Sexy Beast Page 4

  I pull out of her and push her so she is flat on her back.

  I order her to raise her hips and she obeys immediately. While pinching her nipple I shove a finger into her ass. As I finger fuck her ass I tell her to do the same to her pussy. She does two things. She squeezes my finger with her ass and plunges two fingers into her gaping hole again and again until she squirts all over her own hand. Drops of dew glisten on her coppery, heart-shaped pubic hair.

  ‘I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed your performance,’ she whispers, her eyes sultry, her forefinger delicately tracing the ink on my forearm. She looks at me with a wheedling expression. God, I detest women who pretend to be weak in order to control men.

  I immediately start moving away from her.

  ‘Fuck Demi in the ass before you go,’ she says suddenly, her voice hard as pebbles.

  I turn around and look at her. She is smiling, but her eyes are fathomless pits of shadows. For an extraordinary moment something shimmers between us, her cruelty, my coldness.

  My cock stirs to life.

  I turn my head to look at the sleeping girl. She is lying on her side with her knees curled. Poor thing can’t sleep on her front because her nipples are so raw they are twice their natural size. Can’t sleep on her back because her ass is so angry. Even her pussy has been so battered it juts out like a peeled plum from between her thighs. It actually looks as sore as hell.

  I turn back to Rita and her eyes are an open door into the darkness in her soul. At that moment I see into her. And suddenly I pity her … and myself.

  Is this it for us?

  Is this all, we who save ourselves above everyone else, and thrive at the expense of others, will ever have?

  Anonymous, meaningless fucks with other damaged creatures of the night. Where there is no guilt because it is too dark to see the willful damage we leave behind. At moments like this, does a little part of my soul crumble into dust, and fly away? The secret to the labyrinth is always at the beginning. Before you enter. Once you do it is too late. The thought makes me feel empty and depressed.

  ‘Breakfast is included,’ I say coldly, as I vault off the bed.

  ‘Is sausage on the menu?’ she calls.

  I don’t answer her. Naked, I head for the shower. My hands are not clean. My greatest enemy is myself.

  NINE

  Layla

  I walk into my local supermarket, pick up a basket, and head towards the milk section, where I grab a carton. I then quickly make for the yogurt shelves. I haven’t told anyone, not even Madison, my best friend, about the disgraceful thing I did in BJ’s bedroom two weeks ago, or the way he retaliated. It is a combination of confusion and shame. Specifically, my reaction to the punishment I received. Sometimes, at night when I am in bed, it pops into my mind and I quickly kick it away without examining it.

  It seems to fit in with the tawdry mess that my life has disintegrated into. Only a month ago my life seemed perfect. I had a gorgeous boyfriend, I was training as an apprentice at a top interior design firm in Milan (a post Jake had secured for me), and I was feeling strong and independent. Then last month I walked out of my job without telling anyone and ran back home with my tail between my legs. It all began when I opened a little email that began with You are fucking MY boyfriend!

  When it’s in Italian it sounds a lot worse. She had attached hundreds of photos going back five years, which indeed proved that I was fucking her boyfriend. They had celebrated birthdays, barbeques, parties, and countless occasions in the company of a whole crowd of friends, none of whom I had met, of course.

  I sat at my desk utterly shocked and sick to my stomach.

  But he told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. That no one was more beautiful than me. And he was going to take me to meet his parents next week!

  I stayed over in his apartment. There had been nothing to tell me that he was cheating and so blatantly. There wasn’t even a case of lipstick in his bathroom cupboard. The magnitude of his deception was inconceivable. Unbelievable.

  I looked at his handsome face in the pictures laughing, happy, and utterly devoted to the pretty, olive-skinned woman at his side. I hadn’t known him at all. Or was it simply that I was more naïve that even my brothers believed? I felt so stupid. So cheated. So hurt. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had been the victim of such an elaborate charade and I never wanted to see the slick bastard again. All I wanted to do was run home to my mother’s house and lick my wounds in private.

