Against the Tide (13 page)

He shakes his head from side to side frantically. “No, p-p-please no,” he whimpers pitifully.

“Then get the fuck up.” I drop my grip on his hair and stand up behind him, letting him struggle to get to his feet. Blood still pours from his nose and into his mouth, coating his teeth. It takes a minute for him to stand, and when he does, he walks unsteadily to his office. He stands just inside the doorway and I enter behind him. He shuffles nervously from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with himself or what I’m going to do to him as I walk past him and take a look around the room. His desk is large, an ugly wooden monstrosity that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the modern room. I walk around it and sit in his big, self-important desk chair, swinging from side to side. “Nice place,” I muse. He frowns at me then looks at the floor. “Oh, sorry, I’m being terribly rude,” I say getting up and holding out my arm to indicate for him to take a seat. “Come. Sit.”

He looks at me nervously, unsure as to my intentions. I sigh impatiently and he quickly makes his way around the desk and perches nervously on the edge of the seat.

I stand behind him. “How many men do you employ on the door here?”

“Uh, six,” he mutters quietly.

“And you know them all personally?”

“What’s your point?” he asks with impatience. The guy is either stupid or he’s got balls of steel. I pull him back by slapping my palm across his forehead and yanking hard so he’s pinned to the back of the chair, before I press my knife to the soft, freshly shaven skin of his throat. “I thought you were smart. Don’t make me hurt you, man. I just want information is all.” His breathing speeds up as the panic rises inside him and I decide to make him sweat further. “I don’t
want
to hurt you, but I will. I don’t
want
to have to kill you, but …”

“I’ll talk. I’m sorry. What do you want to know?” he stutters desperately, spitting blood over the white papers on his desk.

“Your doormen are paid to turn a blind eye to some of the drugs that pass through here,” I state. “Yes or no?”

He closes his eyes. “Yes,” he whispers.

“They’re paid by you?”

Another nod.

“I can’t hear you,” I say, raising my voice up a notch and pulling him harder against the back of the chair.

He panics, nodding. “YES. Yes.”

“Who pays you? And how much?”

He draws in a ragged breath, hesitating to tell me the truth and I dig the knife in his neck, just enough to make it sting as it pierces the top layer of his skin as he swallows. “Damien Brooks. I−”

“How much?” I ask impatiently, raising my voice.

“A thousand,” he screeches in a panic. “A thousand a month.”

“He’s here every week?”

“Mostly, although he hasn’t been here for three or four weekends now.”

“Your CCTV.” I nod toward the two screens set up in the corner and tilt his head in the same direction. “You keep the recordings?”

“Yes, for three months.”

“You’re going to give me the recording for the fourteenth of July.”

“Okay.”

“And you’ll need to wipe today’s recording too, okay?” He nods frantically. “Where’s your safe?”

“It’s in the cabinet behind you.”

I release him from my hold and spin the chair so he’s facing in my direction. Should he try to run, he won’t get any further than me. I open the cabinet door while keeping an eye on him too and find the digital safe. “Combination?”

“Four five seven two, hash, seven seven one four,” he answers without hesitating, and I’m glad he’s finally realised that I’m not messing around.

I punch in the code and the green light flashes with a beep to indicate it’s open. I pull the door open and take out a yellow cash bag. “How much is in here?” I ask, taking out some of the notes. 

“I’m not sure. About eight K, I think.”

“Drug money?” I ask and he shrugs but doesn’t answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I toss the whole bundle in the metal waste paper bin and place it on the desk top right in front of him, before grabbing a bottle of whiskey that’s resting on the side and pouring some of it over the notes. I pull a lighter out of my pocket and spark it up, getting close enough to set the lot ablaze. It lights with a whoosh and Julian pushes back with his feet, trying to get away from it.

“If I ever find out you’re allowing drugs in your club again, it won’t just be a few thousand quid going up in flames, do you follow me?” His eyes widen with fear and he nods desperately.

“Stand up,” I order. I turn him around and slice through the lanyard with my knife so his hands are free. “Don’t try anything fucking stupid, okay? You already know I’m faster, stronger and more fucking ruthless than you are, and I would hate to have to put a dent in you. Would mess up all my life plans.” I laugh to myself as he looks at me like a frightened child. I would take him out in a split second with no regrets, and the speed at which he complies, tells me he knows that too. “Now I want you to get the CCTV files and download July fourteenth for me. Do it. Now.”

I don’t know what to do. I don’t want a baby. I don’t have a place of my own, and I don’t even have a husband or partner to be a father to it.

I wander through the lanes of Brighton looking for answers but not finding anything other than a whole bunch of families out for the afternoon. Couples are everywhere I look, laughing and joking with each other. Smiling lovingly at their little mutual creations and enjoying every second of it. Not once did I see a single mum struggling on her own. Not once did I see a solitary person coping with what I might have to should I go through with this.

A short walk out of the town centre and I find myself standing outside the front of Damien’s townhouse. I glance up to each window, looking for a sign of life but nothing looks any different from when I left it.

