My core clenches. Goosebumps coat my skin as all the blood rushes to my sensitive spot. “You can show me after you’ve taken me home.”
He sighs, dragging a hand over his buzzed hair. “All right.”
I gulp, my panting breaths lift my breasts, almost pressing against his chest. My feet won’t move as my gaze locks onto his warm brown eyes, but cool like a whiskey on the rocks.
“Hurry Red, before I change my mind and drag you into the bedroom. You’ll find out what happens to little foxes when they’re caught.”
Snapping out of the trance, I dash to get my bag. Dan opens the door, and we walk down the concrete steps to the garage underneath the apartment. There’s a shiny silver Audi next to Dom’s old black car. The garage door lifts open and the tools lining the wall look much less sinister in the light of day.
“We’ll go in the Range Rover, then I can tow your car back at the same time.” Dom opens the passenger door for me and helps me climb in.
“I guess I’m sitting in the back then.” Dan opens the back door, sitting behind me.
“I can get in the back. I don’t mind. It might save me from being face planted in Dom’s dick, at least.”
Dom silently chuckles, making his shoulders shake as he turns the engine. “You had the chance to move, but you stayed there for the rest of the ride. I think you secretly liked it.”
“Of course I did. Who wouldn’t love being face palmed by a dick?”
“She’s right, Dom.”
“See.”
“I meant about sitting in the back. You should keep a low profile.”
We switch seats, then Dom drives out of the garage. The afternoon sun glares through the window, brightening my face, despite the dread churning in my stomach. I just want to get my stuff and get the hell outta dodge.
My mother had horrible taste in men. Somehow, she passed that trait onto me. She never stayed in one place long enough for me to make any real friends. As soon as one relationship ended, we would move across the country in our campervan. Another reason I always travel light. Habit I guess. If it doesn’t fit in a suitcase, it doesn’t fit in our life, mum would say.
My street seems quiet on this Sunday afternoon. The boys scan the area. All joking around ceased about five minutes ago.
“You tell us if anything is unusual, okay, Pops?” Dan says, causing acid to rise in my throat.
“Ugh. I hate that name. Don’t call me that.”
The boys glance at each other, then scan the area again as the car slowly prowls towards my ground-floor flat. Dom parks on the street. Dan hands him an earpiece that he secures in his ears.
“Wait here. I’ll tell you if it’s safe.” Dom pulls a hunting knife from his boot. The sun bounces off the silver blade, and I suck in a breath. He slips from the car, all six feet of him. Lifting the hood of his black hoodie over his head, he blends in with every other guy on this estate.
A few minutes later, Dan says, “It’s clear. We can go in.” Dan walks around the car to my side like a bodyguard shadowing over me and blocking out all possible threats, including the sun.
I open the door and climb out of the Range Rover. Still in my heels, it’s not an easy task, but Dan extends a hand. All I want is to curl up in a pair of leggings and a baggy tee, read a book or watch a movie and not have to deal with any of the shit I’ve been handling lately.
My knees shake. Apprehension courses through my veins at what I’ll find inside. The place is already a dive, without it being broken into, but I tried to make it homely with candles and the odd wall canvas I found at the local charity shop.
Dan sees me to the door. “I’ll wait here.” He turns his back to me, scanning the perimeter.
As I open the bust door and flick the light switch, my chest caves. The words ‘No place like home’ skewed on the wall mock me. There’s nothing homely about the state of this place. I close my eyes, wishing I was somewhere else. If only I could click my red heels and teleport. But sadly, I don’t have magic shoes. Just ridiculous ones that pinch and burn my sole.
Stepping over the carnage into the living room, the smell of cigars invades my nostrils, like a skunk leaving his rancid scent behind. Sickness threatens, but I swallow it down. An empty packet of his favourite brand litters the table. A memory flashes through my head.
Malcolm relaxes into the chair, a cigar between his lips, a glass of vodka in his palm. “Dance for me, Pops.”
His voice still violates my mind as clear as if he was here. My body trembles, thinking of that night and before I know it, I’m struggling for air.
Rough hands cup my face. Warm lips press against my forehead, and I lean into Dom’s soothing touch. The spicy scent of Dom overpowers the cigar stench from a moment ago. “Breathe, Red.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks. “I’m here. Just breathe for me, baby.”
His words wrap around me like a lullaby, calming my nerves and soothing my very soul. I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, inhaling more of his scent like catnip.
