Down London Road (On Dublin Street, #2)(103)

I wasn’t strong enough, and now I was unarmed.

Murray slammed me back against the rocky, grass-covered slope of the hillside and pain shot through my skull before shooting all the way down to the tip of my toes. Tears leaked from my eyes as he held me there, his large hand around my throat.

I grunted against the other hand that was still clamped over my mouth.

He tightened his grip on my throat and I stopped squirming.

Despite the fact that his face was mostly cast in darkness, I could still make out the anger that stretched his features taut. ‘Trying to give me the runaround?’ he hissed.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy wondering morbidly what he was going to do to me. My body began to shake hard, and I lost complete control of my breathing. He felt the gulping breaths behind his palm and smirked.

‘I won’t hurt you, Jo. I just want to see my son.’

Knowing it would bring me physical pain, I still shook my head ‘no’.

Murray’s smirk grew into a smug smile, as though he’d won something. ‘I suppose we better come to an arrangement then. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth and you’re not going to scream. If you do, I won’t hesitate to hurt you.’

I nodded, wanting at least one of his disgusting paws off me. As I stared up into his face, I saw not for the first time how there was nothing behind his eyes. I didn’t think I had ever met anyone in my entire life who was as callously selfish as this man. Was he really my father? There had been no connection between us other than that of abuser and victim. To me he’d been the reason for the knot in my stomach when I heard his rattling old banger of a car pull up to the house. The affection I’d felt for Mick, the eagerness to see him, the warm contentment of safety he gave me, was exactly what I should have felt for this man. But a man was all he’d ever been to me. A man with mean eyes and even meaner fists. For the longest time I’d despaired that he didn’t love me as a father should. I’d questioned whether there was something wrong with me. Looking at him now, I wondered how I could ever have questioned myself. I wasn’t the problem. He was. He was the shameful one, not me.

I sucked in a deep breath when he let go of my mouth, but he put more pressure on the hand around my throat as an extra warning to be quiet.

‘Now.’ He leaned into me and I could smell the beer and cigarettes on him. He hadn’t been in Club 39, but he’d obviously been in one of the bars near it, waiting on me. ‘I might just give up my right to see the wee man if your boyfriend made it worth my while. Say a hundred grand?’

I knew it. And straight to the point. He didn’t even care. He was as soulless as he’d ever been. How could someone be that way? Was he born soulless, black to his rotten core? Or did life make you that way? How could you hurt your own children and not feel like a monster? Maybe a monster was too far gone to realize he’d become one …

‘I stopped seeing Malcolm months ago. You’re out of luck.’

He squeezed my throat and panic suffused me. I automatically grabbed his hand, my nails biting into his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’m sure you can persuade him somehow.’ He pushed his face into mine, his breath reeking of smoke and stale beer. ‘I had myself a bonnie bairn. She’s f*cking useless but bonnie. It’s a commodity, Jo. Use it or I’ll come for Cole.’ He let me go and I sucked in a breath, my fingers brushing my neck to reassure myself that his hand was definitely no longer there. ‘If I wanted to, I could become a right pest in your lives, lass.’

Fury that he could do this to me, to Cole, after so long, after thinking we were free, took over and the fear was burned to hell in a blaze of rage. ‘Commodity’s a pretty big word for you, Murray. Looks like someone finally taught you to read.’ I rebelliously hoped my eyes conveyed my condescension clearly even in the shadows. ‘But reading does not a smart man make. I don’t have money. You’ll need to whore yourself out to an old prison buddy.’

I barely even saw the blur of his fist coming towards my face.

My head flew back, the muscles in my neck screaming with the impact and the burning heat of his fist hitting my mouth spread into my lower cheek and jaw. Tears of pain fell from my eyes as I brought my head slowly back around to face him, my lip feeling a million times bigger than normal. The warm trickle of blood oozed from an already stinging cut in my lower lip where my teeth had snagged the skin.

There was nothing behind his eyes as his other fist flew low and hit me hard in the gut, bowing me over. All control fled me as I panicked, trying to draw in air. I hit the ground knees first and he kicked me in the side, sending unbelievable pain flaring through my ribs as I collapsed on the muddy footpath, loose stones and dirt biting into my skin.

My body couldn’t decide whether it couldn’t breathe or was going to be sick.

Hard fingers bit into my chin and I cried out, the air rushing into my lungs. Every muscle, every nerve, every piece of bone felt as if it was on fire. I clutched my ribs as Murray held my head up by my chin. ‘You get me that money, lass. I’m renting the flat above the Halfway House on Fleshmarket Close for a few days. You’ve got two days to bring the money to me there. Got it?’

The hurt in my ribs was unbelievable. I could barely concentrate on what he was saying.

‘I said got it?’

I nodded feebly, sighing with relief when he abruptly let go of my chin.