'O-Oscar?' I managed to stutter. 'You told Oscar?'
'Of course I did, babe. If someone's after the gear, he needs to know about it, eh?'
Right. Of course. The drugs. Twenty grand in pills and thrills. Never mind the fact that someone had chased me through the streets and tried to kill me. Never mind the fact that my feet were screaming and there was blood all over the place. The drugs were what really mattered. They always mattered and I knew that more than anyone.
'Great. Okay.' I sniffed, pulling out of his bear-hug and sidling past him out of the bathroom.
In the bedroom, I threw off the towel and grabbed a longline t-shirt off the bed, slipping it on over my head. My hair was still wet from the shower and I used the same towel to dry the ends off, trying not to think about my stash of pills in the drawer of the dresser.
The coke wasn't going to be enough. Not this time. I could feel it, even as it sent little sparks of heat firing up my veins. A short-lived high wasn't going to whitewash the numbness swelling inside. Maybe something else from the emergency stash would help.
Davey appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame and brushing a loose lock of dirty-blonde hair back behind his ear as he watched me.
'What's wrong, babe?' He was using that voice. The quiet, concerned one. The one that he rolled out every time he needed me on side.
'Oh, nothing,' I said, yanking the brush through my hair now. 'I mean, I've only been chased bare-foot through the bloody streets until my feet have barely any skin left on them. I've only put my fucking life on the line to bring you back your bag of tricks and it turns out that's all you're really worried about anyway. Not me. The bloody drugs.'
Davey chuckled, shooting me that devil-may-care grin, the same one that had started it all back in Ibiza, when I'd been dancing at the pool-party, buzzing off my head, just so I didn't have to put up with all the chav losers who'd flown out for the summer in the hope they'd get laid by girls who didn't know what class was, even if you slapped them across the sun-burnt tîts with it. Discovering that we were from the same neck of the woods had seemed like fate then. I wasn't sure what it felt like now.
'You don't really think that,' he said. 'You know you're my number one.'
'So, that's why you shagged that little tart then, is it?' I raked the brush through my hair harder, hard enough for my scalp to yelp.
'Is that what this is about?'
I wanted to tell him not to be so bloody stupid. Star Adams and her Oscar-worthy orgasmic performance was the last thing on my mind right then, but what else could I say?
Actually, babe, I've just had some Matrix-freak creature try to suck my flesh into a fiery void of Hell and I'm so fucking terrified I'm losing my mind that I'm thinking of swallowing as many pills as I can just to blot it all out?
He walked over to where I stood in front of the dresser mirror and put his hands on my waist, nuzzling at my ear as his eyes locked with mine in the glass.
'I was angry, you know that. You fucked things up, babe. Big-time. She came around, doing her usual routine and what can I say? I had a moment of weakness, but I didn't want her, not really. I was just mad at you for screwing everything up. It's you I want, you know that.'
His hand slid up my body on the outside of my t-shirt, cupping my breast, fingers expertly gliding over my nipple which traitorously hardened at his touch. He grinned and kissed my neck, sending a buzz rippling down my back, culminating between my thighs where I ached for his touch and hated myself for wanting him even though I was pissed as fuck. The kisses became more fervent, and he sucked on the skin there gently, his body pressed against mine, heat cascading down my spine.
When he pulled the t-shirt up over my breasts, I dropped the hairbrush to the floor, knowing that all was lost and that what I needed right then was not another pill. I just needed him to fuck me. I needed his hands on me, inside me. I needed him to make me scream his name and beg for more and to Hell with everything else.
I moaned as his hand wandered down my stomach, his gaze never leaving my own as his fingers slipped between my legs. I was hypnotised by the movement of his hand in the mirror, the way I began to move my hips with each stroke of his fingers, jutting forward to urge him further, deeper.
Voices drifted up from downstairs through the open bedroom door and I knew we weren't alone in the house, but right then, with the coke rushing through my veins and Davey's hand between my legs, I didn't care. Hell, they probably could have come upstairs and gotten themselves a good look, and I don't think I would have given a shit. Nothing was going to stop me or this.
