Recoil Read online

  The sweetly acrid smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils as he fired his first stick to life, and walked the streets until he found somewhere relatively private to sit. The bicycle shed at the local primary afforded shelter, and semi-seclusion—exactly the things he needed when his head was on the chopping block.

  Pistol brought his phone from his pocket, and checked the time. Given the hours that had passed, Cutie would have to be awake. His heart sung with anticipation as he swiped across to her number, and hit dial.

  She picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, you.”

  An angel’s kiss—exactly the way her gentle voice tended to his saddened soul.

  “Love, I need ya so bad.”

  “Baby, I’ll be right here when you get back.” She choked the last few words out.

  “Sshh. Don’t get upset, Love. Don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” she sobbed. “I’m trying not to. Honestly.” Steph laughed through her tears.

  “Tell me about ya day.”

  “It wasn’t that interesting.”

  “Aye, but it’s yours. Tell me.”

  She sighed, and he made out the sound of her settling in. “Pretty mundane. I hid, I wallowed, I had lunch with Cass, I brooded some more, and then I barely slept.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Not bein’ there. Leavin’ ya alone with this.”

  “I’ve done it before, Pete,” she chastised. “I can do it again.”

  “I know, but you shouldn’t have to do it alone again.”

  “You’ve got your own things to sort out.” Her tone fell flat.

  “Aye.”

  “So, um, how is it going? Can you talk about it?”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Trevor’s got himself a bit of tail, so I’m giving them some privacy while he has some fun. I went for a walk, so it’s only me here.”

  ”Oh. Didn’t think you guys would have time for girls with what was going on.”

  His chest compressed at the notes of pain in her voice. “Love, you’ve nothing to worry about. We had a few drinks is all.”

  “Mmm.”

  Jesus, he knew how to stick his foot in it with her. “Cutie.”

  “You’d be worried if I wasn’t a little jealous, knowing there’s women around you, and I’m all the bloody way over here.”

  “I didn’t have any women about me.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Not when the perfect one’s waitin’ at home for me.”

  “So, they tried it on then?”

  He chuckled. “Only one.”

  “Jeepers, Baby. You’re losing your touch.” She giggled.

  The sound lifted his dark mood, and eased the ache he had at distressing her. “I’m sure my touch still works where it matters.”

  Steph sighed. “I’m sure it does.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  “I wish you were here,” she whispered.

  “Me, too.”

  “Come home. Forget it all, and come home.”

  Pistol brought his free hand to his temple, and rubbed the ache from behind his eyes. “I can’t, Love. I have to sort this out. I wish I could.”

  “You can,” she implored. “Just get on a plane, and leave. We’ll work it out.”

  “I can’t have that risk in your life.”

  “Baby, I create enough trouble on my own. Richard, remember?”

  “Shite, the funeral is today, eh?”

  “That it is,” she groaned. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “It would look strange, you know. I mean, nobody else knows what’s been happening; they all think the families are still thick as thieves.”

  “Nice analogy, Love.”

  She giggled. “Didn’t even think about it.”

  “I love hearin’ ya laugh.”

  “I miss laughing.”

  “I promise ya, when I get back, I’ll make you laugh every fuckin’ day. You don’t deserve this shit, Cutie. You should be happy.”

  “And you shouldn’t?”

  “I’ve given up on me.”

  “I haven’t.”

  His groin ached with the need to be with her. “I can’t wait to get home, and fuck that sweet mouth of yours.”

  “Mmm. Can’t wait to taste you, either.”

  “It’s fuckin’ torture, you know, holdin’ on.”

  “Then don’t.”

  What the hell was she trying to say? That he should find himself a slut for a night? Had the woman lost her mind in the space of the last few minutes? “What do ya mean?”

  “Don’t hold back. I want to hear how bad you want me.”

  That dirty little … “Ya sure?”

  “Positive. Tell me, Baby, how hot does it make you to know I’m only in my underwear right now?”

  “Fuckin’ hot.”

  “Or that I’m slipping my panties off over my legs as we speak?”

  “Jesus.”

  “Can you imagine it? Me bent at the waist, kicking the lace aside. Oh, now my hand is at the clasp of my bra. Baby, you’re getting quite the show here.”

  “Fuck woman. I’m as hard as concrete.”

  “Good, ‘cause I have a wet pussy that needs fucking.”

  He growled in response, and settled further into the makeshift seat he’d found against a wall. “Keep goin’.” Pistol flicked his straining erection free, and shuddered at the relief placing his hand over the flesh brought.

  “Mmm, I’m on my bed now, imagining you standing at the door, your belt in your hands.”

  “Put it on then.” He slowly stroked the length of himself, his breaths becoming more laboured.

  “The leather feels so nice against my skin, and oh, you’ve got it so tight.”

  A feral sound escaped from deep within his chest, and the muscle of his cock twitched at the delicious sight he conjured in his mind.

  “Rub yourself, Love. Rub yourself, and imagine it’s my tongue playing with ya.”

  Steph moaned down the line. “Fuck, Pete. I miss you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why?” she pleaded.

