Page 24 of Compulsion

“Stopping us, what?”

He shook his head as if irritated he’d spoken out. “Just tell me what it is you think you know about my family. You cannot accuse us of something and not tell me what it is.”

“And you can stop with the injured innocence. You’re part of the management, remember? You’re proud of being family.”

He flushed. “Yes, I am. We have been successful. We are successful. I know people are jealous of that.”

“I’m not jealous. I’ve got no stake in that.”

“So what the hell’s the matter? Tell me!”

“There’s no point. That’s not what we’re about.” I blamed Louis for disturbing my equilibrium tonight; blamed him and Jack for being a sickeningly happy couple; blamed Seve for making me want him. Blamed everyone but myself, like I should have done.

“So what are we about?” Seve said. His voice had lowered again and his eyes had narrowed.

“I’m going,” I said. “I’ll walk from here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Don’t tell me what to be or not!” I snapped. I turned and strode away.

He didn’t follow.

I WALKED quickly but distractedly, thinking how I’d been a brat and an arse, and that was surely the end of me and Seve. My belly hurt and my eyes felt oddly sore. I probably shouldn’t have taken the shortcut across the back of the county hospital, though it was a shorter route by a few minutes and there were usually people about, whatever the hour. But tonight was different.

As I rounded a corner of the perimeter fence, they stepped out from the shadows behind the huge recycling bins. Three of them, taller than me, twice as broad, in casual but dark-colored gear and wearing shades at night, which was a strong indication of the IQ accompanying them.

For a sudden shocking moment, I thought I recognized one of them, a man standing in shadow at the back of the group. Something about the set of his shoulders and his stocky build. But the context was all wrong. I couldn’t recall seeing him in the Brighton streets—the strongest memory was a flash of a miserable life that I thought was long past. Nausea prickled the back of my throat at the thought. How could it be him? I was terrified at how easily it could all come rushing back, the fear and the anger that I’d tried so hard to keep at bay.

But I didn’t have time to swap reminiscences. They were tough and they moved quickly for such big men. After a few ineffectual punches from me, they sideswiped me and I fell to my knees. A kick to my stomach and I doubled over, retching and clutching my guts, feeling as if they’d fall out without protection. I wondered how small I could roll myself to keep away from the kicks and the fists. I wondered if there was going to be any weapon involved. Another kick to my thigh laid me flat out on my face, and I yelled out that time. Pointless, really. I knew no one was coming to help me.

One of them—one I didn’t recognize—knelt beside me. Without warning, he smashed his oversized fist into my throat. My breath burst out of me in shock and pain. “Back off,” he grunted in my ear.

Back off from what? I only had a couple of quid in my wallet. I didn’t have a jacket, and I’d never had any jewelry. What the fuck did they want?

“Keep your fuckin’ fag hands off Mr. Nuñez.” Another boot caught my ribs, landing squarely on a patch that was already bruised beyond sensation.

“Who says so?” I croaked.

“He does,” the man said with a horrible barking laugh. He stood, took a step back, and I winced in anticipation for the next blow.

But it didn’t land. They just turned and left me there. I heard their heavy receding footsteps on the cold ground, the vibration spiking through my cheek. Curled up in agony, my face in the dirt of a day’s pedestrian traffic, I wondered what the fuck was going on. If Seve wanted to dump me, why didn’t he just tell me he was tired of my skinny arse? Did I really need the message imprinted on my ribcage?

Why did he do this?

AND my God, did Louis make a fuss!

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d broken a few bones before now, and the bruises weren’t going to make or break any career aspirations as an underwear model. After a painful examination by Louis’s GP, I quietly neglected to follow up on the X-ray appointment, in case they asked too many questions about my fall down the stairs. After all, the doctor reckoned most of the damage was on the surface, and I’d be on my way back to normal after a few days of rest and copious painkillers.

Yeah, most of that happened. But not the “back to normal” bit.

It probably took me two days before I could roll myself easily out of bed, and another couple before I could jog up and down stairs and do all the other things you take for granted when you’re fit and able. I had bruises on bruises. I reckoned a rib might have been cracked, but I assured Louis it was just a wrenched muscle. It’d heal on its own, and I didn’t want any further fuss. The site said they’d keep my job for a while, but they needed me back sooner rather than later. I was keen to get back there too. I hadn’t been with them long enough to have any entitlement to sick pay.

I moved about carefully and I slept a lot. I also brooded a lot. My nights were anguished and my dreams were wet and frustrated. When I woke in the dark with a heavy sweat on, there was no comfort in the memories of that cruel beating. I just wished I knew what the fuck was going on.

I REALLY didn’t want to drop Jack and Louis off at Compulsion that next Saturday even though it was the trade-off for borrowing Jack’s car to go to one of the three Vs’ house for the evening. The girls had some problem with the landlord’s plumbing, and I’d offered to help them out.

“It’s on your way,” Louis wheedled. “I can’t walk far in these trousers.”