  Since he was one of the top designers in the firm, I simply dropped my belongings into a plastic bag and left without telling anyone. I went back to my apartment, packed my bags, and caught a business fight back to London.

  I remember the guy next me on the plane, oily and expensively suited, who had tried to pick me up. The bubble of poisonous, unreasonable hate I had felt simply because he was Italian made me turn on him with so much revulsion that he shrank back with surprise. But even before we landed in Heathrow I knew I was not broken hearted. It was only my pride that was bruised.

  I was not in love with Lupo. I had never allowed myself to be.

  He was the most handsome man I knew, other than my brother, Shane, of course. He said all the right things. But he had always revealed his true self in bed. Especially at the beginning of our sexual relationship, when we had sex he would shout out puttana as he came. Prostitute. Even after I had asked him not to, he would sometimes slip up. And when I got mad, he apologized and told me it didn’t mean anything. It was the same as someone else screaming “Oh God!” during their orgasm. Nevertheless it had never sat well with me. And how right I had been.

  After I got back to my mother’s house everyone wanted to know why I had left Milan so suddenly.

  ‘Did anyone upset you?’

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Do you no longer want to be an interior designer?’

  I never told anyone, especially my second brother, Dominic. Knowing him, he would have taken the first flight out to Milan, beat the shit out of Lupo, and calmly taken the next plane back as if nothing untoward had happened. As far as everyone was concerned, except Maddy, of course, I had come back because I was terribly, terribly homesick.

  Now I am determined to start anew in London. On my own. Without any help from my family. I’ll get a job like everyone else. Jake told me I could have a try at cutting it on my own, but I had to live in one of his properties. So I moved into one of his London apartments. I was happy because I was only five tube stops away from the apartment Madison shared with her boyfriend.

  Absently, I pick up a tub of Greek yogurt from the shelf and place it into my basket. Turning away, I bump into Ria.

  She screams with delight. She is wearing a grey blouse, brown leather jacket, faded blue jeans, and purple and orange sneakers. I don’t think I have ever seen her look so casual.

  ‘Hi,’ I greet and laugh at her infectious joy at bumping into me.

  ‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ she exclaims with a huge grin. ‘I was going to call you to invite you to come to my birthday party on Saturday. I know it’s a bit last minute and all, but it is a last minute plan.’

  I smile. ‘Twenty-four, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but after this year I’m freezing my age. I’m gonna be twenty-four now until I am fifty, then I will commence the count again.’ She laughs her machine gun laugh.

  I laugh with her.

  ‘Will you come then?’

  ‘What kind of party is it?’ With Ria you have to ask. She’s totally unpredictable.

  ‘Dancing and drinking. Nothing big. Just some of my closest friends and family.’

  Ria’s idea of big is not mine. ‘How many people is that?’

  ‘About a hundred,’ she says airily.

  ‘You have a hundred close friends?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ she asks curiously.

  I struggle to keep a straight face. ‘No, Ria. I don’t.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘So, where
’re you having it then?’

  ‘Laissez-faire.’

  A warning tinge swirls up my spine. ‘Isn’t that one of BJ’s clubs?’

  ‘Yup. Free drinks all night! Until last week I was going to keep it family only and have a party at my mum’s house, but then BJ offered his club and I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Look Ria. I didn’t realize that your birthday was going to be held in London. I am spending the weekend at my Ma’s.’

  Ria waves my objection aside. ‘No problem. BJ has already agreed to pay for cabs for all my single girlfriends.’

  I feel trapped. I can’t very well tell her I can’t go now after I have already agreed. ‘Um … will BJ be there?’

  ‘Well, he promised to drop in, but he said he won’t be able to stay for long.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘What time?’

  ‘People are going to start arriving around nine but the party will really only get going about ten.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘When you get to the club just tell them you are there for Ria’s party. Oh! And for ID you have to wear red shoes or a red hat.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘So what’re you up today then?’ she asks with a smile.

