Payback

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  Karla looked down at herself. The soft light was accentuating the fine downy hairs on her arms. She knelt on the bed and sat back, one hand resting on Frank’s leg, massaging it softly through the thickness of the duvet. His smile widened.

  She watched him watching her, luxuriating in the way his gaze seemed to devour her body. She knew she was pretty - not beautiful in that glossy, magaziny kind of way - but nether-the-less pretty. Her face and body had a symmetry that attracted attention wherever she went.

  Leaning forward, she kissed the tip of Frank’s nose but suddenly found herself on her back as he swung her across the bed beside him. She felt his warm breath on the side of her neck, then a gentle tugging sensation as he began nibbling her earlobe. She giggled, pulling away, staring up into his eyes. He stared back down into hers, and for just a moment she thought she saw a tear there. Then his lips where on hers and she opened her mouth to let his tongue slip across her teeth. He groaned, the sound vibrating deeply in her chest. An unusual breathlessness overtook her and she broke the kiss, lightly biting his shoulder.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand and she felt the roughness of his palm on her soft skin. He stroked her chin with the side of his thumb and her skin flushed, a hotness engulfing her as he kissed her again, less urgently this time. She kissed him back, his hardness against her stomach.

  Somehow the duvet had ended up on the floor.

  Frank eased himself up on to his elbows, running the tip of his tongue along her collar bone, then down across her breast, flicking her nipple. She sighed quietly as he sucked it into his mouth, rolling it between his lips. Sliding her hand into his hair she massaged his scalp with her fingertips, gasping as he gently rolled the other nipple between his fingers.

  Closing her eyes, she tilted back her head, allowing the sensations to radiate outwards from her breasts, thrusting upwards as he sucked harder. Then, with a soft plop, he pulled his lips free and raised his head to smile at her. The wetness of his tongue continued its downwards journey and she clenched her teeth, tossing her head from side to side, gripping the sheet between balled fingers as he played with her.

  The bastard always teased her this way, slipping his tongue through her pubes - almost but not quite there - then sliding it away again, over and over.

  She groaned - louder this time as the sensation of his breath against the inside of her thigh brought a fluttering to her eyelids. He chuckled and she raised her leg as he moved its sideways, allowing him to blow on the back of her knee. She so loved it when he did that.

  He began working his way up her leg with a series of small kisses along the inside of her thigh and she bit down on her bottom lip, rocking her hips.

  At last he was there, his lips and tongue exploring her, pushing deep inside, then out again, slipping back and forth across her clitoris, taking her to higher heights. And when she finally came with a muted scream, the tensions that had built until she thought she might burst, dissipated as wave after wave rippled through her muscles.

  “God,” she breathed, the sweat trickling down between her breasts, “that was good.”

  She looked down at Frank and he looked back up at her from between her thighs, the dampness on his chin glinting in the light. She slithered downwards, rolling him on to his back, sliding off the end of the bed so she was kneeling between his thighs.

  His penis was stiff, the glans tinged with purple and she took it in her mouth, feeling him shudder as she slid her lips down the shaft.

  Then suddenly his hands were in her hair, but instead off easing himself deeper into her mouth as she was expecting, Frank roughly pulled her head away. He swore, his voice breaking as he softly mouthed obscenities.

  When he got to his feet, Karla saw that his erection had disappeared, as though it had never been. She frowned, turning onto her side, watching him as he strode to the window and stood with his back to her, staring out into the blackness, shoulders slumped.

  She went to him, gripping his biceps as she pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades.

  He shivered at her touch. “Fuck, that’s never happened to me before,” he said, more to himself than her.

  “It’s okay Frank,” she whispered into his back, not knowing what else to say.

  “No it’s not,” he answered, pulling away from her, then stalking around the room, collecting his clothes and pulling them on.

  Karla watched him dress, her heart heavy, until finally the door slammed and she was left alone, the duvet crumpled between clenched hands, wondering what she’d done wrong.

  *

  Frank stood in the wet road, letting the large summer rain-drops pound down on him. They felt refreshing. He turned his face up to them, but no matter how hard they fell, they couldn’t wash away the rage permeating every pour of his body.

  What was wrong with him? He loved Karla but found it impossible to tell her so, and now, God-damn it, he wasn’t even able to have sex with her!

  Wiping the rain from his face, he wished he could wipe away the memories that had so suddenly arisen from nowhere when Karla had taken him into her mouth - dark memories that in the end always sought him out, memories that had become more prevalent lately, memories that refused to be stilled.

  Hunching his shoulders against the wind, Frank stuck his hands deep in his pockets and slogged his way through the deepening puddles back towards his cottage, angry tears mixing with the rain.

  He needed time alone, time to think, time to understand where these feelings were coming from.

  *

  The cottage was dark and empty - void of life, with a coldness that reflected his feelings. Shrugging off his wet jacket, Frank tossed it at the coat hook, kicking it into the corner when it missed and landed on the floor in a soggy heap.

  God, he needed a drink.

