Storm of Seduction Read online

  I settle myself onto the sofa and drink my tea, trying to figure out why the hell Bryce had turned up at the café, and more importantly, how he’d found me. I’d never had a conversation with the Freed brothers about where I live. They knew about Mum and my shitty upbringing, but aside from that I was no more than a stranger really. I press my fingers against my eyes, squeezing out the images of Bryce calling after me. Part of me had wanted to run into his arms, but an even bigger part had been utterly terrified. I’d closed my heart to the brothers, just like I’d closed it off to everyone else. What is the point of loving someone? They only leave you in the end.

  My mobile phone buzzing on the coffee table has me snapping out of these dark thoughts. I pick it up. Nisha is ringing.

  Sliding my finger to accept the call, I place the phone to my ear.

  “Louisa, what the actual fuck?” she says. In the background I can hear David cursing my name. I cringe.

  “Sorry, Nish.”

  “What happened? You sick or something?” I can hear her hand pressing over the microphone and Nisha shouting at David to give her a minute.

  “David is pissed off. It’s busy. What were you thinking? It’s not as if you don’t need a job. I can’t believe you ran out because some customer was rude to you.”

  “Rude to me?”

  “Yeah, the fit banker bloke with the beard.”

  “Oh no, he wasn’t rude…” my voice trails off at how lame that sounds. I know what she’s going to ask next.

  “Then why’d you run off like that?”

  “I…”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” Nisha sighs. “I think I’ve managed to persuade David to let you start over. Your mum has just died, you’re all over the place. He might be a dick, but he’s not a complete dickhead.”

  “Thanks, Nisha, but I don’t think I can work there anymore.” I mean, it’s unlikely Bryce will come back to seek me out again, given I’d run off for the second time, but I don’t want to take the chance. I can’t face him, any of them.

  “Look, I know you’re still cut up over your mum. I get it, you know I do. But beggars can’t be choosers, Louisa. You need the money. If we don’t keep up with the rent payments, the council will be kicking us out of the flat and we’ll have nowhere to go.”

  She has a point. It isn’t as if I have a ton of skills that will get me a job anywhere else right now. A night school qualification in administration isn’t going to get me much more than a junior post in an office at barely minimum wage. David is a prat, but at least working at the café is a steady income.

  “I know, you’re right. I’ll call David tomorrow. Smooth things over.”

  “Good. See you in a little while,” she says, before abruptly hanging up.

  Setting the phone back on the table, I pick up my book and take a sip of tea. The house is a complete tip, but half an hour of reading won’t hurt. The washing hanging over the radiators, hoovering, and dirty dishes in the sink can wait for now. When Mum was alive I was pretty much maid, cleaner, cook and adult in charge. Now, I can give myself a break.

  Just as I’m getting to a particular juicy part of the story I hear a loud knock at the door.

  “Bloody hell,” I groan. Apart from a couple of families on the estate that cause problems for the rest of us, most of my neighbours are good people and have lived here for years. I grew up with them. So it isn’t unusual for me to get knocks on my door most days, usually to borrow some sugar or milk, or even to have a chat. Mum used to send them away with a flea in their ear unless she wanted to ‘borrow’ some money from them. Since she’s been gone it’s been like Piccadilly Circus. Nisha thinks I shouldn’t answer the door, but I don’t mind really. If Lotta at number twenty-five wants to chat for half an hour and I’ve got the time, then where’s the harm? If the truth be known, I don’t feel so lonely when we have visitors.

  Another loud bang rattles the door in its frame.

  “Hold on a minute,” I yell, placing my book and mug of tea on the table. “I’m coming.”

  I rush to the front door at the insistent knock.

  “Jeez, would you just give me a second,” I yell, yanking open the door.

  Standing in front of me is a huge brute of a man. His bloodshot eyes roam over me lasciviously as a pink tongue snakes out of his mouth. I see a gold tooth catch the light. It matches the chains hanging about his neck.

