Page 3 of Blood and Thorns

But it didn’t take long for my phone to brighten with a notification, and once I’d handed a regular his scotch on the rocks, I risked a look.

Gabriel:

You looked beautiful tonight.

I didn’t bother to reply, leaving him on read again.

Luckily the next few hours were busy, distracting me from my crazy ex. My phone beeped a few more times, and I ignored every single one.

Gabriel had never been physically violent towards me, but he’d threatened me enough times after a night out with his boys when I didn’t do what he’d wanted. So I swore to keep my distance and hoped he eventually grew bored before he could act on those threats.

Ringing the bell for last orders, I finally let myself check my phone.

Gabriel:

Not nice to be left on read again, baby.

Last warning, Ara.

Answer the fucking phone.

Fine. I’m no longer being the nice guy.

Chapter 2

Arabella

Pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders, I stopped at the bus stop directly outside the bar. The glass had been smashed, as had the seats, so I settled for standing in the corner, the sky so dark I couldn’t see a single star. Luckily the bus was right on time, and the journey back home wasn’t more than twenty minutes.

Being past midnight, Dad’s garage was locked up tight, the shutters down to protect his clients’ cars inside. We lived in the flat directly above, which was convenient.

“Dad?” I called as soon as I opened the door, grimacing at the stench of beer. Frowning, I entered the living room, only to find him slouched in his favourite armchair with his head resting against his chest. Pulling out my wages, I placed everything on the table beside him. I kept the tips for myself. “Dad?”

“Where… where the fuck have you been?” he slurred, swiping his arm out to push me back. Several bottles stood by his feet, clinking together when he adjusted his leg.

“Working.” Just like I did every night.

Dad finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed from the alcohol. “You earn good tonight?”

“I’ve put the money on the table.”

With a grunt he reached for the cash, quickly counting it before throwing it on the floor. “What the fuck is this?” he snarled. “This isn’t enough. How are we supposed to survive on this? This doesn’t even pay your fucking rent, never mind enough to keep the garage.”

I didn’t look at him as I picked up the money, placing it neatly back on the table.

“How did your game go?” I asked, already knowing the answer from the amount of empty glass bottles. During the day he ran the garage below, repairing and maintaining cars. At night he liked to hit the poker tables.

“I lost.”

No shit.

“How much did you lose?”

Dad chewed on his tongue, taking a moment to reply. “Five grand.”

I closed my eyes for a second and prayed for patience. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

He threw his hands up. “I’m trying, Ara! I promise you I’m trying, but we needed the money, and I thought I’d win.”