Page 73 of Demon
“I’m not your brother. Remember?”
“Stop being a giant knob. You’re not the first illegitimate kid to be born in the world,” Indie chastised. And I didn’t care.
“It’s not just about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just need some time to process all of it.”
“Well, don’t take too long. That’s a good lass you have there. Don’t leave her hanging on. She may not wait for you.”
I stared at him for a moment, at the sincerity in his rich brown eyes.
“Ste said she wasn’t any good for me.” I shrugged.
“What the fuck does he know? He’s already onto his third wife and he brought up someone else’s son. Fuck him. Go get your girl.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. The threat of a smile quickly washed away again by dark thoughts. Thoughts I needed to get under control before I went to beg forgiveness. I nodded, watching Indie walk out of the garage, having done the job Ste had asked him to do.
And now I sat at the kitchen table, the garage locked up, but the bike was still in battered pieces. The table was strewn with pictures, shades of black, demons and death, the contents of my head spilling out onto the white paper. But soon the lines were taking the shape of her; of those big doe eyes, the way the flesh around her mouth pulled, hinting at dimples but not quite forming them. My pencil skimmed over the paper, adding the lines until the heavy scar across her cheek appeared. Ciara.
Chapter Thirty Five
Ciara
I hadn’t been home in days, but there was no expectation that the neglected Victorian property would be any different from when I last saw it. Apart from the absence of police cars and ambulances. There wasn’t a trace that anything had happened. No flowers on the doorstep, no police tape. Nothing. I didn’t really know what I was expecting.
The usual stale smell drifted out when I pushed the door inwards, after giving the bottom a good kick with the toe of my boot when it stuck in the frame. Cigarettes, fry-up, damp. I’d got used to the strange mix of leather, polish, and petrol from Demon’s place. And even the faint smell of dog. All of it was ten times better than walking into this place. Again. I’d partly escaped. Made myself at home with Demon and Kinobi, with a hot shower every morning, and electric that wouldn’t get turned off or take a lap dance to put back on.
And suddenly I felt the emptiness that Trevor felt. Maybe only a tiny slither, but I felt it none the less.
I stared at the door to his room, at the light that drifted out underneath. It had taken Sleazy Stu mere days to fill his place. Trevor was probably still warm, and he’d let the room straight away.
“Hey, Ciara!” I jolted at the voice, suddenly creeping up behind me. “You’re back. Thought you would have used some sense and stayed with that Kings’ rider.”
“You know who they are?”
“Course. Everyone does. So, what you doing back?”
“I… er, thought I’d better come home for a bit. Before Stu lets my room to someone else. Hell, there’s probably someone in there already.”
“You’ll be ‘reet if you’ve paid your rent. He likes you anyway. Reckon a flutter of those eyes and he’d give you a tenner off.”
It had never been a flutter of my eyelashes that Sleazy Stu was interested in. And I’d expect more than a fucking tenner off. I shuddered. The thought was vomit inducing.
“He’s let Trevor’s room out already, I see?” I pointed towards the door and the light that seeped out around the badly fitting frame.
“Aye. Not two days after he’d passed. God rest his soul. Foreign bloke. Can’t place the accent. Another one likely staying under the radar. As long as he makes no trouble, I’m good with that. Anyway, I’ll be seeing ya, Ciara. Got some magic brew to help me sleep.” He smiled, waving the blue carrier bag of cans at me before shuffling off.
I studied the door again, a flood of emotions, so wrapped up in each other I couldn’t tell which was which. Life was shit. It would coax you with something better, offer you a flavour and then take it all away. It was worse than a drug dealer. At least they kept you topped up with what you needed. So I’d heard, anyway. Life just teased and then snatched it back again. My eyes prickled with tears and my throat burned with the effort to keep them from falling.
What had I expected? He’d opened his heart to me, and I’d rejected it, kept him at arm’s reach just to stop myself from getting hurt. And tonight, I’d seen him at his worst. I wanted to hold him, tell him it didn’t matter, that I was there, that I was all he needed. But he was too crazed to see it. He had scared me. For the first time, I’d seen how dangerous and unhinged he was. How out of control he could be. And I didn’t need that.
*****
I didn’t need that. It was what I’d told myself every morning that I’d got up and took a cold shower, every day I stepped out of the shared house of strangers, every time I rushed to my coffee shop shift, and then to Uni, or walked intoTrouble.
Day four and still there was no sign of him inTrouble on the Tyne. In fact, I’d seen none of the Kings since we’d left the rally. Yet today was accounts payable day, at least as far as the cut of money Terry paid to the Northern Kings every week. The bar had been relatively quiet, a spell of decent weather, and the punters had swapped the dark for a sunny beer garden, it seemed. I’d stared at the door, catching every movement of someone in or out.