Page 37 of Insatiable

It shouldn’t annoy me this much.

As I drive out of her estate, I turn up the music. But when I go to press the accelerator, I chance a look at her as if I’m looking for traffic, and my eyes drop to her neck.

My brows furrow, and I almost stop the car to inspect the bruises she’s tried to hide with make-up.

My first instinct is to hunt down whoever hurt her and kill them, but then I remember the way I grabbed her at the studio, and I grip the steering wheel tighter.

Surely I didn’t cause those bruises? I didn’t… Fuck. No, I wouldn’t hurt her. She wanted me to hold her firmly.

I should pull over and apologise right now. I should tell her that I never meant to mark her. I’m not a psychopath that hurts the people I care about. Yeah, I’ve shot people in the head or disfigured them, and I’ve tortured people for information to help Bernadette, but never have I lifted a hand to Stacey.

Fuck. Maybe I did do that. Maybe the hold I had on her throat last night was tighter than I thought. Maybe everyone’s right, and I am like my dad and out of touch with reality.

A lump sticks in my throat, and I run through every possible way to say sorry.

But then my sister calls her, and she turns off my music to speak. She tells her we’re on our way, groans and asks her to stop shouting, then huffs and hangs up.

“They’re leaving now. They don’t want to be late. They’ll get us at the airport.”

She trains her gaze on the scratch on my cheek; the obvious bite marks on the side of my neck. I probably smell like sex too. If any of it bothers her, she doesn’t show it as she goes back to typing on her phone.

Why would she care? She’s heartless.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear then leans down to grab something from her handbag at her feet. My eyes fall on our initials woven together on the exposed part of her back. I shake my head and look away.

I light another cigarette and turn up the rock music.

When we get to the manor, she walks my dogs while I shower and dress. She chats with the staff; I glare at them. We don’t talk on the way to the airport, or while we’re stuck in a traffic jam that doesn’t seem to be moving.

I keep looking at her throat, noticing that she’s touched up her make-up and the bruises are barely visible now. Maybe it wasn’t from the studio, and like me, she was fucking someone else last night.

The thought irks me enough to clench my jaw. I’m a walking, talking contradiction.

You don’t hate her, son. You’re just mad at her,my dad had said when I last visited.

But he’s a liar. I do hate her. I’m not trembling with anxiety because I’m mad at her – I’m fucking losing it because all I can think about is her withhim.

“Shit,” she blurts out. “The motorway got closed off from a bad crash. That’s why we’re stuck here.”

I frown. “Does it say how long until it’s cleared?”

“Could be hours,” she replies, slouching. “We’ll definitely miss our flight. I’ll tell Lu.”

And to make things even better, we do miss our flight, and the next one from Glasgow isn’t for two days. Instead, we have to drive to Edinburgh, book the only hotel near the airport with any availability and wait until tomorrow to fly out.

Base wishes me good luck, and I swipe away from Bernadette’s message regarding a contract. She tracks my every move – the ones I allow her to track anyway – so she knows where I’m heading.

I spy one of my cars nearby – Barry is sitting in the passenger seat with a laptop. I nod at him on the way in, and four guards dressed casually walk behind us, staying far enough back that Stacey doesn’t catch on.

When we reach the hotel reception, I’m certain someone is playing a joke on me. I’m fully expecting someone to jump out of a plant pot with a camera.

Stacey turning a shade of white just adds to my annoyance.

There’s only one fucking room available.

10

STACEY

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