9. CHAPTER NINE
“Goddamn it, Marius! If this phone call doesn’t end with another five-thousand Euro in my bank account, I swear to god I’ll reach through the receiver and break your fucking neck!”
“Really, Curren. Is that any way to talk to me?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“But how can I shut up and talk to you?”
This isn’t good. It can’t be. Marius has never broken routine and called me early. I always get my second call at ten pm local time. And now he's calling me out of the blue at one-thirty in the afternoon, interrupting the single most self indulgent moment of my entire fucking life.
“Plans have changed.”
“The fuck?”
“It’s out of my hands.”
“This is the last phone, you—”
“Save the insult. Do you still want the job or not?”
I grunt into the phone. He already knows the answer. I didn’t come all this way not to get paid.
But that kiss…
As Marius continues, I reach up and graze my lips with my fingertips.
Rubbing them together, I feel a raspberry seed when I look at my gloves, I see residual jam and cream smeared over the leather, and my stomach sinks to my feet.
Nausea, and an overwhelming urge to strip all the skin from my body vibrates through me.
They're so dirty.
I’m so dirty.
The crumbs on my coat.
The scuffs of dirt on my brogues.
I have to clean them.
I have to clean myself . That way I can't smell Harry's sweat on my skin or his spit on my neck—
I take a deep breath; in through my nose and out through my mouth.
I zone in on the cold screen of the cheap burner phone pressed against my ear.
I focus on the breeze as it rushes past my face.
Then I close my eyes and concentrate on how heavy I am, what my socks feel like, and the hardness of the soles of my shoes.
“Have you got that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answer Marius, and prop the phone against my shoulder so I can use both hands to open the satchel.
“Do you know where that is?”
I roll my eyes, “I’ll figure it out,” and pull out the already open packet of disinfectant wipes. The same packet I used before leaving the powder room of The Ritz.
After cleaning my gloves, I look around for a rubbish bin.
“And the time?”
“Yes, Marius, goddamnit. Time, place, all locked in. But what if this shit changes again?”
“It won’t.”
“I’m not sure if I believe you.”
“You must have trust.”
I exhale and listen to my frustration as it crackles through the receiver and into my ear. “I think this might be my last job.”
“What makes you say that?”
I hesitate. “I guess just being home is making me see my life a little differently.”
“See. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Don’t you dare take any credit for this.”
“Why would I? I lose you, I…" he stumbles over his words like our relationship isn't purely transactional. "I lose… I lose money.”
That's what I thought. “And when I lose you, I get my sanity back.”
“Is that how it works?”
“Who the fuck knows? But I can’t keep doing this forever.”
“We could—”
“Is there anything else?”
“From me?” Marius hesitates, and I pray to god he doesn’t say what I know he wants to, because I just can't take any more of his propositions. “No. You are free to spend your night however you please. Though I expect it will involve your dick in at least one more woman.”
I take another deep, grounding breath. "I can't make any promises," I say, just to spite him, and tear the phone apart without bothering to hang up the call.
Wrapping the case and battery in the used wipe, I toss them in a bin on my way back to where Jude is sitting.
As as I slip the SIM into my trouser pocket, I round the last row of white trellises, and—
“Jude?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended as an arrow shoots me straight in the heart.
He’s gone, and the empty bench answers me with silence.
Like it’s mocking me for thinking that our chance meeting would be reason enough to give up this fucked up life that I’ve been existing in for the past fifteen years.
But…
No!
That kiss.
The way he looked at me.
I felt his desperation because he needed it just as much as I did.
As fast as I can, I retrace the path that led us to the bench. Back to the gravel track, onto the main walkway, then… there! Unmistakable, even at a distance, is Jude, leaving the park. Leaving me behind.
My heart thunders inside my chest.
I’m hot. So fucking hot.
My eyes zone in and everything else apart from him becomes a blur.
Breathless from anxiety, I follow his retreat.
His name is heavy on my tongue, but I swallow the impulse to shout it out.
My steps are silent and my sight never wavers from his broad back. How his shoulders rock. And how his coat moves around his legs.
I’m on the street. He’s on the other side, never looking back once, determined to walk out of my life like I walked out of his.
The SIM card is still in my fingers and I throw it onto the cobblestones. There’s no time for the gutter. No time for being thorough.