Davey tugged the t-shirt up over my head, throwing it to one side and I stood there for a moment, looking at myself completely naked in the mirror, his hand on my throat, the other holding me against him as he nipped along my shoulder.
'You'll always be my number one, Case,' he murmured against my skin. 'I'll never want anyone as much as I want you. You and me against the world, eh babe?'
I'd wanted to believe that once. Almost had, if I was being honest. I'd wanted to believe I could have that kind of relationship mentality. The kind when you meet someone and it feels like nothing could penetrate how strong you are, that nothing could ever destroy what you have, just as long as you stick together.
Us against the world. Us against the whole fucking universe.
But the truth was, it had never been like that at all. We were together because we weren't so very different, Davey and I. We pushed the boundaries. We didn't give a shit. We loved excess and excitement and just lived for the buzz. We egged each other on, dared each other to go further, took each other to the edge and looked over the sheer drop and just fucking laughed at it. That's who we were. That's what this was. No big love affair. No romance. No wedding in the Seychelles and a happy-ever-after. Just fucking him even though he didn't deserve it. Just fucking him with the door open and his crew downstairs. Just fucking him with three lines of coke up my nose and in my veins.
I wriggled out of his grasp and turned around, tugging at the button on his jeans as he yanked off his t-shirt. Dropping to my knees, I pulled his jeans down low over this hips, getting a little kick to see how hard he was and I took him into my mouth, hearing his low moan as I moved my lips from tip to base. Sweeping my tongue over him, I glanced up to see him grinning down at me, his hands moving to entwine his fingers in my still-damp hair. Music began to thump through the floor, followed by peals of laughter, but that just spurred me on more and I increased the pressure, taking him in deeper, knowing how much he loved it.
The heat was building, a delicious warmth that danced over my body as he pushed against me, making small gentle thrusts into my hungry mouth. I dug my fingers into his hips and he sucked in a breath, tugging on my hair. Just when I thought he was close, he drew back, pulling me to my feet and snaking a hand around the back of my neck. Leaning in close, he grazed his lips against mine, teasing me with the softest of touches I knew would never last, not that I cared whether it did or not. All I wanted right then, all I needed, was him inside me. I didn't need gentle. I needed hard and fast and earth-fucking-shattering.
As if sensing my desperate need for him, he laughed against my mouth, before pushing his tongue inside, lapping at my own with deep, hungry strokes. I'd always loved the taste of his tongue against my own, loved the taste of him on my lips, loved tasting myself on his.
Pulling away, he pushed his jeans all the way down, tugging them off his legs as I watched, climbing onto the bed as I did so. His body was always perfection, all hard lines and toned muscle, tattoos stretching across the smooth skin of his broad chest, the tantalising trail of darker hair underneath his bellybutton. I drank him in as he walked over to the dresser, opening the drawer and giving me a good look at his arse. With my mouth watering for him, my gaze drifted upwards to the small of his back, the curve of his spine.
The scratch marks that I hadn't made.
God, I hated her. I even hated him a little bit, but not enough to stop. Instead, I let the anger fizzle through me, feeling the burn of it deep under my skin and knowing that I'd use it, I'd let the rage fuel me almost as much as the coke was. I was going to fuck him regardless, and no scratch marks from some skanky, two-bit slut was going to stop me. Not now.
He turned back to face me, brandishing the small silver foil packet in his hand and tearing off the top. I watched, enthralled, as he stood in front of me, ever the crowd-pleaser as he rolled it on, a wicked glint in his eyes that told me he was getting off on me watching him, maybe enjoying it almost as much as I was.
Grabbing my ankles, he pulled me towards him and knelt on the edge of the bed, spreading open my legs. He stayed there, looking down at me and rolling one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, until I thought I would scream with want. I hated being kept waiting. Hated this little moment of power he liked to hold over me, knowing full well how much I wanted to be fucked.
