The Story of Me (Carnage #2)
Lesley Jones
Prologue - Cam
“No, Tamara, not tonight, not this weekend at all. I’m busy.” Fuck, this woman was getting on my nerves.
“What about lunch on Sunday? We could eat out or I could cook. Then you could have me for dessert. Please, Cami, I didn’t see you last weekend.” Seriously, this bird could not take the hint. I got up from my desk and walked over to the window of my office; it was snowing heavily again as I looked out onto the street below. It was only just after six in the evening, but there was hardly anyone about. The pavements and roads looked white and pretty, hiding the fact that they were in fact slippery and dangerous. I wondered if this would have an impact on the numbers we’d get through the doors of the club tonight. I doubted it. Most people didn’t drive to us anyway, most coming by cab and so Charlied up they think they’re invincible; a bit of snow was not gonna stop them. They loved the white stuff, any way it comes.
“Is that a yes?” Tamara’s voice whined down the phone. If it wasn’t for the fact she gave such good blow jobs and took it up the arse like a retired rent boy, I would’ve kicked her into touch years ago. I have a big dick; what can I say? I’m a big bloke. At six-feet-five inches, I would’ve been laughed at with your average six inches. It would’ve looked lost on my big frame and so the Cock Gods blessed me with about nine, I think. I’d never actually measured it. Well, not since I was thirteen, anyway, or was it twenty? Anyway, the down side of having a big dick was that women gagged when you face-f*cked them with any enthusiasm, and they didn’t like the idea of anal and I did, a lot. I could usually talk them round with a few drinks, but Tamara, she was just always up for it, which is why I kept her around.
“So, shall we say one o’clock?”
“What?”
“Lunch, Cameron, Sunday at one. Does that suit?” I blew my hot breath onto the cold window and drew a cock and balls on it, and just to show my maturity, I added spunk spraying from the end.
“No, Tamara. As far as I’m aware, Sunday is still a part of the weekend and like I said, I’m busy all weekend.” I wasn’t; I was going to watch football tomorrow with my brothers and going clay shooting on Sunday. I could’ve made it, but I didn’t want to. If I needed a f*ck for the weekend, I would just pull a bird at the club and bang her on a sofa downstairs once we closed, or in my car or hers; never up here in my office, though, never. There’s only one woman I’d ever f*cked in this office and that’s the way it would stay, always.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass as my heart felt like it was being squeezed. My balls tightened and my cock twitched as I thought of her, her long legs wrapped around me as I f*cked her hard against my office door, well over a year ago now. I turned my head so I could see my chair; the same chair I had at the wine bar, the ‘twirling’ chair as she had called it. Despite the fact it was old and cracked, I’d kept it and had it moved to my office at the new club, all because it reminded me of her. I swallowed down the all-too-familiar ache I felt inside whenever I thought of her.
My office door flew open and Benny filled my doorway.
“Boss, you need to put the telly on now.” He was sweating, more than usual, and looked panicked. Tamara was still waffling on in my earhole. “Gotta go.” I ended the call and threw the phone on my desk as I picked up the remote to the huge flat-screen telly I’d had put on the wall.
“Ben?” I had no idea what I was looking for, but I assumed it was something bad.
“Sky News, boss, or any channel. It’s on all of them.” I let out a long sigh. I wasn’t really known for my patience, and Benny’s cryptic clues were beginning to piss me off. I folded my arms and leaned back against my desk, my legs stretched out and crossed in front of me. As I listened to Ben’s heavy breathing next to me, a reporter appeared on the screen. She was on a snow-covered street, with a section of pavement taped off and what looked like an old Mercedes on the path, rather than on the road; the reporter looked freezing as the snow fell around her.
“Lisa Mitchell, Sky News, Brentwood in Essex,” she said into the camera. I looked up at Benny and opened my mouth to say something, as a horrible, indescribable wave of fear, terror even, washed over me as the anchor in the newsroom began to speak. At first, I didn’t hear her words. I just looked at the images behind her head; it was her and him, Kitten, my Kitten, but why was her picture on the news? Then I realised, her baby was due any day. She’d probably had her baby, and because it was his baby, it’d made the news. I didn’t want to know this. I didn’t want to hear about her happy little family. I turned to pick up the remote, about to bollock Benny, because why the f*ck would he think I would want to hear this shit? But as I turned back to the telly, there was another reporter outside a hospital.
“Andrew, there is still no official news from the hospital, but from what we are being told, unofficially, is that the lead singer of Carnage, Sean McCarthy, and his heavily-pregnant wife, Georgia, were air-lifted here just before five this afternoon after being hit by an out of control car on Brentwood High Street. The young couple are both said to be in critical condition and are both believed to now be undergoing surgery.” The camera panned around to show a large crowd of reporters, a number of police and what were obviously fans, crying, sobbing and looking stunned.