not one single orgasm, but right then, I felt like I could have come on the spot just from his kiss alone. I bit down gently on his bottom lip, and he moaned into my mouth. The sound almost made my legs give way. His big hands ran down either side of my body, and his thumbs brushed over my boobs when he dragged them down from my armpits to my waist. He splayed them over my hips and then over my arse cheeks as he pulled me against him and ground himself against me.
The kiss moved from gentle, to frantic. Tongues, teeth, lips, mouths battled for control. I could barely breathe.
“Fuck,” he moaned into my mouth.
I’d been at a business lunch with my mum that day, and I was still wearing my work clothes. A Chanel skirt and jacket with a shell blouse underneath, but it was what I had on under my skirt that gained his attention at that moment. His fingers were stroking the outside of my thigh, reaching under the hem of my skirt, and I was just waiting for it.
In three, two, one.
“Fuckin’ hell, Kitten, you’re wearing stockings?”
I smiled, mostly to myself. What was it with men and stockings? “I sure am, Tiger. What of it?”
He bent his knees, so we were eye to eye. Even in my heels, he was a good few inches taller than me.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Pull your skirt up and show me your stockings.”
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t swear, Kitten, it’s not nice. Now pull up your skirt and show me what you’re wearing.”
“Fuck nice, and no.”
“Did you wear them for him?”
“Who?”
“That fucking idiot you walked in here with.”
“Stop swearing, Tiger, it’s not nice, and it’s none of your fucking business.”
He pulled me with him as he walked backwards and rested his arse on the edge of his desk. Holding me at arm’s length, he slid my skirt up my thighs to my hips. Then he seemed to change his mind and pulled it back down again. My belly dropped to the floor as that horrible, horrible feeling of rejection washed over me. For the first time in almost four years, I thought I might cry.
He took a step towards me, reached for my hip, undid the button, and pulled down the zip. Because the skirt was fully lined and a little lose thanks to the amount of cocaine I’d been shoving up my nose every weekend for the past six months, my skirt slid silently to the floor. And then from somewhere, confident George appeared. I stepped out of my skirt and away from him, shrugged out of my jacket, pulled my blouse over my head, and stood in front of him in my pale pink La Perla lingerie. I placed my hands on my hips, opened my legs, and looked him square in the eye. His gaze didn’t meet mine because his eyes were burning a path over my body, and I felt a little self-conscious. I knew I was a little too skinny. Too many drugs, too much gym, too much misery didn’t set me in good stead for an enormous appetite, but judging by the tepee that was forming in his trousers, he liked what he saw.
His hands were gripping either side of the huge, oak desk, and his knuckles were white. His eyes rested on my tits, which finally seemed to have decided to stop growing. I was five feet eight and only just filled out UK size eight clothing, but I still needed an E cup bra to fit my tits. Kind of made dresses an almost impossible wardrobe choice for me. Luckily, working in the business, I just got things either tailor-made or altered.
“Turn around,” Cam’s voice made me jump as it rasped out. His gaze finally met mine. I turned very slowly, and once I had my back to him, I pulled the hair elastic out of my hair, shook it out with my fingers, and let it fall down my back.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kitten.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “What, Tiger? What’s wrong?”
His brown eyes shone so brightly, they were almost glowing. His cheeks were flushed, and judging by the size of it, I reckoned he must have a whole tribe of red Indians sitting in that tepee. I winked at him, and he made a sound in his chest that was almost like a growl. I had to control the little whimper that wanted to escape my throat.
“Come here,” he ordered.
“Please,” I said.
He stood up straight. He was so tall he must have been at least six foot five and broad and just so…
“Come. The. Fuck. Here.”
Masterful.
I turned all the way around so I was facing him again, took a step forward, and then jumped straight into his arms at the same moment someone banged loudly on the office door.
“Fuck,” we both said together.
“Cam, you better get out here, mate. This bloke’s going off his narna and smashing up your bird’s motor.”
I looked straight at him. “Hilda… I’ll fucking kill him.”
Cam looked at me and raised his eyebrows in total confusion. “Stay here, I’ll sort the little prick out.”
He looked me up and down, walked over to a cupboard in the corner, and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Put this on and stay here.”
