Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Page 4

  “It’s lucky I don’t do as I’m told, and I don’t listen to warnings. I’d rather make up my own mind.”

  She smiles a smile so bright; it makes her eyes dance and her whole face lights up. She reminds me of the sunshine, of everything I have ever wanted, a light in my darkness, a diamond in the rough. Where is all this bullshit coming from? What makes you think that she would want a fuck up like you, Hart? I swallow harshly to rid myself of that thought.

  “Why does it feel like you’re trying to force me to walk away? We’re obviously here because we’ve made some bad life choices but that doesn’t mean this is a bad choice.”

  Her voice soft, as she gestures between us. “Everything inside me is telling me to walk away, but you’ve utterly fucking captivated me, and I don’t even know your name.”

  Suddenly feeling unsure of myself and I am never fucking unsure, especially where women are concerned.

  “I’m Raleigh.”

  She pronounces it Ray-Leigh, and she offers me her hand, in a simple gesture. I look down at her outstretched hand, then back up at her. I know as soon as I touch her, I won’t be able to walk away. Not even if I wanted to. Fuck me.

  4

  Brody

  Present Day

  My motto in life has always been, live fast, die young and leave a pretty corpse. I have been out of rehab for three months and it has been the longest three fucking months of my life. Endless nights of restlessness and vivid dreams, endless days filled with exhaustion and fatigue. As I turn to the nameless woman next to me, a soft hand slides across my torso and as I struggle to focus on her, my heart sinks. Please God no. I close my eyes, hoping that my eyes are deceiving me, but when I look again, my worst nightmare is confirmed. Lying next to me is Emmy, the sweetest, gentlest, kindest girl I know. Fuck me; I am going straight to hell.

  I slide out of bed, cursing softly. I desperately try not to wake her, but I can’t resist lifting the duvet, to check whether she is naked underneath. Please tell me we didn’t. I lift it and my suspicions are instantly quelled, as I see she is wearing one of my t-shirts. Thank fuck. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and she stirs, as I start to pull on my jeans. She smiles sleepily and snuggles deeper into the pillow.

  “Hey you.” Her voice is soft and thick with sleep. She rolls over onto her stomach and I rub my head agitatedly. “Where are you going?”

  I turn to face her. God, she is…beautiful, in a plain Jane kind of way, but also innocent, she’s just a kid. Why the fuck did I have to go there? What were you thinking, Hart?

  “What’s wrong? H-have I done something?” she asks in a small voice and my heart breaks for her. Why the fuck did I have to pull that shit with her, of all people? My sweet, innocent Emmy. I drop down on the edge of the bed and she crawls over to me. I turn to her and I feel like the world’s biggest prick.

  "I need to know I haven't ruined what we have between us, Ems. I couldn't bear losing you, you're like my baby sister."

  She smiles tenderly and reaches for my hand. "Of course you haven't ruined things, you donut! You made a drunken pass at me, but I pushed you away. You asked me to come back here with you and I agreed. We ate chicken kebabs in the back of your limo and when we got back here, I put you to bed, and you passed out.”

  I shake my head. Fucking classy.

  “Shit, Ems, I’m so fucking sorry, you mean more to me than that. I was so drunk, I do stupid shit when I’m drunk, please forgive me,” I plead sincerely, as she rests her head on my shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for, chick. It's no big deal honestly, you’re funny when you’re drunk! Even though you were totally shitfaced, you were still a sweetheart.”

  She smiles and I wrap my arm around her.

  "You're a diamond, Emilia Woods; don't let anyone tell you different. I would never let anyone hurt you, ever. I would lay down my fucking life for you and I don’t say that to just anyone." I say, with absolute conviction.

  “You’re the only pure thing I’ve got left in my life, Ems. I couldn’t bear to think that I’d ruined things between us.”

  She snuggles closer to me and I squeeze her tighter.

