The Kiss Game: Dark New Adult Bully Romance (Twisted Games Book 1) Read online

  We start walking towards the textile and design section of the campus, and she links my arm while she watches me think.

  “I guess so. I’m going over there on Saturday with the first of Lucia’s dresses, I could see if he’s around.”

  “Well it beats getting through the whole year feeling uneasy about it. Just… like… shut your eyes and rip the plaster off.”

  A smile grows on my face while I nod to her reassuringly.

  Rip the plaster off.

  I can do that, can’t I? I’m not stupid enough to close my eyes when I’m doing it, though.

  I don’t trust him enough to shut my eyes.

  And it doesn’t help that every time I do, I see his face anyway.

  But I don’t tell Kate that.

  “I want you to stay away from Malachy Hunter.”

  We’re walking across the car park to Jamie’s Ford Focus, and I look across at him because there’s something not right in his tone.

  He sounds nervous and accusatory all at the same time.

  “It’s not like I’m seeking him out,” I tell him, maybe a little too defensively.

  It was the hint of accusation that got my back up. It’s true, I’m not seeking him out, but even if I was — like I’m intending to on Saturday — it doesn’t really have anything to do with him.

  Jamie has a thing for me, it’s obvious and has been for about a year now. I’ve not really made my mind up on how I feel about it yet. I like Jamie. He’s quite funny, and he usually doesn’t push me.

  Well, what I mean is, he’s not as overbearing as Scott is.

  At least, he wasn’t before he just attempted to tell me who I can and can’t speak to.

  The car clicks unlocked and I drop into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind me in a battle of will with the wind.

  Jamie switches the engine on, but when he doesn’t make a move to pull the car away, I turn around to see what he’s waiting on.

  “I need to tell you something,” he says.

  That’s never good, is it? No one’s ever said those words and followed them with we’ve won the lottery.

  I swallow and wet my lips. “What is it?”

  “I found you that day.”

  He pauses so long I’m thinking he’s trying to find the next words to say, but now I’m wondering if that was the big revelation.

  Scott’s already told me this story.

  “I know that, you found me and carried me back to Scott, and then you ran and got my mum to phone an ambulance?”

  “Aye, but I never told you what happened before I found you.”

  I know what happened before he found me. Well at least, I’ve heard the stories about what happened. I don’t believe them though, the stories said he hit me over the head with a rock and that wasn’t true, so why would the other ones be?

  But I can sense what he’s going to say before the words come out, and I don’t want to hear them.

  “Jamie, I really don’t—”

  “I shouted on him. I didn’t understand what the fuck he was doing — we were nine, remember. But he didn’t move, even when I shouted. Even when I got right up close to him. He was like a rutting animal, Grace. Blood everywhere. Your blood, all over him. All over you. Smeared everywhere like some fucked up ritual.”

  “Stop.” I put my hand up. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to believe that was him, he was just a little boy. And I don’t want to believe that little girl was me either.

  “You need to know the truth,” he argues. “His hands were on your… you didn’t even have any then — you were seven years old for fucks sake. But that didn’t seem to phase him. He was kissing you.”

  “Jamie stop it!”

  “No,” he shouts. “You need to hear the whole story.”

  “Why? Why do I need the whole story? I’ve lived just fine for ten years never asking any questions, and I don’t see why that has to change now.”

  “You need to stay away from him,” he says again, and this time there’s no mistaking the accusation in his voice.

  I look out of the window in front of me.

  “He’s not right, Grace. I mean, look at him. He was fucked up long before any of that happened, we just couldn’t see it because we were kids.”

  “What do you mean?” I turn back around, because I’m genuinely interested. I don’t even pretend to understand why.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Loads of things. Little things, but in hindsight they build a picture.”

  “I mean specifically.”

  Jamie lets out a huff and puts his hand on my leg. “You don’t need to concern yourself with any of that, babe.”

  I watch him and he shifts uncomfortably under my gaze. Then he puts the car into reverse, and we drive the rest of the way to the shop in silence.

  I’m annoyed at him. Whether that’s unreasonable or not, I don’t know, but I can’t help the way I’m feeling. I didn’t want to know any of what he just told me, in fact, I specifically told him I didn’t want to know.

  And with good reason.

  I heard the rumors. I heard my mum crying on the phone to her friend about stuff I didn’t want to understand. I remember, weeks later, sitting in the interview room with the comfortable Ikea powder blue sofa, and the teddy bear. Having to explain I didn’t remember having the ‘no feeling’ while the nice police lady with the kind eyes pointed to different parts of the teddy.

  They treated me like a victim.

  They used gentle voices.

  Nobody actually asked me what happened.

  And even when my head got better, and I went back to school, they still treated me like my head was mushed up, like my brains weren’t all quite in the right place.

  I suppose in hindsight, I didn’t help matters. I had panic attacks every time I caught sight of trees blowing in the wind, for fucks sake.

  But I didn’t need them to shield me from it, I needed them to help me overcome it.

