Tumble Creek (24 page)

‘Stupid fucking thing to do, Sofie,' he muttered, feet clomping away on the timber flooring.

If she'd been able to speak, she would've told him that falling out of his car was not something she did on purpose, for Christ's sake. The second time was all his doing, so therefore not
her
stupid fucking thing she did—but
his
.

She checked to see if she had any broken teeth; her tongue swept past the inside of her bottom lip.
Damn.
Her teeth must've sliced into her lip. She breathed through the pain and, slowly feeling less dazed, she took stock of her injuries. Stones had cut right through her jeans and her knees stung. Her elbows were sore, but protected by her winter coat, hopefully just bruised. Her hands were a mess with gravel rash, weeping as well as bleeding. Jett came back, his fancy Italian leather boots stopping right near her sneakers. If she had the strength, she would've lifted her head and glared at him.

‘Why'd you grab me?' Pain shot through her mouth, which had started to swell. She took a moment to breathe through it, then carefully mumbled, ‘You should've just let me lie there … until I got my breath back … ow!'

‘Oh, so now it's my fault you fell. Look at you, you're a mess.'

‘Don't start, Jett,' Sofie growled, ‘I'm not the same submissive little thing you left!'

‘I really couldn't give a shit.'

‘Oh—and don't we know it! You bastard!' Eyes screwed shut she winced and brought her hand up, her fingers hovering. Afraid to touch her face, she let her arm drop to her lap, hand dangling between her knees.

What had happened to change the sweet surfer guy into this ugly moron? The pretentious prick waffled on, making demands he had no rights to.

‘What
I
want is to talk. You have no idea what I've been through to get you here so we could.' He handed her a wet face washer.

She took it, resting the cool cloth on her swollen mouth and chin, thinking, once again it's all about him and what
he
went through.

‘Seems to me, Jett, you're doing fine,' she mumbled behind the cloth. ‘You're driving a one hundred thousand dollar car.' Head like a heavy weight on her shoulders and pounding unmercifully, she leaned back against the couch feeling utterly miserable.

Jett edged forward, widening his stance so he could place his legs either side of hers. He was trying to take them to a place she definitely did
not
want to go.

The bastard was taking advantage. ‘Get off me!' Eyes screwed shut she winced.

‘Aw, Sofie, you used to like it when I—'

‘Are you insane?!' she boldly cut in. It was painful to speak, but she didn't care. She glared daggers at him. ‘Touch me and so help me, I will have you charged with assault.'

He stepped back. ‘Aw, Sofie I was just trying to make you feel better.'

She shook her head and regretted it. ‘Ugh, you don't know how. Most of the time with you, I faked orgasms.'

Jett's eyes grew round like a startled cat and a flicker of embarrassment passed across his face. His neck reddened, the colour creeping up to join his flushed cheeks. He gasped but said nothing, made no comeback. Nonetheless, the fact his latest marriage had ended badly surely would make him think and doubt his own sexual prowess … he was the only one who believed he had any, anyway.

Just as quickly his embarrassment disappeared, and the arrogant prick returned. Then he tried to belittle her. ‘You're a klutz as usual. Not good at anything, can't even get out of a car without falling flat on your face. You're not fit to be a mother. I'm going to fight for custody.'

He was talking rubbish, yet the jibes hurt. As for getting custody, Claudia was way beyond the age where she had no choice. Let him bloody try.

He babbled on about how he was going to show her a great time, just like he used to. God what an idiot. And he took it further trying to ingratiate himself and weaken her emotionally, going on about how sad a stolen truck destroyed her house, and how she'd never get revenge because the driver had vanished. Not wanting to alert him because he could change his expression to suit the moment, Sofie carefully squinted up past her brow, despite a searing headache that made looking anywhere painful, and tried to focus. It shocked her to see his self-satisfied sneer, enjoying the fact some idiot demolished her house and revelling in telling her all the details.

Sofie slid her eyes to the side wondering if she could make it to the front door, and if she could shove him hard enough to make a run for his car … yeah, and then what? She didn't have the keys.
Shit!
Anyway, standing up would be enough of a problem, let alone shoving him anywhere.

