Page 6 of Washed Up
I almost shake my head, before I cave and give a nod. Why pretend. “My stepbrother. He was waiting for me when I left work. Said he was there to make sure I got home safely.” But the only danger was the one he posed. “I told him I could get home fine alone. He made a point of stalking off.” I should have known better. He hadn’t gone far.
“Do you live with him?”
I wobble my head from side to side. “Sort of. He was at uni, but he’s recently come home. I live with his mum. Her and my dad married shortly before he passed away. It was okay, just the two of us, until Harrison came home. He’s fine when she’s there, but she’s hardly ever home.” Happens that she also thinks the sun shines out of her darling boy’s arse. How can someone be so blind to a person’s faults? Harrison is a misogynistic arsehole, who’s been on my case ever since I first turned him down, which was precisely thirty seconds after he introduced himself as my stepbrother.
“So, you’ve nowhere to go?” Max says.
“I’ve been saving towards getting myself a place.” I’m a way off having enough. I wonder what happened to my phone, my things. The bag with the novel I’d half-read. My bank card. Hell, even my house keys. Then again, maybe they don’t matter, as I’m not setting foot there again, not even to collect my stuff, not when there’s even a faint possibility ofhimbeing there.
“Do we need to call the police?” Wynter asks. “We didn’t when we found you because…”
He doesn’t impart a reason, and nor do the others. Doesn’t take much fathoming out. If they had, it’d now be front pagenews that they’d found me, and I’m guessing they’d rather not have their whereabouts advertised.
“We will, obviously, if you want,” Wynter says, his delicious voice full of hesitancy.
I shake my head. “No one saw anything. It’d be my word against his, and he’ll say that I jumped of my own accord, and that he tried, but couldn’t stop me.” It’ll even be the truth, of sorts. “You guys have been really kind, but I don’t want to make things difficult for you. Seriously, you don’t need to worry about me. Once my stuff is dry, I’ll get out of your way.”
“And go where?” Reid asks, there’s something shrewd about the way he looks at me, that convinces me there’s a sound mind lurking beneath his shambolic appearance.
Fact is, I don’t have an answer. Tears well, but I avoid their gazes, so they don’t see them.
“That’s what I figured. You’ll stay here until you work it out.”
“What?”
My surprise is echoed by Wynter. “Reid, what the fuck? You can’t just make that decision for us. No offence, Iris, but we don’t know a fucking thing about her. She could be anyone, and in case you’ve forgotten, our position is precarious. We don’t have time for this shit.”
“I’m making time.” Reid stretches an arm across the table to claim my hand.
“Me too,” Max rises. He’s tall enough that he casts a shadow. Wynter fails to quake in his boots. His sharp features transform into a scowl. “Guys!”
“What harm’s she going to do? She’s a little itty-bitty thing,” Max insists.
“She could steal….”
“We’d have to have something worth nicking for that.” Reid walks around the table. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “A little empathy, huh, Wynt. We fished her out of the fuckingocean eight hours ago. She’s obviously been through hell. She’s not got a phone or anything and has a cunt for a stepbrother. In comparison, our problems are a joke.”
Wynter grumbles. “We need to focus.”
Max starts stacking plates.
They’re obviously here working, and I know nothing about the music business, but I know that studio time doesn’t come cheap.
“Sure, and I’ll do that better knowing she’s here and safe than out there friendless, homeless, and fucking penniless. She stays.” Reid kisses the top of my head, only to recoil. “Ariel, my sweet, you need a shower. Eau du seaweed is unbecoming on you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Max
Iris barely reaches the mezzanine level before Wynt and Reid start on one another.
“I know what you want, Reid Rushmore. This isn’t about her or any kind of empathy, you want into her fucking knickers. That’s it. You’ve seen her tits, and now you want a taste of them.”
“Says the man who relieved her of her panties.”
“She was fucking wet and comatose. And you removed her bra.”
“Guys.” I try, but they’re not listening. There’s no reasoning with them when they’re like this. “Load the fucking dishwasher.”
