The red trilogy, p.34
The RED Trilogy, page 34
He paused, frowned. “I thought we were . . . I mean, the flirting. Not doing the whole check-up thing.”
Kingsley threw back the next measure. “Who said anything about check-ups? I said I wanted to have a look at you.” She laughed.
Peel laughed too, albeit nervously. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already seen all there is to see.”
“Oh, I certainly hope not,” replied Kingsley, pouring him another glassful which he accepted with thanks. “Come on, big boy. Don’t be shy.”
Several things went speeding through his head at once, but mainly his own words to Pat, and hers to him:
Don’t you think all that’s just a bit quick?
Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt.
Just be careful, that’s all.
I do know what I’m doing . . .
They were both adults, but that didn’t mean they knew what they were doing either. Very rarely did. Kingsley had said it herself, they hardly knew each other. Maybe now, and in the days to come, they could rectify that? Maybe he also owed Pat an apology; her private life was exactly that. Private. None of his affair . . . And in this time of uncertainty, perhaps they all deserved some happiness.
Because here and now, in front of him, was a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman he couldn’t take his eyes off. Who he wanted more than anything in the world.
Someone, thought Peel, who might be able to make everything all right again.
If only for a little while.
Chapter Nine
Tommy was far from happy.
Alone, in his quarters, with nothing to do but bounce off the walls . . . and think. He liked to keep busy, always on the go, always doing something—and in the years since the world broke, that something had been fighting. He’d never liked time to think, to be with his own thoughts, let alone someone else’s. Because that’s what it felt like, that there was someone else in his mind. Ever since he’d talked to the she-bitch back at the warehouse. Ever since he’d been shown a glimpse of his mother’s past.
He shook his head, attempting to focus on something else. Pat, maybe? Think about Pat and what she’d been telling him, what they’d started to discuss just before that happened. The feelings which had been stirred up, more intense now than ever before. Not that he could do anything about it, couldn’t even tell her while he was locked up inside this room!
Because of Grice. All because of that knobhead Grice, who was in charge. Because he wouldn’t listen to Tommy’s warnings, thought they were bullet-proof. Thought his plans were watertight. Of course, they might be; could just have been the wolf trying to sow the seed of doubt in Tommy’s mind. It’s what they did, what they enjoyed doing, playing games with people. But somehow he knew that wasn’t the case, felt the truth of the words.
Not so secret secrets . . . Operation Wolfshead.
And he couldn’t tell Grice how he knew that, not without compromising himself. Not without getting himself banged up somewhere like this—or worse—for life. Or maybe even executed. But then Tommy wasn’t even sure of himself, so perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing for him to be in here for the foreseeable. Maybe he had been compromised? The wolf had been stomping around in his head, after all—there was no denying that. If they could do that with other humans . . .
Again, he didn’t feel like they could. Wasn’t a link they shared with just anyone, so why him?
He’d begun to experience more visions while he was riding back here on the bike, of an old woman, an attack on a van . . . Had to push them away, try to bury them deep and focus on the road ahead of him; as it was he’d weaved about a bit too much, almost crashed his bike into a wall at one point. Then, when they’d returned, he’d had other things to distract him—like the confrontation with Grice. The one that had seen him confined to his room with armed guards outside.
With nowhere to go, and nothing else to do but think. His thoughts, someone else’s thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. He’d tried his hardest to fight them back again, but still they came. Those visions of the past, his mother’s past.
“I knew her, you know . . . Your mother.
“I wasn’t always like this . . .
“She . . . she did this to me. To her.
“To Steph . . .
“Where is Steph, anyway? I miss her.”
Tommy pounded his temples, trying to drive out the sights he was seeing. A living room, his mum—young again as she had been in the vision of the pub—and her best friend, chatting. His mother recovering from some sort of ordeal.
“Is there something wrong, Stephanie?” she was asking. “Do you really want to know what did all of this?”
And in the mirror, the small mirror Steph was holding: a reflection of his mum. Her real face . . .
No, no! One of those things pretending to be his mother. Like she’d been saying about his gran, the thing that killed her. Taking on Rachael Daniels’ appearance to gain entrance to the flat, murdering her in cold blood.
Seeing that now: seeing the redness which had coated that same living room. His gran’s lifeless body. Steph hadn’t even been there when that happened, though, so how could he be seeing . . .
None of it made any sense.
Suddenly Tommy was flashing back to his father again—when his mother had encountered him the second time. The moment they’d fallen in love, as it happened. His mum’s memories, these; that bond they’d always shared . . . Yet they’d never shared anything like this. How was it even possible to—
A fight, outside and inside that motel room where his father had met his end. The shattering of glass as his dad was thrown through a window, being flung around in that room like he was nothing, until nearly all the life had left his body. His mother there, confronting the beast—the words it had said to her. An explanation, something Rachael had forgotten.
“He’s still there, you know, inside that skin you wear . . . Always will be to some extent. But what there is of him lies dormant, subdued, useless.
