Page 48 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Fuck you, Clayton. Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I fire at him, pointing a finger in his direction and trying to get close enough to hit the cunt again.
“It’s not your apartment anymore and Veronica isn’t yours either. She belongs to me. I’m just letting you screw her temporarily. I always thought your standards were a little higher than some rich whore who will spread those gorgeous fucking legs for anyone. But don’t worry, Rawlins, we’ve all been desperate at one time or another.”
I dive for him, but between Roni and him backtracking toward the door, I don’t have a hope in hell.
“I’m going to fucking kill you. One of these days, mark my words, I’ll end you.”
He opens the door and pauses to blow Roni a kiss. “See you soon, fiancée.”
The door slams closed, and I spin away from Roni. My blood boils beneath my skin and adrenalin pounds around my body like a sentry guard looking for someone to hurt.
“What were you thinking? Are you out of your damn mind?” Roni demands, and I turn, furious that she’s even asking that, to find her pacing up and down, biting her thumb nail.
“You’re seriously pissed at me?” I baulk, certain that can’t be true.
“Yeah, I’m pissed at you. Do you have any…fucking…idea what you’ve done?” She draws out her words just to ensure I truly understand her level of pissed-off-ness.
Throwing my hands in the air, I say, “Well, hell, I thought I was doing you a fucking favour, doing you a solid and preventing that slimy cunt from raping you. But my apologies. If I’d known you were into that kind of thing?—”
Crack!
The rest of my words are lost when Roni’s hand meets my face.
“Don’t you fucking dare! I know what you were doing, Mickey. I just don’t think you thought the whole thing through before barging in here like some fucking god damned superhero.” She turns away from me, walking to the living room and dropping down on to the sofa, then holding her head in her hands.
Following her, I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. So, I drop to my knees in front of her and tug on her hands, pulling them down and holding them in mine. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay. I couldn’t just stand there and watch that fucker putting his hands all over you, hurting you.”
“You should have walked away, Mickey. Gone back to your apartment and your life.” I watch her, attempting to read if she truly believes that. “I don’t need saving, okay?” She sighs, dropping her forehead to mine.
I breath her in, releasing her hands so I can cradle her face, noticing the red mark on the side of her face. Tilting her head a fraction to look in her eyes, I say, “You can’t marry him, Roni. He will destroy you.”
“I know, but I don’t have a choice.” She raises her head and shakes the heaviness of the last few minutes away. “I think you should go. I need to get some sleep.”
“No,” I state before she’s even finished talking.
“You can’t be here if he comes back, Mickey.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m not fucking going anywhere.” She frowns. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” At her look, I add, “To sleep, Roni. That’s all.”
I pull her to her feet, and still holding her hands, we head upstairs without another word.
In the bedroom, I strip to my boxers while she stands there watching me but not really seeing me. I lead her to the bed, pulling back to the covers, and urge her to get in. I climb in the other side, sliding up behind her, tucking her safely against my body.
I hold her until her breathing evens out, then I slip from the bed to make a call. When I return to the bedroom twenty minutes later, I have every intention of leaving, but when I see Roni frowning in her sleep, then start thrashing, I climb back in beside her, wrapping her in my arms.
“It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you,” I whisper, burying my face in the hair at the back of her neck. She settles almost instantly. The relief is shadowed by a sense of betrayal of my father, my family, and that my life has suddenly and uncontrollably morphed into a Shakespearean tragedy. The ending is as clear as the sun on a cloudless sky.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Roni
The side of my face smarts as I roll over, squashing it against the empty pillow beside me. Mickey’s scent permeates my nostrils, waking me fully. I groan as the events of last night come back to me.
Pushing myself into a sitting position, a light flashes in the corner of my eye, and I look over to find Mickey’s phone on the bedside table alongside mine.
I pause, listening for movement in the ensuite. When I don’t hear anything, I strain my hearing, expanding it to the rest of the apartment. After a few seconds, the soft hum of a fan filters back to me from the kitchen.
I lean across, grabbing the phone, but once I have it in my hands, the screen lights up at my touch, and I hesitate. Staring back at me is the reason the phone lit in the first place. A message.