  “You’re looking good these days, Lorna.” He barks out a laugh.

  “Lorna doesn’t live here anymore,” I say, closing the door.

  A beefy fist stops me from slamming it shut. “Well, that isn’t very polite, Tutti Frutti. Any ideas where I can find her?”

  Tutti Frutti? I roll my eyes. Tutti Frutti, beauty, not the most inventive Cockney rhyming slang. Is this brute trying to flirt with me? I shudder at the thought. Time to end this conversation and send him on his way. Whatever my mum had been up to with this man, I want no part of it.

  “Sorry, you are?” I ask.

  “My name’s Sam, but you can call me Smithy. Everyone else does. Now, answer my question. Where can I find Lorna? Me and her need a little chat.”

  “St Augustine’s cemetery.”

  “Well, that’s fucking unfortunate,” he says, the smile, if you can call it that, sliding from his face.

  “Yes, death generally is,” I say sarcastically.

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “So, who might you be?”

  “That is none of your business. Now, if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do. My boyfriend will be here any minute and he’s a little territorial,” I lie.

  “Boyfriend? Funny, Lorna always told me her daughter was a bit of a prissy bitch. Louisa, isn’t it?”

  Fuck. Who is this guy, and more importantly, why is he here? Pretending not to know who I am is one thing but talking about me like he’s had in-depth conversations with my mum is quite another.

  “What do you want?” I ask, my voice sounding stronger than I feel. Wherever this conversation is going, it isn’t to a good place.

  “What’s owed,” he says, leaning against the door frame. His heavy, black boot is now positioned in such a way that I can’t shut the door. Panic starts to creep up my spine.

  “Owed?”

  “Your ma has run up quite a debt with me. At the last knockings she owed me five grand.”

  “What? She told me it was five hundred. She paid it back.” Either this arsehole is lying, or Mum had been.

  “She borrowed more, she owes more. So, now we have a little problem. Your mum can’t pay, considering she’s six feet under…” He looks at me as though I should be offering up a solution. This is her debt, not mine.

  “So?”

  “So, the debt carries over to her nearest and dearest… You, Tutti Frutti.”

  My mouth pops open in shock. “What? That’s crazy, I had nothing to do with it. Why the hell should I pay anything?”

  Smithy slams his fist against the door and steps into my flat. I back away from him. Any signs of amiability are gone, not that they were there in the first place.

  “You can’t just barge into my flat. Get out!” I shout, bravado about the only thing keeping me from quaking in fear.

  “Tutti Frutti, I can do just about anything I want. Your mother signed an agreement. If she’d bothered to read the small print she would have seen that in the event of her death, the debt would be passed on to her next of kin. That, my sweet, is you.”

  “Agreement? Loan sharks don’t have fucking agreements. This is bullshit. GET OUT OF MY FLAT.” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. It probably isn’t the best decision I’ve made. This guy looks capable of doing anything.

  He is.

  I feel the sting of his slap before my brain has even caught up with the movement of his hand. He hits me so hard that I stumble backwards, only managing to right myself on the closed kitchen door. The handle slams into my back, I know I’ll have a bruise there later. I can taste blood in my mouth from the s
plit lip he has given me. Even though I want to, I don’t cry. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I glare at him, defiant.

  “Get out,” I say as forcefully as I can.

  “Well, aren’t you the feisty one. This will make for quite an entertaining afternoon,” Smithy says, pinning me against the wall. One hand is squeezing my upper arm tightly, the other is holding onto my jaw. My only option at this point is to knee him in the balls and hope he’s taken out long enough so that I can get away.

  “Get your fucking hands off Louisa, prick.”

  Chapter Three

  My eyes widen in shock, then relief, when I realise who has just entered my flat. I’ve never been more pleased to see someone in my life.

  “Bryce,” I say on a choked sob.

  Smithy lets me go and turns on his heel. “Who the fuck are you?” he growls.