He unlocked the door by flicking a catch on the handle.
Well shit, it didn’t need a key after all!
And then he marched outside. There was no way I was staying put while Hilda got smashed up. I knew it was no less than I deserved after the way I treated Lee, but my dad’s blokes spent months finding the parts to fix her up. And that was after the six months it took my dad and me to actually find one that was worth fixing up. My dad had begged me to let him buy me something new like he had my brothers when they passed their test, but for some unknown reason, I’d always wanted a burnt-orange-and-black Triumph Herald with a walnut dash and a sunroof. And being the daddy’s little princess that I was, I eventually got my own way.
I went over to the big, oak, wardrobe-looking thing in the corner and found a pair of jogging bottoms. I spent a few more seconds being nosey, looking at the shirts and ties and giving them a little sniff as I did. I couldn’t help it, he smelt so delicious. I had just kicked off my shoes so I could pull the joggers on when I heard sirens, which meant someone had called the police, or worse, an ambulance. I flew out of the office. The bar was quiet. Most of the patrons were watching the shit show that was going on outside. I pushed my way through the crowd, barefoot and wearing just the sweatshirt, which luckily, covered my arse and stocking tops.
I assumed the pile that was on the floor with three of Cam’s doormen leaning over it was Lee, but I couldn’t really see. Cam was standing in front of my car with his back to me as he spoke to a police officer. It went quiet when I approached him.
I trod on something sharp and cried out in pain, “Oww, shit!”
Cam swung around when he heard my voice.
He dragged his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Excuse me a second, officer,” he said very politely. He had an East London accent that was stronger than my dad’s, and it sounded strange hearing him speak so nicely to the officer.
“Kitten, I told you to wait inside. There’s glass everywhere. Where are your shoes?”
“What’s he done to Hilda?”
“Who the fuck’s Hilda?”
“My car.”
He laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“Your car’s called Hilda?”
“That’s not funny, that’s her name. What’s he done to her?”
Another police car pulled up. Cam’s bar staff started telling people to either head inside or go home.
“Finish your drinks people. I’m closing up early. Steve will remember you all, and you can have a free one on me next time you’re in,” Cam called out.
Shit, he is going to lose money tonight and all because of me.
The bouncer s
tepped away from the pile on the ground that was Lee as two officers handcuffed him and picked him up. He had a split lip and a bloody nose. He spotted me straight away, more to the point he spotted what I wasn’t wearing and Cam’s arm around my shoulder.
He threw himself towards me. “You cunt! You fucking cunt! I loved you, you bitch, I fucking loved you. Why? Why would you bring me here and do this?”
I didn’t know what to say. Usually, I blew them off and left, or I did it over the phone. I never got to see the fallout. Well, I did tonight, in full-blown Technicolor, and I felt terrible. I’d left ten different blokes in this kind of a mess over the past six months just so I could feel better about myself, and now, I felt worse than I ever had before. I felt ashamed. My parents would be ashamed of what I had done tonight. My brothers would be ashamed. Not even Jimmie would back me up on this one. I looked down at the ground and followed the trail of glass to my car—my poor smashed up car. The windows were all broken and the roof was torn, the bonnet and the sides were full of dents. My poor Hilda, and as much as I knew I deserved it, my temper kicked in regardless.
“You bastard! What did you do to my car?” I launched myself at him, clawing and kicking, but Cam yanked me back before I made any kind of contact. Then the police started to drag Lee away.
“You’re a slut, Georgia! A two-timing slut!”
“Yeah, well you’re a shit shag with a little dick. No wonder I went looking elsewhere.”
I stood looking at his back. I was barefoot, wearing a sweatshirt that was ten sizes too big with stockings and suspenders underneath. I put my hands on my hips and watched as the police took him away. When I turned back around to face Cam, he was standing with three of his doormen and two police officers, and they were all laughing their heads off.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“It’s not funny. Look at poor, Hilda. My dad’s gonna kill me!”
Cam instantly stopped laughing. “Shit.” I heard him hiss. “I think you’ll find it’s me that he kills, Kitten.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Don’t worry, Tiger, I’ll protect ya.” I winked at him.
Carnage Boxset Page 13