Bombshell - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 14
“What did Yad do to you?”
She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting between us.
“Oh, well … I just think he’s a bit of a creep, all the women do, but we can put up with that. The business with his cousin, well, that’s different.”
Clay squinted at her thoughtfully, then his gaze drifted to me.
“You know what she’s talking about, brother?”
I nodded.
“Bel … Arabella said Yad made her uncomfortable. I told her to stay away from him.”
“And this happened when exactly?” Clay questioned. “Why wasn’t I informed? Has he done something to you? Said something?”
Bel folded her arms across her chest.
“Look, it’s not a big deal. Men see the blonde hair and big boobs and they’re always making remarks. If every one of them was fired, there wouldn’t be any bankers left in London.”
I felt the unusual sensation of wanting to smile, but Clay beat me to it, barking out a laugh.
“Well, Yad won’t be a problem for much longer, Harry. We’re moving on tomorrow and we’ll be changing teams. Only Turul is coming with us.”
Bel chewed her lips.
“So, it’s because of the missing mines not because of me?”
Clay smiled.
“Let’s just say it doesn’t change my decision any.”
I walked out of the office, muttering about doing an equipment check before we left. The tools were locked up at night, but I wanted to make sure everything was accounted for and nothing walked while we were packing up.
Yad didn’t take being fired well.
When I heard his bellows across the compound, I jogged over to give Clay backup.
Clay was one of the most laidback people I’d ever met, always smiling, always upbeat, always chewing on something sugary, and with a nauseating love for the human species, but seeing him nose-to-nose with Yad reminded me that he was also a former US Marine, a tough motherfucker, and no one pissed on his parade.
Seeing me arriving on the scene, Yad swore loudly and strode off, his hands balled into fists.
Clay’s body relaxed but he followed Yad with his eyes.
“Looks like he took it well,” I said.
“Pissed he’s losing his job, but can’t blame a man for that even though we know he’s a lying bastard.” He shook his head. “And keep an eye on Harry.”
My shoulders tensed.
“Any specific threat?”
“No, just a hunch.”
Arabella
I COULDN’T SAY I had a bad conscience about Yad, especially after the business with his cousin. Dickheads like him thought they could get away with anything, but in my case, it really just had been a case of the creeps. The suspicion that he was selling mines on the Black Market just cemented his creepoid factor. I wasn’t sorry I wouldn’t have to see him anymore.
I did feel bad for the women on the de-mining teams. I’d seen them return with James after a Task, just as tired and dirty and drained as him. They put my life of luxury to shame. We all have our trials: mine was to be damned with a lack of love, whilst suffering excessive wealth. At least I was aware of my flaws.
For now, I divided my life into days filled with hard, rewarding work, and nights of lust and obscene pleasure with a man who may or may not care about me.
I sighed, pushing the thought away, as always, and spent the day loading files into boxes, taking down the maps, and putting the coloured tacks back in their container. By the time the sun began to sink behind the distant mountains, I felt grimy and tired, my shoulder muscles aching from stooping and carrying boxes.
I was heading for my room, when Maral sidled up to me. I gave her a cautious smile. We’d become more friendly since Clay had put us in charge of protecting the compound together the day he and James had gone to the police station, but because we lacked a means of communication, we hadn’t become really close.
“Paddy,” she said, smiling at me then pointing toward the Mess hall.
“Um, sorry?”
“Paddy,” she said again, then mimed drinking and eating.
My mouth dropped open when she broke out some moves from Saturday Night Fever.
“Paddy!” she said again, pointing insistently at the Mess.
Then I got it.
“Oh, party! You’re having a party?”
She nodded excitedly, evidently relieved that I wasn’t as thick as I looked.
“Well, um, that sounds … fabulous! Okay … I’ll see you later.”
I nodded and smiled and pointed at the old school hall where we usually ate our meals.
She said something else in her own language and left.
A warm glow of something that might have been happiness spread through me. I’d been invited to the teams’ farewell party—not because I was rich, or popular, or because someone thought I’d be a good shag, but for myself, for me.
I gazed around at the muddy compound of ugly buildings, ringed by austere, utilitarian apartment blocks, and felt a tingle of regret.
I’d been so lost, so untethered, but coming to a place so few cared about, I’d found something precious.
And with that thought, I headed to my room to dig out a pair of jeans to party, Azerbaijan-style.
I made a little extra effort with my outfit and wore makeup for the first time in six weeks. I even put on a pair of high-heeled boots to go with my jeans, and a bright pink, long-sleeved t-shirt and lippy to match.
It was the kind of thing I’d wear back in the UK to do grocery shopping in Waitrose, but I thought less would probably be more out here.
Of course, when I walked into the Mess hall, I realized that I’d got it horribly wrong. An explosion of colour filled the room. Women that I’d only seen in drab green and mud brown were wearing bright embroidered ethnic blouses, sparkles, spangles, sequins, and had gone to town on their makeup with false eyelashes fluttering madly and glossed red lips.
