Page 127 of Broken Rock

‘Sorry. I missed that.’

Tate licks his dry lips and smiles at him. ‘I’m flattered I occupy so much of your time. I feel kind of bad though. I can honestly say I don’t think about you from one painful family gathering to the next. Are you even listening to the crap you’re spouting? You’re whining on about favourites, about who was better at what. It’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t know how the fuck you go from jealous kid to psycho dick. You’ve got some serious fucking issues.’

‘I have issues? Wow. You’ve got some brass neck. You forget I know where you came from. I know you killed your mother.’

‘I didn’t kill her.’

‘Yes you did. I’m sure you read the report. You were found next to her body. She was dead and there was blood on your hands. She’s dead because of you.’

Tate closes his eyes again. ‘It was thirty fucking years ago. Who cares?’

‘You do or else you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when I gave you the photo. Only you know what really happened that night. I’d say given the way you’re dealing with everything since you got that touching photo you have a fair amount of guilt eating you up. That must be painful to live with.’ Dara takes a long breath and squeezes Tate’s arm. ‘Your father wasn’t a nice man, was he? What he did to you... I have to admit I got a little choked up when I read the doctor’s report.’

‘Fuck you, Dara.’

‘After reading that... I’m not surprised you needed to resort to drugs to deal with it.’

Dara pushes to his feet and stretches. ‘Well, I think it’s time to put more manners on you. I’ve got another fix in the kitchen with your name on it. Do you want it?’

He desperately wants it. ‘No.’

‘I don’t know why you’re fighting it, Tate. You’re an addict. Just accept what you are.’ He pats him on the shoulder and smiles down at him. ‘Hang tight. I’ll be back in a minute.’

As disgusted as he is with himself for admitting it, he desperately wants more of what Dara is offering. He throws his head back against the bed, hitting it off the headboard. The metal frame rattles under the abuse. Tate twists his head around and smiles to himself.

With the light off he had completely forgotten about the one flaw in the bed. The decorative metal rods in the bed-frame screw in and out. He continuously played with them when he stayed over. So much so, the threads had become worn over time. It was something he got in trouble about too many times to count when he was a kid.

Tate quickly unscrews one of the rods and slips the chain off the end before fixing it back onto the frame. He gets the other one done as he hears Dara outside the door. His ankles are still locked in place but it’s a start.

Tate keeps his eyes locked on Dara as he slowly wraps the lengths of chain around his hands. As Dara reaches over to give him another fix, Tate hits him.

After being chained up the blow doesn’t pack its usual punch but the addition of the chain around his hand does the trick. He connects with the side of Dara’s face, sending him spinning into the wall. Not waiting for him to recover, Tate grabs him by the neck and hauls him onto the bed, using his weight to keep him pinned to the mattress. Tate slams his fist into Dara’s jaw spraying blood across the wall. He hits him again breaking his nose.

Dara gropes blindly at Tate, trying to push him off but Tate isn’t budging. Dara’s fingers tear at Tate’s face and arms, but he really couldn’t give a fuck. Dara bucks under him and gets in a lucky jab to his ribs. He scrambles out from under Tate, but Tate pulls him back onto the bed and elbows him in the ribs. Dara curses and lashes out trying to make contact wherever he can.

Dara rams his elbow into Tate’s side. The blow hits soft tissue, sending the pain through his body. As he’s trying to clear his head, Dara punches him in the face and scrambles over to the syringe of heroin on the floor a few feet from them. Tate tries to stop him but the chains fixing his ankles to the bed keep him just out of reach.

Tate sprawls back in the bed and breaths heavily as he watches Dara pick up the syringe and collapse back against the far wall. Dara’s laugh is a little crazed as he gingerly touches his broken nose.

‘Valiant effort.’ He takes a few deep breaths then pushes his hair back from his face. ‘You broke my nose, Tate. That wasn’t a clever move.’

Tate laughs. ‘Felt pretty fucking good. You’re not exactly a worthy rival, Dara. Drugged and chained up and I still kicked your ass. You’re fucking pathetic. But you always have been. You’re a spoilt fucking brat, Dara. I detest people like you. Entitled pricks who have everything handed to them on a silver platter and still find something to bitch about. You’re not worth bothering with.’ Tate closes his eyes and turns his head from Dara. He needs the fucker to come closer and Dara may be many things but he’s not stupid. He won’t budge if he thinks Tate is still a threat.

‘Tate?’

He doesn’t get a response and after a few minutes, Tate feels him pull on the tube in his arm. Tate lunges and rams his fist into the side of Dara’s face, destroying any cartilage he hasn’t already smashed up. He drags himself on top of Dara and grabs the end of the chain attached to his wrist. He drapes it over Dara’s neck and leans on it. Dara’s hands scramble to push Tate off, but he’s too heavy to push away.

‘Get the fuck off me!’

Tate pushes down harder. ‘I told you I’d fucking kill you.’ At this stage he really couldn’t care if he kills Dara. His cousin’s face turns a strange colour and Dara’s protests die away as he loses consciousness. Common sense breaks through and he eases up on the pressure.

Tate roughly turns Dara over and searches his pockets. Keys to the padlocks would be perfect but he’d settle for a phone.

No keys. He must have left them in the kitchen. ‘C’mon fucker. Where’s your phone?’ He shoves Dara against the wall and tries the other pocket. ‘Bingo.’ As well as Dara’s phone he also finds his. He powers up his phone, silently praying there’s some battery left. The screen lights up and he’s in luck. Fifty-percent charge left.

His first instinct is to call Chloe but he talks himself out of it. The least she knows about any of this the better, so he calls Gregg.

‘Tate! What the fuck? You’ve got an hour before you’re due in court. What the fuck are you playing at?’

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