Spike (10 page)

They said they’d contact me by phone. I stare at my mobile on the desk. When are they going to call? Am I supposed to answer it at all hours? Are they going to ring me at work? They could have already discovered where I work from my Facebook profile.
Crap.

Who are they planning on hurting if I talk? Me? Aidan? My family?

I’ve always been good at keeping secrets, but I’m a bad liar.
No, wait; I’ve already lied to Aidan about Tara.
The problem is, that people can read me like a book. I can’t hide the way I feel, especially from Aidan.

I sit at the desk for another hour before finally plucking up the courage to charge my phone and go to bed.
Not that I think I’ll be able to sleep
. I slip into the crisp white sheets beside Aidan, who is dead to the world. I couldn’t be more relieved. If he saw my face right now, he would know something was up.

I silence myself as my tears fall, using the sheets to mop them up. I want to tell Aidan, ask him what I should do. But I don’t think I can. Would it be worth the risk?

****

I slept through my alarm, which is not like me at all. I didn’t even hear Aidan leave this morning. It took forever to fall asleep, and now, with my head pounding and my eyes stinging, I want to fall into a coma. No one can blackmail me if I’m in a coma right?

Danuta will blast me if I’m late. She hates tardiness. I shower and dress in five minutes flat, and slam the front door behind me as I rush out of the house. When I open my car door, my phone rings. It burns a hole in my handbag with each loud shrill. I fumble around and answer it without looking at the display.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby, you finally made it out of bed, huh?”

I breathe out with relief at hearing the sweet tones of Aidan’s voice. “Hey, yeah, I’m just on my way to work now.”

“You must have had a fair bit of stuff to get through. I didn’t even hear you come to bed.”

“Yeah, the next week or so is gonna be pretty intense.” I lie through my teeth. Well, partially. I have study, but it won’t be nearly as busy as I just made out.

“Don’t overdo it. I missed my snuggles. ”

“Yeah, me too. I’d better go, otherwise I’ll be late.”

“Sure.”

“Aidan … I love you.” We rarely say it over the phone unless he is away, but today I can’t help it. Last night when I was trying to sleep, a million thoughts of someone watching him flashed through my mind. If the photos were devastating enough, having anything happen to Aidan would be my worst nightmare.

“Love you too, baby. See ya tonight.”

I get in my car, and my phone rings almost straight away. Aidan probably forgot to tell me something.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, wishing he’d hurry up so I can get to work. No response. “Hello?” I hold the phone out in front of me. I answered a private number. I hold it back to my ear “Hello?”

“You got the email, Miss Lawson?” an electronically-altered voice asks.

Bile rises up my throat, burning a path along the way. The voice is just how those creepy electronic voices sound in the movies. But this is no movie. This is real. I swallow, praying I don’t vomit on myself. I need to hold it together.

“Yes,” I choke out.

“If you’re smart about this, you’ll do exactly as I say. You will not breathe a word to anyone, or these photos are going viral.”

“W-what do you want?” I ask.

“Five thousand dollars in cash by the end of the week. I’ll call you to set up a pick-up point. And when I say tell no one … that includes your pretty boyfriend. We know where he works, and it’d be unfortunate for him to fall victim to a nasty workplace accident.”

I hang my head and stare at the number five scrawled on the paper. “Who is this?” I ask, summoning what little courage I can find. I blink a tear onto the rim of my glasses and it blurs my line of sight.

“Just get the money. No one gets hurt. Make sure you answer your phone.”

The line goes dead before I get a chance to say anything else, but what else would I say, given the chance? Why me? Someone has naked pictures of me, now there’s a demand for money, and above everything, people will get hurt if I don’t do as I’m asked.

A vision of Aidan collapsed in a bloodied heap, creates a burning ache deep in the pit of my stomach. The thought of him dead has me scrambling out of the car and throwing up in the nearest garden bed.

Turning on the garden tap, I cup my hands under the stream of water and rinse out the acid from my mouth.

