Scarred by You Page 27

  She parts her legs wider, and I thrust deep inside her with one drive, bottoming out, making her yell my name and dig her nails into my arse.

  I draw back. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell her again, my voice rough, betraying my desperation.

  “You won’t,” she says, pulling me into her.

  God, I love her.

  I pound into her relentlessly until her hips are gyrating uncontrollably, her head thrown back against the sofa. Fucking gorgeous.

  She screams my name, her hands flying to her hair. Her insides squeeze my dick.

  I flip her, bringing her knees to the floor. She braces her hands on the sofa, and I grab her hair in my fist, lifting her head back. I crash back inside her, over and fucking over, until I find my release. The noise I cry out is some dark mix of hatred, love and disgust.

  I lean on her back and wrap my arms around her waist, holding her to me. I tell her I’m sorry. I keep saying it, kissing her shoulders, hoping she’ll realise how much I mean it.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m fine, Clark.”

  I run us a bath and carry her into the tub as if she’s the most delicate thing I’ve ever held. She is. She sits between my legs and rests back against me as I squeeze a flannel across her chest, kissing her temple. With each press of my lips, I try to tell her I have to give her up.

  “I love you,” she whispers. The first person who has ever told me they love me.

  I fold my arms tighter around her and let silent tears fall down my cheeks as my heart rips in two.

  We lie there until the water becomes tepid, because I don’t know how to let her go. Eventually, I dry her down and carry her to bed. I lie back beside her and she nuzzles into my neck, her cheek on my chest, her leg bent over mine.

  I’d tell her goodnight, tell her goodbye, but I can’t.

  When her breathing evens out, I slip out of the bed. I kiss her one last time and leave.

  I OPEN THE door to my apartment and look around the space. Nothing’s changed, yet it’s different. It feels different, looks different.

  I close the door and head straight to the kitchen for a glass and a bottle of red wine. Then I run a bath and lie back in the dark. I slip down under the water, my hair fanning around me, wishing the wine would kick in and numb me.

  I take a deep breath and slide further so the water covers my face. When my body needs to take a breath, I stay there, my arms floating up to the surface of the water. As my lungs scream for air, I stay there.

  I’ve asked myself so many times: how could he do this? How could my father know he was killing himself, leaving me, and do it anyway?

  Lying here, drowning in betrayal and deception, I understand.

  The intercom sounds, dragging me from my trance. I sit up quickly and breathe rapidly, holding my throat.

  I climb out of the bath, wrap a towel around me, and head into the lounge. I hit the lights, dimming them quickly when the brightness irritates my pupils.

  “Hello?”

  “Dayna, Christ.” Teddy exhales, long and hard. “Let me in before I kick my way in. I swear to God I will bring this place down.”

  “I don’t want to see anyone, Teddy, least of all you.”

  “Dayna, I didn’t know. Open the door.”

  “No.”

  “Open the door right now, Dayna. You know this is nothing to do with me. I want to see you.”

  I drop my head to my hand on the intercom, battling with myself. He’s still Teddy. Whether it’s the right decision or not, my thumb presses the button, and I hear Teddy enter the building.

  I quickly switch my towel for leggings and an oversized jumper then answer the door. I don’t know what to say to him, so I leave him there and head into the kitchen for another wine glass, filling one for Teddy and topping myself up.

  The best thing about Teddy being adopted is that I don’t see Arthur’s deceitful face when I look at my friend.

  “Seems like you and Clark have the same idea,” he says, sitting in the corner of the sofa closest to my chair. “Drink yourself into an oblivion.”

  “Yeah, well that’s always been Clark’s way.” I pull my knees onto the sofa and hold up my wine glass. “This is a new development.”

  “I’ve called you fifty times, Dayna. Rachel has tried you. Clark is going out of his mind.”

  I scoff. “My fault, I guess, all of this.”

  “Stop being so hard, goddamn it. Everyone is hurting. You’re not the only person who was lied to.”

