Reid
It’s been four days since that incident at the bar. Four days since Mercy was here, making me feel better. But now … now, I’ve never felt worse. I can hear people. They’re all whispering about me, saying things behind my back—I know they are. Fucking bastards are out to get me. I’m sure that Fuck Face is having me followed. He thinks I don’t know, but I have his number. He sends his little minions out to spy on me, trying to catch me out.
They ain’t catching out shit.
I still feel it, though. All of their eyes are on me, making me feel fucking claustrophobic. He’s gotten a hundred grand out of me, what more does he fucking want?
It’s only three. I’m at the bar on my own, and all is quiet except for a few. I’m dying for a fucking drink, but I keep having Mercy in my head telling me no all the time. My legs twitch anxiously as I stare at the whiskey on the cabinet. Although there’s only a handful of people here, they’re all making noise—so much fucking noise. When I think about their voices, they becomes all I can hear. Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit. Fucking rabbit all day long. Don’t they ever stop for breath?
Placing my head in my hands, my legs twitch faster, so I can concentrate on that and not on the loud twats in my bar drinking my drinks. Do they have to be so fucking loud?
Gripping my hair in my hands, I squeeze my eyes shut. But all that does is make the voices even louder. My heart starts hammering—so much so that I can hear it alongside the voices. They’re getting louder and louder, and the louder they become, the higher my tension levels sky-rocket. I feel the build-up bubbling to boiling point. I’m like a pressure cooker about to explode. It gets to a point where all I can hear are a thousand voices all talking at the same time.
I can’t take any more.
Squeezing my hands into fists, I feel my face burn as I snap my head to the crowd. “Shut the fuck up!!!!” I scream, causing all of their heads to snap to me at once. They’re all silent now—mouths wide open like they can’t believe I’ve just said what I did. “Get out of my fucking pub!”
“But … but I haven’t finished my drink,” one weaselly little herbert retorts.
Rising out of my seat, I relish in the hard swallow the little weasel makes as I stand—all six-foot-four of me. “Allow me to repeat myself,” I reply, quickly losing more of my patience with each additional second. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Pub! Comprende?” When they still don’t move, I roar, “NOW!!!!”
That has them out of their seats.
Weasel, still in an attempt to show some balls, downs his drink quickly, but moves as swiftly as the others do. Once they’re at the door, one of the women turns around and shouts, “You’re fucking crazy.”
As she disappears through the door, I shout, “Yeah, well at least I don’t look like a cow whose face looks like it’s been smashed in by a shovel!”
All goes silent, and I’m left with nothing but the sound of my breathing echoing around the bar. As I move to grab my things and lock up, Akilah walks through, looking confused. “Where is everyone?” he asks, waving his arms around to encompass the empty bar.
“I’m locking up for the afternoon.”
“I’m here now. I can help.”
“I said,” replying through gritted teeth, “I’m locking up for the afternoon. Go home. Get some rest. I’m going out for a few hours.” I walk past Akilah, but I swear as I pass him I see a smirk on his face. I pull back, grabbing Akilah by the neck. His eyes grow wide. “What the fuck are you smirking at, man?”
He grabs hold of my arm, trying to yank me away. “Nothing, brother. Calm down. This is me you’re talking to—not some fuckwit client in the bar.”
I see the surprise in his eyes, and it makes me question myself. Akilah’s on my side. Apart from Mercy, Akilah is the only other person who has my back.
Releasing my grip on him, I sigh. “I’m sorry, Akilah. Fuck, what’s happening to me?”
Akilah rubs his neck. His breathing is heavy—just like mine. “Maybe you just need time out. Go take a walk or something, or go for a drive. I’ll come back later and open up for the night shift.”
Patting his shoulder, I say, “Thanks, man,” before walking around the bar and grabbing my things. As I walk back round, Akilah’s gathering the glasses of the arseholes who just left. “See you later,” I shout.
“Yep,” he says back, not turning. Then, I swear I hear him call me a fucking arsehole.
“What did you just say?” I ask, gripping my hand on the door. I’ll fucking rip his tongue out if he’s fucking with me.
With glasses in hands, he turns around. “I just said yep, that’s all.”
