Page 11 of Take My Breath Away
“I’m sure you don’t,” James says quietly, and it’s as though he’s reading my mind. His cold, steely smile has turned into something warm and his eyes have lost their hard glint as they lock onto mine. “But I’m sure this will fulfil some teenager’s dream of being the next guitar hero,” he says, picking it up.
A rage-filled bellow’s demanding blood. I swing around, my heart hammering hard. Grant’s staggered up to his feet, a broken down prize fighter who’s taken a pounding, now out for revenge.
James sighs, long and loud, as if it’s all too much of a bore.
“Take your hands off that, you fucker,” Grant shouts, but his words are soggy with blood.
He’s lumbering towards James, who’s no longer smiling but peering at Grant with narrowed eyes.
“James, please, I don’t want it. Let’s just go.” I don’t want the guitar, I don’t want anything other than to get out and leave all this mess behind me. James takes no notice.
“James!” I shout as Grant launches himself forward, sudden, fast, unexpected, arms raised to grab the guitar from James’ hold. He’s furious, humiliated — and heavy. If he lands on James—
I gasp and throw myself forward to try and do something to push Grant off course, but I’m too late and too uncoordinated as I trip and stumble to the side, hit the edge of the sofa and tumble backwards to the floor with a heavy thud.
Grant’s momentum is relentless and sickness rises up in me as James brings the guitar up over his head, leaving himself exposed to take the full force of Grant’s attack. Grant’s moving fast, but James is quicker. The arc’s smooth and comes down hard, connecting with a crunch to Grant’s elbow.
The howl’s terrifying, as Grant collapses in a shuddering, wailing heap.
“You’ve broken my arm. You’re a fucking head case.”
“More likely a fracture, but you’ll be in plaster for a few weeks. Such a shame about the guitar.” James examines the dent in the back. “It’ll be costly to repair, but worth it. It’s time Perry and I were leaving but before we do I want you to listen to me.”
Still holding the guitar, James leans over Grant and my heart jumps — if Grant grabs him, takes one last throw of the dice — but he cringes back. He’s still for a moment, before he nods. The fight’s gone out of him. He’s a spent force, he’s been beaten in more ways than one, and he knows it.
“You are of course at liberty to call the police. Why wouldn’t you? But what will you tell them? How will you explain what’s happened? Hmm? You’re in a tricky situation here, Grant, and I think you have just enough sense to realise that. So here’s what’s going to happen. Perry’s coming with me. If you try and get in touch with him, try to make any kind of contact, wait for him outside his place of work, or attempt any nasty little stunt to get back at him, you’ll have me to deal with. Take what’s happened here today as just a taste of what to expect if you wake up tomorrow, or next month, or next year feeling brave. Do you understand?”
Grant answers with rapid nods.
“Good, I’m so glad we have an understanding. Now, I’d suggest you call an ambulance because you really don’t want complications arising due to your injuries not being tended to, do you?”
James smiles down at Grant, who nods, shakes his head, then nods again.
James turns away, the movement dismissive as though Grant’s not worth another moment of his time. And he’s not. James fixes me with his green eyes.
“If there’s anything more here you want get it now, because you’re not coming back here. Ever.”
“No, no there’s nothing else,” I croak.
“Then let’s go.”
He strides ahead, leaving me to hurry after him and slam the door on my former life.
Chapter Six
PERRY
We dump the guitar, propped up on a pile of bricks, in a skip. Bright red and shiny, it’s a dented beacon.
James asks me again if I’d want it, but I don’t. Stupid, maybe. No, definitely stupid, but my life with Grant and all that went with it, is behind me and I don’t want any reminder. I try to tell myself it’s about pride, but I don’t feel very proud. James doesn’t try to persuade me otherwise, and I’m sure there’s a hint of approval in his dark green eyes. As we drive away, a quick backwards glance shows the guitar’s already been claimed.
I’ve fallen asleep on the way back, jerked awake as the motion ceases and the engine turns off. We’re back at James’, just a couple of hours after leaving. The enormity of what’s happened, of the deep pit I’ve fallen into and the mountain I have to climb to reach any kind of semblance of a normal life crashes down on me. I begin to shake.
“Let’s get you inside.” James’ voice is calm and in control, as he climbs out of the car. He comes around to my side and opens the passenger door for me, but all I can do is sit here.
“Perry?” He leans in, his eyes clear and assessing. “Come on, you’ve had a shock. Let’s just get you inside, eh?”
I nod. Fast, and over and over, but I still don’t move.