  I don’t raise my voice to match his. I don’t have the energy. I just stare at the wine in my glass. “‘Lied to’ is an understatement, Teddy. I just found out my father was a cunning, manipulative cheat. He let me think all these years that my mother left me and didn’t love me. Worse than that, I find out his best friend in the whole world, the man I’ve trusted with my own life, my company, everything, gave Caspar Kahn and Harold Layton what they needed to sabotage my father.”

  I kick my legs out from under me and move to the window, draining half my glass in one gulp. “He killed himself because he found out his best friend betrayed him. And for what?” I turn sharply. “Money.”

  “Dayna—”

  “Do not try to reason with me, Teddy. Was it worth it? My father’s life for a retirement fund?”

  “No. Nothing is worth that.” He stands and comes next to me in the window. “I’m not here to defend Arthur. I can’t even stand to look at him. But know that he’s sorry, truly sorry.”

  I search Teddy’s big brown eyes and find honesty. Every limb in my body aches. “How did you find out?”

  “Clark told me. He was worried about you and asked me to come straight over. When you weren’t here, I figured you’d go to Arthur. So I went there.” He shakes his head and takes a large drink of wine. “He was inconsolable. I know it doesn’t change things, but you should know that. He told me how he’d given Caspar the information he needed. He regrets what he did.”

  “Did he know what they were going to do?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think he thought beyond the money. I can’t defend him, I won’t even try, but I don’t think he could have anticipated the explosion and the extent of the damage they caused.”

  “The deaths. They murdered people, Teddy.”

  His chest rises with his breath. “Are you… are you going to do anything about it?”

  I laugh. A sound that’s empty, sardonic. “That’s why you really came? To find out if I’d report them to the police?”

  “You know that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then why are you here, Teddy?”

  “Because you’re my friend. This doesn’t change how much I care about you. I understand that you don’t want to see people, especially not me, but you can’t hate me for something I didn’t do or know about, Dayna.”

  I finish my wine and head to the kitchen to refill my glass. “I don’t hate you,” I tell him as I walk away.

  He’s on the sofa when I come back into the lounge with the remainder of the bottle of red and place it down on the coffee table.

  “It makes sense now, doesn’t it? Why Harold Layton hates me.”

  Teddy nods. “It doesn’t justify what he did, not even close, but love does crazy things to people.”

  I turn on the TV, pull my legs up to the chair and rest my chin on my knees. “Is Clark okay?”

  “He’s finding solace in Jack and tearing up his apartment.”

  “He really didn’t know.”

  Teddy shakes his head. “His mother had an affair and his father’s a filthy bastard. He’s dealing with a lot of shit, too.”

  I train my attention on the TV as a comedian-cum-talk-show-host announces a new guest.

  “You know why he told you, don’t you?”

  I keep my eyes focussed on the chat show I’m not watching.

  “He didn’t have to, Dayna. He knew that once he told you he’d lose you.”

  “That’s hardly a concession. He didn’t want me.” />
  Teddy reaches for the remote and hits the off button, throwing the remote to the far end of the sofa so I can’t reach it. “Listen to me.” I turn to him, his face blurred by my tears. “He didn’t have to tell you. You know what Harold is like. Clark has gone against his family, and when Harold finds out… I don’t know what will happen. Clark has, for the first time ever, defied Harold’s orders. He chose you over his family.”

  “He pulled out of the joint bid, Teddy. You said it yourself. He was going to bid because he wanted to keep me safe, because he thought he loved me. But he pulled out. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me.”

  “Dayna, even you can see this, surely? He told you the truth because he thought you deserved to know. He couldn’t go ahead with that bid. Harold still has all the power in Layton Oil, and he would have stopped it. Clark had no choice. He tried to find another way to give you what you want without hurting you. And he’s right. If Caspar wins the well with a higher bid, he’ll fail. That’s how you win.”

  “Even if that were true, why come back? Why tell me about Little Princess?”

