I baulk, telling myself I shouldn’t be going behind V’s back. Then the look on his face as he told me what happened clouds my vision.

I give the guard all the information I know. Whatever they can use to make sure this shit doesn’t happen again.

“Have you noticed a significant change in his behaviour?” he asks, flipping over to a fresh page.

“Says he doesn’t wanna go outside, staying in his cell to keep out of trouble.”

He writes some more and then puts the pen down and rubs his fingers across the deep lines of his forehead. “Does he know you’re reporting this?” he asks, more sympathetic than he’s been since I walked in here.

“He didn’t want me to.”

He shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh. Remnants of his last cigarette waft around me in the stagnant air. “They never do.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“We’ll assess the information, and decide whether we place him on protection.”

“What’s that mean for him?”

“He’d be moved to the protected section. Protection orders get reviewed after fourteen days.”

“And then what?”

“He either stays on, or comes back. You need to understand though, if we do this, it can make it harder for him assimilating back into the mainstream.”

“Then I can only hope you keep him in protection, can’t I?”

“I can’t make any promises.”

He stands and walks over to the door, holding it open. The fucker doesn’t even extend his hand for me to shake. He simply nods and ushers me out.

“We’ll be in touch,” he says, and disappears behind the desk.

I draw in a deep breath and try to gather my shit as I focus on my dusty black boots all the way to my truck.

I’m walking around, a free man. As much as I know I’d hate being locked up, I’d rather change places with my brother. There are some fucked-up people in the world, and unfortunately V is locked in a prison with some of them.

I drive out to the workshop. There’s that much shit I have to organise, and I know Jones and Mac will be out there. I’ve got some serious sucking up to do after my effort last weekend.

****

I fit the new air filter to Jones’s bike, and then call and order the spare parts on my list. It’s been a long day, one re-build after another, but at least I feel as if I’ve accomplished something.

Mac has been quiet. It’s hard to tell if it’s because he’s busy with paperwork and talking to sponsors, or if he’s still pissed with me.

The phone rings, and I grin with satisfaction when I see who the caller is.

“Rocco,” she grunts out.

“You ringing to tell me that you’re finally giving in?” I reply, cocky as ever.

After this morning’s conversation, just hearing her voice again has my dick commanding to attention. I know I wasn’t imagining that blush to her chest and cheeks when we’d talked about tongue and pussy and …

“You’ll die waiting for that phone call, De Loser,” Suds says, and coughs. Her voice seems hoarse.

“Ha ha. So what’s up?”

“Can you get some tissues on the way home, please?”

“And what’s in it for me? A blowy?”

“I asked you for a bloody box of tissues, not to rob a bank.” I bet she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. I can picture it, plain as day. Is she wearing those glasses again? For the purposes of this phone conversation and the hardening of my dick, she is.

“That’d be what it takes, huh?”

“You should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do.”

“Ah, but that’s just the thing, Suds. You do wanna do it. You’re just having trouble admitting it to yourself.”

“Tissues. Please.” She sniffs back.

Wait a sec. Normally she would have fought harder. Is there something wrong? Has she been crying? Maybe I should stop giving her a hard time. Did someone upset her? Her parents?

“Don’t worry, I’ll get your tissues. I’ll be home in about half an hour.”

“Thanks,” she says, and disconnects the call.

“You know she’ll be getting you to grab tampons next,” Jones says, a cocky smirk remaining on his lips long after speaks. The bastard thinks he’s funny.

“I’ll die in a ditch before I buy plugs for a chick.”

“Boy, I can’t wait to see you eat those words.”

“I never will, so you don’t get your hopes up.”

There’s a long silence between us as I pack up the last of the tools.

“That phone call sounded pretty chummy, if you ask me,” Jones taunts.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s what we do. I rile her up, she bites, and I bite back.”

“Don’t you ever wonder about settling down with a girl? I mean, I had my fair share of women before April, but there was something about her. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

“I’m happy for you, buddy. I really am, but I’m not the marrying kind. As far as I’m concerned, all a man needs is Patron and pussy.”

I say that, but why do I feel like I’m a walking shell of a man?

“Then tell me this. When was the last time you hooked up with someone?”

“I dunno. I don’t keep a fuckin’ journal.”

“Take a stab in the dark.”

How the fuck would I know? There was one after Jacinta, she screamed like a banshee, but that was, what, a month ago?

“Last week,” I lie. I shrug, in some kind of show of body language to portray that I don’t give a shit.

Ever since the incident of which Suds made me swear never to speak of, I haven’t been with anyone.

I’ve been wanking off to visions of Soph, and I know for a fact she’s been busy with her toys next door. The looks we share in the morning, and the “Had a good night, huh?” kind of banter we get into when Soph makes coffee before she goes to work have taken my mind off other chicks. Why would I wanna bring some fuckin’ airhead into the mix and ruin this cat-and-mouse play we have going on? Besides, it’s fun hanging out with her, and I haven’t felt the need to go out and …

Whoa. Just whoa.

This is not me. This is not the hardened Rocco De Luca who drinks like a fish and fucks like a demon. It’s not the guy who is the life of every party, and doesn’t get home until the sun is poking its head over the horizon. Having a chick living with me is turning me into something I’m not. I need to remedy that shit.

“Don’t worry, bro. Won’t be long before my dick gets wet again.”

Jones shakes his head as he carries his bag of gear out to his car.

****

The apartment is quiet as anything. Suds’s bedroom door is shut, so I’m guessing she’s probably sleeping or something.

I dump the tissues on the kitchen bench, take a shower, and throw on a fresh black T-shirt, dark blue jeans and my Docs after giving them a dust off with a rag.

“Oh, hey,” Soph says from the couch, as I’m tying my laces.

“Tissues are on the bench,” I say, robotic and void of any feeling.

“Thanks.” She gets up and grabs the box, and then tucks herself back under the blankets on the lounge.

“What you doing tonight? You know The Goonies is on later. I thought I’d make us nachos.”

“I need a drink,” I bark out and snatch up my keys.

“Oh,” she says, almost in a whisper.

On my way to the front door, I refuse to look back, because I know her face will be riddled with disappointment.

I don’t need to see that.

****

Beer.

Shots.

Grope a hot blonde girl by the bar.

Shots.

Shots with blonde.

Finger a girl in the laneway behind the pub.

Taxi home.

I’m about to bury myself balls’ deep and bring the old Rocco back.

****

Pants around my ankles, I wind my hands into the hair at the nape of her neck as she runs her tongue over the head of my throbbing cock.

“I can’t wait to fuck you senseless, Suds,” I mutter into her ear, tugging at her long hair, exposing her neck to me.

“My name is Tarryn,” she says, her words carrying one hell of a bite. Shit.