Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Page 24

  “You’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer, Hart, out with it! I can literally hear the cogs turning, mate, it’s fucking painful!”

  I lean my head back on the headrest heavily.

  “What the fuck was I even thinking, Sam? I can’t deny my feelings for Raleigh, but Lorna is my fucking weakness, and she knows it! How could I have been so stupid?” I say, a defeated tone to my voice.

  “It is what it is, man, you can’t change that it happened, but maybe come clean to Raleigh and hope to fuck she forgives you; I don’t know what else to say. Grovel as if your life depends on it. I can tell you’re genuinely sorry. You don’t normally give enough of a shit to care, but I don’t doubt your feelings for her. Not for one second.”

  Sam squeezes my shoulder.

  “Look, go in there, tell her everything, beg for her forgiveness and say you want to start over.”

  I let out a laboured breath, knowing deep down it isn’t going to be that easy.

  “Thanks, mate, really appreciate you being there for me,” I say sincerely, and Sam nods.

  “Anytime, man, anytime, call me if you need me, yeah?”

  He winks and I get out of the car. I saunter casually in to the lobby of her apartment building, and I’m greeted by a man mountain. Fuck me, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of this beast.

  “Evening.”

  I smirk and he nods curtly. “Good evening, Sir, can I help?” he enquires, and I nod.

  “I’m here to see my girlfriend, Raleigh Storm, apartment number 4a?”

  He taps on the computer in front of him and shakes his head.

  “I haven’t been informed that she’s expecting company this evening, sir. I’m afraid I can’t let you in if I haven’t received pre-approval from Ms. Storm.”

  I roll my eyes. He sounds like he’s practised that, or he’s reading off a script. Fuck my life.

  “Look, mate, I’ve been here before, I wanted to surprise her, we haven’t seen each other for a while, I’ve just come home from a tour and I just want to see my girl.”

  I sigh audibly and my shoulders sag, the events of the day catching up with me in a spectacular fashion. The overwhelming urge to fall face first in a mountain of white powder at the forefront of my mind and I can’t shake the feeling off. The man mountain regards me with rapt attention and at this point, I’m not above using my status as one quarter of the world’s biggest rock band to get past this fucking jobsworth.

  “I have to say your face looks familiar, have you been here before?” he asks, and I nod.

  “Yes, several times, I’m Brody, Brody Hart.”

  He taps on his computer, scribbles something on a piece of paper. I don’t have the heart to tell him I already have a key, which Raleigh gave me the morning I went on tour.

  “I shouldn’t do this, I could get fired but just this once, next time you need to ask Ms. Storm to inform me that you’re on her pre-approved visitors list.”

  I nod, relieved that he’s finally seen sense.

  “Thank you, really appreciate it.”

  I smile cordially.

  “Have a good evening, Mr Hart.”

  I head up to her apartment using the lift and walk the few yards down the corridor. I take out my key, open the door and I step into her apartment, kicking the door closed with my boot.

  “Raleigh? It’s me, where are you, kitten?” I call out.

  As I step further into the room, I hear running water and soft sobs. I instantly know something isn't right, I empty my pockets and drop the contents in the glass bowl, along with my phone, to the left of the door.

  Something feels off and all my senses are on high alert. I walk cautiously through the flat and the sobs get louder with each step I take. Without knocking, I push open the bathroom door and my heart slams against my rib cage. Raleigh sitting on the floor of her walk-in shower, fully clothed and shaking violently. The sight causes a lump to rise in my throat and my protective instincts to kick in. Fuck. Without hesitation, I step confidently into the walk-in shower and sit down next to her. The warm water pounding down on both of us and soaking through my clothes, everything else just paling into insignificance.

  Up close, I notice purple bruising forming on her arms, a cut above her eye, a lump forming on her forehead, a split lip, her dress is torn, and she has grazed both of her knees.

  What the fuck?

  I cautiously wrap my arm around her and with the initial first contact, she flinches violently. Her sad, desolate amethyst eyes lock with mine and after a few moments, she starts to relax into my hold. She is trembling, as I hold her tightly and the dam seemingly breaks. She starts to sob hard, soul destroying sobs. I lean down and place a chaste kiss on her forehead. I taste the saltiness of her tears mixed with the warm water from the shower.

  Both of us stay silent for long minutes, as I try to decide how to approach this situation, but something tells me, I won't like the answer. I run my hands gently up and down her back in a soothing motion, as her body moulds against mine. My thick biceps, enveloping her slight, vulnerable frame. I reach up to turn off the shower and she seems bereft at the loss of contact, as I get to my feet. I lean down scooping her up in my arms, grabbing a couple of towels from the heated towel rail. I perch her on the edge of the vanity unit and start to dry her off gently. As I sweep the towel over her legs, she winces.

  She's unable to form words, she opens her mouth, as if she is about to speak, then she closes it again. I think she's in shock. Fuck me, what am I going to do? I can't leave her like this. Shit, fuck, bollocks.