I frown, scrutinising him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, brother. I’m sure.”
I stay still for a few seconds staring at him, trying to gauge his expression. It’s giving nothing away.
Fuck! What’s going on?
Shaking my head, I walk out the door without saying anything else. The sun is hot, making my mouth feel dry. I need water, but I’m not going back into the bar for some. I need time away from that place to try and get my head on straight. I feel like I’m falling apart. Everyone—even people close to me—seem like enemies. It feels like they’re out to get me.
Everyone’s out to fucking get me.
Once I’m in my car, I turn on my ignition without any thought about where the fuck I want to go. I just know I need to get away from here. As I drive to nowhere, I start to think that maybe I should visit Mercy. She’ll probably have the right words to say to calm me down.
I make the fifteen-minute journey, and once I pull up, I’m out of the car within seconds. My hands start to shake, and the voices around me sound like whispers, taunting me. I look around, but there’s no one there. Again, I wonder: what the fuck is going on?!
I don’t even use the lift. Instead, I race the stairs taking two at a time. I reach the landing of Mercy’s reception where a lady I don’t recognise sits behind the desk. “Can I help you?” she asks, smiling.
I look towards Mercy’s door. “I need to see Dr Mercy.”
The receptionist frowns. “Dr who?”
I lean over the counter and seethe, “Don’t fuck with me, lady. I need to see the doctor now.”
I can see the panic in her eyes as she stutters, “I– I’ve never … heard of Dr Mercy. I’m sorry.”
Sick of this shit, I push myself off the counter and race for the door. I hear the receptionist shout, “You can’t go in there!” before I hear her on the phone as she alerts security.
Not caring, I barge in only to find a middle-aged man with black hair and glasses behind the desk. In front of him, on the other side, is another man sitting with a briefcase next to him. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask with a snarl.
The guy on the other side of the desk stands up and points towards me. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t just barge your way in here.”
“Where’s Dr Mercy?”
He frowns. “Dr who?”
“Fucking hell!” I scream. “I’m not looking for the fucking doctor and his Tardis, I’m looking for Mercy!”
I see the man look towards the door. “Get this man out of here at once.”
I turn, finding two security guards stalking towards me. As they make their way to grab me, I say, “Don’t fucking touch me. I’m going. Okay?” The last thing I want is for the police to come and arrest me again. I’m sure if they did, Fuck Face would get involved, and I doubt he’d be too keen to let me go next time.
Without another word, I stalk past them, bashing my shoulder against one of the guards as I do. I don’t look behind, but I feel them following me—making sure I do as I said I would.
As I get outside, I start to wonder what the fuck’s happening. I call Mercy, but for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t answer her phone. Instead it goes straight to voicemail.
As my hands shake, I start to panic. I’ve never, ever been in a situation where I haven’t been able to get a hold of her.
Fuck. What am I going to do?
In an effort to try and think, I tap my mobile against my forehead. I don’t know where she lives, only the region where she lives. I try Google, searching for her name, but all it comes up with is the clinic she’s been working at, but it’s not this address. It’s the next street down.
Shaking my head, I run towards the building on the next street and make my way inside the hallway. I look on the wall by the lifts and see her name there. She’s on the third floor just like in the other building. This is so fucking weird.
Not wanting to wait for the lift again, I take the stairs two at a time again, and once I reach the top floor, the receptionist I know is standing there behind the same counter. She spots me, smiles, and says, “Mr Valentine. How can I help you? You’re not scheduled for an appointment today.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pointing to the room we’re in.
She frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“This fucking room. Why aren’t you still in the building across the street?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
Losing my patience, I shout, “You used to be in the building across the street, but now you’re here. When did that happen?”
She laughs a little, but it’s a nervous laugh. “Mr Valentine, we’ve always been here.”
The colour drains from my face. I don’t believe her. This can’t be true. I stare at her for a moment to see if she starts laughing. To tell me it’s just one big fucking joke, but she doesn’t.
“Where is she?” I ask, not even waiting for her answer. I march toward the door, opening it to an empty room. The furniture is the same. Everything looks the same, but she never used to be in this room.