“You’re just a memory of someone who once was, pretending to be something that shouldn’t even exist—simply because you don’t know any better . . .
“You’re already dead. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. Too afraid . . . You could always change, you know—if you wanted to.
“You have it in you. Make this an even match.”
Tommy ran to the wall, banged on that instead with his fist. “No!” he screamed. “No, no. No!” The link between them, mother and son. But something else, something more. Something he’d always known really deep down. A link they all shared, something in the blood.
Didn’t stop there, however. He was treated to a vision of Steph in a white room, a hospital? Having escaped from her best friend, and got away—though not without paying a price. Feeling those same cravings for blood, for flesh. An infection his mother . . .
It had all begun with her. Everything.
Then his birth, traumatic as it was. She shouldn’t have survived it; he shouldn’t have survived it either. Shouldn’t even have been possible, but there he was. A baby in her arms.
“I shouldn’t have put you in such . . . You shouldn’t even be here, it’s not possible. You shouldn’t even exist. Neither of us should . . .”
She shouldn’t be here because she was dead, because—as she’d once said to her mother—she’d had a dream that she’d been eaten by the beast. Except it hadn’t been a dream at all.
“He’s still there, you know, inside that skin you wear . . .”
But Tommy shouldn’t even be here because—
And you wonder why those wolves stay away from you, back off and don’t attack!
Two fathers: one a hunter; one who was also his mother! Jesus Christ . . . Jesus fucking Christ! Not even visible in mirrors because she was in control—
The flash of red eyes the last time he’d seen her.
“Something’s wrong, something’s wrong . . . I’m losing my grip, Tommy. He’s . . . I can’t hold him at bay. Can’t hold any of them!”
“He’s buried so . . . so deep. But he’ll . . . he’ll be free again soon. T-Those mirrors won’t help. He’s coming back Tommy . . . Then you’ll know all about family.”
Tommy flung himself against the other wall now, beating on it. Hitting it until his hands started bleeding. But the visions still weren’t done. They had one last thing to show him.
Operation Wolfshead.
He saw plans: where, when and how. Written down in spite of what Grice had said, what he’d insisted; tapping his head like that as if it was all up there. At some point they’d been written down, and now he could see them. See everything! A plan escalated by the attacks on the smaller bases, meaning they’d be left with no other choice but to strike at the heart of them now rather than later. A target they couldn’t ignore. As Peel had said:
“Good hunter lures his prey to where they want them, then bam! You got anything that they might want? Something they can’t resist?”
Bait.
It had been his fault, all his fault. He’d been the missing link, the sleeper inside who’d passed on the information without knowing it. He was the reason why they were walking into a trap right now! Grice was leading every single one of them to their deaths.
He had to get out of there, find them and warn them that . . . But in his heart of hearts, he already knew it was too late, and who’d believe him anyway? All his fault, all his . . .
Then he remembered the open door. The open door to his mother’s mirrored room. He wasn’t the only weak link, was he? Could she have crept out and got a look at the plans without anyone noticing? Difficult, but not impossible. Was he clutching at straws?
For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know if any of this was real or not! That bloody she-bitch could have whammied him somehow. Dosed him with something that would make him think—
In any event, he needed to get out of there. Needed to get to his mum so he could find out for sure what the bloody hell was going on. What the hell had been going on for such a long time, since before he even entered this world.
Tommy began banging not on the walls now, but the door. Screaming and shouting, getting the guards’ attention. There were two of them posted outside, good men—Barnes and Willis—comrades in arms who hadn’t even wanted to escort him here and put him under ‘house’ arrest.
“Hey! Hey, can you guys hear me?” Tommy banged again, and this time the door opened.
Barnes was the first one through. “What? What’s the—” Tommy grabbed the end of his rifle, swinging the man around and into the room, relieving him of the weapon completely. He reeled backwards and fell onto the floor. Willis, who was right behind, was raising his own weapon—but Tommy had already turned Barnes’ gun around and had it trained on the second man. “Drop it . . . please.” The soldier hesitated, like he was going to try something, but then let his own rifle clatter to the floor. “Inside,” motioned Tommy with the end of the gun, stooping to pick up the other one.
“What are you doing, Tommy?” asked Barnes.
“Something I have to do,” came the reply. “I’m sorry, I really am.” Then he stepped out and locked the door behind him, propping their weapons up against the wall opposite.
Looking left and right, he started to run up the hall—then began to head downwards. He needed to return to the deepest part of this facility, down staircases, down lifts. Until, finally, he was there.
Back in the corridor, only there was barely a hesitation as he strode up it. The door was shut this time, so he banged on it—to be let in now, not out. Or maybe he was giving his mother some warning that he was coming inside, and he wasn’t about to take any crap on this occasion.
When nothing happened, he took out the card that would allow him access; swiped it, and let himself inside.
Was he looking for confirmation, for his mum to tell him what he’d been told—what he was seeing—was right? Or did he desperately need her just to say, “Tommy, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!” and then give him a hug, tell him everything was going to be okay? Either way, he just needed the truth.