  “Because he loves you. He couldn’t be with you and live a lie. He gave up on what he wants so he could do what’s right by you. He wants you.”

  My clouded eyes clear as water drops onto my hand.

  “We could never be together. Not now. I could never be part of that family.”

  “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be part of that family either, Dayna, but there are some things you don’t choose and can’t fight.”

  I stare at him, or maybe through him, thinking about what he said.

  Eventually, he leans down to the other end of the sofa to retrieve the remote. “Right, what shall we watch, Snot Face?” I offer him as much of a smile as I can manage as he scrolls through movies. “Have you eaten? You look skinny.”

  “I had lunch with Mum and Anna.” He raises his eyebrows. “Yep. It was going well until one of Anna’s friends blurted out that Constance Hamilton is broken-hearted because some whore called Dayna Cross slept with her almost-husband.”

  Teddy throws his head back on a laugh. “You’re having a good week.”

  Despite myself, I chuckle. “What the hell, might as well get fat, too.” I head to the kitchen and open my junk drawer. “Thai or Chinese?”

  I WAKE IN my clothes, my legs partly twisted in my duvet. It takes me a second to recognise my bedroom. Another second for the pounding red-wine headache to hit. I lick my dry lips and swallow, tasting last night’s green curry. Nice.

  I shuffle into the lounge and start to tidy away the remnants of our takeaway. Yvette had tried to make a start when she came to pick up Teddy, but I told her to stop. Now, I kind of wish I’d let her clean, because the leftovers are turning my stomach.

  I take the three empty wine bottles and stack them on one end of the bench to put in the recycling later.

  Last night, Sangiovese seemed to numb my pain. Today, it only adds to it. I’m spent after two minutes cleaning and fall to the sofa with a bottle of coconut water.

  I stare at my laptop sitting on the dining table. Tomorrow, the results of the tender will be revealed.

  I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t done the right thing.

  “THANK YOU, SIR, have a safe flight.”

  I thank the flight attendant and make my way down the tunnel to board my plane to Brazil, feeling like I haven’t slept for almost a week. I haven’t.

  I put my small leather case in the overhead compartment, sink back into my seat and stretch out my legs.

  “A drink, sir? Champagne or orange juice?”

  After what I’ve put my body through the last two days, I can’t accept champagne. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  I check my watch for the third time in ten minutes. 08:56. Four minutes.

  I can’t sit here. I can’t bear not knowing whether she submitted another bid. If she bid with Hassan, he’ll take it, I know it. It’s a sensible deal for him, and no matter how much Caspar upped his offer, she’d win. Dayna would get her Persian well. At what cost?

  Fuck.

  If she wins, she’s in trouble, serious trouble. I know men like Hassan, I’ve seen it. This weekend I realised I was raised by one of them. If she wins the well and starts to make it work, they’ll steal her knowledge, or worse, they’ll worm their way into SP. They’ll find a way to take what she’s built. If she has the winning bid and doesn’t turn a profit… Jesus. They’ll make her pay. They won’t accept a loss.

  If she wins, Caspar will come after her, and he won’t stop until she’s gone. I can’t stand knowing the part my father played in the demise of SP, but on some warped level, he had motive. Caspar, he’s just dirty. He doesn’t like people on his turf, and he’s already threatened Dayna.

  If she wins the well, she loses. She loses everything. Maybe, one day, her life.

  I cover my mouth and swallow the bile that rises in my throat.

  I stand, gripping the edge of my seat, and look at my watch again. Two minutes.

  “Sir, you need to sit down.” The same flight attendant who offered me champagne is by my side. “We’re taxiing, sir, and the seat belt sign is on.”

  I rub my face roughly with both hands. “I’m sitting.”

  I take my seat and bend forwards over my knees.

  “Sir, you need to put your seat belt on.”

  I bore holes in the stewardess then check my watch again. One minute.

  The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, spouting some babble about the flight times, the cruising altitude, telling all passengers to listen to the safety video.

