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“You aren’t right for the club. You couldn’t do what’s needed to be involved. Are you a natural murderer?" he asks me lightly, softly, gently. So much so that it sounds like little more than a whisper.
What is wrong with him? First he asks about my boyfriend and then changes the subject to lecture me on the club, calls me baby in a way I’m not too sure sounded as innocent as it should, and then asks me if I’m a murderer.
I feel my blood boiling, my hands beginning to shake. Why on earth is he asking me about being a murderer? I know he’s been locked up for years, I get that he’s changed, I understand that things have altered and it's going to be hard for him to adjust but if he’s insinuating that because I’m not some violent bully that can pass the Clubs tests that I don’t have the right to know what’s happening then he’s more deluded than I ever imagined.
"Murderer? No. However my specialty is in finding out what I’m not supposed to." I stare him down, craning my head slightly to see into his eyes, but refusing to give up if he insists on being such an asshole.
His face is blank, impassive, unmoving; and no matter how much it boils my blood, I'd be blind to have to say it isn’t attractive too. Not to me personally but I can understand why so many women fell for him when him and my dad were younger. My dad and Tin often reminisce over the days when they were younger and had women falling at their feet – Liam included.
He laughs, and then he laughs again, moving back to give himself space from me, laughing so much, so hysterically now that he's bent over slapping his hand on his knee.
"And what exactly is so funny Liam?" If he's laughing at me, I'll be half tempted to use the punch I practised on Crow on him.
Not before breakfast though. Or not at all, let’s face it, I’m not that brave or that violent.
He looks up at me, wiping the tears of laughter from his face.
"My god, girl, you'd make most men piss their damn pants with that look,” he tells me with laughter and lightness in his voice.
I stare at him absurdly.
He doesn’t say a word.
I roll my eyes at his silence and swiftly spin and plate up my breakfast, walk towards the kitchen door, leaving his on the stove, and turning it up to the maximum so that I can smell it burn.
Is that some joke to him? My involvement with the club , or rather lack of is not a joke to me.
Honestly, is there a reason we need men around? Can I find some deserted Island where men are forbidden? That would be great right about now.
I take my plate up to my room.
The wafts of burnt food are hitting me already.
I feel myself smiling smugly.
My breakfast tastes wonderful.
* * *
I have been desperately trying to avoid Liam since the terrible failure that breakfast was, but no matter where in the house I go, his booming laughter and far too loud phone calls seem to follow me everywhere I go.
I am currently sat out in the garden, reading once again. Well, mainly glaring at the asshole through the kitchen window, but reading too.
I'm sat on a swinging bench my dad made a few years ago, and I have Crow sat beside me on his phone making a new playlist.
We do this a lot.
Just sit in silence. We're comfortable around each other and I like that.
"Why are you glaring at him?" Crow asks me, pulling me from my thoughts.
"I just don’t like him right now,” I tell him, not in the mood to talk about Liam.
"You seemed to like him plenty yesterday,” he says, obvious confusion threading through his words.
I find myself huffing, turning to Crow and glaring once again.
"He just annoys me,” I tell him. "He's arrogant, a complete shitstick, and a frustration I do not need,” I say with certainty.
