Pistol (13 page)

Her brother closed the door on his Holden
Ute, and beamed back. “Hey sis. Had to come check out your new pad considering you’ve decided to move to the dark side.”

“Shut up,” she
scolded, and drew him into a hug. He’d teased her relentlessly about how she’d never lived in the same area as him since they both left home. “You look swish.” She stepped back to look him over. “Off somewhere?”

“Date.”
The boy actually blushed.

“Co
me in and tell me all about her.” Steph urged him ahead of her, and followed to the door. She smiled at the warm welcomes that chorused when Ben stepped inside. These were the moments she should live for—not some sordid sexual encounter with an arrogant ass. Yet, her heart still ached at the thought their brief tryst may be all she ever shared with Pete.
You need a distraction.

“Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?” He placed his sunglasses on the counter, and turned to address her.

“You got Brodie’s number?”

“What are you up to, Steph?”

She
shrugged, aware Cass also eyed her with equal interest. “Thought I owed him an apology from last time we went out.” Ben had let his friend Brodie take her out as his ‘plus one’ to a mutual friends wedding. Steph had spent most of the night drunk, crying into her wine after she received a text from Dave which accused her of an affair with Brodie.

Ben
cocked his eyebrow at her sudden turn of conscience. “Really?” He drew out each syllable, and leant his broad frame into the end of the counter.

“What? I was a bit rude don’t you think?”

“And you’re only deciding this now, because?”

She shrugged again. “Only just thought of it?”

Ben glared at her, and she did her best to blend into the wall. Cass’s curt tone set her heart into a gallop. “Steph, can I talk with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” She followed her bestie from the room, like a prisoner off to the firing line.

Cass shut the spare room door behind them. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to distract myself, Cass.”

“From what? What about Pete?”

“What about him?”

Cass sighed heavily as she placed a hand to her forehead. “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but you two seemed to have something going on. I take it this ‘distraction’ is to do with him, though.”

“We did
have something going on, yes.”

“And?”

“Past tense, Cass.”

Her friend openly stared at her, confusion knitted in her brow. “What?”

“He came over last night and said we’d been ‘
fun’
.”

“Asshole!
I’ll bloody hunt him down for stuffing you around like that.”

“No, Cass. No.
Leave it. Please.”

“Steph.”
Cass frowned. “He’s been taking advantage of you, and you want to let him get away with it? What if he does the same to another girl?”

“He won’t.” Steph couldn’t pin-point why, but she knew that his reaction was a specialty
reserved for her. For all she knew, he was onto his next conquest already. Who’s to say he was affected by the loss of their ...
thing?

The disappointment in Cass’s
eyes shook Steph to the core. She flinched as Cass stormed past her, and out of the room. What if she’d broken the trust they had for one another? That kind of thing was near on impossible to recover. Technically, despite the fact Pete had clearly fucked her over, Steph had still chosen to defend him over agreeing with her best friend. She had betrayed Cass, and disrespected her by the choice to ignore the value of her opinion.

Steph drew
a deep breath, plastered her happy face on, and walked out into the lion’s den. Whatever her friends, and family had to say to her, she deserved it. Yet she knew that nothing they said would change her stance on Pete; he was still an experience—no matter how confused and broken he’d left her—she didn’t regret.

Take it o
ne day at a time, Steph. One day at a time.

The patrons
pissed him off no end tonight. Try as he might, Pete couldn’t suppress the urge to hit something—or someone.

As soon as he arrived home from Steph’s last night, he had pulled the letter Derek gave him out,
purely to remind himself why it was he couldn’t entertain the idea of keeping her around. The letterhead seemed to leer at him as he unfolded the page.

Irish Prison Service – Limerick Prison

He read the contents again, still maddened by what it meant for him. She shouldn’t assume she had the right to interfere with his life now. The fact she was his mother meant nothing. His mother died the moment she committed the crime that put her in that prison.

The thing which turned his insides to a cesspit of
lava, was that she fucking knew where he lived.

She had known how to contact him.

How?

His only connection to her was Derek, and he’d been more than clear with the old git that he didn’t want the woman
to know of his new home. So then, had the guy betrayed him? And did he honestly want to know? Because what difference would it make, that a week from now, his fuckin’ mother would set foot on Australian turf to look for him.

Pete realised the
tumbler he screwed around a dishcloth had begun to warm in his hand. How long had he stood there, in a daze as he dried the now super-heated vessel? He placed it down on the counter, and ran his eye over the dozen or so people who waited for service. Janie did her best to keep up, but hell, the woman had only been on staff for a month. He better get back into it, no matter how much he wanted to deck the next plonker who spilt a drink on him.