  I shrug. ‘Not much. Unsuccessfully looking for a job.’

  She frowns. ‘Why? Can’t one of your brothers give you one?’

  ‘They can but I want to make it on my own.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just to try.’

  She looks at me as if I am stupid so I quickly change the subject. ‘And where are you off to dressed like that?’

  ‘I’m off to a watch a bit of bare-knuckle fighting.’

  ‘Who’s fighting?’ I ask, even though it’s not too hard to guess.

  ‘I’m putting a hundred quid on BJ,’ she says with a cheeky grin.

  ‘What are the odds of him winning?’

  ‘‘BJ’s never lost so the money will be shit. I’m just gonna bet on the amount of punches he has to throw or the minutes the other guy will last. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ I say carefully, even though an underground fight where the opponents go on battering each other until one of them can’t take it anymore is not my idea of fun. ‘And where is it being held?’

  ‘Some godforsaken barn in the sticks. Patrick’s taking me. You remember Patrick, my second cousin, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, vaguely,’ I say politely. Then words I never intended appear on my tongue. ‘Can I come?’

  She looks at me sideways. ‘Will your brothers be all right with it?’

  I know Jake won’t be okay with it. Lily told me how he wouldn’t even let her watch him fight BJ. But after my humiliating experience in Italy, I’ve decided that it’s time for me to grow up and experience things for myself. Take a few knocks if necessary. I don’t want to be the sheltered baby of the family for the rest of my life. I want to see what a bare-knuckle fight looks like. Besides, I’ll be with Ria. What can possibly happen to me?

  ‘I won’t tell them if you won’t,’ I tell her.

  She giggles conspiratorially. ‘My lips are sealed.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Now.’

  I look at my shopping basket. A carton of milk and a pot of Greek yogurt. I take the basket to the check-out counter and give it to the cashier. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Could you please ask someone to put them back on the shelves?’

  ‘Ready?’ Ria asks.

  ‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

  At that time I am just glad for a new experience. It has not yet occurred to me to do any mischief.

  TEN

  Layla

  In the middle of someone’s farm we find a barn that is alive with music and people. We pay our entrance fee and enter. Inside, I gaze around in surprise. The barn is packed to the rafters with far more people than there are cars outside. At a guess, I would say there are at least 300 people. Mostly men, but women of all ages too. Ria tugs my hand.

  ‘Let’s place our bets then get a drink. I want to be up front.’

  I nod and follow her as she pushes her way through the crowd.

  A man in a green sweatshirt and two missing teeth grins at her. ‘What’ll you have, love?’

  ‘How much will I get if I put a hundred for BJ ‘The Bat” Pilkington to win in less than 2 minutes?’

  ‘A hundred and one pounds.’

  ‘One pound profit? For a hundred quid? That’s nothing!’

  He shrugs. ‘The Bat has won 92 fights and drawn once. You’re talking about a favorite, a machine that renders men unconscious, love.’

  Ria rubs the back of her neck. ‘How much for him winning in less than one minute?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘That’s just crap. Less than thirty seconds?’

  ‘I’ll give you fifty for that.’

  She looks at him doubtfully, and then makes her decision. ‘All right, I’ll just take less than a minute.’

  She gives him five twenty pound notes and he passes it to another young man standing behind him, and writes something in his tatty notebook.

  He turns to me. ‘What about you, young lady?’

  ‘Me? I’m not…’ I pause. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I bet like Ria? It’s just for fun. ‘What would give me a really good payout?’

  He grins. ‘The Bat to lose.’

  ‘Other than that?’

  ‘That The Devil’s Hammer lands a swing on The Bat’s face.’

  I frown. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because except for his fight with Jake Eden, The Bat has never been hit in the face.’

  ‘How much will I get for my hundred?’

  ‘Two grand.’

  ‘Wow! That’s huge.’

