The Irish Tattooist

Chapter 43

Bitch, why am I so cheesy? 

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Lila stood in the doorway, face tight and lips pressed firmly into a thin line as her eyes flicked from me to the book in my hand. Apart from my wildly beating heart, there was no inkling of guilt or surprise on my face. I had expected her to stay behind, especially since she wanted someone with me at all times. 

Little baby Warwick had probably gone and cried to her, telling mummy dearest what a big meanie I was. 

Wanker. 

I held up the book, gesturing to it. "I'm looking at baby photos of me...Dad said he still had them and I wanted to look at them to make my own scrapbook." 

She narrowed her eyes at me, pausing for a moment as she mulled things over. I raised a brow, my face a mask of innocence. 

"Did you forget something?" 

Lila's mouth opened, closed, then she nodded slowly. "Well-yes, my keys." 

I shut the book, placing it back into the shelf. "Doesn't William drive you around?" 

A slight darkening of her cheeks was the only thing that alerted me to her embarrassment. I shrugged a shoulder, walking past her and patting her shoulder. "I don't need to be watched constantly, mom. I'm a big girl now." 

I chuckled lightly, walking down the hall as I heard the angry click of her heels storming out the door. 

Once these photos were sent to Gervais, I could go home.

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To be honest, it had been faster than expected. I didn't think Drake would just let me into his study- but it turns out a person's guilt can be stronger than any other emotion- especially if they haven't received any sort of forgiveness. 

From the victim or themselves. 

It was hitting twelve when I stopped messaging Gervais, and answering a few of his lingering questions, so I decided to just sleep. I could go home in the morning, and they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. 

That sweet oblivion tempted my eyelids, until I heard a shuffling at my door. A shadow flicked across my floor and my fists clenched under the duvet, quietly sliding the pen off the bed stand. 

The door handle twisted gently, slowly opening the door as I kept my eyes nearly shut. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I fought the urge to scream, waiting to see what the person would do to me. 

A hand came on the pillow next to my face, another slowly pulling my blanket down, and a chill went over my skin. 

"You don't fucking mess with me, you little mongrel whore" Warwick hissed lowly, thinking I was still asleep. 

Anger surged through me as his hand came onto my throat, and I opened my eyes, snarling with a rage that resounded in every part of my mind. 

Darkness and red tinged vision snapped into place and I jumped, bringing my other hand behind his head and flipping us over, trapping his arms underneath my thighs as I straddled him. His eyes were wide as he fought against me, but I pressed the pen into his throat, leaning down so my breath hit his face.