The name Mitchell Stone comes to mind, causing me to dry-retch. Is he behind this? He blackmailed Tara, but would he really go so far as to hurt his own child to get what he wants? It can’t be true. There’s no way Aidan could be related to someone this heartless.

Regardless of who’s behind this, I’ll pay them whatever they want … I will not lose Aidan. If it was all about the photos I might fight, but they’ve got me. And they fucking well know it. They know my Achilles heel. I can’t be responsible for what these people might do. Empty threat or not. I’m paying them in a heartbeat.

****

All week, I’ve barely eaten. When I do, my body wants to reject it … just like I wish I could rid myself of this anxious cloak draped over me. My regular happy disposition seems to have gone AWOL. A smile takes so much more effort, and idle chitchat has me ready to tear my hair out in chunks.

I’ve been locking myself away in the study at every opportunity, but what I’m most concerned about are the
what-ifs
that keep invading my head.
What if I pay and they don’t give me the photos? What if someone’s lurking around outside now?

As if I don’t have enough to worry about, I seem to have developed a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder—locking doors, closing curtains in every room, checking window locks and sliding doors, every time I enter or leave a room. When I finally settle into something, the idea that someone could be outside grates at my nerves until I have to get up and check the locks again. I can’t get to sleep at night until I’ve checked all these things at least twice. Aidan tells me I’m being anal about it and I try to laugh it off, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t sleep until I’ve gone through the routine.

Somehow I’ve managed to keep up pretences with Aidan. He’s been busy training and organising stuff for his race this weekend, so the little time he’s been around, his head has been elsewhere, too. We haven’t been as close as we normally would, but it’s the only way I know how to hold it together. The closer we are the more emotional I become, and if I spill, he’ll get hurt.

****

“Supercross will be the big challenge this year, but I’m pretty stoked with where I’m at, for this point in the season,” Aidan says, adding more pasta to his bowl.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” Lilian says, and smiles, bright as ever. It melts my heart to see Aidan and his family so happy. I know sometimes after a big day of work he’s not really in the mood to talk, but it’s been beautiful to see him include his mother tonight and talk about his passion. You’ve gotta love a man that makes an effort with his family.

“Reckon you’ve got a good crack at the title?” Frank asks, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his belly and toying with his belt.
If he undoes his belt, I’m out of here.

“Yep. Reckon I do. The support crew are second to none, and Mac, well, he’s really helped me find form. And as for my fitness, all my
training
is certainly having a positive effect.” Aidan squeezes my knee under the table, and winks at me.
Insatiable.

“Well, having seen you ride the other day, I’m Team Stone all the way,” I say and rise from the table. I excuse myself, and walk into the kitchen to put the apple pie in the oven. I don’t know where I’ll find the room, but seeing as Lilian made it herself with apples from the farm, I’ll find room, even if it sends me into a coma.

I push my phone aside on the counter, grab the pie and put it in the oven. My phone rings, and vibrates on the marble surface.
Oh no.
Any escape I’ve had tonight from reality is forgotten. I walk through to our bedroom and answer the call from a blocked number.

“Hello,” I say quietly.

“You got the money?” the same voice asks.

“Yes.” That one word causes a sharp
ping
in my chest. I’m giving in. It doesn’t feel right, but this is the only way out.

“Glebe Park, Saturday, three o’clock. You handover the money, you’ll get your photos. And remember to keep your mouth shut.”

“How will I know who to look for?” I ask.

“We’ll find you,” the voice says, and the line goes dead. I throw my phone on the bed and let out a loud sigh, looking to the ceiling. At least on Saturday, this will be over.

“What’re you doin’, babe?” Aidan asks, wrapping his arms around my waist. The hairs on my neck prickle and I swallow. I try to summon my sanity’s return as I twist in his arms to face him.

“I’m wondering how in the hell I’m gonna eat this pie.”

“Well,
I
was thinkin’ about eatin’ something else,” he says and waggles his eyebrows. His hands wander down to my arse, and he squeezes tight.

I roll my eyes, and smooth my hands over his warm chest. “Whilst I agree with you, somehow I don’t think your mother would approve.”

