The lighting on the pier wasn’t brilliant, but it was enough for me to see Owen’s meaty face turn a repulsive, angry purple. He took a step towards me but stumbled slightly. I frowned.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yeah,” Owen shrugged. “I just came from a lock-in at the pub, so what?”
He didn’t sound drunk, he didn’t slur his words but I saw in his eyes when he moved closer that he was intoxicated, the evidence was in his steps too.
“You could tip yourself over that rail right there and drown,” I shook my head. “Go on home, Owen.”
“Why?” he asked. “No one’s waitin’ for me there.”
I stood aghast. Was this no-good, child-abusing utter waste of flesh feeling sorry for himself? After all of the hurt he had put Risk through during his life? Was he actually serious?
“And whose fault is that?” I tilted my head, fury shooting up and down my veins. “Whose fault is it that no one in your life wants to be close to you? It’s your fault and you bloody well know it! You could have had a son in Risk, he would have come home to see you, to take care of you and Freda but you used and abused him because you’re a waste of space who—”
I screamed when Owen lurched forward quicker than I ever thought was possible. He reached out and used his large hand to grab a handful of my hair as he yanked my body towards his. The force of my body banging against his bloated belly knocked the breath out of me. My bag went skidding to the edge of the pier. Instinctively, I reached up with both of my hands and tried to pry my hair from Owen’s grip, but he was too strong so I switched tactics.
“No!” I banged my fists on his chest. “Let go! Get away from me!”
“Yer a smart-mouthed wee tramp.” He twisted his hand. “Thinkin’ ye can talk t’me whatever way ya like!”
He was roaring every word as if I was miles away instead of right in front of him.
“This is why I had those kids taken from you!” I screeched. “This is why! You cruel son of a bitch!”
The sound of his hand clattering against my face seemed to echo in the still of the night. I hit the decking of the pier floor with a sickening thud. I thought I heard shouting from up the pier, but I couldn’t turn to see what was going on because Owen yanked me back to my feet by my hair, pulling another scream from my throat. I could have sworn I heard my name being shouted, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the pain that swam around my head and throbbing face.
“I knew it was you!” he slobbered. “I fuckin’ knew it.”
“You’re fucking right it was me!” I reached up and dug my nails into his face. “I’d do it again and again and again!”
I yanked my hands down, my nails scratching crevices along Owen’s sweating, flushed skin. He released his hold on my hair as he shouted and raised both of his hands to his bloodied face. My scalp was burning but I didn’t dare lift my hand to inspect any possible damage, I kept my eyes trained on Owen as I pushed myself onto my knees.
“Frankie!”
I jerked my head to my left. I couldn’t see anyone because the pier’s small restaurant was in the way, but I’d know his voice from a million miles away. I had heard it in my dreams enough to recognise it at a whisper.
“Risk!”
I was in the middle of getting to my feet when Owen stepped forward and kicked me so hard in the stomach, I partially vomited. His hands were tangled in my hair again within seconds. He was speaking so fast that I couldn’t understand him but I got the gist of what he was implying. He wanted to hurt me or worse. I sucked in a breath when Owen’s body was speared from the side. He smacked into the railing of the pier and a creaking sound echoed. It took me a few seconds to realise what was happening, but when I did, I was beside myself. Risk was bent over Owen and he was beating him violently.
My screams could have been heard out on the ocean.
“Risk, please!” I pleaded. “He’s not worth it, he’s nothing. Risk, stop!”
He didn’t listen, the only reason he stopped was because Tobias and Jacob suddenly ran onto the pier’s end and both of them physically dragged Risk off a sobbing, and badly beaten, Owen Day. His face was covered in blood. It was a horrifying sight. Hayes, May and Angel rounded the corner of the restaurant; the three of them were breathing heavily.
“Frankie!”
May was in my space with his hands on my face in seconds.
“Your head.”
My head?
I lifted my hand to my forehead, just above my eyebrow, and hissed when stinging, throbbing pain registered. The slickness of warm, wet liquid coated my fingers. I pulled my hand down and stared at the blood on it. Owen had cut me, but I had no idea when it occurred. The pain in my head was nothing compared to the hurt I felt in my stomach that had suddenly spread upwards to my chest. Owen’s kick was crippling and I knew I was in the grasp of an asthma attack before I realised it. I wheezed and looked around for my bag, panicking when I couldn’t find it.
I fell to my knees within seconds. My ears were ringing, my vision distorted and my feet were tingling. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest, preventing me from taking in a deep breath.
“’haler,” I wheezed. “My . . . inhaler. Bag.”
“Fuck!’ May shouted. “She needs her inhaler, where’s her bag?”
“There!” Angel answered.
Before Angel could even finish speaking the head of an inhaler was pushed into my mouth. Instinctively, I inhaled the medicine, feeling more panicked, more unable to breathe than