Dashing over an intersection without waiting for the light, I catch him entering The Mandarin Oriental.
How the fuck can he afford to stay here?
The lobby is ornate, but there's no time to linger on the décor.
Scanning, I spot Jude inside the lift as the silver doors close around him.
Sprinting over, I frantically push for the other lift to open, and when it does, I stick my arm inside and wait for the numbers above where Jude disappeared to show me which floor he's on.
Thirteen. Unlucky for some, but not for me.
The metallic box swallows me whole.
My stomach rises into my chest before settling.
The doors open and it feels like a tornado blowing against me.
I look to the right… Nothing.
To the left? His navy coat.
Something primal inside me snaps and I run at full speed towards the door.
1310.
Without thought, I surge forward and throw my shoulder against the door just as the metal of the latch is about to engage.
Jude whirls around, his eyes wide, but calm.
Eerily calm. Like he’s been in this exact situation before.
He steps towards me; offense and defense all rolled into one. Then he swings. I block it, but his other fist hits me in the ribs.
Retaliation and instinct get the better of me and I strike back only for Jude to block it, rotate his arm, and lock mine into his side.
I’m strong, but he’s got at least half a foot on me, and he’s using all the advantages that height gives him.
“Why the fuck did you leave?”
“I figured history was repeating itself.”
And there it is, the proverbial dagger that’s been suspended by my neck since the second I saw him, slices at my jugular.
All-encompassing rage surges through me, the adrenalin allowing me to gain the upper hand and push Jude against the wall—my forearm pressed against his throat. “Don’t beat around the bush. If you’ve got something to say, then fucking say it?”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!” I scream louder.
“Why did you follow me?”
“I couldn’t let you walk away.”
His voice is a whisper in the tension. “But you did.”
“I was fifteen and scared shitless.”
“Of what?”
“You!”
“Me? What the fuck are you talking about? I was the last person in the world you should have been scared of.”
“Fuck you, Jude.” The words are a snarl, torn from deep within my chest as I force harder against his windpipe and only then do I realize there is no tension left in his body.
He reaches for the small of my back. “Go on, then.”
The thought of doing it hasn’t even hit my brain before I’m clutching the lapels of his coat and pulling him down to me. His head tilts, and the most delicious lips in the entire fucking world are forced back against mine.
“I was scared you’d hate me,” I pant out before his tongue is in my mouth.
This kiss is much deeper than before. More fearless.
Jude’s hands run up my chest and to my shoulders, slipping beneath my suit jacket to slide it down my arms and… it’s euphoric.
I’ve never allowed anyone to undress me before. Not since Harry. But with Jude, the thought of the fabric crinkling in a heap on the carpet, doesn't bother me. It’s not even worth another second of my time.
My lips are still desperate for his taste as he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “Why the hell would I hate you?”
“Because I didn’t help you.”
He unbuttons my waistcoat. “Help me when?”
“That last time, at home.” I try to catch his lips again. But unhappy with my answer, he pulls further away. “With your dad. When you got sent away.”
Jude grabs my face with both hands and forces me to look at him. “And what did you think you could do?”
“Anything… Not just stand there.”
“You were twelve, and Dad was bigger than I am now.”
“I could have at least thrown something at him.”
“That would have gotten you hit, too. I was used to his beatings. He’d have probably killed you.”
“I’d have welcomed it.”
Jude grips me tighter. “Don’t let me ever hear you say that again.”
“But it’s true." I squeeze my eyes tight and try to bow my head away from him. "I wanted to die when they came and took you.” And I’ve wanted to die every day since.
And then, in the darkness, I feel Jude kiss me again.
“I never blamed you,” he tells me without breaking contact. “We were kids. We were never to blame.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him anyway.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
A stranger in my own body, I reach up and wrap my arms around Jude’s neck because all I know is I want him closer.
His hands travel back down my body and around to my ass. They’re so big. So strong. They slide further to the top of my thighs, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. Turning, he forces my back against the wall, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
I can feel how hard he is, and so am I.
I want him to know I want this more than anything.
I tug at his lapels again, trying to rid him of the coat, and he helps by shrugging it off. I gather the hem of his knit jumper, and he sheds that too.
“What the fuck?”
Jude looks like he saw a ghost.
“That’s a fucking gun.”
“No shit.”
“Do you plan on using it?”
“Do you plan on making me?”