  No one did.

  Scott treated me like I was made of fine china. My mum fretted, chewed her nails down to the bone, and cried herself to sleep most nights.

  And in ten years, the way they treat me has barely changed.

  I don’t blame them. I can’t say how I’d react if the same thing happened to my hypothetical sister or daughter, and maybe the uncertainty surrounding it all made it worse. Maybe it would have been better if I’d remembered, and then we could have all moved on from it.

  But telling me now, ten years later? What the fuck is the point in that. Why reopen old wounds when I’m doing a pretty good job of living with them as aged, silvery scars.

  Jamie pulls up outside the shop and I unbuckle my seat belt before the car has even rolled to a stop.

  “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “I’m good. My mum can pick me up on the way back from the hospital.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, just slightly but it was unmistakable. “If you’re sure. Grace—”

  I slam the door. He’s already said enough.

  Fishing the keys for the shop out of my bag, I don’t look back at him, but I finally hear the rev of his engine as he speeds the car away.

  Inside, the makings of Lucia’s dress are hanging from the tailor-maid and I get to work, thinking about what I’ll say to Malachy at the weekend.

  He might not even be home? That’s a possibility. If that’s the case, then I’ll just have to pull him aside at college one day. But what will I say?

  Oh, hi Malachy, I know it’s been ten years but I just want to let you know I forgive you for…

  Fuck.

  I can’t say all the things Jamie just told me because up until now, they’ve been rumors. Repeating them would make it sound like I believe them, and whether or not I do, I don’t want to believe them.

  I won’t let myself be a victim ten years after the event.

  Chapter 6

  Malachy

  “Whiskey? How old are you again?”

&
nbsp; Josh is looking at me like I’ve just asked him for a fucking liquid macaroni.

  “If you get one old enough, it’s decent,” I tell him. “My da’s got a bottle of Grand Cru under the bar there, give me a double.”

  Josh shakes his head and laughs, but does it anyway. Beats drinking fishbowl swamp any day of the week.

  “What time’s the taxi coming?”

  It’s Saturday night and we’re heading into the town, hopefully avoiding Brunette Two and her pals.

  I check my watch and shrug. “Half an hour or something.”

  Craig and Ross are playing pool behind us, and I swivel around on the stool to watch them when a knock goes at the door.

  Expecting Lucia or Maggie, I give Josh a nod to go and answer it and find out what they want.

  A few moments later, he shouts on me. I neck the rest of the whiskey and look over to the door, but it’s not Lucia or Maggie.

  Grace McCormack.

  She stands there looking nervous as hell with her hands clasped together in front of her and her lips parted slightly as she takes in the room.

  “Fuck do you want?”

  I’m not looking at her any more. I’m pouring myself another whiskey because I’m about eighty percent sure I’m going to need it.

  She clears her throat and in the corner of my eye I catch her taking a small step into the room.

  “I wanted to speak with you?”

  My gaze flicks over to her and she bites down on her bottom lip.

  “Then speak.”

  Her eyes dart around the room, from Josh who’s stood a few paces away to the boys playing pool, before finally coming to rest on me. “Alone.”

  I chuckle because she looks so fucking uneasy. “You minding what happened the first time me and you were alone together?”

  Ross or Craig snorts behind me — probably Craig since he was there that day, but she doesn’t even flinch.

  “That’s what I want to speak to you about,” she tells me.

  I stand up from the stool, shaking the packet of snouts to check there’s still a few in there, and tucking them into my back pocket. Then I cross the room, brushing past her while she spins around and starts practically skipping to catch up with me.

  There’s a guest bedroom four doors down and I pull the master-key out of my pocket, unlocking the door. She stands on the other side watching me warily while I stick the bedside lamp on.

  “You said you wanted to be alone?”

  She rubs her hands down the sides of her skirt and takes a few steps into the room, her eyes wandering and taking in the sight.

  It’s nothing fancy, but probably a whole lot fancier than she’s used to. Lucia has been working her way around the house, turning rooms into something out of a fucking boutique, but she’s not had her little mitts on this one yet.

  It still has the dark paneled wood, and the original fireplace, and the king-size bed that’s as old as the foundations.

  “So your family is big on the whole castle thing, huh? I keep expecting the armor in the hall downstairs to start following me.” She lets out a nervous giggle and I sit my arse down on the bed and light up a cigarette.

  Pathetic attempt at small talk, but I’ll bite anyway. “Worse things than that could decide to follow you, darlin,” I tell her while I roll the end of the snout around the glass ashtray.

  She lets my comment slide by and instead comes to the foot of the bed, running her fingers over the bedspread slowly. “Silk brocade,” she says in almost a whisper. “It’s beautiful. Is this original?”

  I exhale smoke and she looks up at it, as if I’m polluting the bedspread. I’ll bet it’s seen worse substances over the years than a wee bit fucking tar. “Fuck knows.”

  She looks up at me and holds her hands behind her back, probably to stop the fidgeting she’s been doing since she walked in the room. “I just wanted to clear the air between us.”

