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 into Trouble .
Day four and still there was no sign of him in Trouble 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.
It was just before closing when I heard a heavy rumble from the street outside, the characteristic growl of a Harley prowling. I watched the door for what seemed minutes, my heart fluttering against my chest and then shunting to a stop as the tall, dark-haired frame of Fury sidled in. He flashed me a grin, empty of any other meaning than friendliness.
“Is Tez around?” he asked, propping himself onto a bar stool in front of me and turning to look at a girl pulling her knickers off down long slender legs.
“Just gone to the cellar to change a barrel. No Demon tonight?”
Fury turned back to me, his eyes scanning my face, and then his eyebrows pulled together to compliment a frown.
“You not seen him, Ciara? I thought you too were inseparable these days?”
I bit my lip, concentrating on the pinch of skin rather than my throat thickening with emotion.
“No. I popped back home after the rally. Been busy finishing uni assignments. Haven’t seen him for a few days.” It wasn’t really a lie. But whatever it was, Fury had seen right through it.
“You two been arguing, huh?”
“Not really. Demon is busy dealing with something right now.”
“Demon always is. He’ll be ‘reet in a few days.”
I tried to smile, to appear normal, but I couldn’t get the corners of my lips to move. Fury’s hand moved over the top of mine. A gentle touch. Reassurance, nothing more.
“Hell, he nearly got us all killed at Noise over you, Ciara. He’s an unstable bomb, that’s for sure. But he loves you. Any dipshit can see that. Give him a few days to calm down. Demon’s a complicated guy.”
“Hey Fury,” Tez greeted him warmly, raising his hand to slap him on the back and then dropping it before he made the fucker of all fuck ups. Back patches. Even I knew not to touch one.
In front of me I heard a conversation about bikes, some sort of part, an issue with a clutch, some other boring talk about mechanics and tweaks here and there to God knows what. But now my lips twitched at the sides, and the heavy weight in my stomach lifted slightly. Fury’s words massaging the turmoil in my brain.
*****
The big, dark car caught my eye as I pulled up in the street, mounting the curb and hearing the crunch of my wheel trims. It was much more expensive than the haphazard row of rust buckets and the untaxed cars which were scattered along the roadside. Incredibly shiny, someone had taken ages to polish every speck of dust off it. And its windows were tinted glass, a status symbol.
I grabbed my bag, dashing out of my little red car before slamming the door and locking it. Something about the car in this street spelt bad news. Drugs, probably. I certainly wasn’t hanging around to find out.
The front door opened easily tonight, not quite properly pushed back into the swollen frame after the person before me had come in or gone out. It made it easier to dash into the safety of the big Victorian terraced house, ramming the swollen wood back into its frame. I breathed heavily, my heart thumping in my ears.
The house was quiet, most of its occupants asleep. As I climbed the stairs, I could hear the heavy drone of a television in the attic rooms. The only thing disturbing the silence. Apart from a sudden creak of a floorboard, just beside my room. I recognised the sound; I stepped on that same spot many a time, and it would make the old house sound like it was coming alive or complaining at the very least. The door was open ajar. Demon. My heart leapt back into its beat, but not fear this time, excitement, a desperation to see him again, to run my hands through his thick hair, and wrap my legs around him.
I pushed the door open, determined that I was not just going to melt into his arms. He owed me an apology for being a dick. I would take that from him first and then… but it wasn’t Demon. But men. In black jackets and black trousers. And shaved heads. And dark eyes. They turned, as if startled by my presence, then moved to the side. He was there, right in the middle. Shorter than the rest, stockier. He raised his right arm, waving the stub of what was left of his hand towards me.
Marek Nowak.
“Hello beautiful Ciara. Long time. Your face has heeled well. But I think you need something to balance it out.” He pulled a leather glove over his left hand.
Too warm for gloves in early summer. I swallowed slowly, looking around, counting, thinking.