Pete worked his way through four bourbons, a teapot, two vodkas, and
a swag of OJ’s before he took a step back to catch his breath. He leant against the low fridges; his hands braced the top of the cool doors either side of him. A bubbly laugh drew his eyes right, and he spotted a familiar wave of blonde hair. Steph’s friend edged into the bar, and beckoned Janie.

He swept past the
barmaid, and took the spot before the blonde. “What ya after?”

Her eyes drew wide as she looked at him, and she turned her body like she wanted to block whatever was behind her. 
“Two vodka martinis, thanks.”

He nodded tightly,
and then swung himself over the bar to look around her. She side-stepped, but not far enough. His eyes landed on the prize, yet he felt like he’d lucked out at the derby.

What the fuck has she done?

Pete tapped Janie on her shoulder, and pointed to Steph’s friend. He then proceeded to march to the end of the bar, and out through the divider into the floor area. People moved aside wide-eyed, and cautious as he approached her.

“Can I help you?”

He scowled at her cheek. “What have ya gone and done to yerself?”

Steph looked down at her ensemble. “Got dressed?” She shrugged.

His blood pumped a bass-beat in his ears. “Yeah, but what in? And what have ya done to yer hair?”

She narrowed her gaze. “
I dressed in clothes, Pete. And I believe people refer to what I’ve done to my hair as a dye job.”

He matched the intensity
of her ire. “Ya fuckin’ well know what I’m on about. Now stop playin’ at bein’ a pretty, dumb tart.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?
Maybe I am just a dumb tart? Wouldn’t that be suitable for what we—” she gestured between them “—had?”

His heart pushed blood through his body like a dam
had let go of the overflow. Heat engulfed his fists as he clenched them at his sides. He once would have said he admired her cheek, but when it was directed at him ... an entirely different kettle of fish.

Her
blonde friend pushed between the two of them, and offered Steph her drink. “I think this conversation is over, don’t you?”

He growled at the
woman, and shoved her aside. “Hardly.”

“Cut it out,” Steph snapped. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t push my friends around like that.”

Pete shook his head to dismiss her, and nailed the blonde with a glare. “What do ya think of her ... her ‘new’ look?”

“I think she has a right to do whatever she wants.” Steph’s friend stepped into his space.

He lost it.

“It’s fuckin’
bollocks, is what it is. This isn’t her. She doesn’t dress like all the other trashy girls in ‘ere. She’s fuckin’ beautiful, because she’s different. What you lot ‘ave done is make her feel so fuckin’ inadequate as ‘erself, that she’s become another clone of you lot—another merchandiser’s dream.”

“Stop it!” Steph cried out. “Stop talking about me like I’m not
in the same room.”

“Boss,” Gary stepped in. “Perhaps you should
take some time out.”

“Zip it, Gary.” Pete held a stiff finger up to the man’s face. “Don’t push it.”

Gary took a step back, hands up. His expression said it all. Pete crossed the line to the point of no return. He couldn’t stop the runaway train. His anger fuelled the fire inside, and the raw energy that combusted from him simply grew when he thought about the fact he couldn’t control himself.
You’re yer goddam father.
He growled and beat his fists to his head. “You lot are fuckin’ morons!” Pete spun on his heel, and marched from the bar. People muttered as he passed them by. Speculation was rife, and the gossip factory would pump out the goods, but he had to go. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t look back, and he couldn’t risk caring. If he cared, it would only lead to pain.

Nothing explained why the way Steph chose to dress sent him over the edge. Yet it had. She wasn’t
her
. The woman had caved to the expectations of a judgemental society, and in turn denied herself her freedom of expression. Why did that hurt him though? The problem wasn’t any of his business.

He slumped onto an upturned
crate in the narrow back alley; the noise from the DJ dulled by the thick external wall of the club. He fisted his hands at his temples, and groaned. He knew what the issue was—if he dared to look hard enough inside his messed-up head—he wanted a dark, fairy-tale end to his fucked up story. He wanted Steph to be his twisted princess in a macabre version of
Sleeping Beauty
. How could she be, though? The woman was pure innocence compared to his twisted tastes. She was a sweet vanilla flower in a field of dead roses. And he was the disease that wanted to cripple the flower until its petals wilted. How fucking selfish was that? He sure as fuck was no goddamn prince.

He told her that he wanted a woman to square him up, to level him, and balance his anger. What a liar. He wanted something beautiful to crush, to tear apart, and break down to the core. He wanted to destroy her
, the same as he’d been ruined by the ones who were supposed to love him. To end the hate, and the waste, he had to break the chain. Yet at time like these, he felt like the strongest link.

