Page 20 of Running on Empty

“OK, but at the time Stevie was the dumb kid next door whose mother couldn’t be bothered to look after her.” I stared at her, unable to work out how she wasn’t getting this. “If I was a burden to my bloody mother, what do you think…?”

I stopped talking, frowning as I shoved the muffin into my mouth, feeling like I was chewing something else as well as the cake. It turned to glue in my mouth so I swallowed it with effort, needing a few more sips of coffee to wash it down.

“Lois never made me feel like a burden.” My voice was small now, more a child’s than a woman’s. “Blue and the other dads were a bit wary with some stray kid being brought into the house, but when she made it clear I was welcome at any time, they got used to me, thought of me as one of their own. But…”

I could see the picture in my mind’s eye of the tension in my body as we all sat around the dinner table at the Kelly house. I knew I’d have to go home soon and that meant… I stared at Scarlett as she sat quietly, her gaze even, calm, just observing me, not prompting or pushing.

“But I never wanted to go home. I knew I had to. But my bedroom here wasn’t a safe space for me, not like I had at the boys’. I didn’t have a place in my own house. The Kellys let me come over way too much, fed me more often than anyone should have to for someone else’s kid, but I always had to go back.” I was saying things to her that I’d never said to anyone else. “I didn’t want to, ever, so when I revealed—”

I was cut off by the ringtone of my phone and when we both looked down. It was that unknown number again. She frowned and pulled out her own phone, bringing up an audio recording app and setting the phone down beside mine.

“Is it them again?” She didn’t bother to ask who. I just stared at my phone for a second, then shrugged. “Well, if it's someone trying to upgrade your phone plan, I can cut the recording. But what if it isn’t?”

I nodded slowly, tapping to answer the call, then redirecting the audio through the speakers.

“Trying to play hard to get, are you?” Jack’s voice was a low purr. Scarlett and I looked at each other, because there was something women understood.

Although a lot of women might like a bad boy, there was a point where a guy who was a little risky to date turned into a monster. When he wouldn’t listen when you said no. That same voice might have piqued my interest back when we first met; but now? It sent chills down my spine. Scarlett nodded to me in recognition. I heard his laugh down the line at my lack of response, but that didn’t matter to him. He had more to say.

“You were amazing the other night, little omega. I’ve done Rush with beta girls before but never a natural born omega. You must want more. And me and my brothers can give you that.”

It was then that I did the one thing that this sort of man seemed to hate. I laughed. I’d seen guys’ balls shrivel often enough when I laughed in their faces at the pub and I was willing to bet Jack’s were too. I laughed longer and harder than I had a natural inclination to, before replying.

“Is that what you think?” I injected every bit of scorn I could into my voice. “You stupid fuck. I’m using just about every tool I’ve got to suppress any memory of the other night. As soon as these bruises heal, I’ll never think of any of you again. Lose my number, dickhead.”

And with that, I ended the call, blocking that number too.

Adrenalin pumped through me, making me feel far more awake than the coffee had. But now, sadly, the sight of those muffins turned my stomach and I regretfully pushed all that sugary goodness towards Scarlett. She ended the voice recording and then faced me.

“I’m sending you a copy of that but, Stevie—”

“I need to file a restraining order.” I shook my head. “Yeah. I know.” I downed the rest of the coffee, relishing the burn as it went down, though my stomach wasn’t so pleased. It felt hollow and empty, just like me. “It’ll have to be tomorrow, though. I’ve got work now.”

“I’m not going to push you,” she said, but the deathly serious tone to her voice had me pausing. “This is your life. Those dickheads are messing with you, not me, but…” She looked around her, as if seeing my house for the first time, assessing it for risks. “From what I know of these guys? They don’t take no for an answer. I need to know you’ve got some kind of plan to deal with them.”

I did, but she wouldn’t like it. People who hadn’t lived through what I had often didn’t. Because we were a reminder that, despite our best efforts, some people had to deal with a shitty hand on a daily basis, with no hint of reprieve in sight. So I just shrugged in response.

“I’ve got it handled.”

Chapter13

Turns out I was wrong. I really, really didn’t.

Once upon a time, Sundays used to be a blessing for hospitality workers. People were too fucked up from the night before to want much, and they were much more sluggish and lethargic when they came in. Then the idea of a Sunday sesh became popular: a drinking session starting mid-afternoon or even earlier, with people pushing their livers right to the edge. They might pull up stumps and leave the pub earlier in the evening than on a Saturday, due to having to front up to work the next day, but they did as much damage as they could before they quit. And this Sunday looked to be no different. By the time I got to work, the place was packed.

“These came.”

That was the only greeting I got from Jonesy. Probably because the prick had to make himself useful on a Sunday and pour drinks beside us peons. But as I stood in front of the taps pouring beer after beer, I realised he was nodding towards a floral arrangement on the bar. I thought it was just something he’d bought for the hypothetical Mrs Jonesy, to apologise for his mere presence and for all the attempts he made to pinch barmaids’ bums. The woman was either a martyr, a saint or didn’t actually exist and I didn’t care either way. I glanced at the flowers. They were expensive, that was made clear by the way the blood red roses had been arranged with arty shit like black willow branches and lime green lotus pods. No carnations and baby’s breath here. I plonked the beers on the bar and took the patron’s money before taking a closer look.

If they were from the Kellys I’d bin them shortly, I swore to myself, reaching in and plucking out the card. But rather than a message pleading for forgiveness, a photo had been folded up and pushed inside the card.

As soon as I opened it, I dropped it like a stone.

It was a less X-rated one than could’ve been sent, even though Jonesy’s leer made me think otherwise. Just a tattooed hand wrapped around a pale throat.Mythroat. I kicked the photo over towards the bin, then picked it up like it was covered in shit and dropped it in, the flowers following quickly behind.

“Lover’s tiff?” Jonesy asked.

“Fuck off,” I snapped. His smirk faded and was replaced with something far darker as I turned to the next customer lined up at the bar.

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