Chapter 24
They walked into town at a slow pace, Emma clinging to Christopher’s arm for dear life in her shoes. “Want me to give you a piggy back?” he asked in his slow drawl and Emma let out an unladylike snort.
“I don’t think you want to go there! Some parts of me might not survive.”
“Sounds interestin’.” He eyed her sideways as though wanting to devour her and Emma blossomed under the sense of danger he brought out in her.
Christopher took Emma for dinner in a local bar, where they sat in a booth and talked endlessly about nothing. Emma’s agenda of asking for help from a total stranger died without being spoken, under a shroud of awkwardness. Christopher’s deep brown eyes bore into her face throughout the meal, like dark holes of nothing into which she felt she could pour herself. Other diners stared at them, both overdressed for the occasion, but neither of them seemed to notice. “D’ya fancy kickin’ up yer heels and havin’ a dance?” Christopher asked her, as Emma reappeared from the toilet looking more comfortable.
“It sounds brilliant.” She smiled, cringing as he got up to pay the bill. Emma tugged on Christopher’s arm. “Maybe I can pay next time...” He silenced her with a kiss that took her breath away and momentarily halted a few nearby conversations.
Outside on the pavement, Emma shivered. Christopher easily shucked his jacket and laid it across her shoulders. He wrapped her in two strong arms, allowing one of his hands to stray just below her hip. His face crinkled with mirth. “Geez woman! Have you no shame?” His palm stroked the curve of her buttock and his mouth dropped open a little. “Bloody hell! I’ve never met a woman like you, so.”
“Let’s just say, I’d had enough of Shazza’s little Christmas gift!” Emma smirked, the G-string now nestled in the dustbin in the ladies’ toilets.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talkin’ about,” Christopher snorted. “But it sounds good to me!”
The nightclub thronged with perspiring bodies and the volume was deafening. Christopher kept Emma close as they climbed stairs to an upstairs level, his hand periodically straying to the top of her buttock. A couple of times he shot her a lascivious look full of promise. The bellyful of red wine dulled her senses and helped her towards reckless decisions. They danced until just after midnight. Christopher was entertaining and funny, flowing drinks easily with unlimited wads of cash from his wallet. His kisses on her lips, cheeks and neck felt addictive and she wanted more.
“Come back with me!” he shouted over the music as they gyrated on the dance floor, Emma’s curls snaking free of her clip and bouncing around her face.
“To Belfast?” she yelled back and he smirked and pulled a maybe face. “Sounds good,” she laughed. “Right after I find a contract killer to take out some people.”
Christopher looked at her oddly and realising she said too much, Emma indicated she needed another trip to the toilets and clattered down the stairs, feeling drunk and untouchable. In the mirror of the ladies’ she looked at herself and beamed, feeling her lost teenage years catching up with her in revelling and debauchery without consequence.
At the top of the stairs to the bar and dance floor, Emma paused in the doorway, seeking out Christopher before attempting to weave her way through the hot, sticky bodies. Her heart skipped in her breast as she saw his tall, dark figure near another exit door, ogling his gorgeous physique and mentally undressing him in her drunken mind. She froze. Something about the rigidity of his stance cut through the alcohol as a warning
Two men stood next to Christopher, thick set like body guards and menacing. Emma felt the waves of tension cross the room and paused in the doorway, jostled by passing revelers keen to get back to the party. Christopher looked ill at ease, but not overly so. He shrugged and kept his hands in his pockets, dipping his dark head towards the mouth of one of the men. He nodded, looked up to get eye contact and nodded again as if in agreement. Then he lifted an index finger and raised it up to the closest man’s face. Emma read his lips. “One hour.”
The heaviest set man had his back to her, but he leaned his head towards the other and they discussed something, opening their mouths wide to shout. The one speaking was bald, but the other had dark hair slicked back against his head like a throwback from an Elvis Presley impressionist. Emma lived on the council estate in Lincoln for long enough to recognise heavy duty muscle when she saw it, sensing trouble oozing from every pore of their bodies. The men seemed in agreement and turned as one to face Emma’s date. Holding his index finger up, the bald man leaned in and shouted into Christopher’s face, the words lost in the pulsing music but the meaning evident. “One hour!” Emma couldn’t make out the other part of the sentence as the troll turned to his companion. But she saw Christopher wince as spittle from the beefy lips whipped past.
They turned away and strode towards the bar like sumo wrestlers locked into suits, the crowd of drinkers oozing out of the way like reluctant jelly. Emma watched Christopher run his hands through his hair and across his mouth, sitting down at a nearby table with a slump of resignation in his shoulders. What’s happening in an hour? Is he in trouble?
The answer pounded into her addled brain like a stab of reality. No! You are. You’re the one in trouble, you stupid, pathetic woman! Reason and good sense banished the alcoholic haze and Emma looked down at her pretty dress and awkward shoes, her body vulnerable and naked underneath. Her hands were empty, testament to her leaving the house without door key, money or phone. She panicked. Christopher was delivering her to the menacing pair; in an hour.
Emma was gone from the doorway before Christopher looked up, running down the street with her shoes in her hands. The frozen pathways stung her feet until she could no longer feel them and tiny stones dug into her numb soles without care. Still she ran. Emma took stupid risks, using alleys and cut throughs which would have made Rohan’s hair grey in seconds had he seen her, sobbing and crying as she went. She berated herself for her stupidity over and over, seeing the dreadful danger laid out before her like a muddy cloth. The narrow escape had saved her from dreadful harm but the night would cost her all her dignity.
At the front door, Emma sank onto the prickly doormat, exhausted and panting. She heard Farrell bark from inside and his nose against the threshold, scenting her and kicking up a fuss.
“Sit! Stay!” Rohan’s voice sounded firm and calm from behind the wooden door, the stained glass panel lighting up with colour as he whipped the curtain back and peered out. The door shuddered as he opened it, looking out at the empty street in confusion. Then he looked down and saw Emma.
Her breath heaved as he carried her inside, finally releasing the desperate dog from his position on guard. “Release!” he told him and immediately Farrell jumped at Emma’s bare and bleeding feet, whining and concerned. When Rohan laid her on the sofa in the kitchen, the dog put his paw on her knee and peered into her face.
“Emma! Look at me. Chto sluchilos? What happened? Did someone hurt you?” Rohan balled his fists on her lap and gritted his teeth, a frenzied, maniacal look in his eyes.
“Oh no! Felicity!” Emma tried to struggle up, prevented by Rohan’s strong hands on her wrists.
“What’s she got to do with this?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to see her, not now. I can’t cope. I just want to go to bed. Let me go!” Emma struggled to her feet, hobbling across the cold floor tiles. The dog accompanied her to the bottom of the stairs, worried brown eyes watching her face with doggy intensity. Emma stroked his head and felt the wetness of his comforting lick on her hand. When she climbed the first steps to the landing, she looked down and saw Farrell’s concerned face, front two paws on the bottom step. Emma tried to smile reassurance at him, wasting her effort as his face remained the same.
In her bedroom she sank down onto the soft duvet, feeling an ache in her soul she thought she mastered long ago. It burned and stung, bone deep, soul deep, ripping her open along painful, half-healed scars. Emma sank her face into her pillow
and sobbed.