Confessions (Tattoos & Tears Book 3) Page 5
I lubricate my finger and spread it over his tight arsehole. He flinches at the cool lubricant, as it makes contact with his skin.
“Sh, shh, relax.” I soothe, and I linger at his tight hole, wanting to prolong this moment.
I want to bottle this moment and keep it for all eternity. I kiss a trail down his spine, reaching down between his legs, to grasp his impressive erection. His cock twitches in my hand and I can feel every vein throbbing under my touch.
“Christ, your cock feels so good.”
I move my hand back to his puckered hole and slowly push my fingers past the tight sphincter. He gasps at the intrusion of my fingers and whimpers with pleasure. I almost come on the spot at his reaction.
“Mmm, does that feel good?”
I move my fingers in and out of his tight hole, loving the way my fingers feel deep inside him. He moans softly and bites his lip piercing, causing my cock to twitch. Suddenly, I can’t wait to be inside him. I am almost desperate with want for this exquisite man, who is completely at my sexual mercy. I introduce another finger, and he pushes eagerly back against me. I smirk at the gesture.
“Look at what you’ve been missing out on all these years, Sam.”
He moves his trembling hands from the back of the sofa and grasps his growing erection in his hand. He strokes himself and the little noises he makes have me practically panting like a randy dog. I reach down into the pocket of my jeans and take out a rubber. I tear the foil packet between my teeth and sheath my hardness.
“Are you ready? I can’t wait any longer; I need to be inside you.”
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, in the most adorable way and he turns his head, so his eyes lock onto mine.
“Yes,” he rasps, and I take that a green light.
I smile and remove my fingers from his puckered back entrance. I grasp my cock in my hand, and as I slowly enter him, I think I’ve found heaven.
11
Sam
Present
Time to up your game, Newbolt.
“What would your dad have said?” His face contorts, as I mention his dad. “What would Jed have said? He wouldn’t want this; he wouldn’t want you to do this.”
He moves closer to me.
“You know nothing!” he spits harshly. “You know nothing about my relationship with my dad, NOTHING! How fucking dare you even speak his name!” he shouts, and he violently hits himself in the side of the head. I know I’m getting to him.
“I know that you worshipped the ground he walked on, you followed him around like a lost fucking puppy for years, desperate to please him. He was proud of you, though, that much was clear, and you looked up to him, any idiot could see that.”
He shakes his head, and I can see the tic in his jaw start to pulsate.
“NO! NO! I was a fucking disappointment to him! All he ever did was put me down and belittle me! I was the son who would amount to nothing in his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of carrying the family name, he never took me seriously, I WAS A JOKE! A PATHETIC FUCKING JOKE!”
I look at him defiantly.
“Diamond Records was his life; how do you think he would react now if he knew you had pissed it all up the wall? His beloved legacy now belongs to someone else, all because you let the power go to your fucking head!”
He is literally trembling with rage now, and he moves closer to me.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
He slaps me with the back of his hand, and I blink a few times, smirking at him.
“Is that all you’ve got? The great Jed Dalton’s son hits like a fucking girl!” I mock and start to laugh hysterically.
Fuck me Newbolt, you’re losing the plot.
He grabs my vest and punches me square in the face. He removes the knife from his jeans, and before I know what is happening, he plunges it into my left shoulder. The pain rips through me, like a bolt of lightning and I howl in pure agony. He pulls the knife out as if it has burned him and flings it across the room where it clatters on the concrete floor.
“Why do you make me fucking hurt you, Sammy? WHY?” he bellows and runs his hands frantically through his hair.
I look him square in the eyes, as I feel a warm wetness trickling down my chest.
“How could you ever think I had fucking feelings for you? What happened between us all those years ago, was purely for my career. I did it for the boys, I took one for the fucking team!”
He shakes his head profusely and yells out angrily, “NO! NO! YOU DON’T MEAN THAT! YOU’RE FUCKING LYING!”
I narrow my eyes at him, and I see his nostrils flare at my words.
“I wanted my music career so badly, I fucked my manager, and you know what? It wasn’t even that good. You're disgusting, you fucking sick, pathetic pervert!” I roar, and that’s when he moves forward with a look of pure hatred on his face. He moves so close to me that we are nose to nose and his voice is low and menacing.
“You know what? I enjoyed killing Peyton and the little fucking cockroach that was inside of her. I did the world a fucking favour by ending both of their lives. ‘The whore and the rock stars child’. That would have made a great title for a novel, don’t you think, Sammy? Although, I howled with laughter when I stabbed her in the chest, and then I stabbed her in the stomach, over and over again, just to make sure the little bastard was dead!”
He smirks, and that’s when every ounce of my resolve finally snaps. My forehead connects with his nose, spraying blood all over his face; I am running purely on adrenaline, and I’m fuelled by burning, white-hot, molten rage. I throw myself forward with such brute force, I wrench the arms of the chair completely off, and it splinters easily apart. I get to my feet and straighten. I am trembling with such intense anger, I want this man to fucking die, and I want to be the one to end him.
