Page 50 of Penance

Someone’s afterme, not my businesses.

Frank driving at speed through the typical English weather. The downpour of rain started just as we all climbed into our designated vehicles. London whips by in a blur, the sky, the roads, every single building, all fly by in varying miserable shades of dreary grey. The sporadic flash of colour thrown in, a post-box or telephone box jumping out with its proud red paint. Bridges and shop shutters coated in tags of brightly coloured graffiti. I sigh as quietly as I can. My warm breath misting the window as raindrops continue to spatter the outside of it.

Never missing a trick, Huxley’s fingers find my hand. His long digits winding through mine, resting them on the centre seat between us. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to, but I feel myself breathe a little easier at his warm touch. My soul sighing with his comfort.

Knowing someone coulda been in the house makes me feel all kinds of dirty. I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. Gremlin says there’s no way, absolutely no fucking way, someone could have got inside there. It’s more guarded than Fort Knox. My head pounds, my pulse thumping angrily in my temples. My hand pulsating with pain, Jacob shoved a handful of pills at me again this morning which I didn’t take, again. I don’t trust his back-alley prescriptions not to knock me on my arse. I’ll take the pain over pills thanks, makes me feel a little more alive anyway so I won’t complain. He’d love me out of it, shoved into an institution. He tried to sell it to me a couple years ago, ‘rehab for the mind’ he called it. I snort at the memory, thinks ‘cause he’s a surgeon he knows fucking everything. I love him, but fuck, sometimes it’s too fucking much.

I just need to get Christmas and my impending possible surgery outta the way, then I can start my life back up. Hunt my weird arse stalker and gut him like the spineless snake he is. Orher, I ‘spose. Although, I’ve never pissed off a woman other than my mother. So unless her rotting corpse has come back from the grave to haunt me, it’s likely to be the other member of our species. The one with the meat swinging between their thighs.

Bloody Nora.

Why is that even a phrase? Like, what did Nora ever do to anyone, who the fuck evenisNora? All these stupid phrases are always named after women too, Jeez Louise, Debbie Downer. A man likely came up with them all.

I groan, my mind suddenly pulling me in a different direction. Thinking of all the shit I’ve missed out on over the last two weeks. All the shipments I wanted to monitor, the street deals and collections I enjoy keeping an eye on. All swept out from beneath me, like the rug’s been permanently pulled out from under my feet. I’ve got my fingers in so many pies it’ll be impossible to rein it all back in. I’ll have a permanent headache until at least late March at this rate.

My mind whirls until the car eventually comes to a stop.

“We’re ‘ere, Darlin’, open your eyes,” Huxley murmurs.

Leaning across the seat, his voice rasping in my ear, teeth nipping at my lobe, he unclips my seatbelt.

I sit myself up, strapping knives to my thigh. Shoving a gun, all removed from the seat pocket, down the back of my leather trousers. My too-big t-shirt tail untucked, hiding it from view. Frank comes around to open my door. Swinging my legs over the side of the seat. Huxley drapes my red leather jacket back over my shoulders from behind as I slip from the car. My hand in Franks, I drop my booted feet down into a murky puddle. Three cars filled with our men pull up behind Frank down the narrow side road. Tall, yellow brick buildings on either side of us, a line of cars on the left and two large shutters covered in bright graffiti on the right.

A few feet past those shutters awaits our destination. From the outside The Black Heart pub looks like any other simplistic building. Sitting in the heart of Camden, it could pass as a shop, a private gallery or even a fancy-pants estate agents. Dark grey painted panels, with dark tints on the doors and windows, no signage to mark it. You can’t hear the music booming from inside, but you can feel it. The heavy vibrations pounding their way through the crumbling tarmac, shooting right through the soles of your feet. Plucking at your heart strings like a heavy metal rocker with an electric guitar. I take the lead, Frank staying with the car and the rest of the men as Max and Huxley flank me. I push the door open, heavy bass hitting me in the face like a slap to the cheek.

