Pistol

Chapter Eleven

Pete reached the bottom of the stairs, and tipped his head back to scream silently at the sky. Why was it every little defiant thing she did made him want her more? Her constant arguments got him hot, so much so he was positive if she pointed a gun at his face he would cream his pants. The situation wouldn't do. Yet he couldn't shake the gut feeling she could be that anomaly, that woman who matched his fucked up set of personality traits perfectly.

He wanted to tell her every little detail, but at the same time protect himself from the horrible pain of being pitied again. He'd had it with the fuckin' pity. He wasn't a charity case, a poster boy for neglect. Pity did nothing to change his past, and pity sure as fuck couldn't undo the worst day of his life and give him a brother again.

The dark, matte bodywork of his rat-rod gleaned under the street light as he approached. A couple of youngsters sat on a nearby fence, and waited for the owner to show so they could grill him with twenty questions. Not tonight, kids. Normally he wouldn't mind letting them take a closer look, even sit inside. Because he'd been that boy once; marvelling at all the things he could only dream of being able to have. He remembered what it was like to feel the buzz as he recounted how it felt to 'drive' such a cool car to his mates.

"Hey, Mister," the eldest of the two called out.

Pete eyed him as he paused by the driver's door. The kid looked all of seven.

"That's an awesome car you got. Can you take us for a ride?"

His gut wrenched at such an innocent question from a kid who was simply curious of what it was like to ride in a car such as his. What if he had been some psychotic killer? Kiddie fiddler? Didn't this boy's parents teach him safety with strangers? Pete marched up to the kid, and stood before him—and his brother by the looks of it—with his arms folded. "Where ya live, son?"

The boy nodded over his shoulder to the house they sat outside of.

"Come with me." Pete started up the path, the two boys in hot pursuit. More than likely they hoped he was going to ask their mother if he could take them out in the rod.

He reached the front door of the old weatherboard home, and rapped a closed fist hard against the worn paintwork. The shuffle of feet up a timber hallway preceded the door being swung wide. A large woman stood with a hand pressed to her hip, and eyeed him with suspicion. She held out a thick arm, and tucked the younger boy to her side after they both skirted Pete to join her.

"What d'ya want?"

Lovely. How lady-like.

Pete shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stem the desire he had to choke her. The contempt she held him in irked him more than the fact her kids tried to get in the car with a stranger. "Yer two boys here asked if they could come for a ride in me car."

"So?" She sneered. "What of it?"

He fisted his hands so hard the knuckles of his right cracked. "Shouldn't ya be worried that yer boys weren't wary of a stranger? They don't know me from Adam. For all ya know, I could have had them dead and buried by mornin'."

The eyes of the eldest boy widened, but he held no remorse at the kid's shock. Hopefully he'd learn his lesson, because it sure as fuck looked like his mother wasn't about to teach him.

"Is that all you want? You came up to my door to tell me how to parent?" Her stare grew narrow, and the edges of her nose crinkled.

"It seems somebody needs to. How about ya teach yer kids some rules about safety, lady. Show them that ya give a fuck about them."

"Tell me," she spat. "You have kids?"

He shook his head as he rocked on his heels to dissipate the rage inside.

"Didn't think so." She leered with the smugness of somebody who was certain they won.

"If I did," he replied. "I'd be sure to show them I cared about them by givin' them the skills to stay alive."

"You done?"

"I was before I started, Love." He took a step back, and turned. It sickened him to think some people couldn't care less about the safety of their kids. But what could he do? Adopt every child whose parent was a useless moron? He drew a cigarette from the packet, and slotted it between his lips. The stick would stay unlit until he reached home due to his firm rule of no smoking in the car, but at least the presence of it would help suppress his need to draw the smoke deep in his lungs.

He primed the rod's engine, and turned it over; the throaty V8 rumbled to life with a roar. The street was empty, except for him. Another fact that pissed him off about those kids. He could have snatched them—if he was that kind of weirdo—and nobody would have been around to know. Pete edged the rod out from the curb, and idled past the driveway of Steph's complex. He ducked his head to look out the chopped windscreen, and peered up at her unit. The lights were off, but the pale blue glow of the TV flickered through the blinds. He warmed at the thought of her up there; legs tucked beneath her on the couch as she watched whatever it was that showed this hour of the night.

He shook the thought of her plump, pink lips from his mind, and punched his foot down on the accelerator to speed off into the darkness. She would move soon, and he realised she hadn't told him exactly when. Shit, she hadn't told him her new address. Surely she didn't try to get rid of him? Not after the way her eyes had darkened with desire as he brushed his lips over hers. Surely not?

Then again, she had told him he was some kind of crazy stalker. And stuck a fork in ya leg. Maybe all she had done was simply a ruse to throw him off? Distract him so he didn't ask? He frowned at the thought. It couldn't have been. There were too many tells to show he affected her. The quickened breaths, the rose of her cheeks, the way her pupils changed in size when he touched her. She was hooked—he knew it.

Problem was—he was hooked worse.

****

Steph gently fingered her lips where his had touched her so fleetingly. How she wanted him to have kissed her again. Her body came alive at the fantasy of how he could have thrown her down on her bed and made love to her. You're a dreamer, girl. He wasn't the kind of guy to 'make love'. No. What he would do would be rough, forceful, and maybe bruise. The complete opposite of the intimacy she'd experienced.

Her core tingled at the idea.

Dave was a competent lover—no doubt a skill his current piece on the side enjoyed—but he was also predictable. Missionary, against the wall, on her stomach, on her back, legs up, and legs down. Steph could count the positions on her hands, and still have digits to spare. The crazy show she had put on for Pete had stirred a primal desire inside of her which she only now recognised as being the root of her animosity toward Dave.

She wanted more. To explore. And she resented Dave for not caring enough to ask. Maybe he shouldn't have to ask? But why then, did Steph get the impression he wouldn't have been on board with the idea if she had been the instigator, anyway?

Pete would be though. She hadn't the slightest doubt he would be all over the crazy things she imagined at night as she lay alone in her bed. He had that ... that what? Craziness to him? Wickedness? Sexuality. He'd said that was what they were doing; they explored their sexuality. And wouldn't they be? Especially if they tried the stuff she'd only ever fantasised about.

Steph rubbed the chill from her arm, and stood from the couch. No, she shouldn't think like that. God, what would her friends, her family think if they knew what sordid shit went through her head? Wishing your lover inflicted pain wasn't natural. There wasn't a single thing okay with the need to feel those tattooed hands about your throat as your body slammed into the wall from the impact of his hips. Was there?

The bed dipped as she sat, and her centre buzzed with the tension she'd brought upon herself with thoughts of such madness. Was it mad though? Or was she mad for thinking that kind of behaviour was? Far out, she needed to change the subject. All this confusion did a number on her headspace. Steph hooked her thumbs in the waist of her track pants and drew them down. Her feet fluttered as she kicked them into the corner. She tucked her legs up and slid under the sheets to settle in for sleep, and to find a way off this train of thought. Back to reality tomorrow, and out of this crazy made-up world she had dreamt herself into.

Steph sighed. The ache in her belly grew for a man she knew could never be more than a whimsical illusion of lust.