  ‘Yeah, right. The payout’s so damn good, because it’s never gonna happen. Don’t do it, Layla. You might as well burn your money,’ Ria advises with a frown.

  ‘I like to live dangerously,’ I say with a grin and hold out my money. The bookie secretes it away in single hand movement. Like oil pouring from a drum. A smooth, effortless miracle of nature.

  He jots my bet down in his little book and we move away towards the bar. The bar is a collection of huge metal drums filled with beer bottles, ice, and water. We each order a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the bottle since there are no glasses available. I am strangely excited. The mood of the crowd has affected me. There is anticipation in the air.

  We go right to the front of the pit, a small area cordoned off with bales of hay, and find ourselves a spot where we have a good view of the fight. In minutes the first fight starts. Two young men, who seem evenly matched to me, start walking towards the pit. One of them takes a step into the pit and establishes his jab straight away. Moving his head from side to side and jogging around. Suddenly, without warning, his clenched fist shoots out. Bang, a body shot that leaves his opponent reeling backwards into the hay. The fight is over in seconds as the aggressor then lunges forwards and knocks him out in one punch.

  ‘Wow,’ I say to Ria. ‘He’s brutal.’

  ‘Wait ‘til you see BJ.’

  The next fight lasts a lot longer and is astonishingly violent.

  I see it then for what it truly is, a festival of physical abuse. Men going for it, egged on by a baying crowd. There is no holding back. It’s in their blood. To decide who is the hardest of them all. The sport of legend, guts, honor, and heart.

  Both men are bloodied and in bad shape when one of them spits out his mouth guard and falls to his knees. His friends have to carry him away. My heart is pounding hard. That had been too brutal. I hadn’t enjoyed it, but all around me the crowd has woken up. A thrill runs through them. An air expectancy hovers over us like that crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.

  ‘BJ is next,’ Ria says.

  ‘Now for the fight you have all been waiting for,’ the MC announces excitedly. ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley versus Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

>   The crowd cheers and whistles.

  ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley,’ the announcer screams over the whistles and calls. Queen’s We Are the Champions fills the air and BJ’s opponent, a huge, bearded man appears. He lifts his hands high over his head in acknowledgement and runs energetically towards the pit.

  ‘And now for the undefeated champion, Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

  Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell blares out and BJ walks out to the pit. The crowd goes absolutely crazy, clapping and cheering, banging their bottles on the wooden surfaces in the barn. There is no doubting the crowd’s favorite.

  He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and khaki trousers. As he walks into the pit, I notice that everything about him is different. His eyebrows are drawn straight, his eyes are pitiless, chips of black ice, and his face is devoid of any expression. It is like looking at a cold-blooded psychopath or a heartless machine. I try to imagine this cold, cold monster fighting warm, kind-hearted Jake and feel a tight knot of fear inside. No wonder Jake didn’t want Lily to see the fight. This man is exactly what the bookie called him – a machine that renders men unconscious. He is here for one reason and one reason alone: to completely decimate the other man.

  He is so different than the BJ I know, I am actually shocked.

  The way he angles his head forward combined with his shoulders rounded and his hands slightly curled at the elbows reminds me of a charging bull. At that moment he is the most coldly aggressive man I have seen in my life. He doesn’t look at the crowd. He has eyes only for his opponent. My gaze skitters over to The Devil’s Hammer. He is holding his hands up in readiness and jabbing the air while jumping around with quick nimble steps, but in his eyes, I see fear. In his head he has already lost. The only question left is how badly he’s going to lose.

  BJ steps into the pit and … and like a bull rushes towards him. It is an ambush, clear and simple. Blows rain on the unprepared man’s body so quickly and so relentlessly he is overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attack. The Devil’s Hammer flails uselessly. One power punch catches him flush on the chin and he flies backwards, landing on one of the hay bales. The crowds bays its approval. But The Devil’s Hammer is not beat. There is life in him yet. He pulls himself up painfully, and lunges unsteadily towards BJ.