  "Raleigh, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what's happened."

  I take a deep breath and give her a look of reassurance, willing her to find the words.

  The gut-wrenching sob that escapes from her, breaks my fucking heart and I'm somewhere between beating the ever-loving shit out of whoever fucking did this to her and crying right along with her.

  "Raleigh? Baby, I can't help if you don't talk to me," I say softly, trying to coax her to start talking, but the vacant look in her eyes is like she's completely checked out.

  The thought of someone hurting her makes me feel so...out of fucking control. I can't even contemplate what's going through my mind right now.

  "You're scaring the shit out of me, I need you to start talking, or I'm going to lose my fuckin' mind, kitten," I say through gritted teeth, all the while trying to remain calm. "Do you want to tell me what the fuck happened?" I say, as softly as I can muster.

  Right now, she's as jumpy as a deer in headlights and I'm trying my hardest not to spook her. She worries her lip between her teeth and the tears starts to slip freely down her cheeks.

  "I-It's all my fault," she manages to sob out and the hollow sound of her voice causes my heart to stutter in my chest as I tilt her chin up to face me.

  "Look at me, whatever the fuck this is; it's not your fault,” I say cautiously, and I'm not prepared for the next words that fall from her lips.

  "C-C-Carter r...raped me," she starts to tremble violently and uncontrollably.

  The desperate sobs that tear from deep within her, feels like a thousand knives ravaging and tearing at my insides. Motherfucker. He’s had his fucking filthy paws all over my woman. FUCKKKKKKKK!

  "Where does he live? I'm going to fucking kill him; I'm going to tear his fucking throat out. How dare he lay his fucking hands on you!" I roar as she starts to rock back and forth.

  I take a step back from her, as a red mist starts to cloud my vision. Rage tears through my body and all I want to do is rip that cock suckers face off, with my bare fucking hands. My broad shoulders heave, with my deep panting breaths, but the sound of her hiccupping sobs, bring me back to the here and now. I move to stand in front of her and wrap my arms around her. She clings and claws at me desperately, as if she can't get close enough. I hold her tight, and she moves to press herself against me, as if she is trying to climb inside me.

  "I've got you, babe, you're safe now, I'
m here, shhh," I soothe as I start frantically routing through the cabinets.

  “Do you have a first aid kit? I need to see to those cuts, they look pretty nasty, I think you might need stitches.”

  She jumps down from the vanity unit and stumbles into my chest. I catch her by her wrist to stop her from falling and she flinches violently, snatching her hand away from me.

  “I’m fine!” she snaps, and I spin her round.

  “Look in the fucking mirror, kitten! Look! You are not fucking fine!”

  I force her to meet her reflection in the mirror and she starts to sob again. She collapses, trembling in my arms and all I can do is catch her.

  ***

  After I clean and tend to her wounds, I convince her to come back to my place and she reluctantly agrees. She shouldn’t be on her own right now. While she packs an overnight bag, I take my phone from the bowl next to the door and I dial the number I need. It rings twice, before it connects.

  “Son, everything alright?”

  Lenny’s gruff voice fills my ears and I pace the flat like a man possessed.

  “Len, I need a favour.”

  He laughs throatily.

  “Sounds ominous, son.”

  I scrub my free hand down my face, and I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes briefly shut.

  “I need someone taken care of, Len. Carter fucking Leonard,” I spit out his name as if it’s poison.

  “That pretty boy off the telly? What’s he done?” Len says matter-of-factly, and I laugh bitterly.

  “That filthy cocksucker, he...he fucking raped, Raleigh.” I swallow hard, desperately trying to keep my boiling temper in check. “He dared to lay his filthy, fucking hands on her, Len. She’s an absolute mess and I need him taken care of, like tonight. If I get my hands on him, I’ll rip his motherfucking face off on sight, I swear it.”

  My whole body is vibrating with anger and I can’t focus on anything else other than wanting to be the one to fucking end Carter Leonard.

  “Look, Len, can you take care of it?” I say more than a little impatiently, and there is a short pause.

  “Yeah, course, son, let me make a few calls and I’ll get one of my boys from the club on it. Consider it done. Fucking animal deserves everything he’s got coming to him,” he says without hesitation.

  “Thanks, Len, I appreciate it and I owe you one. Call me when it’s done, bye.”

  I end the call and tuck my phone back into the pocket of my jeans.

  “Brody?” she whispers, and I turn around.