  “How can you miss me when I’ve stuck my fingers in that sweet, wet hole?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Is it nice, fillin’ your cunt with my fingers?”

  “Fuck, Pete. Oh, shit.”

  “Faster, Cutie.” He followed his command, pumping his swollen erection. Pre-cum glistened at the tip. “Jesus, Love. I’m fuckin’ glowin’ here. I’m drippin’ thinkin’ of your fingers making you moan like that.”

  “Lick it.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve got too many ribs, Love.”

  “Oh, fuck,” she groaned. “Wipe it off. Lick it off your fingers.”

  He swiped his free thumb over the tip, and shuddered at the delight the touch brought. Pistol brought his wet thumb to his mouth, and sucked. “Mmm, Love. I’m definitely hummin’ for ya.”

  “Tell me how good it tastes. Tell me what it tastes like. I miss it.”

  “Salty, sweet, made just for you.”

  “Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

  “Jesus, are ya comin’, Love?”

  “Yes, oh god, yes, yesss.”

  The heft of each breath as he brought himself to climax echoed in the still night. Steph wailed down the line as her orgasm took her, and he followed shortly after with a sharp groan.

  “Damn, Baby. I feel so damn good, but it makes me miss you more. How the hell is that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Love. But I know what ya sayin’.” The ache in his balls might have halved, but fuck, the ache in his chest had tripled. “I fuckin’ love you so much.”

  “Only you could make swearing sound so sexy. I love you, too. Just come home.”

  Steph pushed the power cable into her phone, and sighed. The only reason she’d ended the call was because her phone was on its last legs. Pete had sworn he didn’t care about th
e cost, but a part of her wanted to save him any extra expense. She’d caused him enough trouble in every other aspect of his life; he didn’t need an enormous phone-bill to go with it.

  She tugged a fitted dress over her hips, and strained an arm around the back to get the zipper. Her mobile alerted a new message, and she dived on the device, opening the text.

  IF IT HURTS YOU TO GO, DON’T

  She knew he referred to the funeral.

  I HAVE TO.

  NO YOU DON’T.

  SAYS THE MAN WHO WON’T COME HOME.

  TOUCHE

  She couldn’t expect him to understand. She barely did herself. Whatever reasons she may have for not wanting to go, they were trumped by the loyalty to her family, and the questions her absence would cause. Just because she had issues with Derek’s boys, didn’t mean she had lost the pain she held for him, as well. So what if Richard was a monster? He was still Derek’s son, and Derek didn’t deserve the pain of losing a child.

  How could such evil come from such good? She’d never be able to understand how a loving family, and supportive parents could contribute towards two men who thought it was their duty to take what they wanted when it came to women. Maybe it wasn’t for her to know—or anyone for that matter.

  Maybe some people were simply who they were, and nothing could change that?

  Pete.

  Guess that rule could apply to his parents, which then in a way, allowed her to understand why he had to go through with his revenge. Was it revenge? Or was it necessity? Did he simply do it to make it in the world? A person could hardly class survival instinct as revenge.

  Shit, it was probably a bit of all of the above.

  Her phone vibrated with another message.

  IF YOU GO, BE STRONG. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF.

  Seriously? Was this the same guy?

  BABY, I DON’T NEED ANOTHER SHRINK IN MY LIFE. I NEED YOU. DON’T GO CHANGING ON ME.

  THANK GOD, BECAUSE THAT KIND OF THING TOOK ME FUCKING AGES TO THINK UP.

  She laughed, and sighed all at once. Why did he have to be so far away?

  LOVE YOU, GOOD NIGHT

  NEED YOU MORE

  A solid thumping at the front door startled her, and the phone slipped out of her grasp. Steph snatched the damn thing off the floor, silently praising its shock cover, and set it down on the nightstand. Another softer knock sounded.

  “I’m coming!”

  She reached the front door, and pulled it wide to greet the opposing faces of her parents: one smiling, one sullen. No prizes for guessing which was which.

  “Hey, Dad. Mum. Come in.”

  They followed her inside, and her dad shut the door while she headed into the kitchen.

  “Cuppa?”

  “Love one,” her father answered.

  “Mum?”

  “Water is fine, thanks.”

  Ever so polite, even with your daughter. The usual tension clouded her mother like a blanket as the woman moved about the house, surveying everything.

  “I’m sorry, I know we’re a bit early.”

  She smiled at her dad, and flicked the switch on the jug. “That’s okay. I was nearly ready, anyway.” Thank god they weren’t another half hour earlier.

  “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

  Steph looked down at the dark grey dress, and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “It’s a bit … enticing don’t you think?” her mother commented.

  She closed her eyes, and eased the building anger. “Hardly, Mum. It’s fitted, yes, but the damn thing doesn’t show most of my tattoos, or any ‘inappropriate’ skin.”

  “But it hugs your hips. Your behind will distract every man there. I think you should change.”

  She knew what would sate her mother’s needs—a Jackie ‘O’ inspired twin-set.

  Not. Happening.

  “I think you’re over-reacting. It’s fine. I can guarantee there’ll be some woman there less dressed than I am.” At Richard’s funeral, it was bound to happen.

  “If you insist,” her mother huffed.

