Текст книги "Uncaged"

Автор книги: Emilia Kincade

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

Penny’s body is so sexy. I trace her soft skin with a finger, running it over the curve of her hips, her generous ass. She wiggles it playfully, and so I slap her ass cheek.

That’s when I notice the tattoo. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. It’s in the nook of her knee. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.

“This one must have hurt,” I say, rubbing my index finger over the tattoo. The skin is completely smooth and un-textured; the tattoo is not new.

It’s of a penguin, except it has a bright orange bill, almost like a cartoon. “I thought you said you did them all yourself? How could you reach this?”

“This one I didn’t,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me. Her hair is pulled to one side. With her lips parted just a little bit, I feel a surge of blood to my cock. Penny is sexy as fuck. I could mount her again right now.

The bare skin of her back pulls me like a magnet, and I sidle up her body, press my teeth into the skin of her shoulder.

“Who did it?”

“Why?”

“Well, fuck Pen, because I want to know. Why else?”

“I used to hang out at a shop,” she explains. “They did apprenticeships and courses regularly. So, I let someone do their first tattoo on me.”

It impresses me, the fact that she’d take that kind of risk. One slip, one fuck up, and she’s got a bad tattoo forever… maybe we’re not so different after all.

“Isn’t it a bit crazy to let someone unskilled give you a tattoo?”

“It’s crazier that you earn buckets of money to trade punches in a cage. It’s just a man-sized cock-fight.”

“I like it when you’re nasty.”

“She did a great job, though. The shape of the penguin is spot on.”

I look at the tattoo again. I can’t see anything wrong with it. The proportions are perfect, and while the style is a little cuter than I’d like, it’s good body art.

“She must have had a good hand.”

“She did.”

“As good as yours?”

Penny snorts. “No.”

“How long ago was this?” I’ve noticed that the black ink is starting to fade a little.

“Few years ago now. I was still in high school. I don’t think the ink took really well there on the back of my knee. The skin there is delicate.”

“What did your dad say?”

“He never noticed.”

“Never?”

Penny shrugs, and rolls over. I lie down next to her and wrap her up in my arms and hold her body tight against mine. I love the feel of her soft skin against me, her naked body touching me.

“We didn’t, like, go to the pool together or anything,” she says, shrugging.

“So, what, you’ve never worn a skirt or shorts?”

“Not around Dad,” Penny says. She smirks when she sees my expression. “He’s… conservative.”

“He dictates what you wear?”

She sits up now, face serious. “Nobody tells me what to wear.” The brief moment of indignation passes. “At least, not for a long time. No, he doesn’t stop me. He wouldn’t. But I know he doesn’t like it.”

“So you do it for his benefit.”

Penny sighs. “When Mom left, he was… well, I was still young, a teenager, and I wasn’t easy. Come to think of it, you must have been a nightmare to raise.”

“I boarded, Pen. No parents to speak of since I was thirteen. Anyway, girls are always worse than guys.”

She rolls her eyes. “Like you would know anything about that. Anyway, I tried to make it easy on him, you know? I decided to stay with Dad because Mom cheated, but, I mean, he’s oblivious. He’s clueless. This one time I was out with him at a zoo, I was like nine or ten… this was even before the divorce. Anyway, he tried to insist I go into the male bathroom with him when I had to use it. At that age! I mean, I was a precocious kid, don’t get me wrong, but he was just so clueless. He just never grew out of me being a kid. I’m always his, well, little girl.”

“You decided not to make him worry.”

“Well, it wasn’t all that,” she says, looking away. “I was more of a ripped-jeans and Converse girl, anyway.”

“Why a penguin?”

“Are you kidding? They’re the cutest animal.”

“You ever seen one?”

“At the zoo, yeah.”

“I mean in the wild.”

“No,” she says. “I was planning on visiting Phillip Island sometime to watch them come in and nest. You know, the miniature penguins. I thought I’d join a tour.”

“It’s shit there,” I tell her, shaking my head. “You sit up in these stands, ages away from the beach, and you can barely make them out in the dark. Plus you’re with about two thousand other people and everybody’s got their cameras flashing uselessly, fucking idiots. Nah, don’t bother.”

“Oh.”

