Hardened (19 page)

“I’ll go. You keep the bed warm.” He kisses me then gets out of bed. He drags on his jeans, then sits on my one and only chair to pull on his socks and trainers. “What toppings do you like?”

“Hawaiian? Or spicy chicken. You choose.”

“One Hawaiian coming up.”

“With coleslaw? And spicy wedges. Oh, and I like those chicken dipper things…”

“I see, no expense spared now that I’m paying. And here I was thinking you’re a cheap date.” He’s grinning, and I know he’s not exactly short of cash. Even so, I feel uncomfortable and wish I’d kept my mouth shut about the coleslaw. He shrugs into his jacket. “All the trimmings then. See you in about half an hour.”

The flat is deafeningly silent as his footsteps fade. I pull the duvet up around my throat and stare at the door which just closed behind him. How has Jared North come to fill my world so completely? I’ve yet to come up with an answer to that when the quiet is pierced by a shrill ringing. My own ring tone is twittering birds. Jared must have forgotten to take his phone with him.

I get out of bed and follow the sound of the phone. I find it, under the bed, and can only assume it fell from one of his pockets when he dumped his clothes. The screen is lit up, the words on the display clear.

Dickhead. Do not answer.

I stare at the device, bemused. But I take the hint and let it ring out. As soon as voicemail kicks in the caller hangs up.

Ten minutes pass, and it rings again. The screen tells the same story, so once more I leave the phone to go to voicemail. By the time Jared returns, a large flat box and several smaller ones balanced in his arms, there have been five missed calls from the dickhead.

I throw on a loose wrap and grab plates from one of my cupboards as Jared deposits our supper in my kitchenette. We are curled up on my bed for a picnic when the phone rings again.

“That’ll be the dickhead. He’s keen to talk to you.”

“What?” Jared pauses, a forkful of coleslaw halfway to his mouth.

I gesture to the phone, which I left on the corner of my table. “You left your mobile here. He’s been ringing every five minutes.”

Jared reaches for the device and rejects the call. He resumes his meal.

“Who is he?”

“Just someone I know. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“I guessed. He’s persistent though. Perhaps it’s important.”

“It’s total fucking crap. Forget it.” His expression is closed, cold. I’m suddenly reminded of the man I met when I first started working at Armley jail, the surly, embittered prisoner on G wing. This is a new side to Jared. Or should that be old side, re-emerging?

“Jared? Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head and his smile is forced. “Yes, but it doesn’t concern you. Us. I’ll phone him back later and tell him to piss off.”

“Who is he? What does he want?”

His body stiffens, withdraws from me. “Just drop it, Molly. Please.”

“But maybe I can help.”

“Christ, are you not listening to me? You can help by minding your own fucking business.”

I sit bolt upright, my appetite vanishing. “What are you talking about? There’s no need to speak to me like that.”

He shakes his head. “No, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—complicated.”

“I want to help. Perhaps I could—”

“Look, this isn’t working. It’s better if I go.”

“Go?” I gape at him, stupidly. “Go where?”

“A hotel. The station. Anywhere I won’t get interrogated like a bloody convict. We’re not back in fucking Armley now. I don’t have to tell you anything.” He slams the pizza lid closed and stands up. “You finish that, I’ll get something later.”

“Jared, I didn’t mean—” I bite back my apology. Jared’s features have hardened, his expression now a vicious glower. I shrink back, afraid of him for the first time I can recall. Even when I was his jailer and he had every reason to resent me, he never made me feel this way.

I swallow, then tilt up my chin. I may be a submissive, but he’s way out of line and I have my pride. Lots of it. “Yes, you’re right. It
is
best if you leave.”

He’s already halfway to the door, pausing only long enough to collect his small case from the corner of my room. He glances back at me, his hand on the doorknob. “It was nice meeting up with you again, Molly.”

I don’t reply. I can’t. I have no words. I’m reeling, baffled by the sudden storm that erupted from nowhere and engulfed us. Jared offers me a brief nod, then he is through the door. He closes it behind him, and he is gone.

By the time the cab drops me at the entrance to Kings Cross station my temper has cooled and I’m calling myself all sorts of an ignorant, abusive arsehole. I scared Molly, I could tell that much, and I loathe that about myself. I’m no stranger to violence, though not in recent years, but even when I lived as a career criminal I never threatened a woman. Until tonight.