  “Of course not, it’ll take more than that to get rid of me, Hart!” She punches me playfully on my arm and we stay silent for a few moments.

  "Wow, I can officially say I slept with Brody Hart!" she squeals and claps enthusiastically and we both laugh.

  "Was I good in bed?" I ask teasingly, she pretends to think.

  "Hmm, yeah, obviously! You were a total stallion, stamina of an Olympian!" she jokes, and I nod.

  "Keep going, my ego needs massaging a little more!" I say wryly and she chuckles softly.

  "Let’s see, we went at it all night, I could hardly keep up and that thing you do with your piercing..." her eyes roll back in her head.

  "Oh my God, multiple orgasms all round!"

  We both collapse back on the bed, in fits of hysterical laughter and I come to the sudden realisation that I haven't laughed that hard in a long time.

  "My one issue, you're not a cuddler, you're more of a hands behind your head, stare at the ceiling, kind of guy."

  She says ruefully. Emmy knows me well; she knows every facet of me, just as Sam, Peyton, Lenny, and the boys do. She knows I suffer from chronic insomnia.

  I've suffered from insomnia for years and I've repeated the same cycle every night, for the last ten plus years. Most days, I run purely on adrenaline, caffeine, and energy drinks. Other days, I give in to the temptation and do some of the old Columbian marching powder. I can't remember the last time I slept soundly for the whole night. I spend my endless nights reading, experimenting with melodies on my beloved guitar, or just cruising around the city on my bike. But I seem to find my true peace buried in the words of the greats, Koontz, Laymon, Salinger, King, Tolkien and Gemmel. I lose myself in the fictional worlds and the pure escapism it brings to my otherwise chaotic life. Fiction takes me on a journey and the characters allow me to connect with them on a different level, holding me hostage until the final page and final word is read. After music, it’s my one true passion and a distraction from mundane reality.

  ***

  In between Emmy leaving and my wayward thoughts, the time seems to pass in a blur.

  “Penny for ‘em, babe.”

  Peyton requests and I look up. She looks stunning; I can see why Sam fell for her so hard and fast. She drops down next to me, on the edge of the bed.

  “How are you, Brody, I mean really, none of your usual bullshit?” she challenges softly, and I laugh at her obstinacy. I love and hate the way she knows me so well.

  “I’m exhausted, sweets, I might have had six months in rehab, but all I’ve done is think and I’m tired of fucking thinking,” I sigh, as she leans her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arm protectively around her.

  “You must have better things to do than listen to me fucking whine.”

  My lame attempt at a joke, causes her to frown.

  “Don’t ever say that, I’ve always got time to listen; I’m here for you, Brody. Always.”

  I squeeze her and tenderly kiss her forehead.

  “In a different life, we would have been good together.”

  I sigh, half joking, and she rolls her eyes, laughing melodically.

  “Is that the life where you swoop in, charm me and it’s you I tattoo, instead of Sam? Somehow, I don’t think that would have worked out, rock star.”

  I smile at her term of endearment for me. She has no idea how important that makes me feel.

  “A man can only hope.”

  I exhale heavily, and she wraps her arm around me. “Come on, talk to me, Hart,” she presses, and I chuckle softly at her tenacity.

  “You’ve got mad fucking deduction skills, sweets,” I say wryly, with a cock of my eyebrow and she shrugs.

  “It’s a gift, what can I say! Now, come on, spill!”

  I puff out my cheeks and look up to the ceiling.

&nb
sp; “I fucked up, royally. That girl, the one who just left, she’s…so fucking sweet. She works at the café I’ve been going to for years. I bumped into her last night, when I was out, and before you ask, we didn’t fuck. Apparently, I drunkenly hit on her and she pushed me away, then I bought her back here and I passed out. She’s just a kid, why the fuck would I do that to her? What kind of monster does that make me? She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that, like she’s-insignificant, like she’s just another hole for me to stick my dick into.”

  She smirks and crinkles her nose.

