Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Five

PERRY

“What have you done with my books? The ones from my granddad? I don’t care about the money, but where are my books?” I’m shouting, and shaking with shock and rising anger, at the smirk on Grant’s face. I do care about the money he’s stolen from me, but it’s nothing compared to the loss of granddad’s books.

“Sold ‘em on eBay. There was a little matter of unpaid rent.”

“Unpaid rent?” He’s fleeced me of money, locked me out of my home and forced me to live in the basement of the office where I work, and he talks about me owing rent?

Fury bursts from me, and I go to fly at Grant. He’s big and burly, he could swat me away like a fly, but I don’t get anywhere close as I’m pulled back with a hard tug.

“I’ve come with Perry to collect his belongings. Which don’t appear to be here. It’s been a tedious journey across London, and for that reason alone we’re not leaving empty handed.”

I look up at James, his bored drawl shocking me out of my rage.

“What the fuck are you on about? Whoever you are, get out of my flat.”

Grant squares his shoulders and juts out his chin as he glares at James. A shiver of apprehension runs through me.

Grant’s heavy set. I’ve had more than a few pushes and shoves from him in recent weeks, and I’ve felt the force of them. There’s nothing here for me. My books have gone, my clothes too, whether in the bin or a charity shop I don’t know. All I want now is to get away, as far away from this dingy flat, this vicious and vile man, and the shit storm my life’s turned into. But what I also want is for James not to get involved and risk getting hurt, not for me.

“Come on,” I mumble to James. “There’s no point being here.” I tug at his arm, to pull him away, but he doesn’t budge an inch. He’s as immovable as a mountain.

“Compensation is in order, wouldn’t you agree?” James says, ignoring me. He’s looking around and when his eyes alight on the guitar standing in the corner, he smiles — and I shiver.

There’s something dark and dangerous in the way his smile widens to a grin, and in the glint in his eyes. He’s stock still but looks ready to pounce, like a cat watching its prey. James, little more than average height if that, and compact, he’d be easy to dismiss up against Grant’s brawn, but the tingle lighting up my nerves and prickling at the back of my neck whispers that it’d be a very, very unwise assumption.

Grant makes that assumption.

“You think you’re going to take my guitar, that you’re even going to touch it? Just fuck off, the pair of you.”

“It’s a Gibson. Very expensive. Good condition, too. Would have set you back a good five thousand. I assume you used Perry’s money rather than your own?” He takes the couple of steps to the guitar, not taking any heed of Grant.

James’ voice is light, almost conversational, but his grin is stretching, growing wider, displaying bared teeth that are ready to bite. But Grant, his face angry and mottled, doesn’t see it, doesn’t see it at all, doesn’t realise the wrong and dangerous choice he’s making as he lunges for James.

I stumble back as James’ arm shoots out, his hand bunched into a fist which lands square in the middle of Grant’s face. There’s a crunch, and blood splatters over Grant’s T-shirt. James doesn’t make a sound, but Grant’s anger, pain, and shocked bellow fills the room, bouncing off the walls as he falls with a heavy thump onto his arse, his hands clamped to his face.

“Wh…?” It’s as far as I get. My head snaps from Grant, wailing and groaning on the floor, rocking back and forwards, to James, cool and self-possessed as he gazes down at Grant, his nose wrinkling as though he’s smelling something bad.

“Is there anything left here that’s yours?”

“I—I don’t… No…” I try to think, but my thoughts are slow and dense.

My eyes land on the books I’ve thrown around. Two or three of them are mine, either missed by Grant or not bothered about. But they’re mine, and I’m taking them with me. I dart over and grab them up.

“Right, then let’s take the guitar and leave.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t want it.” I could sell it, I could eBay it, the way Grant has my treasured adventure stories. But I don’t want it, I don’t want to be like Grant. I’ve got damn all else, but I have some pride left.

“I’m sure you don’t,” James says quietly, and it’s as though he’s reading my mind. His cold, steely smile has turned into something warm and his eyes have lost their hard glint as they lock onto mine. “But I’m sure this will fulfil some teenager’s dream of being the next guitar hero,” he says, picking it up.

A rage-filled bellow’s demanding blood. I swing around, my heart hammering hard. Grant’s staggered up to his feet, a broken down prize fighter who’s taken a pounding, now out for revenge.

James sighs, long and loud, as if it’s all too much of a bore.

“Take your hands off that, you fucker,” Grant shouts, but his words are soggy with blood.

He’s lumbering towards James, who’s no longer smiling but peering at Grant with narrowed eyes.

“James, please, I don’t want it. Let’s just go.” I don’t want the guitar, I don’t want anything other than to get out and leave all this mess behind me. James takes no notice.

“James!” I shout as Grant launches himself forward, sudden, fast, unexpected, arms raised to grab the guitar from James’ hold. He’s furious, humiliated — and heavy. If he lands on James—

I gasp and throw myself forward to try and do something to push Grant off course, but I’m too late and too uncoordinated as I trip and stumble to the side, hit the edge of the sofa and tumble backwards to the floor with a heavy thud.

Grant’s momentum is relentless and sickness rises up in me as James brings the guitar up over his head, leaving himself exposed to take the full force of Grant’s attack. Grant’s moving fast, but James is quicker. The arc’s smooth and comes down hard, connecting with a crunch to Grant’s elbow.

The howl’s terrifying, as Grant collapses in a shuddering, wailing heap.

“You’ve broken my arm. You’re a fucking head case.”

“More likely a fracture, but you’ll be in plaster for a few weeks. Such a shame about the guitar.” James examines the dent in the back. “It’ll be costly to repair, but worth it. It’s time Perry and I were leaving but before we do I want you to listen to me.”

Still holding the guitar, James leans over Grant and my heart jumps — if Grant grabs him, takes one last throw of the dice — but he cringes back. He’s still for a moment, before he nods. The fight’s gone out of him. He’s a spent force, he’s been beaten in more ways than one, and he knows it.

“You are of course at liberty to call the police. Why wouldn’t you? But what will you tell them? How will you explain what’s happened? Hmm? You’re in a tricky situation here, Grant, and I think you have just enough sense to realise that. So here’s what’s going to happen. Perry’s coming with me. If you try and get in touch with him, try to make any kind of contact, wait for him outside his place of work, or attempt any nasty little stunt to get back at him, you’ll have me to deal with. Take what’s happened here today as just a taste of what to expect if you wake up tomorrow, or next month, or next year feeling brave. Do you understand?”

Grant answers with rapid nods.

“Good, I’m so glad we have an understanding. Now, I’d suggest you call an ambulance because you really don’t want complications arising due to your injuries not being tended to, do you?”

James smiles down at Grant, who nods, shakes his head, then nods again.

James turns away, the movement dismissive as though Grant’s not worth another moment of his time. And he’s not. James fixes me with his green eyes.

“If there’s anything more here you want get it now, because you’re not coming back here. Ever.”

“No, no there’s nothing else,” I croak.

“Then let’s go.”

He strides ahead, leaving me to hurry after him and slam the door on my former life.