Page 52

Dante

Rachel might have small legs, but they didn’t half deliver a hefty kick to the chest. I had resorted to pinning them down behind the knees, and still she lashed out the best she could.

Her fists rained down on my back, her nails dug into my shoulder, and at one point she had even bitten my ear – although a sharp slap to her ass soon put an end to her trying that again.

We passed a few people on our way, but none of them gave Rachel the help she needed. I tried my hardest not to laugh at the frustrated scream she let out when people just waved at us, shaking their heads with a smile on their lips. They knew better than to intervene.

“Oi!” Rachel shouted to the couple at the end of the street. “How common is it to see a fucking brute manhandling a woman around here? How often have you seen women dragged about without their consent that it’s just become so commonplace you don’t even attempt to intervene?”

“They won’t answer you, you know. They’ve no interest in getting involved in a lover’s tiff.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rachel shouted at the couple, completely ignoring me.

I didn’t mind. If past interactions between us had taught me anything, it was that Rachel and I had around fifteen minutes before one of us was hurling insults at the other.

I didn’t want to waste any of those minutes on idle chitchat.

It was time to clear the air and come to some sort of truce before this situation got way out of hand.

I carried on marching down the street until we reached my bar. I pushed the door open with one hand and went straight to a booth at the back, ignoring everyone else that was in there.

I plopped Rachel down on the seat, simply placing my fingers to her lips to shush her when she tried to speak and went to the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, and then returned to her.

“I don’t like whiskey,” she muttered, pushing away the shot glass I had put before her.

“What do you want, then?” I said with a frustrated sigh.

“To leave.”

“Tough,” I snapped, taking the seat opposite her. “And today you like whiskey.” I poured us both a shot.

“Here are the rules: one of us asks a question. The other takes a shot for Dutch courage, and then answers. We take it in turns. No question is off limits.”

“It’s not even lunchtime,” she pushed the glass away again.

“I’m sure you’ve drunk this early before. Stop being a brat and play the game.”

“This is pathetic.”

“Do you have a better idea? Because believe it or not, Rachel, I would like to get to know you better. I would like to know your likes and dislikes. I would like to know what goes on in that pretty little head of yours. I would like to at least try to be friends. But if you’re too coward…

” I brought my drink to my lips and let my words trail off.

Predictable little hell cat that she was, she sat up straighter, snatching the glass back close to her. “I’m not a coward.”

“Then you should have no issue playing along. I’ll even let you go first, my drinks waiting.” I tipped my full glass her way.

“Fine. Were you born a cunt, or was it your big-time aspiration?”

I gave her a lop-sided smirk, throwing my drink back, my jaw clenching at the burn. “Aspiration. I think it's safe to say I achieved it, wouldn’t you?” I picked up the whiskey bottle and motioned to her shot glass. She pushed it forward reluctantly and snatched it back the minute it was half full.

“Fire away.”

“Where’s your dad?” I asked, her eyes growing wide as I went for the kill.

There was no point beating around the bush.

The drinks were designed to get us to loosen up and be more honest, but the game was flawed.

The more we drank, the more drunk we were going to get.

It was best to get the important questions out in the open.

“Prison,” she said shortly, throwing her drink back.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it your turn?” She hissed, snatching the whiskey bottle and filling my glass to the top.

“Why were you and Laura arguing the night she died?” She challenged, raising one of her eyebrows.

My stomach flipped at her question. But the rules were the rules. I’d answer honestly and hope that it showed her I was at least taking this seriously.

“She didn’t like her life. She wasn’t happy.

She had a baby thinking it would fix our marriage, then soon found out she hated being a mother.

She had no patience for Bee, and would leave her crying for hours on end.

I tried to help her, but I also didn’t want her to feel as though I was taking over and not allowing her to even try to be a mother.

Laura also hated it here. She was born a biker.

Her dad was one of my dad’s right-hand men – he committed suicide not long after Laura died.