“But I know a better place. Just a little ways down the coast. You want to go tonight?”

“What do you mean ‘a better place’?”

“You know there’s a colony in St. Kilda, right? At the beach?”

“I read about it, but didn’t have the chance to go yet.”

“Well, in between St. Kilda and Brighton, there’s a little hidden beach that nobody knows about in a small cove. There’s another colony there. I’ll take you there. You’d be right on the shore with them. Heaps of the little fuckers.”

Her eyes light up, and she beams me the broadest grin. Seeing it makes my heart race, gives me butterflies.

Fucking butterflies!

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight,” I say. “They’re all already in, but you’ll be able to see them sleeping and nesting in the rocks.”

Penny rolls on top of me, and she gives me a kiss. She tastes so sweet, and the feel of her warm breath on my face is so intimate, it just thumps me in the chest.

Jesus, this girl is something else.

“Okay,” she says. “Take me there.”

“You can’t touch them, though.”

“I know,” she says.

I kiss her again, savoring the sensation of her soft lips on my own. Her hair has fallen down around my face. I can see nothing else but hers. I look at her lips first, sexy, seductive, before meeting her eyes.

I flex my pelvic muscle, squeeze blood into my cock so that it jumps up. She grins when she feels it, but then climbs off me. As her thighs part, I catch a glimpse of her sex, and all I want to do is bury my face into it, make her come into my mouth again.

“Come on, let’s go!”

I run my hand up the inside of my thigh, but she slaps it away and eyeballs me.

“I said, let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty

“They’re so cute.”

I beam a smile at Pierce. He’s perched on a rock, leaning back, staring out to sea. The moon is full tonight, and it’s so bright that you can see all the way to the horizon.

I’m crouched, peering into a small hole in the rocks. There, I see a momma miniature penguin staring out at me. She doesn’t look hostile or aggressive, and I’m not surprised. The penguins around this area have no doubt seen humans before.

Nestled beneath her is an even smaller penguin, her baby. It’s not black like it’s mother, but instead grey. It’s tiny, basically just a ball of fur with webbed flipper-feet.

These penguins are the most adorable things. Barely longer head-to-foot than my forearm, they appear at once to be so small and vulnerable, and yet so resilient. Atop the cliff face that we climbed down are signs warning people not to touch them or feed them.

Pierce told me that drunk people are always fucking around with them, kicking them or even taking them to keep as pets.

I feel my stomach tighten. The image of someone kicking one of these tiny, helpless penguins makes me sick.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say, walking toward him. I climb up onto the large, flat rock and sit down next to him. The stone is still warm from the day’s sun. “How did you find this place?”

“Oh, people around here know about it.”

“You like the penguins?”

“Sure.”

We sit in silence for a while, listen to the gentle sound of the sea slapping sand.

“You know, you can be pretty nice when you’re not being a dick.”

He grins.

“What are you thinking about?”

Pierce looks at me, but just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What’s your shop going to be called?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Isn’t Tina worried about introducing new competition into the market? By training you, I mean.”

“She’s a bit more romantic than that. She believes in the artistry. She says she appreciates talent.”

“And you’ve got talent.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“I think you do. That plant thing on your foot is great.”

“Thanks.”

I take a deep breath, and ask a question that’s been on my mind. “Pierce, what’s going on with us?”

“There’s an ‘us’?”

“Are you just fucking around?”

“I never fuck around.”

“That’s a big fat lie.”

“Don’t think so much,” he says. “Thinking never fixed anything.”

I snort, shake my head at him. “Let’s go. I should get home. I’ve got to work tomorrow. You know where I live.”

“Uh-uh,” he says, getting up and offering me a hand. “We’re going back to mine.”

“Pierce.”

“Your phone’s at my house.”

“Shit. It is.”

“Oh well,” Pierce says, shrugging. “Tough luck.”

“Wait,” I say after a moment. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You wanted to stay. Psychologists say there’s no such thing as mistakes.”

“There you go, being a dick again. For a moment you were tolerable.”

“You’ll live.”

When we get back to his apartment, he pulls me into the shower with him. He holds me, kisses me, and even helps me to wash and rinse my hair.