He chuckles, and runs his teeth over my earlobe. “I’m not about to go and ask her permission,” he whispers.

“Come on, let’s have dessert.” I tug his arm towards the door, but his feet are planted firmly to the ground.

“I don’t need to go anywhere for that.” His eyes travel down my body, resting between my legs.

“Aidan.” I warn him, narrowing my eyes.

“Fine. Let’s eat
pie
, then.” He swats my arse a little too hard as we make our way to the kitchen.

****

And so I sit, waiting on a park bench, with an envelope full of fifty-dollar notes stuffed in my coat pocket. My future and mental health hang like the delicate breeze blowing through the trees around me.

Children play on a set of swings close by, squealing with laughter and delight. There’s a lot to be said for the innocence of kids. Clearly the people behind this lost their innocence a long time ago.

Mesmerised by two young boys kicking a soccer ball back and forth, I almost jump off the seat when someone sits on the other end of the bench. I slowly run my eyes over
him
—a young man, probably only eighteen years old, in a black hooded jumper and faded grey jeans. Is he behind this, or is he simply the messenger?

His head turns toward me, revealing more of his baby face, but his scowl and overall appearance adds at least ten years. “Do you have it?” he says. His voice is quiet yet alarmingly firm.

“Yes … do you?” I ask coolly, wondering where on earth I found the guts to ask that.

“Hand it to me so I can check it.”

“How do I know you aren’t going to run off without giving me the photos?”

“I’m not leaving until I count it,
trust me
,” he says.
Trust! As if I could fucking trust you!

He takes a USB stick out of his pocket, and hands it to me. “Here.” The stick almost slips out of my sweaty hand but I grip it tight, my fingernails digging into my palm as they trap it. I reach into my coat pocket and slowly hand him the envelope.

On my wage, it took me forever to save that. I missed out on many things just to make sure I had it there when I needed it, so I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else.
Like my father
. But the money doesn’t matter. Aidan does. His love is more important to me than anything. Certainly more than money.

His grease-stained hands open the envelope, and he roughly flips through the notes as if he can speed-count.

I take my laptop out of my bag, and insert the USB stick. I wanted to be prepared, although if he handed me a USB with nothing on it, what would I do? Blackmail is a game with no rules, the power and control are all completely one-sided.

When it loads, ten files are displayed in the window. I open up the first, scanning a familiar photo. I quickly close the lid of the laptop. I don’t need to sit here with him and browse through one by one, although whoever the hell this guy is, he’s probably had more than a good look at them.

“Nice doin’ business with ya,” he says as he stands, stuffing the envelope in his pocket. He walks away from me across the park, through the tall trees, and then disappears.

My heavy head falls forward, and I’m close to pulling a muscle in my neck. I bury my eyes in the heel of my hands. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I combine the two. What a fucking relief.

It’s over.

I breathe in, filling my lungs deep. I can finally breathe.
Please let it be over.

I need a drink. The stiffest one I can get my hands on. But more than anything right now, I need Aidan.

CHAPTER SEVEN

* AIDAN *

It’s been a hell of a weekend, and although it was a tough round, I still managed to get on the podium, albeit third. Fucking Jones got one up on me too, but thank Christ he only got second, because if he placed first I’d be hearing his gloating for weeks. That shit would be enough to make my ears bleed.

Rest assured, I’ll be taking a few lessons out of this weekend. I’m feeling sore and sorry today, but a relaxing night at home with my girl will have me back on my feet. Maybe a good old bubble bath is the ticket. Never fucked her in the bath before. The shower seems to be our location of choice in the bathroom, but I reckon the bath would be sensational. That followed by a date on the couch, just wrapped up together.

When I walk through the door, Eevie is pouring herself a glass of wine in the kitchen. I unload my pockets onto the counter.

“Hey, sexy,” she says cheekily as she puts down the wine bottle and glides over to me. She leans her whole body up against me, and slips her hands into my back jeans pocket, clawing at my arse.
I am so getting lucky tonight
. Pushing her tits against me, her mouth meets my lips and she groans as she teases me with her tongue.