  I try to appear unaffected by the cuts and bruises all over her face, as I nod. She’s just dressed in a simple white t-shirt with leopard print lips on the front, a pair of loose-fitting jeans and white Converse. I pull my phone out of my pocket, call Trey to come and pick us up. Luckily, he followed Sam and me from the gig and has been waiting outside. I offer her my hand and she takes it, I close the door quietly, as we both leave the flat and make the journey to my house. She is silent and withdrawn on the ninety-minute journey to my place, staring blankly out of the window. I have my arm wrapped around her, trying to provide her some source of comfort, as the landscape zips past. When we arrive at my place, I get out of the car, slam the door behind me and go around to the passenger side to help her out. She lets me and grips my hand tightly. I keep hold of her hand, head up the steps, unlock the door and step inside the house.

  “Do you want to use the shower, kitten? I can get you something to eat if you’re hungry, I can order in? Or I’ve got vodka?” I babble.

  I haven’t got a fucking clue what to do, or how to act around her. She nods in agreement.

  “I’d like to use the shower, if that’s ok?” she says so softly that I barely hear her. I nod and smile.

  “Of course, the bathroom’s upstairs, the one in my room is the biggest, you won’t be disturbed. Sam and Peyton have gone down to Brighton to stay at her parents’ house with the boys until the weekend, so we’ve got the place to ourselves. There are some fresh towels hanging over the towel heater.”

  She smiles for the first time since I found her, and I find myself smiling back.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, and I move closer to her, kissing her gently and cautiously on the lips.

  “There’s no need to thank me, kitten.”

  She drops her gaze and scurries off upstairs, leaving me to my thoughts. What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up? Would she have told anyone, or would she have kept it to herself? Fuck me, it doesn’t bare thinking about. I find myself trembling, with white hot, molten anger. I decide to go into the gym downstairs and box out some of my frustration. I quickly change into loose grey jogging bottoms and wrap my hands with tape. I set my Spotify on my phone to shuffle and the sound of Alterbridge Down to My Last, fills the surround sound speakers. I pull on my boxing gloves and start to punch. Jab, jab, cross, jab, jab, cross, cross.

  I go on like this for half an hour, until my muscles feel deliciously sore and sweat is dripping from my forehead. I pull off my gloves, throw them down and grab a towel from the hook in the corner of the room. I wipe my face and head back upstairs to the kitchen. I’m pouring two large glasses of vodka, as she walks slowly, gracefully, and apprehensively into my kitchen. She is wearing a Rancid Vengeance t-shirt of mine; it looks so big on her; she could almost pass it off as a dress. It hangs shapelessly off her slim figure, as she moves further into the room. She is barefoot, and her pale lilac hair is damp from the shower. Her face is stripped of makeup, her beauty is marred by the angry cuts and bruises all over her face. Despite the temporary flaws, she looks so innocent, vulnerable, and younger than her twenty-nine years. Her unusual amethyst eyes look almost too big for her face, as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth nervously.

  "Did you enjoy your shower, kitten?"

  What the fuck, Hart, is that all you’ve got? She smiles, but it’s lifeless and doesn't reach her eyes.

  "Thank you, Brody, thank you for being there," she says softly.

  I move closer to her and watch her reaction with every step I take. She's wary. She's watching me the way I'm watching her, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, kitten. God, I'd never harm a hair on your fucking head, I swear it."

  The pain in my voice is evident and I reach out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch and a tear rolls down her cheek.

  "I'm sorry."

  She drops her gaze to the floor, and I tilt her chin up.

  "Look at me, kitten, you have nothing to be sorry for, I promise you. You're safe, Carter is being taken care of, he won't be bothering you again, by the time I’m finished. If he comes within ten fucking feet of you, I'll know about it and it will be dealt with," I say, with an edge to my voice.

  I can’t fucking bear the thought of another man’s hands on her, I can’t stand the thought of another man taking her by force. It makes me feel physically violent. I’m not a fighter, I never have been. I’m not even a lover. I’m a thinker. There’s no room for shades of grey, no in between, just black, and white. He took what was mine, he violated her and took what he wanted, without consent. That’s not ok, he’s going to pay for what he’s done and he’s going to fucking suffer for it. The thought of someone else’s hands on her makes me feel sick, I’d never do anything but worship her, like the Queen I know she is. She deserves the world. She doesn’t deserve you; you’re pathetic Hart! You fucking stuck your cock in another woman while she was waiting patiently for you to come back to her, you vile, depraved piece of shit! I swallow hard to rid myself of that thought, not now, dickhead.

  She moves further into the kitchen. She perches herself on a bar stool at the kitchen island. I push the glass of vodka towards her, and she picks it up. She knocks it back in one go and pulls a face, as she swallows. She slams the glass down on the counter, I pour her another and she leans forward, lifting the glass with a trembling hand.

>   “Do you want to talk about what happened?” I ask and she shakes her head defiantly as she knocks back her second glass of vodka.

  This time she doesn’t grimace when she swallows. She slams the glass down again and looks me dead in the eye.

  “Nope, I just want you to fuck me, Brody. I need you to take it away, please.”

  She pleads with her eyes and I never say no to a beautiful woman. What the fuck are you doing to me Raleigh Storm?