It’s weird, the feeling of somebody else’s fingers in my hair. I’ve never liked it. I’ve always hated going to the hairdresser. But when he does it, it’s okay.

And when we go to bed, alarm set to ring in three hours. He holds me tight, kisses the back of my neck. I can feel his hardness.

At the edge of wakefulness, as sleep is about to pull him under, I hear him say, “You’re mine now, Pen. I’m never letting you go.”

All night he stays true to his word. I’m in his arms, feeling warm, safe… loved. It takes me a while to fall asleep – I’m not used to the height of his pillows – but he nods off quickly, and he lies still as a doorstop. The rhythm of his breathing – so slow and steady – is comforting, somehow. With his lips against the skin of my shoulder, I can feel his warm exhales.

Eventually, the world fades away, the sound of the ceiling fan drowns out, and I fall into a dreamless sleep, only to be woken by a piercing ray of sunlight making its way through a crack in the curtains.

It’s half-past five, thirty minutes before I had set my alarm. It’s the second time in two weeks I’ve barely gotten a couple of hours sleep, and I feel it now. I’m slow, groggy, tired… a little irritable.

I pull my phone to me, see the notification light blinking, and slowly pry Pierce’s arm off my body. He rolls onto his back.

Unlocking the phone, I see that I’ve got an email from dad.

Fuck, I think to myself. Last night I was supposed to call him on Skype. I had completely forgotten.

I tap through the screens until I bring up his email. My heart stops dead.

It reads:

I proposed to Isabelle and she said yes! We’re thinking of having the wedding in Melbourne so you and Pierce can attend. Hope you’re well. Love, Dad.

Chapter Twenty One

I stare at the email on my phone. The blood in my veins has gone cold. All my hairs are standing up on end.

I’m so angry at myself that all I can think about is how this affects me. I should be happy for Dad! But all I can think about is myself.

And Pierce.

He is beside me, still asleep in bed. He’s thrown all the sheets off, and he’s just lying flat on his back, naked, sleeping. His hard muscle looks oddly relaxed, completely lacking in any kind of tension.

I take a moment to look down his body, and that’s when I notice he’s got a fucking erection.

“Oh my God,” I groan, rolling over.

Even in his sleep!

I refocus on the email, and read it again, and again, and again. I can’t believe it. This has got to be a joke. Pierce and I are going to become stepbrother and stepsister?

That’s so messed up. I don’t want to deal with that. The phone slips out of my hand and lands loudly on the floor, thudding on the wooden tiles… and waking Pierce.

He rolls over, looks at me, looks down at his naked body, and his erection, and then back at me.

He grins, sliding a hand over to my breast. I slap it away, irritated.

“Okay,” he says in a quiet voice, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He gets out of bed, and walks to the bathroom without looking at me. His dick bobs with every step.

I hear him running a glass of water, he downs it in one go, and then starts brushing his teeth.

“Whas yerr pwobwem dis marning?” he asks, dribbling toothpaste onto the floor. He grins and shrugs, and picks it up with a finger and flicks it into the sink.

I grimace. “Pierce, check your email.”

Some minutes later I hear him spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his mouth.

“For what?” he asks, emerging at the door to the bathroom, toweling off his face. His hair is a little wet in front, and it sticks to his forehead. He brushes it to the side, giving him a goofy side-parting.

“Would you do something about that?” I ask, pointing at his erection.

“Nothing to do,” he says. “Got to wait.”

“For what?”

“It to go down?”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Morning wood. Just a guy thing.”

“You mean there’s no way you can get rid of it?”

“There’s one way,” he says, grinning and winking at me.

“Oh, please.”

“But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why?” I ask, curious.

“Because I really need to fucking piss, not sure it would even work if you tried.”

“I’m not trying anything,” I say, frowning. “Can you check your email please?”

“For what, Penny?” he asks, sitting at his computer.

“You sit on your chairs naked? That’s so disgusting.”

He turns to look at me, an annoying look on his face. “You’re a bit bitchy this morning. Let me guess, you hate waking up. You’re one of those kinds of people.”

“Oh would you just fucking check it, Pierce? Please?”

“Jesus Christ, okay,” he says, frowning. “What the fuck is the email about anyway? Why can’t you just tell me?” He shakes his mouse and the screen comes alive.