As he opened the door, and without either of them having to say a thing, he found it.
And he knew nothing would ever be okay again.
* * *
She kept well back, just as she had done all the way down here.
Just like she had done as she’d camped out watching the door to Tommy’s room, knowing full well that neither Willis nor Barnes would let her inside to see him. Waiting . . . for something, she didn’t quite know what. Definitely not for Tommy to lock them up after banging and shouting for them to open the door.
Pat had thought about going over to him then; after all he was free now. But there was a look on his face, a determination she’d never really seen before. Not even when they were out there on that mission, and he’d wanted to get to the bottom of the mutts’ schemes. Not even when he was arguing about orders he disagreed with, but mostly followed anyway.
So, instead of letting him know she was there, she’d followed him. Followed, just as she had done when he’d been summoned to Grice’s office in the first place. Followed, as the two soldiers who’d taken him from that place took him back to his quarters and locked him inside.
Just what in God’s name had happened in there? Pat asked herself. Had he attacked Grice or something? It certainly looked that way . . . But that just wasn’t Tommy at all!
Then again, neither was all this secrecy. Sneaking around, looking over his shoulder as he headed off somewhere. She’d had no choice but to tag along, keeping well back and making sure he didn’t spot her. Taking the lift after he did, then picking up his trail again (she’d learned well from Peel). Until, eventually, he’d arrived at that corridor. At that locked door.
She’d got there just in time to see him stop short and open it. There had been the merest hint of what was inside—mirrors, had that room been full of mirrors?—and then the door was closed again, shutting her out. Not that he knew she was there, of course. Not that he could ever know.
Which was why Pat was retreating again. If Tommy was to come out suddenly, spot her, realise that she’d been spying on him . . . She couldn’t even think about that; he’d probably never speak to her again. And that would break her heart.
But at the same time he’d clearly been keeping things from her.
“Pat . . . You’re one of the few people I can actually talk to, confide in.”
She couldn’t help wondering what he was doing. What had been worth breaking out of confinement for. If Grice had been ready to throw the book at him before, then this time he’d chuck an entire shelf . . . no, a library at him!
Even that would be nothing compared to the trouble he was in now, inside that room. She somehow felt that it would affect all of them: her; Peel (and she was still pretty mad with him, even though he was the person she was thinking about seeking out now); everyone in the entire base.
Tommy especially, though. Felt sure his future was being determined in the mirrored room, that it also had something to do with his past.
And she couldn’t help wondering whether anything would ever be the same again.
Chapter Ten
They lay back panting. Exhausted, but calm. Relaxed and content.
The last few hours had been a whirlwind, a storm whipping up out of nowhere that had taken his mind off everything that had happened—not just in the recent past, but since the motel. Since his life fell apart. It had been almost as long since he’d been with anyone, so Peel was nervous—as nervous as he’d been when Kingsley started flirting with him in the first place—but she’d taken him in hand (he couldn’t help a small chuckle at that), and it hadn’t taken too long for them to be comfortable with each other.
And with that comfort had come passion. An eagerness for each other, especially when Kingsley took her own clothes off: her white coat first, then her scrubs and underwear.
“Wow,” he’d said, mouth open and gazing at her as she stood there naked in front of him.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied with a grin, then pointed down. “That too.”
Peel looked as well, reddening. Might have stood there forever had she not made the first move, closing the gap between them, her lips on his, hands roaming his body. Seconds later they were on the cramped bunk, exploring each other—his hand cupping a breast, playing with the nipple till it was hard and she let out a moan. Her fingers stroked his flesh and he bucked to begin with, then responded eagerly to her touch.
Before he knew it, he was inside her, lying sideways and facing each other—their eyes open, tongues darting in and out of each other’s mouths. He hadn’t lasted long at all that first time, but they were in no rush Kingsley said. As she guided his hand down, his fingers moving in circular motions, he was already starting to harden again anyway—and before long she was on top of him, hips moving back and forth, teasing him to the point of climax before easing up again. Drawing out the pleasure until he couldn’t stand it anymore and rolled her over, thrusting inside again and again as her nails raked his back. This time they both came together, and he collapsed on top of her.
“Wow,” he managed again between breaths, and she laughed.
“That’s just for starters,” Kingsley promised him, and she hadn’t been lying. By the time they were finished, there hadn’t been a position they hadn’t tried, an area of each other’s bodies they hadn’t sought out with mouths or fingers. Though that last time they simply enjoyed the feel of one another, the sex slow and sensual, leading to an inevitable explosion of pure joy. As they lay back, it was Kingsley’s turn to echo him and say: “Wow!”
He looked across at her beside him, so close because there was barely any room on the bunk—though he had a feeling they would have been like that anyway, even if the bed had been enormous. As if neither of them wanted to let go, didn’t want this time together to end. For the bubble to burst. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her then.
“Naw,” she said, but smiled. Not the grin from before, but a genuine smile of delight. “I bet you say that to all the ladies you meet in underground bunkers . . . I’m nothing special.”