The wooden arms of the chair are still attached to my forearms, and I swing my right arm forward until the wood connects with the side of his head. The force is so great, the cracking sound echoes throughout the room. He stumbles sidewards and collapses on his knees, but he doesn't go down. I see red, and I am blinded by such inconsolable rage, I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that I want to smash the life out of this sick, twisted piece of shit. I want him to look into my eyes, as I end his fucking life. I want to watch the light fade from his beady fucking eyes, just like he watched the life fade from my sweet Peyton's eyes.
I am driven by the need to watch as he takes his last breath, just as he watched Peyton take her last breath. I move in front of him and kick him so hard with my boot that he falls flat on his back. I hover over him, and I repeatedly hit him with the piece of wood attached to my right arm. He is screaming and pleading with me to stop.
“NO SAMMY PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE!”
The sound of his incessant whining and pleading only fuels me to hit him harder. I am willing to do prison time, if justice is served.
"IS THAT WHAT YOU DID TO HER? DID YOU MAKE HER FUCKING BEG FOR HER LIFE, YOU SICK FUCK!" I roar.
The red mist has descended, and I can’t stop myself. I am so focused, and hell-bent on vengeance for myself, the woman I loved and my unborn child. It is like the past year of grieving and the intense fucking hatred I feel for this vile excuse for a human being, is rushing to the surface, it is overwhelming. At this moment, I feel like I am the angriest man on the fucking planet.
As I continue to rain down blow after blow on this sorry sack of shit, I remember all those nights I spent lying with Peyton, her scent, and the way her beautiful, svelte body felt against me. I realise that I am crying uncontrollably. He took her from me, and I will never ever forgive him for that, but Peyton’s sweet nature would not have wanted me to kill him, no matter what he has done. I stop abruptly, and as I look down at his battered and bloody body lying in front of me, I realise that this is what became of the once great Johnnie fucking Diamond. I kneel, reaching into his front pocket where I know he always keeps his phone, and call 911.
12
I come around in an all too bright room with a throbbing head, a throat like Gandhi’s sandal and a dull ache in my shoulder. My hand and my wrists are bandaged. Ouch! That shit fucking stings! There is an officer of the NYPD standing next to my bed, with his hands behind his back. My mum and dad are on the other side. My mum looks as if she has been crying and my mum almost never cries. My dad is silently standing with his arm wrapped around her, being the rock she needs. I turn my head slightly to see Cole stationed outside my room; that’s when I see her. She is standing awkwardly near the door, and I instantly think, this can’t be fucking happening to me. What the fuck is going on? Am I dreaming? Are my eyes deceiving me? I feel like Alice in Wonderland, I have fallen down the rabbit hole and entered someone else’s life. A parallel universe, where she is standing right in front of me, living and breathing.
She is more defined, tanned and so much thinner than I remember. Her eyes are still that sparkling sapphire blue, which haunted my dreams every single night. She is still so impossibly beautiful, and she takes my fucking breath away. Her hair is now pillar-box red and cut into a short, sleek bob, but it is definitely her. My Peyton. I look to the tall, muscled, light coffee skinned officer standing next to my bed. He is wearing a grey suit, with a silver pinstripe tie, a detective badge pinned to his belt and a handgun in a brown leather holster, concealed inside his jacket. A look of pure confusion crosses my face, as I struggle to focus on what is going on.
“What the fuck?” I croak, and her eyes are glazed, but she doesn’t say a word. “Mum?"
My mum steps forward and clasps my hand in hers.
"I'm here, honey," she says in her soft, familiar American drawl.
She reaches over to pick up the glass of water on the table next to my bed. She hands me the glass, and I suck water through a straw to hydrate my dry throat. I polish off the glass of water in one long pull. The liquid feels like heaven, as it slides down my throat in an ice-cold cascade.
"How long have I been here?” I rasp, as my dad moves forward and pats my uninjured shoulder.
"You’ve been here for three days, son. The police found you collapsed from blood loss at the side of the road. You were in a bloody awful state, but we had you transferred to a private hospital. They patched you up, so you’re good as new, and you're going to be just fine,” he says in a tone of quiet concern that only a father would have for his son.
I narrow my eyes at the officer, who is regarding me intently.
"Who are you?" I say frostily.
“I’m Detective Paxton Devin, Mr. Newbolt. My kids are huge fans," he says in a thick, prominent New York accent.
I nod curtly and smile weakly, and as my eyes find hers, I am somewhere between shock and disbelief. The officer sees the exchange between us and looks curiously from her to me.
“We’re going to need to ask you both a few questions, but for now I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Newbolt, Miss Stonebridge. You look like y’all have a lot to discuss.”
He smiles, nods and leaves the room. Why the fuck is he calling her Miss Stonebridge? I want to scream at him that that’s not her name, but I am pulled from my thoughts by my dad stepping closer to my bed, looking from me to her.