  “Your worst fucking nightmare. Get out of here, before I teach you a lesson that will land you in hospital.” Bryce glances at me briefly. He spots my split lip and anger like I’ve never seen before erupts across his face. He lunges for Smithy, punching him square on the jaw. The sound of bone smashing against bone is teeth grinding. He punches him a second time, and blood spurts from Smithy’s nose, causing his head to snap back. Bryce moves to hit him again.

  “Bryce, don’t,” I say. I watch as Bryce’s hand hovers in the air. His whole body is shaking.

  A slow smile curves across Smithy’s face.

  “Well fuck me, I didn’t realise your clients would be so protective. You must be fucking spectacular in bed, Tutti Frutti. Just like Mummy was in her heyday.” He turns to me winking, seemingly unconcerned by Bryce’s threat.

  “Fuck you,” I say.

  Smithy laughs. “She’s certainly got a mouth like her ma. Enjoy, mate. I’m sure she’ll help you dry off,” he says, passing Bryce.

  “Get the fuck out,” Bryce seethes, following him down the hallway. Smithy leaves, but not before blowing me a kiss. Bryce slams the door in his face, pressing his hands against it for a moment. I can see his shoulders heaving. He bows his head, then slams his fist against the wood. The door shakes in its frame, making me jump. He’s so angry, I’ve never seen him act like this before. I remain where I am, not certain what to do. The whole episode has left me stunned, not to mention the fact my face and lip are killing me from the slap Smithy gave me. Bryce seems to gather himself and he turns on his feet.

  “Louisa, Christ… Let me look at you,” he says, striding towards me.

  Shame rushes across my skin at the thought of what he’s just witnessed. I turn before he reaches me and open the door into the kitchen, walking quickly towards the cupboard which holds my first aid kit. I pull out the green box and lay it on the table, busying myself with removing the antiseptic liquid and cotton wool balls.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” he says, placing a gentle hand over my own. I stiffen under his touch. He removes his hand quickly.

  “Sit down, Louisa. Please,” he adds.

  I do as he asks, not because I want to particularly, but because my legs suddenly don’t want to hold me up anymore. He doesn’t say a word as he pours antiseptic onto a cotton wool ball then dabs it against my split lip. I wince. He is exceedingly gentle as he cleans the wound, inspecting it as he does so.

  “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but your lip may swell and perhaps your cheek too. He hit you hard…” I notice Bryce’s free hand curl into a fist as a muscle feathers in his jaw. He manages to keep his anger in check though. “Do you have an ice pack?”

  “Yes. The freezer’s over there,” I say, tipping my head in its direction. Even doing that hurts.

  “Hold this against your lip for a moment, while I grab it.”

  Our fingers graze as I raise my hand to the cotton wool ball he’s pressing against my lips. The brief touch sets something off between us. I can tell he feels the spark just as much as I do. Bryce brushes his fingers against my face.

  “Damn it, Louisa. Why did you leave us?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  We gaze at each other a moment before he pulls away. “Let me get that ice pack, then I’ll make us both a cup of tea and you can tell me what the hell happened, and who the fuck that man is.”

  I nod my head, not able to say much else for the moment. Shock has set in, and I am shaking with the sudden rush of adrenalin. Bryce grabs the ice pack from the freezer, wraps a clean tea towel around it and hands it to me.

  “Pop it against your cheek and lip. I’m hoping it will help with any swelling.” Bryce switches the kettle on and starts opening cupboard doors to find mugs and tea bags. He’s already grabbed the milk from the fridge. I don’t bother to tell him where to look, the pain has already started to bloom from my lip and up across my cheek. Plus, my back where I was slammed against the door handle is hurting too. When I press my hand against it, a sharp pain stabs me in the ribs. “Shit,” I bite out.

  “What is it?” Bryce asks.

  “When he hit me, I stumbled back against the door handle. It hurts when I press here,” I say, my hand hovering over the spot.