“You have to read it yourself.”

“Well, I don’t have any new fucking emails, Pen.”

“What?” I ask. “Doesn’t your mother email you?”

“No. She prefers to write, even over calling.”

“Write?”

“Yeah. I think they call it a letter. It’s something from ye olde days.”

“She writes you snail mail?” I gasp. “The wedding will happen before it even gets here!”

His eyes open wide, and he cocks his head to the side. “What wedding?”

I groan, and bury my face in my hands. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“My mother?”

“Yeah.”

“And who?”

I shut my eyes and just shake my head.

“No,” he says. “You’re not serious.”

“I got an email from Dad this morning.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Penny.”

“I’m not fucking with you, Pierce.”

He starts to laugh. At first it’s a chuckle, but then he’s slapping his stomach and holding onto his chest, and tears are streaming from his eyes.

“Oh, God, I’m cramping, I’m cramping,” he wails as he laughs.

I am beside myself.

“This is not funny, Pierce.”

“It is! Oh, it fucking is. Don’t you see what that means?”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes, waiting from something crude to come out of his mouth.

“It means you’re fucking your stepbrother!” He bursts out laughing again. “This is unreal. This is only shit that you read about. It’s always something that happens to somebody else.”

“You’re not my stepbrother yet, you idiot.” I fold my arms, and sit up in bed. “And we’re not fucking.”

“Right,” he says, walking over to me. His erection is half-gone now, and he stands right next to my face.

“Go away,” I say, making a face.

He leans down, tilts my head up, and kisses me quickly.

“Eugh!” I say, pushing him off me. I turn away from him and put a hand over my mouth. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Pen,” he says. His cock throbs as he pinches his pelvic muscle. “I really don’t care.”

I get out of bed, rush past him into the bathroom. “We’re not doing this again,” I throw at him on my way in.

“Yeah we will,” he says.

I catch a flash of his arrogant smirk as I slam the door shut.

My head is spinning. Our parents are getting married!

Oh, God, how awkward is this going to be?

I brush my teeth, gargle mouthwash, and then examine my hair.

Sigh.

That’s when I remember that I’ve got my hat in my bag. Perfect.

Rushing out of the bathroom, I get dressed, sling my bag over my shoulder, and walk toward the door. Pierce watches me from the kitchen counter. He’s drinking something thick and brown – probably a protein shake – and watching me with an amused grin.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” I say. “I’m leaving. I’m have to get to work.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

It’s always surprised me how fast irritation can lead to lashing out. I fire an angry glance at him. I feel… foolish. The news that our parents will be getting married has totally shaken me.

I mean, this is something I’ve got to get out of early. There’s no way I want to start forming any attachment toward my soon-to-be stepbrother.

Because once you dig that hole, climbing out involves a whole lot of awkwardness and embarrassment. I hate both of those.

And I have to admit to myself that I hate the idea of heartache even more.

“Pen,” he says. “What’s gotten you so worked up? We’re only going to be stepbrother and stepsister.” He laughs as he says it, apparently unable to contain himself. I don’t know what he finds so funny. It would only be funny if I were watching it happen to somebody else. It would only be funny if this was part of some television show.

But it’s not. It’s real. It’s happening.

It’s weird, icky. It’s not something people should do.

“Come on,” he says, as if reading my mind. He’s got a frothy protein-shake mustache, and wipes it off on the back of his hand. “It’s not like we’re actually related.”

“Officially we’re going to be.”

“So? We’ll keep it a secret.”

“Keep what a secret?”

“Keep fucking,” he says, shrugging.

“I’m going, Pierce.”

I make a beeline for the door, glancing at the clock. I’ll make it on time if I can get a taxi. Just as I’m about to open it, the doorbell rings, and then a gruff voice booms through the wood: “Pierce Fletcher!”

I freeze, and look at Pierce. The voice sounds… off. It’s bad, sounds like an order rather than a question.

“Who is that?” I whisper. “You’re expecting somebody? And you didn’t tell me?”

He shakes his head, and already I can see his expression has changed. He very definitely wasn’t expecting somebody.

“Nobody knows where I live.”

“Well, obviously somebody does!”