I was woefully underdressed by comparison, but for once, I didn’t mind not getting it right.
Maral spotted me through the group of women drinking and dancing, ducking around Turul who was attempting some sort of Cossack moves and landing with a thud on his well-padded backside.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the centre of the group, pushing a bottle of beer into my hand, then yelled something at the DJ, a woman who was in charge of the CD player, and the international anthem of women everywhere started pouring from the speakers: It’s Raining Men.
It didn’t matter that we didn’t speak the same language, that we didn’t follow the same religion, that I had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she had black hair and brown eyes; it didn’t matter that I was rich and she was poor. Nothing mattered but here and now, this moment of shared joy. We danced because we could, because we felt silly and happy, and in our tiny world of forgotten people, there was nowhere else we wanted to be.
Zada joined us, surprising me with a quick hug, and we worked our way through an entire eighties catalogue and then juddered into the twenty-first century with some awful Euro-pop, possibly Russian, and I decided to take a break.
Tipsy from my third bottle of local beer, I needed to pee urgently, but when I turned, I bumped into a wall that was surprisingly warm and smelled like laundry soap.
“James!” I giggled, as my new-found friends whistled and cat-called at us, gyrating their hips lecherously.
I turned and waved as they made kissy faces and called his name, urging James to come and dance with them.
I didn’t think they knew that we spent our nights together, but then again, the walls were thin and privacy was a luxury.
“Having fun?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Surprisingly, yes. I didn’t think they liked me, but we bonded over I Will Survive and vintage Kylie.”
A small frown appeared.
“Why did you think they didn’t like you?”
Eh, not what I’d wanted him to ask.
“Most wo
men don’t,” I shrugged. “Are you going to dance?”
I was teasing but he reacted like I’d jabbed him with a cattle prod.
“No!” he snorted and turned away.
I watched him, standing with the others, but still alone.
Zada slipped her arm through mine as she laughed at his retreating back.
“You’re good for him,” she stated simply. “I sometimes think we’re too … careful around him, me and Clay. But you don’t do that. You’re normal with him, you tease him. He needs that. And he likes you.”
I blinked rapidly. Did he like me? It was hard to tell since we barely spoke. But Zada knew him better than I did. I smiled at her and forced myself to keep the tone light.
“Really? That’s him liking me? I can’t imagine what he’d be like if he didn’t like someone.”
She shook her head slowly, giving me a knowing look.
“I don’t think you want to find out, but it’s not something you need to worry about either. I know that you’re sleeping with him. That’s not what bothers me. Look, Harry, the thing you need to understand about James is…”
“Ladies!” interrupted Clay with a happy shout. “Why so serious? We’re here to par-ty!” and he grabbed his wife’s hand. “I’m a demon on the dancefloor.”
He twirled her around and dipped her into a Hollywood hold, dropping the lightest of kisses on her lips.
Envy tugged at my heart, and I despised myself for it. Zada and Clay deserved their happiness. They’d suffered through so much already.
Disgusted by the green haze of jealousy that clouded my vision, I stomped off to the women’s lavatory, cursing the beer I’d drunk.
I unzipped my jeans and squatted, careful not to allow any part of me to touch the freezing seat. Without warning, the door flew inwards, knocking me backwards so I hit the toilet pan hard.
I gasped, but a large, dark form grabbed me by my throat, lifting me up and cutting off the air, cutting off the terrified scream that tried to escape. I clawed desperately at his fingers that were squeezing painfully, tightly, but he punched me in the face with his free hand.
As pain exploded through my cheek, I flew backwards, my head thudding against the wall, and I slid to the filthy concrete floor.
But before I had a chance to move, to scream, to fight back, a fist closed in my hair, yanking me up again and twisting my flailing hands away from him.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. It was every nightmare I’d ever had.
Out of shock and fear, my bladder released and urine flowed down my legs.
He cursed and slapped my bare bottom roughly as his foul breath blew in my face before dragging me around by my hair and bending me face down over the toilet. He forced my jeans further down my legs, and I heard the jangle of a belt and the rasp of a zip.
I moaned, trying to form the word ‘no’, but he crushed my face against the toilet seat.
I tried to fight, I did. I tried to buck him off me, but he was too strong, too heavy, and I was sick and dizzy. I wanted to pass out. I didn’t want to know or remember what he was going to do to me.
As if from a long way away, I heard shouting, and suddenly the pressure on my body was gone.
A loud crack sounded so close to my head that my ears rang, followed by a high-pitched scream. More shouting, and then a long, whimpering cry. I was terrified, confused, afraid to move, my body paralyzed with shock.
And then his voice. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice. James’s voice.
“Bel, it’s me! It’s James! You’re okay. You’re safe now. He won’t hurt you again. Are you alright?”
Gentle hands brushed my hair from my face, and he held me as I sagged against him, both of us sinking to the cold, dirty floor.
“I … I wet myself,” I cried hoarsely, my throat on fire. “I was so scared … I couldn’t help it. I’m covered in pee.”
I started to cry, soft, humiliated sobs.