Fucking Stevie Horrocks! Even from two hundred miles away he taints anything he touches.

I briefly consider telling the cabbie to turn round and take me back to Wandsworth. It’ll take some grovelling—a fuck of a lot of grovelling in fact—but maybe I can convince Molly to give me another chance. I dismiss that. She won’t listen to me, at least not tonight, and I can’t blame her. If I turn up in person, that might just intimidate her more and make everything worse. I’ll make it up to her when she comes to Yorkshire later in the week.

I get out of the cab and pay the driver, then I stride into the station. My luck’s in. It’s almost nine o’clock in the evening but there’s one last train due to depart for York in just under three minutes’ time. I pick up my case and sprint for platform three.

The first class carriage is almost empty as I recline back in my plush seat, a large latte on the table in front of me. I extract my phone from my jacket intending to phone Molly. During my headlong dash to catch this bloody train the realisation hit me that unless I can convince her I’m suitably contrite there’s no way Molly’s going to come to my home on Wednesday. Why would she? I pretty much told her we were over.

It was nice meeting up with you again
. Shit! What a stupid thing to say. Fucking crass. And her face—she looked so hurt. I couldn’t have wounded her more if I’d slapped her across the cheek. I was only just starting to get to know her, understand her kink, her needs and desires, and I went and fucking blew it big style.

What is it about Stevie that brings out the worst in me? It always did. He’s only been out a matter of weeks and already he’s screwing up my life again. It’s probably only the fact that he got a much longer stretch than I did that’s kept me out of trouble this long. So much for talent and being a reformed character. Stevie Horrocks is both stupid and vicious. I can’t stand the man but he’s dragging me back down to his level without even trying.

I need to limit the damage, at least try to rebuild my bridges with Molly. I find her in my speed dial and hit call. To my relief she answers after a few seconds.

“Jared? Where are you?”

“On the train. I just managed to catch the last one.”

“Oh, good. That’s all right then, I had visions of you sleeping on the platform.”

I don’t bother to mention the Great Northern hotel, five-star luxury, adjacent to Kings Cross station. That would have been my fall-back but I’m pleased she cares. That’s a promising sign. Slightly heartened, I press on.

“Look, Molly, I’m sorry—”

“Jared, I—”

We both go silent. I’m the first to speak again. “Molly, I owe you an apology. That was unforgivable of me.”

“It was, yes.” Her tone is quiet, but no less convincing for that. My heart sinks.

“But even so,
will
you forgive me?”

“You frightened me.”

“I know. But I’d never harm you, you must believe that.”

“I did believe that, before. But… I hardly know you, do I? Not really.”

“You know me well enough. And you trust me, you said that.”

“I saw a different side to you tonight, a side I can’t live with. If I’m going to allow a man to do the sorts of things we were doing, I need to know that he’s nice. I need him to be kind, gentle, calm. I need to know he likes me, that I’m safe with him, and that I can trust him. It seemed as though you didn’t like me earlier, when you were swearing at me, when you just got up and left with hardly a word. I certainly didn’t like you, and I didn’t feel safe.”

I cringe inside. Every word she says is spot on. I deserve her anger, though what I’m hearing sounds more like disappointment, which is worse if anything.

“I know that, Molly. If I could turn the clock back, I would. I was angry, but not with you.”

“Who else was there?”

“It was him, the dickhead.”

“You took it out on me. That’s not acceptable.”

“I know. Molly, let me make it up to you. I was a prize pillock, a total jerk, I know that, but it won’t happen again. Come up to my barn on Wednesday, like you planned. Stay a few days, or as long as you like. We’ll scene if you want to, or not. Let me convince you I
am
that nice guy you need.”

“I’m not sure. I won’t let a man push me around or put me down. Or take out his bad temper on me. Andy did enough of that and I’m not going there again.”

“I hear you, Molly, and I swear it won’t be like that. I screwed up earlier. It won’t happen again. Come to Yorkshire next week. Please.”

“You said we’d scene, or not. I thought this was just about sex, this thing between us. You agreed to help me explore my submissive nature. What will we do if we don’t scene?”