My boots thump in time with the music as I weave my way through the eight o’clock crowd. The walls painted matte black, smothered floor to ceiling in framed band posters and memorabilia. Lots of it from local metal bands and artists that have played here. Custom neon lights are placed haphazardly in between, a blood red inverted cross, the word ‘Hell’ in electric purple. Then there’s the little alcoves slotted in the walls, like little church niches filled to the brim with skulls, candles and anti-Christ nick-nacks. A statue of Mother Mary in another, draped with rosary beads, splattered with what appears to be blood. A pig at her feet, a green mohawk stuck to his little piggy head, painted black combat boots on his trotters. The thick beams across the ceiling are coated with stickers, beer mats and signage. The large dark wood bar sits to one side, illuminated by the liquor shelf lighting and not much else. As is expected for Christmas Eve, the place is packed.

Squeezing myself between bodies to get to the bar. I huff in frustration as a huge guy blocks my path. I think about stabbing him in the back of the thigh just to get him out my way. It’s a fleeting thought as an arm forces its way through the bodies before me. A large hand fisting my too large t-shirt in his hand and savagely pulling me through, his thick fingers grazing my tits.That’sthe motherfucker I’m gunna stab. As I’m practically suctioned through the tight gap, hissing as my wounded hand gets whacked with an elbow. I grip the knife at my thigh, drawing it the second I’m at the bar. My blade sweeping through the air, pressing against his thick, scarred, tattooed throat.

“I love it when you make me bleed, Sweetheart,” Kacey booms a laugh as I narrow my eyes on him, my body sagging slightly in relief.

“The fuck?”

“Thought you were gunna sneak in here early without me, baby girl?” he chuckles.

He was supposed to meet us here after the late shift at the garage, it appears he got off early.

His thick fingers still fisting my -his- shirt, he drags me into his chest. My body sliding perfectly between his parted thighs, like two connecting puzzle pieces, where he perches on an old bar stool.

“Would I ever sneak away from you, Big Man?” I smirk against his lips.

My eyes flicking between his as he fists a hand in my hair, massaging the back of my skull with thick fingers. The pressure has my eyes closing, a soft moan slipping between my lips. His other hand at the small of my back, clutching me closer. His already hard cock pressing painfully into my lower belly. I flick my blade closed, slipping it back into the strap at my thigh, so I can dig my nails into his. His big hand runs down my back, over the hump of my arse. He groans at the feel of supple leather beneath his calloused palm. His fingers grabbing a handful of my arse. His hips thrusting forward on the bar stool as he draws my body closer, giving himself a teasing friction. I let him manipulate my body, using me how he wishes, it’s good not to have to think sometimes. And I trust Kacey wholeheartedly. Dragging sloppy kisses across my jaw, I suck in a deep lungful of him, letting everything about him overwhelm and excite me, raw earth, bergamot and mint.

I groan, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, nibbling and sucking it into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. He kisses me, his lips melding and working with mine, kissing me like I’m the only thing in this world that can keep him alive. I slide my tongue into his mouth, wrestling for control, we attack each other. My body humming with satisfaction as he grips me so hard I stop breathing. My hand sliding up to the hollow of his throat. My thumb caressing the ragged scar there, he growls into my mouth. Taking control and claiming me right here in the middle of The Black fucking Heart.

Blood roars in my ears as a familiar body closes in behind me. Oranges and sandalwood mingle with raw earth and mint. It’s like my body knows its favourite cocktail and she’s averythirsty bitch. Every nerve ending in me comes alive, my blood screaming as it bolts through my veins, my core clenching as wet heat floods down my thighs.

Huxley’s hand curls around my right hip, his fingers digging into me, his hot skin searing me through the thin cotton t-shirt. He brings his head to the other side of me, whispering loud enough for Kacey and I to both hear.

“Could you maybe not try to mount our girl like a wild beast in heat in the middle of a fucking pub?” he growls, a shiver shooting up my spine at the dominance in his voice.

Kacey breaks our kiss with a chuckle.

“Let ‘em look, man, they could learn summink,” he laughs.

Dropping his gaze down to my face, his eyes flicking between my own.

“You okay, Sweetheart?”

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