  “Let me look.” Bryce squats down next to me, and lifts my pyjama top up. He gently presses against the sore spot. I almost jump out of my skin.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, Louisa,” he says, smoothing my top back down gently. “It looks like you might have broken a rib. There’s swelling, and it’s already started to bruise.” Bryce slams his fist on the table. “If I see that arsehole again I’m going to fucking kill him. We need to get you to a hospital. I want you checked over.”

  “There’s no point. They can’t do anything for a cracked rib. I’ll take a couple painkillers.”

  “Louisa, I think you should let me take you to the hospital.”

  “No. My mum got in enough fights with her boyfriends for me to know what warrants a hospital trip and what doesn’t. I know how to deal with a cracked rib and a split lip.” My response comes out sharper than I intend, but Bryce doesn’t try to insist. He simply nods and makes the tea.

  “Where is your mum, Louisa?” he asks gently, pulling up a seat next to me and placing a cup of tea on the table.

  It takes me a while to answer, and when I do I’m not surprised by the hollow sound of my voice. “She’s dead.” I can’t look at him. If I do, I know I will dissolve into tears, and I can’t. I must be strong.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bryce says, placing his hand over mine. I close my eyes against the tears.

  “Is that why you left?”

  I nod my head. “I got a phone call from Richard the night we returned from Petite Cabane. I was in a state. I just wanted to get home. I’m so sorry I left the way I did. It was wrong.”

  “It makes sense now. None of us could understand what we did wrong…” His voice catches, and my head snaps up. For a moment, he looks like a lost boy and I realise the extent of the damage my leaving has caused him. If I’m honest, I am taken aback by it. I knew it was wrong to leave without saying goodbye, but when I had allowed myself the time to consider what I’d done, I truly didn’t think they would care. It was a holiday fling to them, nothing more. I’d almost convinced myself of that. Until now.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

  “You didn’t think we cared about you? You didn’t think we would worry about you? You didn’t think we would feel rejected, cast aside? Louisa, it wasn’t a fantasy. Not for us.”

  It hadn’t been for me either, not at all, but I don’t feel able to say that right now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think men like you would ever really care about someone like me…” I drop my head, feeling a thousand times worse now I truly understood how I’d hurt them and how I’d hurt myself in the process. Low self-worth does that to a person.

  Bryce lifts my chin. “Why? You’re perfect,” he says, his gaze unflinching. “I’ve missed you. We all have. That’s why I’m here. Why I came to find you.”

  I shif
t in my seat. My back is beginning to throb now.

  “Did you hear what I said? I’ve missed you…”

  Looking at Bryce, I raise my hand to his face, feeling the now shorter beard. “You trimmed your beard and cut your hair,” I say, avoiding answering him. I can’t say how I feel right now, because I feel all over the place.

  “You don’t like it?”

  My fingertips graze over his cheeks. He leans into my touch a little. “I love it,” I say. My hand falls away and the action causes me to wince, a sharp pain stabbing me in the back.

  “You need painkillers. Do you have any?” Bryce asks, jumping up.

  “There’s some Tramadol in the cupboard up there,” I say, pointing to the cupboard above the sink. “It’s an old prescription of my mum’s. I’ll take one for the pain.”

  “It’s not your prescription, though.”

  “It’s fine. Please, Bryce, a paracetamol won’t cut it.”

  “Okay, look. I’ll get it for you, but tomorrow you’re getting checked out by a doctor, so you can get your own prescription.”

  “Fine,” I agree reluctantly. He grabs the medicine and passes me the packet. I pop one out and swallow it with a mouthful of tea.

  “So, this man who hurt you? Who is he?”

  “I’ve not met him before today. He came here looking for my mum. Turns out she owed him a lot of money, five thousand pounds to be precise. Apparently, her debt has passed to me as her next of kin.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Bryce says.

  “That’s what I said. He wasn’t too pleased about my response,” I say, smiling half-heartedly.

  “Well, whoever this prick is, he can’t enforce it legally.”