His arms tightened around me.
“Shh, it doesn’t matter. It’s okay. You’re okay now. It’s going to be alright.”
I heard more shouting outside and I shuddered with cold fear.
James held my pain-wracked body, stroking my hair and holding me tightly against him.
Somewhere, I heard Zada’s voice.
“James, how is she?”
“Not sure,” he said softly as I continued to cry.
“Do you want me to ask her if he…?”
“No. I’ll do it.”
What did he want to ask me? It felt like it must be important, serious. Poor James, he was always so serious.
“Bel, can you hear me?”
I nodded against his chest, my tear-stained face pressed against him.
“Did he hurt you?”
I nodded again.
“Where, Bel? Where did he hurt you?”
I swallowed several times before I could get the words out, and when I did, they sounded harsh and gravelly.
“He … he grabbed my throat and punched me in the face. I hit my head.”
There was a pause as he absorbed my words.
“Anything else?”
His voice was gentle, hardly more than a whisper.
“Bel, did he rape you?”
I shook my head, shuddering at the ugly word.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“He was going to. I felt it against my bottom, but he stopped. Why did he stop?”
James’s voice was grim.
“Because I shot him.”
And that’s when my brain stopped working.
Darkness.
“Wake up, Bel. Wake up!”
“I’m so tired.”
“You have to stay awake.”
I tried to swim towards his voice, but I couldn’t. The darkness was pulling me under again.
Darkness.
“Don’t fall asleep, Bel.”
“So tired.”
“Stay awake, Bel. Stay with me.”
“You never stay with me, James.”
“I will tonight.”
“I want to close my eyes and forget for a while.”
“No, Bel. You have to stay awake.”
“So tired…”
Darkness.
The boat was rocking. Why were we in a boat?
Not a boat.
A car? A truck?
“Wake up, Bel. Listen to the sound of my voice. Try not to sleep, luv.”
Love. That sounded nice.
“Don’t fall asleep, Bel.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
His body twitched, as if he was uncomfortable, but the strong circle of his arms didn’t falter.
“You’re less likely to develop PTSD if you stay awake after … an incident.” He paused. “And you might be concussed.”
I started to cry again.
“Don’t leave me, James! Promise you won’t leave me tonight!”
“I won’t leave you, Bel.”
“Promise me!” I gasped, desperate not to be alone.
“I promise. Just stay awake for me, okay?”
James
I SAT ON the front seat of the truck, jammed against the door with Bel in my arms, as Clay drove westwards toward Armenia, as fast as he dared, Zada navigating as we stayed off the main roads.
I was determined to be what Bel needed. I’d woken up in hospitals enough times, but never to find anyone waiting for me.
I held her more tightly.
When Turul came to find me at the party, saying that he was worried Yad had gone after Bel, my vision sharpened to a narrow focus where the only thing that mattered was saving her. I grabbed my Smith & Wesson and ran after her.
Not again.
I can’t let this happen again.
I’d found them both in the women’s toilet block, and I’ll never forget the sight as Yad pinned Bel to the toilet bowl, his trousers around his ankles and Bel’s bare flesh pale in the moonlight.
One of the women patched him up but by then Yad was screaming that he’d have us all killed. Turul and the women were terrified, and Clay decided that we’d all get the hell out of there immediately. Yad was left tied up loosely, giving us about a two-hour head start
Once we were out of reach, we’d inform Halo Trust HQ and our local liaison. We weren’t going to stay around to be arrested and killed, or for Yad to finish what he’d started with Bel.
Her face was a mess, but I didn’t think her nose was broken. Her left eye had swollen purple then turned black, and her bottom lip was split. All the nails on her left hand were broken, as if she’d been scrabbling on the floor, and I’d seen bruises blooming over her legs and backside as Zada had helped to dress her. Her throat was dark with finger-shaped bruises and she stank of piss, as well. I probably did too, by now, since I’d been holding her on my lap for the last four hours.
Zada was asleep, her head rolling against my shoulder as Clay pushed the whining truck faster.
“You okay over there, brother?” he asked, his voice unusually grim.
“Yeah, she’ll be okay. Physically, at least.”
“Fuck,” Clay said quietly. “I wish you’d killed the bastard. Hell of a mess to clear up for the Trust.”
Right now, I didn’t give a damn about the Trust.
“Do you think Yad will do time for this?”
Clay shook his head.
“Probably not. You were the only one who could see what he was doing, and one of the women stole his knife. He probably promised to pay her.” His lips thinned. “It would be your word against his. James, it’s you I’m worried about. I thought you were going to kill him.”
“I would have. If he’d hurt Bel, if he’d raped her, I’d have cut his balls off then shot him in the face.”
I was stating a fact. Scum like that didn’t deserve to live.
Clay hesitated, then I saw a small smile form.
“You might want to leave that part out when you file the official report.”
“I’m suicidal not stupid,” I replied.
I’d meant it as a joke but Clay didn’t seem to think it was funny. I wondered if marriage affected your sense of humour.