'Look at you,' he said. Another smile. Another maddening grin. 'You just can't get enough, can you? You're pure fucking filth, Casey Brogan.'
Just. Fucking. Fuck. Me.
And he did then, taking himself in his hand and guiding himself to the right spot, easing in slowly which I knew was another game for him. Like I said, Davey didn't do gentle.
He thrust in hard, really hard, and I cried out, not just because it felt so bloody good, but because finally I was getting what I wanted. I was getting my hit of him, the hit I'd craved, the hit I'd hoped would make me forget.
Only the harder and deeper he moved inside me, the more I remembered.
It came at me in sharp, blinding flashes, the impact of each memory making me cry out, the impetus of each thrust of Davey's hips intensifying everything - the feel of his breath on my face, the way his hand gripped mine tightly, the fierce fire in his eyes. Everything became about him, the man who'd saved me, as my mind overwhelmed me with images I didn't want to see, drowned me in sensations I didn't want to feel and yet, even then, as I desperately tried to tear myself away from it all, I found myself gripping Davey even tighter. I closed my eyes to it all, willing myself to stay with him, to stay here .
Fucking fight, damn it, the man whispered into my ear.
I came hard.
The sunlight reflected off towers of glass and steel, the dazzling shards of light making me blink in the afternoon glare. It was a rare mild day in January, one of those beautiful ones where the skies were a clear blue over London and the sun held the worst of the winter chill at bay.I raised my hand to shield my eyes as I looked up at the great sparkling monolith where Claire worked, wondering, as I always did whenever I came here, what it must look like inside. I'd always imagined some high-tech state-of-the-art office, regurgitated from a high-budget sci-fi film, where the receptionist was a robot, coffee was beamed directly into your coffee cup and everything had a white, clinical feel like a laboratory.But I'd never been inside Claire's office. She'd never invited me, always choosing to meet outside in one of the trendy coffee shops or snooty wine bars she liked so much. I had a feeling she thought that my presence would taint her perfect workspace, that if I so much a
It was hot on the Tube. Stifling. Suffocating.I grasped onto the support rail, my sticky hands preventing me from getting a firm grip as the carriage rocked back and forth through the tunnel. Removing one hand, I wiped my palm down my thigh, before gripping the pole again and doing the same with the other one, not that it seemed to make much difference. A body brushed against mine from behind and I tried to shift into what little gap there was to avoid contact, but it was futile. Passengers were packed into the carriage, bodies crammed so tightly together that personal space would have been nothing short of a miracle.My t-shirt was sticking to my back and I wished there was enough room to take off my jacket, but I had no chance unless a few people decided to get off at the next station. Inhaling deeply, I leant my forehead against the rail and clung to it the best I could, closing my eyes for a few seconds. The heat was starting to make me feel a little dizzy and nause
'You are aware your sister's episode was most likely due to substance abuse?'There was a brief silence, punctuated by the steady beeping from close by. It was the beeping sound that I'd heard first, the insistent noise reaching out to me in the darkness and I'd followed the beeps up to the surface, like I was following a trail of breadcrumbs out of the deepest part of the forest.I knew what it was. I'd heard it before, after I'd OD'd the first time and Addi had panicked and brought me to the hospital. He'd taken me to A&E and left. Davey's orders . I'd woken up surrounded by strange faces with cold, unsympathetic eyes and that irritating beeping sound which haunted my sleep for days afterwards.'Yes. She's on a drug counselling program, she's dealing with it. At least trying to anyway. This is just a blip.'Not Claire. Not my sister. A man's voice.A man's voice that I recognised.I froze just under the surface, scared to open my eyes.'Well, Mr.