  “For Christ’s sake, Debra. It’s fine.”

  “Don’t you start with me,” she sniped, heading for the couch.

  Steph’s dad rolled his eyes her way, and turned to address his wife. “Today is going to be hard enough for a lot of people, so how about we give this upper-crust thing you have going on a rest for one day.”

  Her mother simply stared out the slider, a scowl fixed in place. Unease settled in the room, and Steph couldn’t help but wonder if things between her parents had finally reached an impasse.

  “So, Dad. How was your day?”

  “Not bad.” He smiled, turning back toward her. “Just another day of pottering from one project to the next.”

  “What are you building now?”

  “A child’s table, and chairs for a lady at the local supermarket.”

  Steph chuckled. “Been chatting up the checkout chick’s again have we?”

  He grinned. “Hardly. I’m in there every week, so they know who I am, and what I do in my spare time. Eleanor simply mentioned her grandchild’s birthday, and the idea came from there.”

  “I think she’s taking advantage of you.” Steph’s mother grumbled.

  “How?” her dad snapped in response.

  “She’s paying you fifty dollars for it. The materials alone cost more than that.”

  “The ‘materials’ were sitting around my shed as scrap, anyway. I’m helping a friend, and making a little girls day.”

  Her mum snorted, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Steph slid a fresh coffee to her dad, and took a seat opposite him at the table. “I wonder how Derek, and Martha will be.”

  “Devastated, I’d say.”

  “No kidding. I was more meaning how they’ll react if anyone asks about how he died, or anything like that.”

  Her dad smiled gently. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’ve had plenty of time to rehearse their answers.”

  “Still can’t be easy.”

  “I imagine not. What about you? How are you doing?”

  “Good. I spoke to Pete before.”

  Her mother grumbled in the background, and they both chose to ignore her.

  “That’s good. What did he have to say?”

  “He’s doing well. Thinks he’ll have the loose ends tied up in the next few days.”

  “No problems then?” Her dad eyed her intently. He knew exactly what Pete was up to after the conversation she’d had with her father at the airport.

  “Not yet.”

  “What’s that boy up to now?” Her mother joined in. “Why do you have his car here, Steph?”

  “He’s in Ireland, Mum. Didn’t want to pay for storage until he got back.”

  “What on earth has he gone there for?”

  Steph’s dad held a hand up ever so slightly, and turned to answer. “His family have had a few issues with the health of his mother. He’s gone to sort her care.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that trouble-maker would do.”

  “And what would you know, Mum?”

  “I saw what he did to Richard, all over a girl. I also see how angry Ivan gets every time he hears about you two. I think the dear boy may have feelings for you.”

  If only she knew.

  “Well, they’re misguided. I’ve certainly never done a thing to lead him on.”

  “I didn’t say you had.”

  “Come on,” her father urged. “Let’s get these coffees down, and get going.”

  “Get it over and done with.”

  “Exactly.”

  ***

  People milled about the entrance to the funeral home, unsure where they should stand while the attendees still arrived. Women stood uneasy on their heels, and children fidgeted next to their parents. Nobody was over-eager to head through to the pews in case being seated came off as being impatient for the ceremony to start.

  Derek, and Martha wove their way thro
ugh the room, stopping and holding hushed conversations with each group they passed. Given the circumstances surrounding their son’s death, and life, the two of them appeared a lot calmer than Steph would have expected.

  Resigned maybe?

  She cupped her crystal glass of water, and met Ben’s eyes across the room. He offered a small smile, and she tipped her glass his way with one in response.

  “No Ivan?” her dad asked, coming to stand beside her.

  “No. I noticed that, too.”

  “I’m sure he’ll just be late. I can’t imagine he’d miss his brothers funeral.”

  Pity.

  Her father shifted his weight, and leant into the wall Steph stood backed in to. “Are you going to tell me what happened then?”

  She’d brushed over the details in their airport conversation, simply saying that Ivan had betrayed her trust. But the man was no fool. He knew what state of mind she was in, and he also knew that his daughter didn’t get that way by accident.

  “Now’s not the place to talk about it, Dad.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’m guessing it’s probably better I don’t know until after the festivities.”

  “Probably best.” Last thing she needed would be her dad tearing strips off the brother of the deceased. Steph nodded toward the car park. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Ivan crossed the concrete expanse, his shirt haphazardly tucked into his dress pants. By the over-exaggerated way he lifted his foot over the gutter, she could only assume he’d had more than enough to drink for one day.

  Derek eyed his only child approach, and shot across the room to head him off at the door. A heated discussion ensued; Steph, and her father stood engrossed in the aggressive mime. Derek’s hands flew as he spoke. Ivan crossed his arms, and glowered.

  A few more of the people around them remarked on the spectacle before Derek stood aside, and hung his head. Ivan stormed inside to stand next to his mother, and slung an arm over the shorter woman’s shoulders.

  “I might pop out there and talk to Derek,” Steph’s father muttered, and crossed to the exit.

  She turned her attention to the star of the show, who leered over a couple of younger woman, having now released his mother from his grasp. Ivan laughed a little too loud, drawing the eyes of the room.