So
, if he was doomed to carry on the sick behaviour of his lack-lustre parents, why was he so moved by her? Surely if all he meant to do was cause damage, then the feelings and emotions of the subject—Steph—didn’t matter? They did, though. Every time the two of them had connected—no matter how few and brief those times had been—a hell-fire raged between them. He wanted to ruin her, and she
wanted
to be ruined by him.

The dark tones of Marilyn Manson’s cover
of the Eurhythmics classic,
Sweet Dreams,
played in his head.
Steph
. She was his sweet dream. He knew that much. But did she want to be abused by him, or was the raw truth of the matter that he craved the same dire treatment? He couldn’t leave what they’d had like this. He needed her—and whether she admitted it or not, she needed him.

****

Air surged into Steph’s cramped lungs, short-lived and fruitless. Cass handed her a glass of cool water, and Gary ushered them to a table.

“I’m sorry, ladies. He gets a little ...
I don’t even have words for it,” Gary said.

“There’s no excuse for that
kind of behaviour,” Cass seethed. “He was completely out of line, and I hope he bloody loses his job for it.”

“Come on
guys,” Steph urged. Her hand still shook as she set the glass down. “Everyone has a bad day.”

“Babe,” Cass chided. “Do you ever lose your nut and push people around—at work?”

“Sometimes I wish I could.” She chuckled. Nobody joined in with her humour. “Where did he go?”

“Out the back, I think,” Gary answered.

“I should go talk to him.”

“No,” Cass snapped.
“No way. You keep your ass firmly on that seat. He doesn’t deserve any attention from you. The pig can rot out there for all I care.”

“He’s not going to
be any use to anyone out there though, is he?”

“He’s also no use to anyone
in that state.” Gary reached for her hand, and gave it a squeeze.

The gesture only made her
blood pump harder. How dare they take a condescending line with her? How could they turn against him so quickly? Yes, he acted out of line—heaven knows her hands had only just stopped quaking from the adrenalin in her system. But didn’t they ask themselves why? What ate at him so badly that he lost it over ... what ... her clothes?

“Can you show me the way out the back, Gary?” Steph drew her most no-nonsense face, and hoped for the best.

He sighed. His gaze flicked to Cass who shook her head. “All right. But you come straight back in and find me if he so much as makes a move to hurt you—physical or otherwise,” he warned.

Steph nodded.

Gary stood and tipped his head to the right. “This way.” The big guy looked down at Cass with nothing short of adoration. “I’ll be right back, Miss Cassie.”

Steph waited until they were out of earshot, then
touched Gary’s elbow. He looked down at her, calm and sincere.

“Why do you call Cass that?”

A stern contemplation crossed his features. “If she hasn’t told you herself, then it’s not my place to say. It’s ... well ... difficult to understand.”

Would everyone forever give her cryptic, dead-end answers? For once, could somebody be straight with her? Was it written on her forehead, ‘
FRAGILE
’? Because sure as shit, nobody seemed to be able to impart anything difficult onto her.
Except Pete.

Gary opened a heavy steel door i
nto a dark, filthy alley. She looked to the big guys face, and he scowled. Steph followed his line of sight, and settled on Pete’s hypnotic baby-blue’s.

“Anything,” Gary repeated before
he headed back inside, and shut the door.

Pete held her gaze.
His normally unaffected expression was replaced with one of ...
regret?

“Hey,” Steph edg
ed onto a crate next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “
Yer friend’s right; ya can dress how ya want. It’s not me business.” He sat with his ankles crossed, legs pulled back toward himself, and his hands loosely in his lap. He hung his head so low she couldn’t catch a glimpse of his eyes. Apologies were hard on him.

“Why
did
it upset you so much?”

He
looked up, and she caught a glimpse of a pained boy, unsure of the right answer. Steph crept a hand to her chest, and tried to physically urge her heart to slow down.

“Because.”
He flicked the laces on his boots. “I like ya the way ya were.”

“There has to be more than that,” she
said. Surely that wasn’t all?

He shrugged.

Steph closed her eyes to ease her frustration. The guy did everything he could to stay guarded of everyone—even those who gave a shit about him. She knew how close he was to losing all his defences, yet he still fought with himself to keep everyone around him shut out. What would it take for him to accept help? He didn’t have to ask for it, just receive it.
Maybe he doesn’t want your help?
Steph refused to take stock of her niggling thoughts. She opened her eyes to stare blankly at the wall opposite their position. “You have to talk, Pete. Otherwise this bollocks—as you call it—will continue to get worse between us.”