  “Sir, your belt.”

  “I’m doing it, for Christ’s sake.”

  I sit back in my seat and fasten my belt.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, at this time you must turn off all electronic devices or switch them to aeroplane mode.”

  I take out my iPhone. Nine. Come on. Come the fuck on.

  We pick up speed on the runway. An email lands in my inbox. My heart pounds in my chest as I open the message.

  Bidder 1 – Persian Fuels

  Bidder 2 – Withdrawn

  Bidder 3 – Withdrawn

  I’m thrust back into my seat as the plane lifts off the tarmac. I switch off my phone and rest my head back, watching London grow smaller through my window.

  She didn’t bid.

  She’s safe.

  I close my eyes and finally start to drift to the place I’ve been unable to get for too long.

  I FOUND OUT on the drive from the airport to Layton Oil Brasilia that Caspar increased his bid by millions. He overpaid significantly because he didn’t believe Dayna would withdraw her bid. He won the well, but he’ll never make a profit.

  “I hope winning is enough,” I whisper to myself as I sit in the boardroom, the directors of my Brazilian operations around the table with me.

  “Clark, did you have something to say?”

  I shake my head at Pablo, who’s standing by a whiteboard, discussing figures for our nascent offering in South America. “Thinking aloud, Pablo. Please continue.”

  Why didn’t she bid? Did I get through to her? She wanted the well so much, but she pulled out. It doesn’t matter why she did it; she’ll be hurting.

  Caspar will inevitably turn a loss, but he won’t bleed the way she wanted him to bleed.

  Is this revenge enough?

  Will she come after my father?

  If Caspar makes a loss, will he seek his own vengeance?

  As Pablo continues to discuss the prospects for Layton Oil Brasilia, it occurs to me: I just don’t give a shit anymore. I want nothing to do with it. Not Layton Oil. Not my father.

  They took from me the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.

  I hate him.

  I hate his company.

  Pablo finishes up and, after saying my thanks to the directors for the work they’re doing out here, I make a swift exit.

  I swing by my hotel to change into jea
ns and a t-shirt then head out to a bar. For the first time in days, I think I could stomach food. I order Portuguese marinated steak and sit outside on the veranda of the grill, overlooking the sea.

  I sip a bottle of Corona and lean back in my seat as the sun sets on another day. Another day without her.

  At least she’s safe.

  I WAKE AT five, glad to have had some sleep. I throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt then head down to the beach. I run close to the shoreline where the sand is tougher under my feet. I run until the sun rises.

  When I’m spent, I sit down on the sand and watch the waves crashing onto shore. I plan my next move. No matter what comes down the river, there’s at least one card in my hand I intend to play.

  I’m done with my father’s company.

  I’m done with him.

  When I get back to my hotel room, my iPhone is ringing. “Ted, how is she?”

  “I’ve known her be worse.”

  “That’s something.”

  “I guess so. She feels like she gave up on her old man. But I think she knows it was the right thing to do.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Rachel spent the night with her yesterday. She’s taken a leaf out of your book and found answers in the bottom of a bottle for now.”

  “It’s better than the potential alternatives.”

  “She’s not like her old man, Clark.”

  “I know. I just wish I could be there for her. I feel useless, Ted. Like every other fucking time, you have to tell me how she is because I can’t get near her.”

  “This is different. She’s not ready for you, bud. You need to prepare yourself that she might never be ready for you.” I fight the lump in my throat. “I’ve got a meeting in five. I just wanted to let you know she’s alright.”

  “Cheers, Ted. Listen, we need to talk when I get back. I’ve done a lot of thinking out here.”

  “Alright, bud. Catch you tomorrow.”

  I SPEND THE day talking logistics — how we get oil by sea to and from Brazil, how we move it on dry land. By seven, I’m on my way to the airport, resolute. I’m finally breaking free. I’m finally moving out of Harold Layton’s shadow.