  Changing direction at the last moment, he went into the kitchen instead and slapped on the kettle. Alcohol was not a good idea. Not right now. Not the way he felt. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he put the makings of a strong coffee into a mug, then leant back against the counter, lacing his fingers together, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. He felt as though his stomach was full of acid.

  The kettle clicked off but he didn’t hear it. He was elsewhere - elsewhen. The taste of coppery blood was in his mouth, his throat was clogged with stinking socks.

  Forcing the memories from his mind he tried to lock them away once more, back where they’d been for the past thirteen years, but they kept running through his head, like a looped tape, over and over.

  “Going to teach you how to enjoy it, you cocksucker!”

  Frank turned back towards the counter, smashing his cup against the tiles, punching the wall until the plasterboard broke and his knuckles streamed with blood.

  Sinking to the floor, he sat with his back against the kitchen cupboard, head bowed, the scar on his top lip clenched between his teeth, the shame and anger from the past overwhelming him once more.

  Chapter 16

  Frank stood in his kitchen, poking at the hole he’d punched in the wall, trying to pull the plasterboard - and his life - back together. A large piece broke off, clattering its way down into the dark interior. He sucked at his knuckles, examining the dark purple bruises.

  He’d need to get the wall fixed before Karla saw it and asked how it had happened. But he knew deep down that he was just being wishful. After his performance in bed last night, he’d be lucky if she ever talked to him again, let alone came over for a visit.

  Frank couldn’t remember much after opening the first bottle, but knew he must have drunk a hell of a lot by the hangover he was suffering. Damn, even his eyeballs ached.

  He glanced at the empty bottles lined up on the counter, then back to the damaged wall. Where did this rage come from. It frightened him that he could suddenly be so out of control.

  It had been two weeks since his trip to London, and he still couldn’t shake off the feelings of fa
ilure - the emptiness that filled him when he thought about Mandy. And now, on top of all that, he’d upset Karla - again. Things were spiralling out of control. He needed to get his life back on track and fast. The first step towards that would be to get back to work.

  After a quick shower and something to eat, Frank rang the courier who’d been handling his business for the past few days and arranged to take back his deliveries.

  *

  Karla glanced up as the bell on the coffee shop door tinkled - something she’d been doing all morning as she waited for Frank to put in an appearance - but it was just the postman making a delivery.

  Since returning from London, Frank had been moody, at times outright belligerent, and she wondered what had happened to him there. She’d tried talking to him about it a couple of times, but his reaction left little doubt that he didn’t want to talk.

  And now, this thing that had happened last night.

  Karla shook her head. It was obvious that Frank was under some considerable stress. Wondering once again why he kept such things to himself, she picked up some dirty plates and took them through to the kitchen. The bell tinkled again but she ignored it, her thoughts still on Frank and his problems.

  “Karla!”

  Her shoulders jerked and she dropped the plates into the dishwasher with a crash.

  “Won’t be a sec,” she called, picking up the pieces.

  Her heart beat faster and she ran her tongue across her lips to check her lipstick. Hell, she was acting like a schoolgirl again. How was it this damned man had such an effect on her? Dropping the broken plates into the bin, she walked back out into the café, forcing a smile as she tried to ignore Frank’s dour look.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said as soon as she appeared behind the counter. He waited a beat, as though trying to find the right words before continuing: “Look, you didn’t deserve what happened last night. It was nothing to do with you Karla, and I’m really, really sorry.”

  She looked at the small, hurt child in front of her, feeling her resistance slip away. Reaching out a hand to touch him, but at the last moment rearranging the tips-box to a new position on the counter instead, she felt her cheeks flushing.

  Frank put his hand on the back of hers. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I’m back at work now. Perhaps you’d come out for a meal with me tonight? Let me make up for the stupid way I behaved last night?”

  Karla looked down at the counter for a moment, then back up at his eyes.

  She finally nodded.

  “Great,” he said in a lighter tone. “I’ll pick you up at eight then.”

  As he opened the door to leave, she called out to him and he looked back over his shoulder, forehead lined in a frown.

  “No bike, okay? Borrow Gordy’s car,” she said.

  *

  It had been a good day and Frank was glad to be back at work. The feel of the powerful bike between his legs had brought back his zest for life, the air whipping past his head seeming to brush away the last remnants of his dark feelings.

  He’d made his last delivery to the Luxford General Hospital out in Inverdarty and was on his way back home. A quick shower and he’d pick up the car from Gordy’s, collect Karla and take her to the new restaurant he’d found on the other side of the valley.

  He had a lot of explaining to do about the way he’d acted, and why he’d found it so hard to be honest with her. Mandy’s death had led to a roller-coaster emotional ride that he was only just now beginning to come to terms with.

  He hadn’t realised how deeply her death had affected him at first, the feelings of inadequacy and guilt it had aroused in him. Well now it was time to put these feelings behind him and build a new life with the woman he loved.

  Turning his bike on to his road, Frank fought the deep ruts that had formed in the recent heavy rain, his hands locked on the handlebars as he kept the big machine on a straight track. After locking his bike in the garage, he hurried along the garden path, into the hall and up to the bedroom, where he dug out his best shirt.