I walk slowly up the front steps and slip my key in the lock, letting myself in quietly. It feels weird coming here after a month, it’s like I’ve been away for years. Jamie has been collecting the post every now and then but hasn’t been here for a week, so I expect to find a huge pile on the mat, but there’s nothing.

“Hello?” I call out, my heart now beating a little faster than it was before. I move slowly through to the kitchen, leaving the front door ajar in case someone has broken in and I’m faced with squatters or someone unpleasant. A small pile of letters is neatly placed on the worktop and a used coffee mug sits on the side. Shit.

There’s no sign of anyone downstairs so I creep up the first floor stairs slowly, being careful to walk on the edges and not tread on the middle of the steps where I know they will creak.

I listen carefully and follow the sound of running water. The shower, in my bathroom. I push the bedroom door open and see a suitcase open on the floor, and clothes pulled out and strewn around everywhere.

Damien.

Fear turns to anger and I storm in to the bathroom, pushing the door open with a bang before I shut off the hot water to the shower.

“Arghhhhh, fuck, what the hell!” Damien shouts, pushing open the glass shower door.

I bring back my hand fast and slap him hard across the cheek. It stings like a bastard, but I don’t let him see that.

“One month,” I yell. “One fucking whole month you’ve been away with not even a phone call, no postcard, nothing.”

“Megan, I−”

“Don’t,” I screech, pointing my index finger at him. “Don’t you even think about uttering that little word that means nothing. Sorry and your puppy dog eyes won’t cut it this time. You did a runner, you left me here not knowing if the police would be looking for you, not knowing if they were going to raid the house, or even if they would arrest me. Me! I never fucking did anything, Damien,” I rant at full volume and it’s nothing less than he deserves. “Look at you. You have tan lines, Damien.” He tries to cover himself with his hands and looks around the room for a towel within reach. “Nice holiday? Sea, sand and sex? Where were you anyway? Mauritius? Marbella?” I start to lose any composure I thought I had, and step towards him as I shout so loudly, I’m sure the whole street can hear. “You left me, Damien.” I push hard at his chest with both hands and he tries to grab my shoulders.

“Calm down, Megan. I can explain. I can explain it all.”

“You left me, without even a second thought, you fucking arsehole. I hate you,” I scream in to his face, all the while I have tears coursing down mine. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I feel betrayed and above anything else I feel scared. Scared for how easily he left me behind, scared for what I have to face in my future. He grabs at my hands to stop me from clawing at his chest and talks softly.

“It’s okay, Meg. I’m here now. I’m here.” He pulls me tight in to him. We fit like we always did, and as I let myself sob into his skin. The feeling of comfort is something I’ve craved, something I’ve longed for, but not necessarily from him. I loved him once. But I don’t actually think I’ve loved him for a long time. That doesn’t stop me from letting myself fall in to him. He strokes my hair and whispers gentle words in my ear. This is the Damien I fell in love with. This is the Damien I still want to love, not the person he’s become.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over. “It’s going to be different now. I’m home. I love you.”

I pull back from the warmth of his chest and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“It’s not okay, Damien,” I say quietly, backing away from him. “It’s not okay.”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s okay. I’m back now.”

“I know, but you left me.”

“Meg,” he sighs, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “I had to go, you understand why, don’t you?”

“No, Damien. I don’t.” I turn and walk out of the bathroom and stand by the bedroom window, looking out at the sea birds that dance around in the sky so freely. “You thought you were in trouble and you did a runner, even knowing I could have suffered the backlash.”

“It wasn’t like that, Meg.” He walks towards me holding out a hand. I purposely stand with my arms folded and turn my head to look back out of the window. I feel so conflicted.

“It looked that way to me.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know how it must have looked, but the only way to protect you was to leave and let the dust settle. Did you … did you know that girl died?” he says quietly, barely able to say the words aloud.

“Her blood is on your hands, Damien.”

“And don’t you think that’s punishment enough?” He stands in front of me and runs his thumb along my cheekbone. “If I could change it, I would. But I can’t. It’s done. I had to go without you. If I had taken you with me, and they came looking, you would have been an accessory.”

“What made you so sure they were going to come after you?” I push his hand away. “You’ve been gone four whole weeks and no one has come knocking. No one has even whispered your name in association with that night. You panicked and you left me on what you thought was a sinking ship. How long have you been back?”

“I landed early this morning.”

“And where exactly were you?”

“That doesn’t matter anymore, Meg. What matters is that I’m here. I’m home.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Look around you, Damien. Do you see anything of mine?” I feel my anger surfacing again at his lack of understanding. How can he be so blasé about this? “I moved out the day you left me. You think I wanted to sleep in this big house? You think I wanted to live here, rattling around on my own like a good little housewife waiting for you to come back?”

“Where did you stay, Meg? Hang on, let me guess … your witch of a best friend?” he sneers, grabbing a cigarette packet from his jeans pocket.

“She’s a better friend than you are a boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah?” He takes out a cigarette and places it to his lips, narrowing his eyes when he flicks the spark on his zippo before taking a long draw. “She wasn’t such a great friend when she was begging me to suck her tongue and trying to unbuckle my belt to wrap her hands around my dick, was she?” He lets that little revelation hang there for a minute before an evil smirk curls up his lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know, my little darling.”