Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

I could hear his words. Hear his breaths through the intercom. Hear the frantic rattle of hers as she struggled to keep her balance.

“I’ve been thinking about this for too fucking long,” the prick told her, and picked out a whip from the rack beside him. “So many times I watched those broadcasts and wondered what it was about such a bland looking girl that made such a difference to a man who’d seen it all a thousand times over.” I could have torn his throat out for his laugh alone. “About time I found out for myself, don’t you think?”

She didn’t answer, eyes on him as he moved closer, and there was fire burning there. Fire in the girl I’d come to crave so fucking hard.

And I loved it.

I fucking loved it.

She was worth it. Worth the pain and the shock and the horror. Worth fucking everything just to be there with her.

The door to the side of this cold little cinema booth was unlocked. There was no sound made as I stepped on through and forced my way through the drapes lining the sidelines.

There was no sound made until my voice boomed out, laced with a whole fucking ocean of hate.

“You won’t be finding out shit about her,” I said, heading straight over to the space between them. “You won’t be finding out fuck all other than how much fucking dirt I’ve got to spill on you, you utterly shameless cunt.”

“Ah, and so he arrives!” the prick said, raising his hands in a low fucking clap. “I wondered when you’d finally get here. Any chance you’re going to fucking get with the show, or still off on your own fucking insanity?”

I didn’t bother looking at him, my attention was all on her. She whimpered, eyes glassy as I ran my fingers softly down her cheek, a smile gracing her lips as I reached up to unshackle her.

“You came…” she whispered. “I still can’t believe that you came…”

But I could believe it. My whole fucking body was tense with the rightness of being there. Being with her.

“I was always coming for you,” I whispered back. “Even when I was too blind to see it.”

Her hands were on my shoulders as I dropped down low enough to unshackle her feet, and I loved the scent of her, the softness of her, the familiar curves of every fucking inch of her.

She wrapped her arms in mine, holding tight, but I gestured her to the bed for comfort, pressing my mouth to hers for just a second.

“Get settled,” I said. “We’ll be going soon, I promise. I just need to have a word with Drake over here.”

Her nod was instant. Her faith in me beautiful.

I made sure that my position was between her and the asshole who’d stolen her from me, my stance firm as he tutted from the implement rack like a disappointed mentor.

Maybe he was disappointed.

Maybe all these years had seen him trying to mould me in his footsteps like the callous little prick he’d picked up from the hole he’d dug for me.

“I was hoping you’d have seen fucking sense by now,” he said, and I pulled out a cigarette.

“Oh, I’ve seen fucking sense alright. I’ve seen plenty of fucking sense.”

“Clearly not,” he argued. “Or you’d have realised that one little scrap of a girl isn’t worth giving up your whole fucking business for, no matter how pretty she is.”

“Or maybe you’d have realised that one little scrap of a girl isn’t worth murdering your fucking business partner for, no matter how sad it looks on a fucking reputation.”

My insides twisted up at the shock on his face, my rage fucking palpable as I glared over at him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, but he knew. The flash of horror behind his stare told me he fucking knew.

“I’m talking about my fucking father,” I said. “I’m talking about how you fucking lost your shit and threw him into the river your fucking self that night, getting your own hands fucking dirty for once.”

“Whoever told you that utter crap…” he began, but I shook my head. I shook my head and fucking laughed, my whole body alight with the hate.

“Whoever showed me that utter crap,” I said. “I have a video of the whole fucking sorry thing.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t believe you.” He called for the security guards as I took a step forward, but there was an uncharacteristic little tremble to his bark.

“Nice burgundy tie you were wearing,” I told him. “Clearly weren’t expecting to finish him off when you found him heading to the Boat Inn. Bit of a tussle wasn’t it, until you realised just how much he’d been drinking.”

His brain ticked, eyes narrowing before he barked for the security guards over again.

“I imagine they can hear us,” I countered. “I imagine they can hear that I’ve got video fucking evidence that you killed my father, and I’m not fucking afraid to use it.” I put on a tut. “Not like you to be so lax on the details, Drake. I’m surprised you slipped up and got caught with undeniable fucking evidence for once.”