Hang on, her sluggish mind registered, there was a noteworthy piece of information during his self-absorbed waffling—how did he know it was a stolen truck? Did her mother pass that on?

‘You'll love it back in Sydney,' he went on, and judging by the smug look on his face, he relished having her as his captive audience. ‘And with the all the money you've got right now, we could buy a house at Rose Bay, or better still Lavender Bay, just like the street here where you used to live.'

‘I'm going to be sick,' Sofie announced.

With an almighty thump, the door burst open so hard it bounced back off the wall. Sofie barely had the energy to squeal. Squinting against the light was excruciating, but she had no trouble recognising his silhouette.

‘Brock,' she said on a breath.

Instantly, the atmosphere became explosive. Sofie's throat went dry and her pounding heart made her headache a whole lot worse, like someone was using a sledgehammer against the inside of her skull.

Jett's mouth hung open, he quickly pulled himself together and yelled, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?'

It only took a couple of Brock's long strides and he was right there in front of her, dominating the space. He raised a hand to Jett's chest and shoved. Jett wasn't ready and fell back on his arse.

Brock hunkered down and gave her a thorough body scan. His eyes moved to her face, and his look, already enraged, turned fierce. Then something strange happened. Brock's staring eyes glazed over, his expression one of horror, fear and utter grief. Hands on her thighs, fingers squeezing her muscles, his mighty frame was there right in front of her, yet his mind—no, more than that—his very soul was somewhere else.

Every muscle in Brock's body hardened with tension, and then he began to shake.

‘Brock,' Sofie murmured, ‘you're scaring me.' Movement over his shoulder caught her attention. ‘Jett, don't move!' Damn that hurt. Leaning forward, she curled her fingers around Brock's forearms, and hung her head. The knuckles on his hands gripping her thighs were white; she softly whimpered, ‘Ouch.' She didn't know what to do, so waited and hoped he'd come out of it soon.

‘Don't give me that shit, I can go anywhere I want,' Jett crowed nastily.

There was too much heartache, too much feeling like crap to worry about the idiot. He didn't even try and across the timber floor quietly as he came right up behind Brock. He must've had a death-wish because the fool dared to place a hand on Brock's shoulder. With care, and trepidation, Sofie eased her eyes to Brock's, not in the least bit shocked that his face, set in hard angles and lines, held a menacing expression.

‘Get off me,' he growled, his tone a dire warning. He'd returned from wherever he'd been and was back with her … thank God.

In a blink, Jett's hand was gone.

Brock's eyes captured hers, penetrating deep, and without saying a word, he assured Sofie everything would be all right. Her eyes stung, damn it, and she blinked back the tears blurring her vision. Seconds went by and she whispered, ‘Brock?'

His grim expression hadn't changed. Brock took a deep steadying breath, caressed her temple and gently wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb, then quietly asked, ‘You okay?'

She gave him a slight nod, and spoke carefully, not opening her mouth any further than necessary. ‘It's not what you think. Foot got caught, fell out car, chin first … hit a rock. Jett … and fell again.' She grabbed his shirt. ‘Here … in cabin … grandmother's ring. Can't talk, hurts.'

Brow deeply furrowed, worry darkening his eyes, Brock took the face washer out of her hands and, with utmost care, dabbed her swollen mouth. ‘And this?' he asked, narrowed eyes on her right cheek as his fingers lightly traced an area of swelling, tightening skin. Landing on her chin wouldn't have caused swelling to her cheek … without any grazes. Brock's stormy eyes darted back to hers.

‘That was an accident,' she whispered, eyes flicking to Jett then back to Brock. Well, that was a mistake; being pissed off at Jett was easy for many reasons, but trying to take her phone, and accidentally backhanding her, though painful, it
was
unintentional. ‘An
accident
, Brock.'

‘Two things, Sofe: had he left you alone like you'd asked, you wouldn't be spitting blood right now, and you wouldn't be heading for a black eye.'

‘What?' She brought her fingers up feeling around for swelling.

Brock took her hand and gently guided her fingers. ‘Yeah, right there, Babe.' Brock let her go and surged to his feet.

‘Wait!' Sofie cried out, voice dry, raspy.

