Daddy's Here(15)

I wanted to tell him what was happening at school. I tried three times,  three times that I remembered vividly, to tell him what had happened to  me but every time he was called away by a phone call or a meeting or  some bullshit reason that meant he didn't have to listen to me any  longer.

So I didn't tell him about Mr Villiers, the French teacher with the  wandering hands. I didn't tell him about every lesson of his, that I  dreaded going into his classroom because I was scared he might do it  again. The way he singled me out, telling me what a big girl I was  compared to the other students. The way he held me back after class and  made me dictate verbs to him, his hands sliding down my body as I froze  in place. The way he whispered to me to keep what he'd done to myself.

Between being bullied by the older girls and being given lessons in  things no one my age needed to learn about, I had an awful time at  school and no better a time at home, ignored by my father who thought  throwing money at me to keep me occupied was better than spending any  actual time with me.

But when the new caretaker moved on site and brought his son with me, a  ray of light burst in on my existence. Ben found me crying on the back  of the field after one French lesson, and best of all, he didn't take  advantage of me. He sat with me while I cried, he didn't even ask me  what was wrong, he just sat there. That was a good start.

We liked the same films, the same music, and best of all we both hated  the school. Two years I put up with Mr Villiers and two years I took to  realise I'd fallen in love with Ben. That first love is one everyone  remembers and mine most vividly for how wretched I felt when we were  torn apart.

Ben's Dad was only trying to do the right thing. When he walked into the  French classroom and found Mr Villiers reaching into my shirt, he  couldn't realistically keep quiet. He had to tell the head. But doing  that had repercussions he could never have imagined.

Yes, Mr Villiers took an early retirement and hopefully never touched  another teenage girl again. But Ben's Dad was sacked for trumped up  bullshit less than a month later, for making waves, as Ben called it.

Ben had to go with him and I was distraught, blaming myself for what  happened. We kept in touch by letter, me telling him how sorry I was,  how it was all my fault. Through it all, he didn't blame me. He told me  he loved me too and always would but the gaps between the letters got  longer and longer as the years went by. It reached the stage by the time  I graduated from school that my drunken texts and his replies were the  only times we ever contacted each other.         

     



 

I was distracted from my thoughts by a shadow falling over me and I  opened my eyes to find Jake looming over my bed. My eye was drawn  straight to his boxer shorts and it took a concerted effort to force  myself to look him in the eye.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice sounding weak.

"I need to tell you something," he replied. "I can't wait any longer." That was when all hell broke loose.





TWENTY-TWO


JAKE





When they came for her, I was standing over her bed. I'd gone to the  bathroom and splashed cold water on my face while she undressed. I'd  told her to get undressed. That was stupid. I needed to get a hold of  myself.

Climbing into my bed in just my boxer shorts was stupid too. It made it  harder to resist grabbing her and fucking her. Knowing she was naked  under her blankets was torture. In the end, I couldn't resist her any  longer. I had to do something. So I climbed out of bed, crossing the  room while her eyes were closed.

I knew she was awake, that was obvious from the way she was breathing.  All I had to do was reach down, whip back the covers, and she'd be mine.  She opened her eyes and looked straight at my cock, straining as it was  against the fabric of my boxer shorts. I knew it was going to happen  then. Consequences or no consequences, I had to have her.

When the door of the room crashed open, it took me too long to realise  what was happening. I should have been ready, I should have heard them  prepping outside, I should have been dressed, I should have been lots of  things.

Instead I was too consumed by lust to pay attention and I got a timely  reminder in what happens when you let your emotions rule you instead of  stamping down on them and keeping them under control.

There were two of them and the first flicked the light off as the second  ran for me, something glinting in his hand. If it was a gun, I knew he  wouldn't fire it for two reasons. One, the noise would be too loud in a  hotel like this. Two, he'd presumably been hired by Tony and was under  the same instructions as me to make sure she wasn't damaged when she was  taken back. That left the only use of the gun as a threat but he didn't  know who he was dealing with. If it was a knife, things would be no  different other than I had to be careful to make sure he didn't  accidentally stick me now the room was pitch black.

The one who'd turned the light out had also shut the door to the hallway  and he approached a second later. All this took place so fast, Isabel  hadn't even begun to start screaming. She was still inhaling when I  threw my arm forwards and dived, rolling across the floor like a bowling  ball, smashing into goon two's legs. He fell forwards, landing on his  face. I was up with my arm swinging by the time he'd reacted, my  clenched fist hitting goon one in the chin, sending him thudding back  against the door behind him.

I didn't pause, spinning sideways as goon two got up. By my side was a  table and on it was just what I needed. With a yank, I pulled the lamp  from the socket, throwing it at goon two. He raised his arm to bat it  aside and I caught a glimpse of what was in his hand.

It was a knife after all. They'd not even brought guns. Amateurs, the  pair of them. Outside hires, no doubt. They'd managed to track us down,  I'd give them credit for that. But everything else about them told me  why they were outside hires. They weren't fast enough or coordinated  enough to be a real threat.

As goon two bashed the lamp away, I went under it, lowering my head and  slamming into his midriff, sending the air from his lungs. The knife  clattered to the floor but I ignored it. I didn't need it. I kept  pushing him back until he hit the bathroom door, crashing through it and  knocking it from its hinges.

With a twist of my hands I got hold of his head, ignoring the punches he  was landing on my back. I shifted my weight and took him with me,  bringing him underneath me so as we fell, his head struck the side of  the bath. He went limp at once and I let him go, turning to find goon  one was already making his escape with a screaming Isabel in his arms.

"Hey," I called out to him. "You forgot something."

He opened his mouth to reply with something clever but I didn't care.  Idiots quipped. The rest of us got the job done. His pause was enough  time for me to sprint across to him, sliding onto my back, my feet  outstretched. I caught him on the shin with a satisfying crack and he  yelled. It gave me enough time to grab Isabel and run, leaving him to  chase after us.

Once in the hallway, I smacked the fire alarm, the screeching bell  bringing people to their doors a second later. The goon was having to  fight his way through the mass and it was enough of a delay for me.         

     



 

I pushed open the fire escape and took the stairs two at a time. We  reached the bottom in under a minute. "Wait," she screamed, tugging her  hand away from mine as I went to push open the door to reception. "I  can't go out there with no clothes on."

I swore loudly, dragging her through. The hotel guests were making their  way out of the front door as the alarm continued to ring. "Here," I  said, grabbing a couple of discarded coats from one of the armchairs  that dotted the space by the reception desk. "Put this on."

I didn't give her time to stop, knowing our only advantage was in  getting far enough away from the goons before back up came. There  wouldn't be just the two of them if I knew Tony Matteo.

"My feet hurt," Isabel said as we ran outside, both of us throwing the  coats on. I looked down and saw her limping over the crap that lined the  pavement.

"Come here," I said, lifting her up and throwing her over my shoulders. "There," I said. "Just hold on."

On the other side of the road was a train station. It would be perfect  for us both. I ran over the road, ignoring the blaring car horns as  Isabel continued to protest about her treatment. She clearly had no idea  how close we'd been to disaster. With outside hires, there was always  the risk that they'd not take her back to Tony but keep her for  themselves. I'd be dead before I let that happen.

I didn't dare look back until we reached the station. When I did, I  could see both goons in the mass of people, shoving them aside in their  impatience while they tried to track us down. I turned back into the  station, running onto the nearest platform just as a train's doors began  to close.