Bait(48)

Twenty





It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

Mark Twain





Phoenix



My message to Jake was simple.

Stay away from my house. Stay away from my son.

The barrage of abuse I received in response was even more vehement than I anticipated.

I barely gave it any credence whatsoever until his sign-off message on Sunday evening.

I want a fucking paternity test.

He can fucking want.

I’m busy at work on Monday – a shitload of fresh shipments arriving in from Germany. I’ve barely got a spare minute to think, and yet she’s always there, a flashing circle on my GPS software.

It’s easy to take a second to find out where she works – a place called Office Express on the edge of the city centre. I look up their website and find a standard, generic-looking office supplies company. I click on their meet our staff page and find her staring back at me.

Abigail Summers, administration clerk.

It strikes me as odd, that job title. Whichever way I look at it, it feels like a major career back step. I guess that’s what happens when you get as chewed up as she did – you run, fast. Take whatever you can find.

We lost our office manager here after the fire. Just one of many who drifted away when the business was on the ground. Gillian had been good, at the heart of operations, equally positioned between the pair of us – me and Jake. Close to Marianna, too. Her resignation had been just another unfortunate piece of shit in the aftermath. Tears and apologies and a ‘see you around’.

I haven’t replaced her.

I don’t even know why Gillian presents herself in my consciousness. I wouldn’t even consider having Abigail here. Not for a single sensible second. Not for a fraction of one.

Never.

But my cock is throbbing like a motherfucker under my desk. My heart a pounding fucking mess at the thought of chasing her around the warehouse after hours.

My Germany shipment can wait a few more minutes. I click on the Office Express company blog and scroll through, searching for snippets, photos, anything that will give me more insight into my pretty black swan. That’s when I notice their updated events schedule listed loud and clear.

Office Express summer barbecue. Castle Green. In aid of Herefordshire Air Ambulance.

Summer ball theme, dress to impress.

Staff, suppliers, and clients – all welcome.

Clients welcome. My cock twitches.

Interesting.

It’s on the twenty-eighth of the month. A Saturday three-weeks away.

I flick back to their company brochure. Most of our furniture at this new depot is odds and sods from clearance sales – the best I could do under the circumstances at the time.

I need a new filing cabinet and a fresh batch of printer cartridges. That’s what I tell myself when I fill in the online form and click submit.

Order confirmed. A representative will contact you shortly. Thank you for your business.

And just like that I’m an Office Express client.

I check my calendar. The twenty-eighth is clear. I’m sure Serena won’t mind taking over duck pond duties for the day.

I key in the date and smile as my calendar turns to busy.

The circle is still firmly in her office location when I check my phone again. I’m sure she’ll be there, at the barbeque. I’m sure she’ll be dressed to impress amongst her co-workers chowing down on a burger in the sunshine.

I’m sure I’ll be there watching her, too.

I turn my attention back to my shipment logs, busying myself before the last of the trucks arrive back for reloading. I’m finally knuckling down with paperwork when the office door squeals on its hinges and slams against the wall. I’ve barely turned my head when my piece of shit brother comes flying in with his fists in the air. I can smell the drink on him before he’s halfway across the room.

“You gonna fucking message me back then, or what?” he grunts. “Gotta use our fucking sister as your fucking guard dog now when you’re not around?”

He’s easy to out manoeuvre as he swings a clumsy fist across the desk at me, and he’s easy to spin on his haunches and disorientate enough to slam to the ground.

The guy’s like an angry fucking bear as he scrabbles to his feet. He tears my paperwork to the floor with his efforts, and I resist the urge to kick him right in the gut while he’s on his knees.

“Back the fuck off, Jake,” I bark, but he’s too gone. Too fucking drunk.

His lip twists into a sneer as he glares up at me. “It’s Ash,” he spits. “Ash, because there’s no rising from the flames for me, Phoenix. I’m still fucking dead inside.” He pauses. There’s enough hate in his eyes to make my neck prickle. “He’s my fucking boy!” he yells and I curse his loud fucking mouth. I’m aware of people gathering in the corridor outside, aware that news of brothers at war is spreading like the pox through this building.