Chapter Twenty Two

Pierce’s expression has lost all its buoyancy. He actually looks concerned, and it’s freaking me out.

Quickly, he moves toward me, and guides me back from the door. He places his ear against it. The atmosphere has switched from awkward and argumentative to extremely tense in just two seconds flat.

Why doesn’t the door in his place have a fucking peephole?

My heart is racing. Something very definitely feels wrong.

I shadow him, watch as he unlocks and opens the door. In the hallway outside are two men in suits. I don’t fail to notice that they both sport the same tattoo on their necks, the left side just below the jawline. It’s a symbol of some kind, but I can’t make it out. One of them has his hands behind his back, and I see that they are beneath his jacket.

It dawns on me a second later: That man must be gripping onto a gun!

“Who the fuck are you?” Pierce asks, standing in the doorway. The men try to enter the apartment, but Pierce puts a hand out. “Uh-uh. Talk here, or fuck off.”

The two men look at each other. One of them is about five-eight, bald, with the build of a 1920’s Chicago gangster caricature, the other Pierce’s height, skinnier, and with a scar running down the side of his face. It joins his eye to his chin.

I touch Pierce’s elbow. These guys are definitely not door-to-door vacuum salesmen.

The stocky bald guy steps forward. “We work for Lev Fallon. You know of him, I presume?”

“Yeah, I heard of him,” Pierce replies.

“He’s setting up a fight.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“Next week, Friday. One fight only.”

“Against who?”

“Anton Vasilev.”

I see Pierce’s fist clench. “Never heard of him.”

“Fallon has arranged this fight in cooperation with the Mogilovich family. I take it you know who I refer to.”

Pierce’s body stiffens a little. He obviously knows, but the name means nothing to me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that these names are those of mobsters, though. Or the mafia… whatever they’re called.

I don’t like this one bit.

“Why me?” Pierce asks.

“He’s been a long-time fan, mate.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You stand to earn two million bucks.”

Pierce, in the process of closing the door, opens it. “Two mil? For one fight? You’re shitting me.”

“Pierce!” I hiss, but he ignores me.

“That’s right. Two percent of the forecasted winnings.”

“Don’t tell me your boss is placing a fifty mil bet on me.”

“He represents a conglomerate.”

“Other fans,” Pierce sneers.

The stocky man straightens his tie. “He believes you can win.”

There’s a stony silence. The air between them turns thick as treacle.

“I won’t talk to some fucking goon.” He waves them off with his hand. “If your boss has something to ask me, then he can talk to me personally. Until then, you’re wasting my time.”

The man with the scar pulls out a radio, and when he clicks the button on the side, it bursts to life with a static hiss. “Boss, he says he’ll only talk to you.”

There’s a pause. A voice comes through with a thick Australian accent. “Be right up, mate.”

“He’s here now?” I ask. I pull Pierce to the side, press the door shut, and shoot him an angry glare. “Who is this guy that’s coming up?”

“Lev Fallon, one of the local mob bosses.”

I blink. “Pierce, you asshole. You can’t involve me in this. How the hell did they get your address?”

But he doesn’t reply. It’s clear to me that he doesn’t know. Suddenly, I’m feeling overwhelmingly disappointed.

“Jesus, Pierce! Are you listed anywhere?”

“No,” he says. “I got this place under a friend’s name.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Fuck’s sake, Pen, I fight underground. You can make an enemy or two that way.”

“Well, they found it, so obviously you weren’t careful enough. Or they got to your friend.”

“Doubt it,” Pierce said. “He’s in Rio.”

“As in Brazil?”

“Yeah. He owns a few bars out there.”

“Well, you certainly involve yourself with stand-up people, don’t you?”

Pierce leans into me, eyes hard. “Climb down, Pen.”

“I’m going.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want them following you.”

I suck on my lower lip. Fuck. He’s right. That asshole!

“You gotta stay with me right now, Pen. I can protect you if you’re with me.”

“Against the mob? I doubt that.”

“Stay here.”

“What do they want?”

“You heard them,” Pierce says. “They just want to set up a fight. It’s just business.”

“Just business?” I hiss. “At your fucking house?”

“It’s the fucking mob, Pen. This is how they do business.”

I fold my arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”