It was too late, Brock strode off, thankfully past Jett, and headed for the kitchen. Sofie's shoulders sagged with relief. Nevertheless, on his way, Brock pointed at Jett. ‘Do not move! You do, I will find you!'

Swallowing hard, Jett paled.

Brock came back with ice wrapped in a tea towel, hunkered down again, and gently held it to her cheek.

‘I told you not to move,' Brock warned without turning around, his tone ominous.

Sofie glanced over Brock's shoulder and, sure enough, Jett had sidled a couple of feet closer to the door.
How did Brock do that? Training?

‘Back in a minute, Sofe,' Brock said gently. ‘Keep holding the ice near your eye.'

Brock stood and swung around, his movement economical and fluid for a man his size. Every inch of his muscular frame under control. His presence dominated the room. Not missing his stride, he had Jett hooked under an arm, hauled him up and slammed him against the wall, forearm to his throat.

And Brock's rage was unleashed.

Sofie had never seen Brock use ‘physical' force with anyone, and to see it now was frightening. His explosive emotions, along with Jett's fear, made her skin prickle. Cold seeped through her skin, she hugged her arms around herself, at the same time trying to stand and call out to Brock, but he wasn't listening.

Brock growled, ‘You have got to be fucking insane!'

‘I didn't do that! It was all an accident.'

‘I told you not to approach Sofie or Claudia. Get it into your thick skull, they want nothing to do with you!'

‘She's my wife, my family, you said so yourself. You said teenagers were a pain in the arse,' Jett squeezed out through a constricted throat.

‘That was said so you would open up and talk. And in the meantime you've added your own slant to it. Get this—' with his free hand, he jabbed a finger into Jett's chest, ‘—not one word of what I said that day was true—not one! It was all about protecting my woman and her amazing daughter. Nothing else. So far you've done nothing but damage. And you call yourself a man—a father!'

‘I have every right to talk to her … er, them.'

‘The moment you left your
wife
, left your
family
to cope on their own—you gave up that right,' Brock snarled. ‘And the moment they tell you to leave them
alone
—that's exactly what you do!'

‘This is police harassment,' Jett wheezed.

‘Yeah?' Brock tilted his head as if considering, but not really. ‘As you can see I'm not in uniform, but you know what?' He edged closer, almost nose to nose with Jett, who pushed back as far as he could against a wall. ‘Even if I was, I wouldn't give a shit!' The anger and power behind his voice electrified the room.

Heart pounding Sofie tried to call out, but all she managed was a raspy whisper. ‘Brock.'

His arm remained across Jett's throat as he swung around. ‘It's all right, Sofe, I'm not going to hurt this piece of shit, but bottom line—' he turned back to face Jett, ‘—Had you not started this bullshit, Sofie wouldn't be holding an icepack to her face right now. Do you understand me?!' he roared.

Jett nodded. Brock eased his hold on him.

Sofie heaved a sigh, thinking
crisis over, thank God
.

‘Sofe?' Brock called to her.

‘Yes,' she said as loud as she dared.

‘You left a message on my phone, you still want talk to this scum?'

She put her hand up, hoping he understood that she wanted to tell him what she thought. He gave a brief nod, and Sofie continued, carefully. ‘He wants me to buy him a house in Rose Bay or Vaucluse.' She stopped for a moment and dared to lick her lips. ‘He wants money, that's all. I hoped he wanted to mend relations with Claud. He's using my sweet girl to get to me.'

Enraged, Brock yanked Jett to within an inch of his face, his feet barely touching the floor.

Sofie strained to hear what he had to say.

‘Don't
fuck
with my girl, don't
fuck
with my girl's daughter, you've caused them both enough pain to last a life time! Lastly, do
not
fuck with
me
.' Brock paused, neck and shoulders rigid, then continued, his tone threatening when he hissed. ‘On second thoughts, yeah, fuck with
me
. Do it, Jett!' he dared on a deep growl. ‘Test me—I'll throw in my badge—and you'll end up on life support with a tube to feed you, and another to take your shit.' Jett's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to swallow. ‘Yeah, that's right. No skin off my nose if I'm on the force or not; make no mistake, I mean every word.'