“She’s on a house call today. It’s an emergency, so she’s probably not answering her calls right now. I can leave a message for you, if you’d like.”
I turn to her, pointing at her chest. “This is fucked up, lady. You never used to be here. Now, stop joking around with me and tell me the truth.”
Her eyes grow wide. “I– I am … telling … the truth.”
I lean in close to her—so close our noses are almost touching. “Liar,” I seethe. She holds her breath, and her eyes are showing signs of fear. I know she’s fucking lying, but I also know I can’t do anything about it here. I just need to get a hold of Mercy. She’ll sort this out for me.
Hissing at her, I move away, and I see the moment she releases a breath. “Tell Dr Mercy that if she doesn’t call me by tonight, I’m coming down here again, and it won’t be pretty.”
I storm off down the stairs, wondering what the fuck’s happening around here. I know I’m not going crazy. She definitely used to practice down the street. Why the fuck is the receptionist lying to me?
I’m at a loss for where to go and what to do. I know Mercy told me not to drink, but I could fucking murder a shot of whiskey right now. Maybe it’ll calm my nerves until I can reach her.
Getting into my car, I drive down to the bar I met Mercy in and order my shot. I say shot, but it’s more like a quadruple shot over here when compared to the UK. The one thing that’s great about Spain is that they don’t measure. They just pour the shit out of that bottle and into your glass.
I down a gulp and sit, hovering my thumb over the button of Mercy’s number. I wonder if I should give it a few more minutes, but I can’t hold out any longer. I dial it, noticing as a man sits next to me at the bar when I do. It rings, but after three times it goes to voicemail. Fucking great.
“Wanker,” I hear the guy next to me say.
“What?” I ask, snapping my head up to meet the big, beefy skinhead guy sitting next to me.
“Are you talking to me?” he asks.
“Yeah, Pacino wannabe, I am talking to you. Who do you think you are calling me a wanker?”
The guy gives me an angry frown. “I didn’t say fucking shit to you, arsehole. Calm the fuck down.”
I don’t care that this guy looks like he has fifty pounds over me. The guy’s a fuckwit. “Don’t tell me what to do, you fucking piece of shit.” I push him, and that’s when his drink spills and the glass falls out of his hand and onto the floor. He’s up like a shot, towering above my big frame.
I stand up, shoving the stool behind me when I hear the protests of the barman. I don’t care. Pulling my arm back, I take a swing at this arsehole, but he stops my fist with his hand. He crushes my fingers into the palm of my hand, making it hurt like a bitch. I want to cry out, but I refuse to let this guy see me in pain. I try swinging with my other hand, and because he’s so focused on my face he misses it. I sideswipe his face, knocking him a little off balance as he releases his grip on my good hand. He manages to come to, but I’m fast, throwing that punch I was unable to the first time. He stumbles back, but doesn’t completely fall. I take a boxing stance—ready to punch him again—when he roars and comes at me. I try to punch him again, but he’s quick, swinging me a left hook instead. I feel the point at which his fist hits my cheek, pain radiating through the side of my face and into my head. I go down, but then he grabs me by the shirt and pulls me out of the bar doors. I hear shouting and screaming, but I don’t care about that. I just care about getting this scumbag off of me.
As the dying afternoon sun hits me, I momentarily lose my sight when I feel another punch to my stomach. I hunch over, hearing the man’s voice. “Get the fuck out of here before I kill you, you son of a bitch.”
I want to kill him. If I had a gun or a knife with me right now, he’d be fucking dead meat. Once I get some wind back inside of me, I look up, seeing the man standing there glaring at me. He suddenly laughs before huffing in my direction and walking back towards the bar as if nothing had happened.
The bastard needs to die. Anyone who comes across me needs to die. Scarlet tried and look what happened to her. No one fucking messes with the great Reid Marks!
No one.
Growling, I make my way back into the car pissed off that my face feels like it’s broken. It’s pounding like a bitch.
Grabbing my phone, which I’d placed inside my pocket before attempting to punch the arsehole, I punch in Mercy’s number as I start the car and drive off. She answers after two rings.
“Dr Mercy, get your arse down to my bar right now. I need to speak with you.”