But Laura wanted more freedom. She said she had wasted the best years of her life with a man who couldn’t stand her. ”

“Is that true?” Rachel asked. I didn’t point out that it was two questions, I just raised my glass, and she filled it without question.

“Partly,” I said after throwing the brown liquid down my throat.

“I thought I loved her. I was too young to realise what love really was. I wasn’t faithful to her either, and I wasn’t exactly careful about keeping the affairs secret.

People talk and she easily found out. I was a cocky shit – probably still am,” I grinned, my stomach fluttering when Rachel gave me a small grin back.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, clinking her empty glass against mine.

“Bitch,” I playfully huffed, and her smile widened.

“The night Laura stormed out of here, Bee had been teething. We tried for hours to settle her, but nothing was working. My mother suggested rubbing some brandy on her gums, and Laura lost it. She was screaming that it was outdated advice, and no one did that anymore. She was screaming all sorts. Most of it didn’t even make sense.

It was months – no, years - of pent-up frustration, finally releasing in the most incoherent way.

And then, out of nowhere, the screaming stopped, and she said she needed to get out of here.

She snatched up the keys to her bike and was out the door before I had a chance to hand Bee to my mother and follow her. ”

I paused for a moment, letting Rachel digest what I had just said. “When I saw she was without her gear, I called the lads, and we followed her. I will say, I don’t think Laura had any intention of suicide, and what happened was a tragic accident. But it happened, and here we are.”

Rachel stayed silent. I thought she might have had follow-up questions, and I was prepared for them. But instead, she raised her glass for me to pour her turn.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and she shrugged. “It's your turn. Fair is fair.”

“Okay,” I said, pouring her a generous shot. “Who did you kill?”

The drink paused at her lips, and for a second I thought she was going to back down.

The blank look that had irritated me so badly a few nights ago descended back over her face as she completely froze.

But then, a familiar spark came to her eyes, and she threw the drink back, tossing her hair over her shoulders as she did so, and slammed the drink on the table.

“My ex,” she said, her eyes meeting mine.

“Can I ask why?”

“He was an asshole, and he deserved it.”

“Why?” I pushed, not wanting to accept such a generic response. I had no doubt he’d done something to deserve it. From what I knew about her, she wasn’t stabbing people for the fun of it. There was a reason there, and I wanted to know exactly what that reason was.

She grabbed the bottle and took a swig directly from the top, no longer bothering with the glass. She shook her head, closing her eyes as the liquid burned down her throat, and then she took another, keeping her hand on the bottle as she put it back down on the table.

“Alex was an asshole. But more than that, he was a dangerous asshole. My home life wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t ideal.

My parents loved me, but they didn’t really have much time for me.

They wanted me silent and had no idea how to handle a child that was struggling in that oppressive world they called their own.

I started acting out. Nothing major. Pretty typical teenage rebellion stuff – getting into trouble at school or skipping it altogether.

Answering back. Drinking. Smoking weed. When I was sixteen, I met a guy who immediately showed an overly keen interest in me.

He invited me to a party that night, and because I wasn’t used to the attention, my stupid ass felt flattered and went along.

” She paused and took another drink. “When we got there, he immediately changed. Gone was the charming man who had lured me in, and instead was this… I can only describe him as an octopus. His hands were everywhere, and he was spitting all sorts of vile words at me. I tried to push him away, but he had laughed at me, saying I was a silly little girl trying to play the big bad grown up, when in reality I was immature and pathetic. He said he would make me a woman. The next thing I knew, the man was on the floor, and Alex was there. He introduced himself and said he was sorry that had happened. A couple of his female friends rushed around me and said they saw the whole thing, and how horrible it was, and they would look after me for the rest of the night.” Another drink.

“They looked fucking terrifying – all of them had crazy hair colours, spikes in their ears, dark clothing with chains hanging off them. But they proved looks can be deceiving, because they were nothing but nice to me.” she twisted her lips in a mocking smile.

“Surprise, surprise, they were not nice. Not underneath the fake surface.”

“What happened?”