When you've lived with liars all your life, it's easy to become something of an expert.Whether they look you dead in the eye or try to avoid your gaze, whether they stay completely still or shift around as if bugs are crawling under their skin, whether their voice hitches up an octave or stays exactly the same. I knew liars. I'd seen liars bare-face fake it to authorities to cover up their dirty crimes. I'd had liars tell me they loved me, while opening the door to monsters. I'd had monsters tell me everything would be okay, as they pushed my face into the pillow.And I stared at a liar every day in the mirror.So yeah, I definitely knew liars, alright.In fact, they only person in my life who never lied, was Davey. He was everything Claire said about him, and more, but the one thing he wasn't, was a liar. Davey told it to you straight. Davey was upfront about everything. If you pissed him off, he'd make sure you knew about it. If he wanted to shag someone else, he was
'But you'd have heard about it,' Ethan said. 'That kind of news gets around. Kids freaking out. Ending up in hospital like you did today. The police would already be investigating and what do you think they'd find out if they did? That the people experiencing drug-related episodes all went to one of your boyfriend's club nights. The boyfriend who happens to be closely associated with local gangster and poster-boy of the old school network, Oscar Turnbull. Trust me, if this was down to Oscar and his drugs, your boyfriend would have had his balls ripped off by now and shoved so far up his arse that no surgeon in the land would be able to extract them. And you?'He smiled and I froze.'All the thigh-skimming dresses in the world wouldn't help you, Casey. You'd find yourself in a filthy, back street club in Kiev within days, drugged up to your eyeballs, wearing nothing but your knickers and turning tricks just to stay alive.'Suddenly, I realised just how stupid I'd been. Ho
There was a guy we once knew on the scene, appropriately named Dan-E by the crew for his notorious pill-popping habit. Life and soul. Proper party animal. Put any kind of drug in front of him and he'd sniff it, swallow it, smoke it, whatever. I'd never seen anyone consume so much in my life and not drop down dead, and that's coming from someone who never refused much herself either, but Dan-E was a different league of user and I'd always known it for what it was. Even without the rumours, I could always see it.When people looked at Dan-E, he smiled - the biggest, broadest I'm-alright-Jack kinda smile you'd ever seen – but whenever people looked away, it was there, hiding behind the smile. A pressure that threatened to crush him. Like someone was pressing down a heavy weight on top of his shoulders.Like ghosts were clinging to his back .I saw it in him, because I saw it in me every day. Felt it. Felt them . Like we were part of some secret bloody club or s
Three grams of Charlie in a small plastic bag. Two pills, one blue, one white. Two blotters of acid, one with a strawberry picture, the other with a heart.I sat on the side of the bed, fist pressed against my lips, one foot constantly tapping a jive against the floor. Reaching out, I straightened up the line of drugs on the bedside table, spacing them out, then went back along and did it again. I stood up abruptly, began to walk away and stopped.Three grams. Two pills. Two tabs.Turning around, I stared at the line-up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Taking a step closer, I hesitated, clutching at my hair. With a whimper, I opened the drawer, quickly swiping the cocktail into it and shut it firmly, stepping back to watch the small table lamp wobble on top of the unit, the light juddering on the walls.I walked away. Stopped. Glanced back. Closed my eyes.Screams filled my ears, like the shrieks of a thousand birds, wings furiously beating at the air.
They were watching me.Davey had insisted they were mostly here just to take a look and report the night back to Oscar, and Addi had maintained as much when I had questioned him earlier about it, but I knew.I knew.I wasn't stupid and they thought I was. Poor, little deluded drug-fucked Casey. Spin her a line. Fill her head with memories and give her a pathetic grasp of hope, and she'll lay back and think of England and let us screw her some more. And it had almost worked. Almost.Yesterday, I'd believed it. I'd wanted to believe it. I'd wanted to believe them, but I'd seen the looks they'd been shooting each other all day. I'd pretended to be oblivious as they watched my every move and I'd smiled as I'd swallowed down the pills and as I'd cut the lines, consuming it all like everything was completely normal.Pretend. Smile. Play the game. It's what I always did.Oscar's goons had split up as soon as they'd arrived, but the shorter one – all five-foot-eight of pur