  Small talk over, I clear my throat. “What air would that be?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” she says.

  “Do I? Tell me.”

  “That wee stunt you pulled on Wednesday.”

  I shrug my shoulders and turn my head to face her. “Missed your face.”

  “Don’t talk wet,” she snaps back. “You went out of your way to intimidate me, and I don’t know why.”

  My eyes flick down over myself before going back to meet hers. “I’m an intimidating man, apologies if you took that as a personal attack, princess.”

  She rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I want you to know that I don’t hold anything against you over… what happened. It’s in the past, and I forgive you. So can we please just be civil with each other?”

  She forgives me? I have to control myself to stop from laughing. Is she fucking for real?

  I stick the ashtray down on the bedside table and relax back into the bed, sticking my feet up and making myself comfortable. I’m not about to let her away with that shit any time soon.

  “You forgive me?”

  She swallows. “Yes.”

  I nod, pretending I’m deep in thought. “And what exactly is it that you’re forgiving me for?”

  “That day in the woods.”

  “You remember what happened?”

  Her eyes narrow thoughtfully and she takes more than a second to reply. “I remember everything until the point you pushed me.”

  “Oh I pushed you, did I?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod my head again, just watching her.

  “Interesting.”

  A flicker of irritation crosses her face and she folds her arms over her chest. “You remember things differently?”

  “We remember what we want to remember, darlin.”

  She stops bothering trying to hide her irritation and lets out a sound that could be a sigh, or maybe an exasperated laugh. “I can see now this was pointless. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t blame you for what happened, that’s all.” She gives her head a final nod and looks over at the door. “I have work to do, I’ll see myself out.”

  I don’t say another word to her, I just watch her walk across the floor like she hasn’t a fucking care in this world.

  And why would she care? She’s at peace with what happened, with what she thinks happened.

  But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that peace is only ever a temporary state, at least for those of us still breathing.

  “Open the door.”

  I turn my head and watch her, she’s standing facing it, her back to me. The key is in my pocket, I didn’t lock it, but all the guest bedrooms work this way.

  You need a key to enter, and a key to get out.

  I used to work myself up something awful when I was just a wee sprog, thinking about who made the doors that way, and more importantly, why they would make them that way.

  Then I grew up and learned about all the things you can do in a bedroom.

  Suddenly it all made sense.

  I swing my legs down off the bed and sit up, legs parted while I finish the rest of my cigarette.

  “I’ve seen stray dogs with better manners than you.”

  She turns around and smirks at me before answering. “And I’ve seen alley cats with more decency than you.”

  I chuckle at her quick wit and crush the butt in the glass ashtray. “Fine by me, love. I don’t go around pretending to be something I’m not.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying I do?”

  “I’m just saying what I don’t.”

  “Well, thanks a bunch for the warning,” she says dryly. “Now if we’re done here, you can let me go.”

  “Oh, we’re not done princess,” I tell her, getting up off the bed and walking towards her. My hand goes to the thick solid oak door at the side of her and the size of me boxes her in.

  She looks up and meets my eyes, her gaze caught somewhere between fierce and frightened.

  “What are you doing?”

  I rest my fing
er in the hollow of her chin, forcing her head in place. “Teaching you some manners.”

  She shakes her head but I quickly use my whole hand to put an end to that.

  “You’re not fucking normal.”

  “Did I ever say I was?”

  Her eyes search mine — she’ll find fuck-all but darkness inside them. “Why are you doing this?”

  I smile down at her while her lips part in a frustrated sigh. “Why? That’s the best part, that you don’t even know. And you won’t know, not until I decide.”

  “I don’t understand. I said I forgive you.”

  She keeps saying it, too fucking stupid to understand that every time she says those words my blood runs a little fucking colder.

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “Oh really?” She says. “Well you’re not fucking acting like it.”

  “Well you’re not fucking showing it. Words are all well and good, but I’m a man who cares more about actions than I do words.”

  “Fuck do you want me to do?”

  I bend down close to her ear and inhale the smell of her. No perfume, probably can’t afford it, but her shampoo smells fresh and clean. “I’ve not decided yet, darlin.”

  She flinches as my voice echoes around us. My hand slides down her neck and I trace her collarbone, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest.

  She turns her head towards me. “Then you have a little think and come back to me when you’ve decided.”

  The faux-sweetness drips from her tongue like fucking liquid Splenda and I back away from her.

  “I’ll do that. Now if you shift your arse over and practice your manners, I’ll open this door for you.”

  Her eyes narrow on me but she does as she’s told anyway, moving around behind me but keeping distance. “I didn’t quite catch that, princess.”

  “Please,” she grits out.

  I shrug my shoulders and unlock the door, holding it open for her with my toe and gesturing for her to get the fuck out.

  She doesn’t hesitate, and I stand there listening to her footsteps go down the hall. It’s only when the sound fades to nothing that I switch the lights off and make my way back to the pool room.