  Studying the purple garment with a critical eye, he shook his head and tossed it on the bed, deciding on a green one instead. Shrugging a light brown jacket over the top of the shirt and a dark pair of dark jeans, he looked at his attire in a full length mirror.

  Great.

  Satisfied, Frank made his way down to the lounge, snatched up the car-keys he’d borrowed from Gordy on the way home and headed for the front door.

  Chapter 17

  Frank’s footfalls hardly disturbed the ground as he ran through the trees at a steady pace. He topped a low hill and turned towards the loch, wiping his forehead with his wristband. The day was overcast but warm. The birds quietened as he passed below them, bursting into song again once he’d gone, angry at being disturbed. He caught a glimpse of a vole as it flicked its way across the forest floor and grinned to himself, pleased that he wasn’t the only creature out and about on such a dull Sunday.

  Stopping beside the loch, he shrugged off his backpack and sat against his favourite rock. The waterfall murmured in the background and before long his eyelids began to droop. Somewhere nearby a bee droned.

  Frank was woken by an angry buzzing and it took him a few moments to realise that it was his mobile, and not another bee. Fumbling his phone from the backpack, he thumbed the screen, breath catching when he saw the text.

  ring if u wnt to no y man d died

  Not recognising the number, Frank sat for a moment, tapping the tip of his thumbnail against the mobile’s screen, wondering if he should make the call or not. He’d already made up his mind to put all this behind him two weeks ago.

  Sighing deeply, he shook his head and lowered the mobile, thumb already halfway to the delete button - but then hesitated.

  Would it be such a bad thing to find out what the text was about? Shrugging, he punched the call button and held the mobile up to his ear. It rang four times and he decided to terminate the call, relieved that the decision had been made for him.

  “Hello?” a voice whispered in his ear. “I can’t talk now. I’ll ring you back later. Don’t call me again.”

  *

  Altaf Chandio leant back in his chair, flicking a leather key fob back and forth between thumb and forefinger. He studied the man sitting across the desk from him. Marcos Farris stared at the fob, seemingly spellbound by its movements. Chandio dropped the car keys on the desktop and the big Greek raised his gaze, blinking rapidly.

  “So,” Chandio said, “it seems this guy was the girl’s father and he’s been in prison for killing someone. That’s interesting.” Farris popped a pine nut into his mouth, chewing silently as Chandio clasped his hands on the desk and leant forward, “Perhaps he was just looking to find out why his daughter killed herself then, nothing more than that?”

  “Looks like it might be that way, Mr Chandio,” Farris rumbled around a fat digit as he picked a chunk of wayward nut from between his teeth with a fingernail.

  Chandio sat back, grimacing in distaste as his minder fished about in his mouth. “Okay Marcos. But keep on eye out, especially on that little creep who supplies us with the girls. We got a good thing going here, and I don’t want any trouble. Understood.”

  Farris nodded and got to his feet, lumbering his way towards the door.

  “Oh and Marcos—” Chandio called. The big man turned back, eyebrows raised, “we need another delivery. See to it will you?”

  *

  Marcos Farris pushed open the lounge door, turning his shoulders as he went because they were too wide for the opening. He was an imposing man, his large frame - although covered with a generous layer of fat - carried enough muscle to ensure that he got the deference he was due. As Chandio’s minder, Marcos was top of the pile, and earnt enough to buy the respect of any woman he wanted.

  Life was sweet, but if pushed, he would have admitted to feeling a bit uneasy about the way Chandio made his money. Trading in under-age girls rankled. He had a young daughter himself
and would kill anyone who went near her. Coke, heroin, skunk - even breaking a few bones to hurry along payments on doorstep loans - all that was okay, but this? No, not something he was happy being involved in at all.

  A few more years and he’d have enough saved to take his family back to Greece - visit some old friends, set up a business of his own. It was something he held firmly in mind as he went about his business for Chandio. Just a couple more years - maybe one if things went well.

  Pushing such thoughts from his mind, Marcos entered the lounge. A young girl sat on the settee, feet up, watching TV. “Get out,” he told her. “Go wash some dishes or something. Make yourself useful.”

  The girl rolled her eyes, making a quick exit for the door.

  When she had gone, Marcos sat on the couch and pulled out his mobile. “Hello Con,” he rumbled when the call was answered, unaware that the girl was listening from the other side of the partially open door. “Listen, we need another delivery of stuff. How soon can you do it?”

  *

  Chantelle pressed her ear to the opening and smiled. Information was power and she knew she’d need a lot of that if she ever wanted to get away from this lot with her life intact.

  This was just what she’d been waiting for. Having the name of Altaf Chandio’s supplier and when the next delivery was taking place would give her something else to take to the man she’d sent the text to earlier. She leant closer to the opening so she could hear better.

  Suddenly a loud buzzing sounded and Chantelle jumped, panicking as she slapped her pocket, praying the big man hadn’t heard the mobile.

  Running down the corridor, she burst into the toilet, pulling the phone from her pocket, almost dropping it in her haste.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Hello,” she whispered. “I can’t talk now. I’ll ring you back later. Don’t call me again.”

  Chapter 18