  “That’s a nice image I’ve got, thanks for that,” she says sardonically.

  “Sam told me about the married woman you were seeing,” she blurts out and at that moment, I could kick Sam in the balls for telling her something so personal.

  “Fucking son of a…” I stop myself from continuing and she reaches for my hand, squeezing it in a gesture of reassurance.

  “Please, don’t be mad at him, Sam’s just worried for you because he cares, that’s all. I promise you’ll never get any judgement from me. We can’t help who we fall for. Someone told me once that we all make mistakes, it’s how we come back from them that counts.”

  I roll my eyes. There she goes with her cliché bullshit, bless her.

  “Should I go downstairs and lie down on the sofa, so I can spill my deepest darkest secrets to you, sweets?” I say drolly, and she chuckles softly.

  “My fees are expensive, I’m not sure you could afford me!” she banters back, cocking her perfectly plucked eyebrow, and I laugh.

  “I take it back, Sam’s fucking welcome to you!” I say cheekily, and she hits me playfully on my arm. I rub my arm and stick my tongue out at her. She giggles and someone clearing their throat interrupts us. I look up to see Sam standing in the doorway, dressed in his running gear, regarding us both intently, as he secures his iPod to an arm strap.

  “Should I be worried that my wife is in your room, Hart?” I don’t miss the possessive tone in his voice, as she rolls her eyes and I chuckle softly.

  “I was just showing her my enormous dick; she was so impressed; she’s considering asking you for a divorce!” I say with an amused tone to my voice and Sam cocks his eyebrow, as he runs his hand through his hair.

  “In your dreams, mate!”

  We both laugh.

  “Do you fancy coming for a run?”

  I nod. I could do with pounding the pavement to get out some of my pent-up frustration. “Give me five minutes to get my shit together, man.”

  He nods curtly and Peyton kisses me on the forehead.

  “Chin up, rock star, don’t let the bastards grind you down,” she says with a wink and kisses me gently on the forehead, as she leaves with Sam.

  I wish it were that fucking easy.

  5

  Raleigh

  I have been out of rehab for over two months now and today my agent, Paul Lyndsey, has set up a meeting with Damien Valentine, for an upcoming film. Damien Valentine is a rival to the likes of Guy Ritchie and Matthew Vaughn and stars from all over the world are queuing up to work with him. As a director, he is easy going, but a hard taskmaster - or so I have heard. I jumped at the chance, when my agent called me and told me Damien was interested in hiring me. I have been preparing, by reading over the script, that Damien had couriered over to me and I loved what I read, so much so that I devoured it in one afternoon sitting. It is sharp, witty, extremely funny, dark in places and beautifully written, with lots of twists and layers to the story.

  I’m putting the finishing touches to my make-up and I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling so nervous my stomach is in knots. I apply a final coat of light pink lip-gloss and press my lips together. I am looking good, and I feel fucking good for the first time in a long time. After six solid months in rehab, for my addiction to prescription medication and self-harm, I am back and ready to prove my critics wrong. My short lilac hair is styled sleek and straight, I am wearing a white shirt, with a black vest underneath and black leather shorts, which make my legs look amazing. I finish my outfit, with a pair of cute black and white wedges. I place my thick, black-rimmed glasses on and with one last look in the mirror; I leave my hotel room, hopeful that my career is far from over.

  My driver and my bodyguard, Clifford Holt drives the short journey to Damien’s office. Cliff has been my driver since I moved to the UK and hit the big-time. I was a young, up, and coming actress, who was making a name for herself, as my first movie was being released. I’d landed a huge role in a UK based soap off the back of it. I was being recognised more and more and it got to a point where I couldn’t leave my apartment without the press camped outside. That’s when Paul employed Cliff to take care of me and drive me around. Paul knew Cliff from the club circuit years ago, he trusted him implicitly and according to Paul, he was the only man who was up to the job. He’s a quiet, stoic man, but he has a heart of gold and would go out of his way to protect me.