“Do you want me to get Cole to come and remove her?” he says with more than a hint of venom to his voice.
I glance at her, and she looks so tiny, scared and vulnerable as tears roll freely down her cheeks. I shake my head, without breaking our eye contact.
“No,” I say gruffly, as my mum squeezes my hand and kisses me softly on the cheek.
"Me and your father are going to find a decent cup of coffee in this God-awful place, are you going to be ok, darling?"
She looks from her to me, with narrow, guarded eyes and I nod in reassurance.
"Yeah, I'll be fine, mum."
My dad smiles, and I know he’s dying to say something, but he stays silent, just to keep the peace.
"Love you, sweetie."
My mum blows a kiss to me, and I smile.
"Love you too, mum."
My dad steers my mum out of the room with his hand at the small of her back. The door closes behind them, and it’s just her and me. I wince as I sit up, and my shoulder burns in protest while my hand throbs with pain. But it doesn’t quite match up to the pain I feel in my heart right now. All I have wanted for this past year is to see her, hold her, and to wake up from the nightmare I have been in without her. I have wished for someone to come and tell me it was all a dream, a bad joke, that she was alive. I was made to think she was alive, only to have my hopes dashed so cruelly by the man who took her from me in the first place. Fucking J.D.
“You died; I saw it with my own eyes.”
My voice is barely a whisper, and I don’t recognise it as my own. She moves back from the bed, distancing herself from me. She sees the look of pure anguish and disbelief on my face. She looks like a rabbit caught in headlights. She takes another step back and hugs herself, as if to protect herself from this, from me. My heart constricts at her obvious skittish behaviour. Jesus fucking Christ.
“I know you must be angry and upset, Sam, but you need to understand that what he did to me was…it was…horrific, brutal…torture. This past year hasn’t been easy for me.”
Her small voice trembles and I can’t believe what I am hearing. Angry? Upset? That’s a fucking understatement. It doesn’t even begin to cover what I am feeling right now. A part of me is upset and angry, but I’m also so very relieved that she is alive. Mainly, I feel a sense of hatred towards this woman I once loved, for destroying me and for making me believe she was dead. I tried to take my own life because she was gone, and I couldn’t see another way out. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly forgive her for that.
“It wasn’t easy for you? Fuck! I’ve spent the past year in absolute hell because you died! I grieved for you! I went to your goddamn memorial when we couldn’t find your body, we said goodbye to you, Peyton. I lost you and our baby that day; I lost everything, and it was all because of fucking J.D.”
My voice is thick with unshed tears and pent-up anger towards her total disregard for my feelings. A tear rolls down her cheek, and even though I am so fucking angry, all I want to do is hold her in my arms.
“I’m so sorry, Sam, I really am.”
She swipes the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. Her favourite purple and black checked shirt, the one she was wearing the day we met.
13
Sam
The day they met
I can think of a million places that I would rather be right now. I’m hung-over to shit, I’m fucking exhausted, and I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s sleep. We played a gig last night in Hammersmith, and we partied hard, the way rock stars should. The vodka was flowing; the groupies were fast, looser than usual, and they were there on demand to relieve the tension after an all-out, energetic performance. The groupie I ended up with was a tiger, an all-around, kinky bitch and I didn’t even bother to lay on the old Bolt charm. She was an easy fuck, just the way I like them. We fucked for hours, and I didn’t even get her name. Or if I did, I don’t remember it! I kicked her out when I was done, in my typical Newbolt style. Hey, I am under no illusion that I am a perfect gentleman. I am a complete fucking arsehole; I admit it, and I have totally made peace with that.
I would rather be anywhere other than a pokey little tattoo studio in the middle of Islington. Fucking Islington of all places. I could do without this shit because my head is fucking banging like a shit house door. But, apparently, we all insisted we wanted new tattoos after a little too much vodka. After J.D pulled some strings with the owner and manager, Seb Henry, here we are. I step off the tour bus with my aviator sunglasses on to shield my eyes, followed by the rest of the boys, who are equally as hungover. We are greeted by a flock of screaming female fans, and flanked by our security team Cole and Skip, we are led through the crowd and into the shop.
That’s when I see
her. A five foot nothing, tattooed goddess, and fuck me, I think I’m in love. Her blue eyes lock with mine; I give her a cheeky wink and one of my signature killer dazzling smiles. I can see that she feels it too because neither of us can look away. My heart starts beating faster, and I can’t remember the last time I felt...something. I clear my throat, to rid myself of the thought. Come on Newbolt, turn on the charm.
“Hey beautiful,” I rasp.
I see the muscles in her slender neck contract. She bites her lip, and her eyes glaze over. Oh yes, she is so affected by me. If I am correct, she is probably thinking of how my cock is going to feel buried inside her tight, wet...Whoa! Steady on son! Get it together, fuck face. She shakes her head, as if to rid herself of her previous thought, and takes a deep breath. She has no idea that I was having the same thought, at the same time.