Recoil Read online

  How many had he drunk?

  Her spine set rigid as his eyes connected with hers, and a slow sneer spread across his features. She swallowed the rock in her throat, and turned to head for where her father sat with Derek.

  Ivan cut her path short, taking her elbow in his firm grasp. “Come with me.”

  “Ivan, you’re hurting me.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that now, huh?” He guided them through the crowd, and down the aisle between the pews until they stood before the polished pine coffin. “We can’t have an open casket thanks to your boyfriend.”

  “And what makes you think any of this relates back to him?”

  Ivan’s bloodshot eyes found her expectant gaze, and narrowed in their intensity. “Phone records, history, evidence.”

  Evidence? What evidence had Pete left of what he’d done? She paled at the cheeky grin Ivan held. Was he bluffing? Trying to get her to spill?

  “I kind of prefer it closed anyway,” she stated.

  Pressure seared through her shoulder as Ivan took hold. “Don’t get smart, bitch.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Steph shrugged his hold on her loose, and took a step away from him. “Don’t lay your hands on me again. Do you hear?”

  “I’ll fucking well do what I want.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll make sure to pass on my thanks to Pete in my eulogy.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

  “Try me.”

  She entered into a staring match with the asshole, only broken by the introduction of company.

  “Ivan, there you are,” Martha called.

  His arm wrapped around Steph’s shoulder, and pulled her into his side. “Sshh. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Panic rose in her chest as her face was crushed against his hard chest. He kept her in a cobra-like grip as Martha stopped beside them.

  “My sweet boy,” she whispered, and reached a hand out to touch the edge of the wood. “Where did I go wrong?”

  Let me know when you find out, huh?

  Steph worked her elbow into Ivan, trying to get away from his crush, but he held firm, ‘comforting’ her.

  “The Priest will start soon, so we better take our seats.” Martha moved away as softly as she had arrived.

  Ivan released his grasp on her. Steph spun out of his hold as though he were made of fire, and headed for the rear of the room. Family would be seated in the first rows, so she would happily take the back and get as far as she could from the asshole.

  Her dad gave her a curious glance when they passed in the aisle, but she avoided any questions by looking to the floor. The last four rows remained empty—all bar Steph who sat in the corner of the room, at the far end of the back row.

  The Priest started the order of service, and the room fell quiet as a favourite song of Richard’s was played. She sat, and watched the people’s reactions to the lyrics. The crowd could clearly be divided into two groups: one who knew the real Richard, and one who didn’t.

  Heat blossomed in her palms, and radiated outward until her entire upper body lay coated in the prickly heat. She shifted in her seat, finding no comfort, even going as far as to tuck her legs underneath her.

  Still the heat grew. Steph’s gut churned like a butter-mill, and her head spun as her vision blurred. Nausea flooded her system, and her palms broke out in a glowing sweat.

  She couldn’t pin-point what it was about the place that had set her off, other than the knowledge this entire room was here to farewell a man who raped her, sold Pete out for nothing, and ruined the lives of anyone he knew.

  The need to vomit, or lose control of her bowels became overbearing. Steph rose, thankful she had been in the back row after all, and slipped out of the room, into the entrance, and down to the ladies room.

  The face that stared back in the mirror was pale. She couldn’t pick if the absence of her usual make-up was what made her feel so sickly bare, or if she really did look like death warmed up. With a turn of the tap, and a splash of cool water she felt somewhat better, but nowhere brave enough to re-join the masses as they lamented Richard’s demise.

  Steph ran the cold water again, intending to splash her neck, but stilled with her hands beneath the water as the door into the restroom opened with a thud.

  Fuck.

  “If you wanted to have a sneaky one, you should have said, baby.”

  Crap, how would she make it past him this time? A scan of the room turned up no possible weapons to use in defense, and the panic inside rose to its former strength, and then some.

  Ivan stepped toward her, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth while he eyed her like a fox would a chicken. “Come on. Let’s have a play.”

  She brought her hands between them, and planted them firmly on Ivan’s chest. He reached around her, taking her ponytail into his fist, and yanked hard. Steph cried out in pain, causing Ivan to clamp a hand over her mouth.

  “Sshh,” he warned.

  Tears pricked at her eyes as he spun her around, and steered them into one of the cubicles. He kicked the lid down on the bowl, and with a hand splayed on her belly, and one between her shoulders, he forced her to bend at the waist. Steph’s hands instinctually shot out to stop her fall, and braced her weight on the lid.

  Hot tears spilled over her cheeks while Ivan moved around behind her, shutting the door, and undoing his belt. The rip of his zipper brought a sob from her chest.

  Why now? Why did he have to do this again? Hadn’t he ruined her enough the first time?

  “Why, Ivan? Why do this to me?” In all honesty, what answer could he have given that she would have found acceptable? None. So why did she ask?

  “Because I can,” he bit out, still mucking about with his pants.

  What argument could she pose to that? He had no reason to give her. He had no real incentive.

  His fingers fisted in her hair, and held her steady while he brought his other hand to the zipper of her dress. She cringed as he ripped the teeth along in several short, brutal tugs, and peeled the material from her back. The front of the dress ballooned, and hung limp underneath her shaking body.