  As I step onto the curb, I look up and up at the striking office building, in the heart of South Kensington, which houses Damien’s independent production company, Pendulum Productions. I am in awe, as I enter the stark and bustling lobby. As I move further into the modern reception area, I notice the vibrant red and light grey tones, which gives off a sleek, but professional vibe. I shuffle nervously to the reception desk, to announce my arrival. Fuck, I am so out of practice, it has been a while. I clear my throat and paste a smile on my face. Chin up, tits out, Storm.

  “Hi, I’m Raleigh Storm, I have an appointment with Mr Valentine.”

  The receptionist regards me with obvious disdain, and I try to school my expression to somewhere in between neutral and indifferent. She taps her acrylic nails on her keyboard and looks up at me.

  “Take a seat, Mr Valentine will be down to collect you momentarily, Miss Storm,” she says aloofly, and I nod curtly, mentally counting to ten, as I walk over to the plush seating area. I sit down on the large black leather armchair, which seemingly swallows me, as I sit back. I take a few deep breaths and inwardly give myself a pep talk. Come on, Storm, you can do it. This is the opportunity you have been waiting for. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, thinking nothing but positive thoughts and willing myself not to let nerves get the better of me. You got this, girl.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a tall, lean man, around six feet one inches tall, with short, dark brown hair, which is shaved close to his head. He has light, ocean blue eyes and he has at least a few weeks’ worth of stubble on his chin. He is wearing a pair of dark jeans, which cling to his muscular thighs, a white t-shirt, black military boots and a black suit jacket, with the sleeves rolled up. I notice he has an intricate tribal tattoo, which wraps around his forearm. I struggle to get to my feet, and I can see by the look on his face, that he is desperately trying to hold in a smirk. He offers me his hand and pulls me up until I am upright. I stumble awkwardly into him and looking in his amused blue eyes. I clear my throat, feeling my face burning with embarrassment. Great first impression, Storm.

  “Raleigh Storm, pleased to meet you, Mr Valentine,” I offer him my hand, but his dismisses me with a wave of his hand.

  “Please, no formalities here, call me Damien; it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Do you mind if I call you Raleigh?” he asks politely, and I shake my head.

  “No, no, of course not,” I mutter, and he chuckles softly.

  “Try to relax, Raleigh; the press would say my bark is worse than my bite, but you’re quite safe…for now,” he says, with a charming tone to his voice and I am instantly soothed by his friendly, laid back demeanour.

  “If you would like to follow me.” He smiles and gestures for me to follow him. I do as he asks, and I trail after him, in an awkward silence, through a maze of corridors, until we get to a set of frosted glass, double doors. The doors have the initials D.V, in flowing, script letters etched into the glass. My eyes flick to the sign and he laughs cumbersomely.

  �
��I keep meaning to replace that, it’s bloody pretentious isn’t it?” he says, with an almost embarrassed edge to his voice and I love how down to earth he seems. He presses his thumb to the device to the right of the door and it clicks open. He steps inside, and I shadow him, taking in my surroundings, as we step through the door. His office is a stark contrast from the rest of the building, it is warm, inviting and feels quite like how someone might have their living room. The slate grey plush velour sofa with a fur rug over the back and a garish, brightly coloured Indian inspired blanket draped over the arm, sits in front of a glass desk, which has a MacBook and a few dog-eared scripts scattered haphazardly across it. The far wall has a large fireplace and mantle, dominating the space, with bookshelves full of books, lining it on either side. On the mantle there are two antique clocks and various photos of Damien with well-known, famous movie stars. A few of which I recognise. There is a television mounted on the wall to the right, which is muted and shows the showbiz news. In front of that shelf is an upright piano and bench in dark walnut. Hanging on the wall above the piano, is a collage of movie posters which Damien has directed. It really is an interesting and inviting space.