Page 95 of Ink's Devil

I’m tired, worried about Ink, and feeling irritable. I’m not going to give up easily. “What’s one man going to do, Mom? Dirt’s okay, but even I could take on Nails.” Not quite fair, but as he’s around five foot ten, I tower above him.

Mom’s sighs. “They’re not going to be taking them on. They’ll get in touch with Demon if anyone turns up.”

“And the club will, what? Send reinforcements? How’s that hiding our involvement with the Devils if a dozen motorcycles turn up outside?”

Mom places her hands on her hips. “So what do you suggest, Bethany? I send them away? Would you prefer we were here on our own?”

“I don’t know,” I cry out. And then to my horror, tears start leaking out of my eyes. I had no sleep last night, had to keep my wits about me during my visit to the police station. Have learned the man I was starting to love, now, quite rightly, hates me. As for my brother, he could be dead or dying, or free when it should be him who’s locked up. And I should be allowed to tell the truth, but nobody wants me to. No wonder I’m not thinking straight.

Mom’s arms are fast around me. “Oh, Bethany, honey, come here. The last twenty-four hours have been hell on you. Come on, cry it out.”

She pulls me to the sofa where it’s easier for her to hold me, and I lean my head against her chest and just sob. From the moment Connor called me to when the police took my statement, it seems I’ve been existing on adrenaline, reacting rather than doing anything with any rhyme or reason. I’m running on empty now. I cry in the arms of my mother until I’ve no tears left to fall.

When I finish, my throat feels dry and raw, my eyes are swollen, and my face is red and blotchy. She tries to get me to eat something, but neither of us have any appetite at all. The stress and the long hours during which I’ve been awake have me yawning widely, so when she suggests an early night, I don’t argue.

But in bed I can’t get my brain to switch off. Instead I keep wondering how Ink is now, trying to accept even if by some miracle he walks free, I’ll have lost my chance with him. Then, when I try to stop thinking of what he and I have lost, my thoughts turn to my brother, see-sawing between hoping he’s alright, to wishing he’s hurting if everything he’d said to me had been a lie.

He’d set me up. My fingerprints showed I had my hand on the bag if not the drugs themselves. Though Ink’s brothers want me to stay in the clear to make what Ink did worthwhile, all that might fall apart. I thought I’d been careful wearing gloves, I hadn’t. I’d not given a thought to the bag. Huffing, I realise I’m not cut out for a life of crime.

Eventually, I drop into an uneasy sleep and doze; my dreams are haunted by Ink appearing and taking that bag from me over and over again. I try to run as though through molasses to stop him and take it back, but he gets further and further away, and I can’t catch up to him.

Three times I’ve woken twisted up in the bed clothes and covered in sweat. This time, it’s something else that awakes me. A quiet knocking on my door, and a man’s voice saying, “Beth.”

“Hold on.” I reach for my robe and pull it on, at the same time glancing at the clock by the side of my bed.It’s Monday morning,five am?The time makes me worry.What’s happened?

I waste no time rushing to the door and opening it. “What’s up?” I can tell by the look on Dirt’s face that it’s not going to be anything I want to hear.

“A car’s pulled up outside. Two men look like they’re checking out the house. I need you to ring the police now, Beth.”

Call the police for help? After they questioned me?

“Now, Beth.”

If that’s what Dirt’s advising, it’s advice I should probably follow. Immediately I run back into the room, pick up my phone and dial 911.

“I think someone’s trying to break in,” I tell the dispatcher who answers my call fast. I give the address and hear the reassurance that the cops are on their way.

I hear noises from downstairs, and then, a crash. “What do I do?” I speak into the phone, while quietly opening my bedroom door.

“What’s going on?” Mom appears, wrapping her dressing gown around her.

“Shush,” I hiss loudly, then explain into the phone. “Sorry, I wasn’t speaking to you. But there are men here, coming into the house.”

“You’ve got visitors,” Dirt says fast and softly to my mom. I notice for the first time there’s a gun in his hand. “Beth’s on the phone to the cops—it was Demon’s suggestion—it’s just a matter of staying safe until they arrive.” He pauses, and his brow creases. “Normally you’d lock yourselves away until the cops get here. So, go into your room, or your bathroom if that’s got a bolt on it. I’ll stay hidden and won’t intervene unless things get nasty.”

The same advice comes down the line and straight into my ear. “Keep yourself and your mom out of the way. The squad car is almost with you now,” the calming voice says. Well, she’s trying to be calming, but it’s not working.

I’m vaguely aware of Dirt slipping back into the shadows as the hall light is switched on downstairs, illuminating both me and mom standing at the top. There’s a man with a gun, and he’s pointing it our way.

“Get down here.”

We’ve dallied too long. No chance to hide away now.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell the dispatcher fast. “There’s a man with a gun.”

“Stay on the line,” warns the voice on the phone.

But he’s seen me. “End that fucking call and get down here.”

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