  The hand that undid her zip left her flesh, only to come around in front, holding his phone. “Smile for the camera, darling.”

  Like a bloodied massacre, she couldn’t rip her eyes from the image in front of her. Ivan’s drunken smile beamed over her shoulder, and he captured the scene perfectly.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Instagram, baby.”

  Her stomach revolted, coiling, and launching itself up her throat. Steph gagged as he placed the device down on the toilet roll holder beside them. He took hold of her panties, ripping them down her legs, while he still kept his painful grip in her hair. Ivan then jerked her right foot up onto the lid of the toilet, giving himself greater access to his end goal.

  Steph caught the display of his phone, and choked back the vomit that seared the back of her throat as she recognised the image on his Instagram feed. If it weren’t for the tears she knew welled in her eyes, anybody would think it was a simple selfie. Not this time. The image would be burnt into her memory for the rest of her life, signifying the point everything changed.

  The point she decided never to be the victim again.

  Previously, she would have responded to such a dire situation with resignation. Shit, she did last time he tried. Steph’s usual way to cope was to not cope. To shut herself down, stop feeling, and compartmentalize the pain.

  But not today.

  Perhaps it was the fact they were at her rapist’s funeral?

  Maybe it was because the man behind her, doing the same thing, was his brother?

  Maybe it could be attributed to the fact Pete was so damn far away? She was truly alone, to face this herself.

  Today, Steph would fight.

  A foreign, but welcoming heat burnt. This time though, it wasn’t on the surface of her skin. This time the furnace burnt from
deep inside. Rage, pure and unforgiving filled her to the brim.

  As the first drops of her anger spilled over the edge, she sucked in a sharp breath and let out a primal scream.

  Ivan startled, but was by no means deterred in his efforts. He wrapped a hand about her throat, trying to choke the sound from her as he stabbed his erection against her behind.

  “You fucking scream again, I’ll kill you and fuck your corpse, bitch.”

  Who was this man? What had he done to the guy she thought she knew all these years? Any trace of the Ivan she had loved was long gone. All that remained was this delirious man—sick inside, and out.

  “I’m warning you,” Steph barked out with her last breaths. “Let go.”

  He chuckled, and stabbed the head of his cock into her back entrance. She cried out in shock, and pain. His hand loosened grip as he put all his focus into pushing past her barriers.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” She howled.

  “Wouldn’t want to get you knocked up, would we?”

  Steph bucked, and wriggled to get away from his lancing movements. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing painfully tight as her anger at the injustice reached tipping point.

  “Let go, Ivan,” she growled through gritted teeth.

  “Not when I’m having so much fun,” he seethed.

  The boy never saw it coming. Her fingers wrapped about the toe of her high-heel, and in a fluid, seemingly graceful motion, Steph whipped the shoe off her raised foot, and swung the pointed end over her shoulder at her best estimate of Ivan’s head.

  Shockwaves sung through her arm when she hit something hard, and his grip in her hair fell away. She twisted around, and fell back onto the seat, before bringing her arm swinging down for another strike at the shocked monster before her.

  He cowered, penned in by his trap, unable to free his hands from her assault long enough to open the door. Steph’s cockiness got the best of the situation, and she discounted the fact his elbows were still a solid weapon. He lashed out, swinging his arm back. Pressure screamed in her skull when he connected an elbow to her nose, and shoved her back to open the door.

  The heel fell to the floor, and she brought both hands to her face, cussing him out while he righted his pants.

  “Big, fucking mistake, Steph.”

  He may have won for now, but her fight was far but over. Calculations spun through her head: how long to get to the door, how heavy he would be to get out from under, what his reach was, if she could use her height to his disadvantage.

  Ivan shot an arm out, took her ankle in his hand, and wrenched her out of the stall. Steph’s head smacked the bowl with a resounding crack, and dark stars swum in her vision. That was so not part of the plan. He dropped a knee onto her stomach, pinning her to the floor like a dead bug to a board.

  “We’re going out to my car, and you aren’t going to try anything like that again, you hear?”

  “What’s going to stop me?” Blood from her nose mixed with her saliva. She spat it at Ivan as he glared down at her.

  “Fuck! Would you cut the shit?”

  “Never.” She swung a foot in a sideways arc, bending at the knee, and collected him in the back of the head. He jolted forward, and his face contorted in unchecked rage. Oops. Ivan met her cheek with his fist, sending her teeth rattling in her gums, and tinnitus singing in her ear.

  “Keep fighting, and I’ll bloody go after Cass next.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she hissed.

  “Wouldn’t I?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  Oh God, he would.

  “Car. Now.”

  He jammed a hand painfully under her arm, and lifted Steph to her feet. His fingers tugged the zipper up on her dress with such force he caught her flesh in the process. She let out a whimper at the burn where her skin had torn in the teeth. He jammed her shoe back on—his fingers dug painfully into her ankle as a silent threat.

  Ivan bent her right arm behind her back, and guided her from the restroom, standing to her right also, blocking his manhandling of her, and effectively making it appear to the staff who set out the food for the wake that he simply ushered a distraught funeral-goer from the room.

