Page 78 of Red Retaliation

Of course, Red will have ways to explain everything. He’ll enjoy recounting the story to his hateful brothers about how he rejected me when I tried to rip his clothes off. He’s probably already told them. He won’t mention, though, that this time, he kissedme.

The only thing I didn’t do was beg him to fuck me.

But I was close. Christ, I was close!

How fucking stupid am I? The man chopped up a reporter on our wedding day, for God’s sake. He drove his former fiancée to death; wants to kill my family and terrorizes half of London, yet I’d have slept with him? What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

Spotting the fire door at the end of the impossibly long corridor, I upmy pace, the urge to escape from these four suffocating walls, as well as my shame, unbearable.

I’m not even angry - just disappointed.

How can a man that I want nothing to do with, who enjoys telling me I mean nothing to anyone, including my own family, a man who’s a sadistic, brutal murderer and who treats his women like shit, have the power to make me so weak by just a kiss?

Redmond Bateman is a cruel, vindictive bully who enjoys playing games, so how can I want him the way I do? The way I’ve never wantedanyman. The way I thought I’d never becapableof any longer?

And now I’ve made this whole situation even more unpleasant for myself by falling into his trap.

Red had been mostly civil and pleasant beforehand, but because I can’t leave anything alone and keep my big mouth shut, he’s now hell-bent on controlling me. I won’t get an inch of breathing space. It’s as if all the years of obeying everyone else: my Papà and Roberto, has made the dam burst its banks, allowing my pent-up lack of choice to flood from me. Just in the wrong direction...

For God’s sake, I should have been cleverer. However, the one thing Red will never get from me is making me beg! I need to remember who I’m dealing with to make this work inmyfavor.

Shit!

With a door further down the corridor opening, I duck behind a large hallstand. Flattening myself against the wall, I painstakingly inch behind the tall unit, hoping I can squeeze behind it. I’ll be fine as long as I breathe in and never breathe out...

Squishing up against the black wood, my nose presses almost flat against it and my right foot sticks out at a strange angle, but I’ll cope because the voices are getting closer. Any second now these people will walk past, and then I’ll be free to make a run for it.

“Yeah, I’ll supply the update later, once he stops breathing down my neck.”

“There could be an opening on Friday with this event? What do you think?”

“That will be passed on along with the other info. There’s nothing like an opportunity.”

I frown. I recognize those voices. I’ve definitely heard them before. Several times in fact, but I’m not sure who they belong to. What are they talking about? An event? Supplying updates? To who? What do theymean?

None of it makes sense, but then very little does anymore.

As the footsteps and voices draw level with where I’m hiding, I override the tickle of my hair against my nose.

“The thing is,” a voice continues, “he’s so hung up with that bitch, he ain’t firing on all cylinders, so the timing is perfect.”

“He seems switched on enough to me.”

“Yeah, but don’t forget I know him better than you. Besides, I have an idea...”

As the footsteps fade away, I strain to hear the rest of the conversation, but I can’t. Were they talking about Red? About me?

I crane my neck - anything to get a glimpse of who these men are. If I can just see a small part of one of them, I might piece it together. But it’s no good. I can’t get the right view. All I see is this unit’s backboard at extremely close quarters.

I wait until the echoes of shoes on the tiled floor disappear. The voices have long gone. I wait an extra thirty seconds, then extract myself from behind the unit.

Those men couldn’t be talking about Red and me, could they? If they were, then something very worrying is going on.

I need fresh air even more than ever now.

Dashing towards the door I last saw open that dreadful night Steve Farrow was shot dead, I hesitate. It’s firmly shut.

I tentatively touch the push bar across the heavy steel, wondering if it’s one of those that trigger an alarm when opened. Dare I risk it?