Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

victims of sexual abuse to overcome post-traumatic stress disorder. But past memories are like a scrapbook of emotions and senses, rather than, say, a film reel. It’s my job to help you gain a greater sense of control. We can then replace painful emotions and behaviours with positive ones.’ She tilted her head to one side, closely observing Mo’s face. ‘Do you understand? Not everything you recall may have happened; there may be moments when you fill in the blanks.’

‘I get it,’ Mo said, checking her watch. She hadn’t come here for a lecture. ‘Can we just get on with it?’ The therapist’s spiel was probably the same bullshit she gave to all her clients, to cover herself. But it didn’t apply to Mo. Her memories hadn’t been repressed, because she still recalled most of it. She was talking about her teenage years, not back when she was three or four. Had she told her therapist just how much she remembered, she may not have allowed her the luxury of revisiting the past. But she was right in one respect – her sharpened memories had helped her understand who she was. Mo inhaled deeply, feeling weightless as Ms Harkness counted back. Then she was there, barely a teenager, her eyes darting from side to side as Wes asked her to do the unthinkable.

‘Are you sure about this, babe?’ he said, his gaze intense as they locked eyes. Mo managed a slow nod. They were on the landing of a grubby flat, standing next to a bedroom door. Mo swallowed as Wes rested his hand on the doorknob, ready to show her inside. The truth was, she was not sure at all. She was only fourteen; what did she know about being nice to strange men? She tugged at the clothes Wes had given her. The shirt that was straining to stay buttoned and the short pleated skirt that barely covered her bum. It looked more like a shrunken school uniform than something she would wear to go out in. She knew nothing of how things should be between a boyfriend and girlfriend, but this felt all wrong. This wasn’t the setting she had imagined – the posh house with the hot tub. This grubby flat in Brixton was only marginally better than the squats in which they spent their time. ‘You . . . You won’t be jealous? You don’t mind?’ Mo said, grasping at straws.

But Wes did not seem fazed. ‘How would I be jealous when I know you don’t want this?’ He gave her a patient smile. ‘It proves how much you love me. Nobody’s ever done that for me before.’

Mo tried to understand his logic. So, it was better if she hated every minute of this? She forced a smile. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Whatever they want,’ he replied, his fingers curling around the nape of her neck. He leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. ‘This way, we can stay together – forever.’

‘For . . . forever?’ Mo blinked.

Wes drew a small white tablet from a baggy in his back pocket. ‘Take this. It’ll make you feel better.’

Mo placed the pill on her tongue and swallowed. She was grateful for the drug, which would help her cope with what lay behind the bedroom door. Tears pricked her eyes. All she wanted was to be special. To be loved. For Wes to tell her that she didn’t need to do this. But Jen was coming up the stairs, right on cue. ‘Good girl,’ Wes said. ‘Jen will show you what to do.’

Just like the changing of the guards, Wes marched down the stairs while Jen came up. Neither spoke to each other, but Jen looked matter-of-fact. Back then, Mo did not know it, but she had been played. ‘There’s two blokes in there,’ Jen whispered. ‘Be nice to them and do whatever they say. It shouldn’t take too long – an hour tops.’

An hour sounded like forever. Mo knew this would be more than sweet talk. She remembered how quickly things had escalated with Wes. In this world, ‘being nice’ meant something else entirely, but she could not back out now.

‘Has it kicked in yet?’ Jen said, referring to the pill.

Mo nodded as her world blurred around the edges. As Jen opened the bedroom door, Mo felt like she was walking on air. There were two men, much older than Wes, sitting on the edge of the bed. One had already stripped to his boxers. The other kicked off his trainers and began undoing the buttons of his plaid shirt. As soon as Mo saw the look on their faces, she knew what she had been brought there for. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Jen led her to the men. A nod of approval passed between them before Jen left the room.

Both men were smiling. The taller one in the plaid shirt was chewing a wad of gum. The second one was more rotund, with eyes so dark they seemed black. But it was not the colour of his eyes that frightened Mo; it was the intent behind them. As he ran his fingers down her arm, Mo wanted to scream and run, but she was rooted to the spot. Her body seemed dissociated from her thoughts, her legs betraying her as the men led her to the bed. ‘You’re a nice bit of stuff,’ one of the men said, before spitting his gum into the corner of the room. She lay on the bed as instructed, hoping they would at least be quick. As they stripped off her scant clothing, the blanket was rough against her bare skin. She was enveloped by the smell of tobacco on the large man’s breath. The stink of his sweat. They were both naked now, directing her on to all fours. One grabbed at her breasts while the other one pushed into her from behind. Closing her eyes tightly, Mo began to sing a tune in her head. On and on it