  They crossed through the exit, into the sunshine, and Steph’s thoughts drifted to Pete. What was he doing now? Was he okay? Where was he while this was happening to her?

  She could only hope it was somewhere good, and that his day was going better than hers.

  She would bear the misery of her life a thousand times over if it meant he had a chance at living the rest of his life in peace. What was another day of devastation for her if he had faced it alone as a child?

  The thought of young Pete, struggling through the neglect of his parents, and the death of his brother, reminded her how much worse things could be.

  No matter how shit life seemed, there was always another person worse off.

  Ivan failed to push her head low enough as he shoved her in the car, and her temple collected the roof of his ride. She sucked a sharp breath between her teeth, willing the throb out of her skull while he leant across her to buckle her in the seat.

  His blue eyes connected with hers for a fleeting second as he pulled away, and sadness filled her heart at the lack of anything normal behind his stare.

  “Let’s get this over with, then,” she muttered.

  “Glad you agree.”

  Pistol stamped out the last of his cigarette as he approached the motel. All was quiet in the direction of their room, so he could only conclude that the screamer had gone home, or the two of them had finally fallen asleep.

  What he wasn’t expecting was Trevor doing his best mother hen impression.

  “Where the fuck ‘ave you been?”

  “Out.”

  “I told you not to go far.” The big guy stood with his hands on his hips outside their door.

  “How’s what’s-her-face?”

  “Gone home.”

  “Settle down.” He tapped Trevor on the shoulder as he passed. “What’s a guy to do listening to you two animals? I went for a walk, and called Steph.”

  “How is she?” Trevor’s tone softened. He closed the door behind them, and took up residence on the sofa.

  Pistol eyed the messy bed, and looked around the room for somewhere a little … cleaner to sit. Trevor sighed, crossed to the bed, and gestured at the vacated couch.

  “She’s okay, as far as I can tell. But who’d know for sure? The bloody woman loves to keep her secrets.”

  “Sound’s familiar.”

  “Very fuckin’ funny.” He sunk into the cushions, and stared at the cheap art hanging crooked on the opposite wall. “It’s fucked, ya know?”

  “What part?”

  “All of it.” Pistol crossed a boot to the other knee, and fiddled with the loose laces. “She’s there, I’m here. Neither of us can let our past lie.”

  “Granted, son. But you have a choice. From what I’ve seen of her past, she doesn’t.”

  Well didn’t that hit home like a slap to the balls? She didn’t have much say in the shitty things which had happened to her. Whereas he was here, fighting his one-man war out of selfish choice. He could argue the need to take down his parents, and anybody else who threatened his and Steph’s safety was a necessity. But was it?

  “What’s eating at you?” Trevor asked. He flopped back onto the bed, and rose up on his elbow to cover a patch of the mattress with the sheets before he settled in again. “Woman knows how to make a bloody mess.”

  “Fuckin’ lovely, old mate.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “Clearly,” Pistol grated.

  “Stop dodging the question. What’s eating you? You’ve been out of sorts since we got here. It’s not the best time to go all Hare Krishna on me you know.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” Reality set his mouth into a firm line once more. “She’s fucked me up. I can’t think straight. I can’t focus on what we’re here for. I can’t stop worrying about t
hings that could go wrong.”

  “You’re in love. It’s natural.”

  “But I’m not used to this shite. Why can’t I switch it off, ya know? It’s going to mess with my head so much that one of us ain’t going home.”

  “You don’t know that.” Trevor turned his head to watch him. “You’re speculating.”

  “It’s two of us against how many?”

  “We ain’t taking on the local rugby team, son. And last time I checked, criminals didn’t tend to all hang out in one location.”

  “I’m being serious, Trev.”

  “As am I, Pete.”

  He snorted. Pete. Who was that guy anymore? Some delusional kid who thought he could make it on his own? Did he ever really escape?

  “I’ve been thinkin’ on it, while I was out and all that.”

  “And?”

  “I want to do it in one hit. Take them out together. I’m tired of this. I don’t know if I can make it through three fuckin’ murders without losing my head thinkin’ of Steph.”

  “I’m tired, too, Son. I understand.”

  “Is that the pussy’s way out though? I feel like I’m wimpin’ out because of a girl.” He brought his hands to his face, and groaned.

  Trevor sighed, and sat up on the bed. “Not at all. We ain’t as young as we once were.”

  “We’re hardly pensioners either.”

  “That may be, but this is a young man’s game. Stay in it too long, and ya end up like Murray—paranoid.”

  “True.”

  “You ain’t doing this to send anyone a message. You’re tying up loose ends. That’s it. You haven’t got a thing to prove to anyone. We all know how serious you are about Steph, and I for one can understand why you feel you gotta do this. I’m with you, brother. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said ‘we all know how serious you are’?”

  Trevor shrugged. “I had my moments where I got to talk to your mates at the bar. That blonde friend of Steph’s and the big guy—Gary is it—all seem to see what I do.”

  “Great. You lot went and had Oprah’s fuckin’ book club without me.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Trevor shook his head.