An excellent question. “Molly, a D/s relationship is about much more than screaming orgasms.”

“I like the screaming orgasms though.”

“Me too. Am I to understand you
will
want to scene?”

“I haven’t even decided to come back to your house yet.”

“Please do, Molly. Or if you prefer I’ll come back to London to talk to you. I can stay in a hotel.”

“What’s wrong with my place? Too poky for your taste?”

“No, your flat’s fantastic, I wish I was still there, with you. Shall I get the first train back in the morning?”

She laughs, the sound the most precious I have heard in a long time. “No, you don’t need to do that. You have a meeting, anyway, in Leeds.”

“Fuck that. I could—”

“I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“You will?”

“Yes. I’ll text you to let you know what time my train gets in.”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.”

“You don’t have to, I can manage.”

“I’ll meet you. I’m a nice guy, remember, and that starts with me carrying your luggage for you.”

“You’re a dom, you’re not supposed to pamper me.”

“Ah, but I am. That’s exactly what I’m supposed to do. Pleasure, pain, pampering. And screaming orgasms. I have a lot to prove. Thank you for giving me the chance, Molly.”

“You’re welcome, sir. But, about what happened earlier, please don’t speak to me like that again.”

“Agreed, we’ll put temper tantrums from me on the hard limits list. Non-negotiable.”

“And if I want to ask questions, is that allowed?”

“Christ, yes. Of course it is.” I’m mortified that she would think otherwise, though I really can’t blame her. I acted like a total shit.

“And if I ask about the dickhead?”

I hesitate. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t…”

“Because it’s private, a sensitive subject, and you want me to respect that?”

Exactly.
“Yes, pretty much.”

“Okay. You had only to say so.”

“Got that.” I opt to quit while I’m ahead. There’s always a danger I might open my mouth and stick my fucking boot right in it again. “Text me. Every day.”

“Until Wednesday then. Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Molly.”

I end the call and lean back, smiling. That went well, better than I hoped. I wish I could be as optimistic about my next conversation.

As though conjured up by my thoughts, my phone rings again. I know it’s Stevie, even without the announcement on the screen. I sigh and hit the green key to take the call.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

No preamble, no pleasantries. Stevie Horrocks can always be relied upon to be objectionable.

“France.” I can be equally abrupt.

“What were you doing in fucking France?”

“Working.”

“You were supposed to be working here. I had a job for you. I told you to be there.”

“And I told you no. Is there a problem with your hearing, or maybe you’re just plain dense? Come to think of it, you always were.”

“You’re just plain dead.” Stevie announces my apparent demise with deadpan calm, then goes on to elaborate. “Syko fucked up. The fucking motor he nicked for the job turned out to be a dud. The police had been tipped off and he got lifted, Barry and Lofty too. Me and Brad got away, managed to slip out the back and leg it across the fields while the wooden tops were chasing Syko, but we were lucky.” He pauses for a moment. I can hear his heavy breathing on the end of the phone as he relives his mad dash for freedom over the Yorkshire countryside. “It was you told the screws.”

“Was it fuck!” I’m oddly indignant at the accusation. “I didn’t even know where the job was, so how could I? And who’s bloody Syko?”

“Alec Sykes. Came recommended but he’s a nutter. Turned up at the garage with bloody Corsa as the getaway motor. Who the fuck robs petrol stations with a fucking Vauxhall Corsa?”

Who indeed?
I would never have turned out with anything less than a Cortina.

Stevie continues to vent his anger, as though this whole bloody cock-up he seems to be embroiled in has something to do with me. Weird place, Planet Stevie.

“I texted you the time and place. You were supposed to be there, with a decent bloody motor. Instead I end up dragging bloody Syko in at the last moment, he fucks it all up, and the cops are waiting for us when we come out the petrol station.”

“Fucking tough.” I grimace; it would have suited me just fine if Stevie had gone down for another ten years, though I wouldn’t wish that on Brad. My brother-in-law’s never going straight, but he’s likable enough in small doses and his kids miss him when he’s away. I never even read the bloody texts so I truly didn’t know the details of Stevie’s ill-fated heist, but even if I had I wouldn’t have dropped Brad in it.