Dirty Bad Savage(19)

I slowed down as I reached the subway, the funnel of syringes and piss leading straight back to where I belong. I took out a roll-up as I came out the other side, cruised my way through the streets I’d grown up on. I wasn’t ready for Vick’s yet, not even ready for Casey.

Sophie fucking Harding.

Her stockings under that red dress, the noises she made. Her fucking smell.

Her blonde hair. Shiny, and soft looking. Red lipstick.

The hint of her tits, white flesh blushing red.

The noises she made...

I took out the cash, counted crisp notes in grubby fingers. I didn’t want it. Not from her. I wanted to give it back, tell her thanks. Thanks for bringing my Casey back, thanks for keeping quiet, thanks for not putting me inside again.

Thanks for nothing.

I shoved the notes back in my pocket, as deep as they would go. I’d take her fucking money, be her fucking guard dog in the next room ready to spring if lover boy got a bit leery.

Her piece of fucking meat. Her trash.

She was trash. The noises she made. Her slutty fucking dress. The way she begged.

Fuck. The way she begged.

I hadn’t had a fuck in months.

My dick was hard, balls aching so fucking bad in my jeans. I dropped into the shadows of tower two, stuffed my hand down where I needed it. So fucking hard. My balls were hot, tight, desperate to shoot my load. I needed pussy. Wet, tight, hot fucking pussy.

Her smell... posh perfume... and shampoo... and clean, soft skin... and sex...

I changed course, skirting back the way I came and detouring to Al’s fish and chips. It was closed, and so was the off license next door, but the benches to the side were still live and kicking, a gaggle of tower one girls with a bottle of cheap vodka between them. A couple of Blades’ gang members were kicking about across the road, but I’m good with Blades. Know them well enough to be on terms.

“You missed it,” one of the girls said. “Closed half hour ago.” I recognised her, Gemma Davies, brother’s inside for arson.

I shrugged. “Ain’t here for that.”

I looked at her mates. A couple of alright girls amongst the rabble, one redhead, one with long dark braids. And another, facing away from me, giggling with a stocky little skank in pigtails.

“What are you here for then, Callum Jackson?” Gemma Davies smiled, hitched her skirt a bit. “Want a swig?”

I took the bottle. Tasted like paint stripper. “Who’s your mate?”

“Which one?” she smiled. I tipped my head and she rolled her eyes. “So pissing typical. Lozza, get over here. Got an admirer.”

The girl glanced back over her shoulder. Her blonde hair was just like Sophie Harding’s. Face not so much. She was piggier, with a fatter nose, and her eyes were dark. My dick didn’t fucking care.

“Hey,” she said. “I know you.”

“Most do,” I said, taking another swig.

“Look pretty wired.” She was smiling, twirling her hair. Drunk.

Gemma reached for the bottle. “How come she gets all the luck? How about it, Cal?” She pushed the bottle neck between her lips, eyes on me as she gave it fucking head. My fist clenched at my side, itching to ram it down her throat. I fixed my eyes back on blondie, on the way her hair curled under her chin.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

She smiled, feigned innocence. “A walk? Where you wanna walk to?”

“Around.”

She flicked her hair, giggled at her pig-tailed mate. “Sure, I could do with stretching my legs. Just for a minute though, yeah?”

“No fair,” Gemma laughed. “Come back after, eh? I don’t do sloppy seconds, but for you...”

Lozza tottered over, unsteady on vodka legs. She was taller than Sophie Harding, but that would be the heels. Stupid high stiletto things she could barely walk in. She swayed along with me, taking hold of my elbow as we crossed the road.

“Where we going?”

“Around.”

“We could go to mine, if you want. My mum’ll be out all night, probably got some beer in the fridge.”

I kept a pace, pulling her along until she stopped in the middle of the road, giggling like a retard. “Jesus, hold your horses, yeah? I can’t keep up.”

I stopped, turning to face her in the streetlights. Her hair glowed blonde, face dark in the shadow. “Not far now.”

“I’ve heard about you, Callum Jackson. They say you’re rough... maybe I should go back.”

“Go. If you want.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, staring up at me with drunken eyes. “They say you have tats. Loads of them. I wanna see.”

I reached around her, slamming a hand onto her ass so hard it knocked her flat into me. “I wanna see you.”