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But he’ll be wrong. We’ll be waiting in Kent. This time, with actual weapons and a detailed strategy of how to take him down.
As we wait for him to arrive back in England, we get some down time. The last four days have been nothing short of fucking heaven.
The minute we landed in London, Pea and I checked into Piccadilly Backpackers, a hostel in the center of the English capital. We’ve been sharing communal showers and toilets with high school graduates from all over Europe and Australia and sleeping on the same level in a bunk bed, curled into one another like sardines. We eat Kettle chips for breakfast, lunch and dinner and drink pints of Guinness at the Dublin Castle in Camden Town. At one point, we even decide to splurge and spend a few pounds to get into the Music Room and listen to a local indie band perform.
The band is shit but we don’t care. We make out on a wooden bench the whole time. My hands slide into her new Primark skirt (she made us go all the way to Tooting Broadway because she didn’t want to visit the Primark in Marble Arch. It reminds her too much of Camden.) I finger her through soaked panties in front of a bunch of drunk people we don’t know. Stifling her moans against my lips. Making her come against my whole fucking fist.
We go to Madame Tussauds and I take a picture of her cupping David Beckham’s balls, and she takes a picture of me pretending to plow into Kylie Minogue from behind.
Subsequently, we get kicked out of Madame Tussauds, but we’re laughing so hard while stumbling out, our abs hurt. It’s definitely worth the slap on the wrist.
We sneak into buses and stand for two fucking hours in a London Eye capsule next to a Japanese couple who are fighting furiously and their kid, who smears snot all over the glass.
At night, I hold her so close my heart expands, filling every inch of my body. I make love to her and make hate to her, because sometimes, the best kind of sex is the angry shit you just want to screw out of your system.
But in London, Prescott doesn’t ask for Beat. She asks for Nate. For the first time in my life, I dig inside myself, trying to find who he is. How he’d act in bed with the woman he loves.
Turns out I can be a gentle little shit. Not vanilla, I still like to bite and pinch and pull at her nipples and her clit until she swats my shoulder and twists away, but Prescott introduces me to something called ‘relationship sex’.
“It’s basically a lazy fuck,” she grinds herself on top of me cowgirl style, placing her fingers on her lips, kissing them and then brushing them against mine. She moves leisurely, and I enjoy my view, a relaxed smirk on my lips. “It’s how people fuck when they’re not being chased by the whole goddamned world,” she winks.
“Hmm,” I slide my hands up and down her body, rubbing her nipples with my thumbs before moving down to flick my finger over her swollen clit. “I ain’t familiar with this concept, and frankly, don’t care for it. What the fuck am I supposed to do with my life if no one’s after my ass?”
“Live it,” she pants, relishing my touch on her skin. I pinch her clit and bite her wrist. “Enjoy it.”
“I do enjoy it,” I suck on her fingers. We hear the Italian girls in the next room giggling. They’ve been eavesdropping on us having sex for days. “Do you enjoy fucking me as much as you enjoy killing people, Cockburn?”
“Yes,” she pants. “Of course.”
I hook my finger into her pussy and curl it. That’s when she bends down to kiss me and I whisper into her face. “Because sometimes I think you’re hungrier for blood than you are for cock.”
She comes on top of me, shaking and smiling, and I come inside her, groaning and laughing.
I could get used to that. Live like this forever. I’d take the fucked up Burlington-Smyth baggage she brings along with her, Preston included. But my girl wants to kill the man who ruined her, and we’ll do it, one way or the other.
She’s got one more piece of her soul to collect.
Dealing with Camden will burst our bubble. After we’re done, we’ll figure out where we want to live, what we want to do.
Today, we are going to go over our plan to corner him after his father’s funeral. We sit at a small coffee shop in Chelsea, expensive as fuck but this place is dear to Pea’s heart. It’s where she often ran away from her cheating boyfriend to window shop. I stand up from my seat, stretch, gulp my small shot of espresso in one go and slam it against the wooden table.
