even an inch out of line, I wanted know. I rolled down my window and flicked my finished cig onto the road. Cold wind filled the car, and I let it wash over my face.
“You got everything sorted for tomorrow night?” I asked Charlie.
“Done.” My cousin smiled. “Should be a good one.”
I nodded my head. I couldn’t fucking wait. I had pent-up anger I needed to unleash.
And unleash it I fucking would.
I sat beside the fire in my old man’s old study. There were no windows in the smallish room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered all four walls. Two library ladders leaned against them on either side of the room. The old desk took up the north side, and two wingback armchairs sat before the large fireplace. A small table sat between the chairs. And on top was my grandfather’s old chessboard.
I sat in one of the armchairs. I’d been here for hours. I knew it was dark outside. But I had no fucking idea what time it was. Two in the morning, maybe? I didn’t fucking care. I was nocturnal by nature. Late nights were nothing new.
A large gin sat in front of me. Only the lights from the fire and a standing lamp filled the room. This was my old man’s favourite room. A place where he could shut out the world and the pressures of leading the family for a fucking minute.
It was my favourite room for that reason too.
I sipped my gin and moved a pawn on the chessboard. I stared at the pieces. My entire fucking life was just one big chess game between me and God.
I wasn’t sure who the fuck was winning.
The door slowly opened. I was about to tell whoever it was to fuck off and give me a few fucking hours of peace, but when I saw familiar dark hair and green-brown eyes appear in the doorway, I didn’t open my bloody mouth.
Cheska’s gaze swept around the room. A flicker of a smile kicked up her lips as she drank in the mass of books. While she was busy observing the study, I was busy looking at her. Her bruises were practically gone, just one place on her cheek where a slight blue tone was apparent on her olive skin.
She wore skinny jeans and a short white t-shirt. There wasn’t a scrap of makeup on her face, and she still looked like a fucking model. As if she’d heard that compliment, she turned back to me and squared her shoulders.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding?” Her posh fucking Chelsea accent washed over me. Normally I couldn’t stand that Queen’s English bollocks, but it was perfect coming from her. I lit a cig and just watched her, wondering what she might do, why she was even here. I should have sent her the fuck away, back to my bedroom and out of my sight.
But my mouth chose to stay shut.
She stepped further inside, glancing over her shoulder at me as she turned and closed the door. As it clicked shut, she leaned against the old wood. She met my eyes fucking head-on. Then her gaze scanned down me.
“Arthur Adley without his suit jacket, waistcoat and tie,” she said, smiling. “A rare sight.” I’d thrown them off the minute I’d got home from Old Sammy’s warehouse. I was done with business for tonight. I’d opened a few buttons on my shirt and sat the fuck down in here to drink and smoke and not fucking think.
Trouble found me anyway.
Trouble in the form of a rich bird with long legs and the sweetest fucking cunt I’d ever tasted.
“Impressive collection,” Cheska said, walking along the bookshelves. Her hand ran along the spines of the hundreds of old hardbacks. She was edging closer to me, using the books as an excuse to draw in. She stopped at my old man’s silver liquor trolley. “May I?” She held up a crystal gin glass. I nodded, taking another long drag of my cig. Cheska poured herself a gin and tonic and moved past me, stopping at the free armchair opposite me.
I wasn’t fucking inviting her to sit down. I wanted to see if she’d scurry away from my lack of manners or sit the fuck down regardless. Cheska looked me square in the eyes and lowered herself to the seat. My cheek twitched at the challenge in her eyes. Her chin tilted up high, and I wondered if this was what that fucking fancy private school she’d attended taught