Page 57 of Red Retaliation
My heart thumps harder, the now familiar spiral of panic within megaining traction.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep, calming breath, but it doesn’t work. The vicar’s voice continues to drone, and everyone still stares at me. Just when I’m convinced I’ve reached the point of no return and will run from this funeral to hide somewhere until it’s all over, a hand reaches for mine, fingers knitting with my own.
My eyes open, but I don’t look up. I don’t need to.
Instead, I stare at Red’s hand. It’s strong, with a smattering of dark hair on the back. The edge of yet another tattoo pokes from under the white cuff of his shirt. His hand is warm, surprisingly soft, yet powerful.
His thumb rhythmically strokes mine, giving me that electrical surge I get every time he touches me. It’s strangely reassuring and has the unusual effect of calming me. That’s until I remember how many people he’s probably murdered with those same hands?
But then, who am I to talk?
But what I did isn’tme. I’d never have done what I did to Roberto if...
I’m suddenly pulled to my feet. Bewildered, I look up as Red’s arm moves to rest around my waist, his free hand holding the order of service between us, open at the correct place. “Hymn Six. Sing.”
The words blur as the music starts up. Being able to lean against Red’s hard, unmoving frame for support is a godsend.
The hymn begins and Red’s deep and surprisingly pleasant singing voice rumbles through me, making goosebumps prickle my skin as I mime my way through the first verse.
His body presses close, and I want to touch his muscles through his tailored suit. Instead, I concentrate on pretending to sing.
He’s wearing that aftershave again too, and I worry how I’ll get it out of my clothes and hair. Even once he’s not with me, that scent will make it like he is. He’ll be everywhere around me, and there will be no escape from the heightening attraction I don’t want to feel.
CHAPTER
40
Red
SHAKING YET ANOTHER HAND, I offer more condolences. It’s all I’ve done since we arrived at the wake. Steve has a great turnout, which isn’t surprising. He was a loyal and efficient man - one who I will sorely miss - especially at times like this, when I could use some solidarity against the judgmental glares from half the people here.
They won’t dare say anything outright to me. Most of them work for me after all, but I’d be blind to miss the distinct hint of resentment behind their eyes and within the polite words they speak.
Steve wouldn’t judge me though. I can see him now - standing there with his huge breezeblock head and shovel hands. He’d shrug his massive shoulders and say,“Do whatever you think right, boss”.
He wouldn’t allow a single disappointed glance to be sent in my direction, let alone condone veiled comments or hushed gossip behind closed doors. He’d stamp it out before it started.
But Steve’s not here. He’s in the crematorium incinerator.
I glance at Steve’s wife, Izzy, who smiles weakly. What else can she do, the poor woman?
I ensured she received a hefty payout for Steve’s life. It won’t bring him back, but the least I can do is give her and their kids the means to function comfortably without his paycheck.
Keeping hold of Arianna’s elbow, I steer her away from the latest group I’ve offered sympathies to. She looks tired and on edge but still remarkably beautiful. That she hasn’t protested or pulled away from me is also something I’m grateful for. It’s strange, but having hold of her arm isoddly reassuring. Besides, the last thing I want in front of anyone is to look like there are problems in our “unexpected marriage”.
In all fairness, Arianna’s playing the part well, but I need to get back to the casino. There are things to deal with - the main one being setting a plan for dealing with Tom Slater’s dishonesty.
My eyes wander in the direction of where he stands. Yes, the thieving cunt is here, like half of the firm, paying respects to Steve. But Slater has no respect for anyone, otherwise he wouldn’t filch off the hand that feeds him. Setting up another man to take the flack if his treachery ever became exposed is a further black mark and shows the level the sly piece of shit will stoop to.
I wonder how Cal Bennett would react if he knew this slimy tosser placed him as the fall guy? That was something which very nearly worked too, which makes me even angrier. Cal has always proved faultless - another reason why I’m convinced he should get the chance to step up and take Steve’s place.
But as for Slater...
My free hand curls into a fist. How I’d love to smash the greasy fake fucker in his gravestone teeth and rip him to pieces, not giving a shit who witnesses it. But I know better than that. Plus, I have manners. The last thing I’ll do at a loyal man’s wake is kick off.
But I’ll plan, and that’s not something I can do here. After three hours of making small talk and offering solemn words for the death of a man where a large percentage of the mourners blame me, I’ve just about had enough.
Arianna looks up at me. “Where are we going?”
