Anything for Her Read Online Free
Author: Jack Jordan
night, until she approaches a bridge; she impulsively pulls to a stop in the middle ofit, making the brakes squeal. Pulling up the handbrake, she turns off the engine and gets out.
It’s dark. The only light is that of the moon reflecting on the surface of the deep, wide river that passes under the bridge. The trees that frame each side of the river look like sinister walls, which keep the water flowing in the right direction.
Louise stands at the edge of the bridge, her hands on the ice-cold metal barrier, and breathes the fresh air into her lungs. The chill of the wind that stalks the flowing river stings her face.
Here. I’ll do it here. Tonight I will set myself free
.
She places a trembling leg over the barrier and fumbles to rest her foot on the narrow edge on the other side, sliding her body over the cold metal. Her heart is pounding in protest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She rests the tips of her feet on the ledge, facing her car on the bridge, and musters the courage to turn around. She releases her grip on the metal rail with her left hand and pushes it out behind her as she turns on her feet, twisting and turning her body over the drop of the fall. Her left hand clasps the metal bar on the other side of her. She looks out, facing the river and the drop below. The full moon watches her intently from the sky.
As she gazes down at the long fall and the rocks protruding menacingly from the flowing ice-cold water, she begins to cry with overwhelming fear; shewonders how much pain she will feel before she is freed from this life forever.
Chapter Five
Brooke picks the lock to the drinks cabinet in the grand living room and removes her father’s favourite bottle of whisky.
You cheated on Mum
, she thinks as she looks down at the label, checking it is definitely his most expensive, beloved bottle.
The least you deserve is to have your favourite whisky taken from you, you deceitful son of a bitch
.
If her father’s car still technically belonged to him, Brooke would go outside and drag her house key up and down the paintwork with vengeful glee. That is, if his car was in front of the house, and not where she suspects – outside Denise’s flat, where he is no doubt distracting himself between Denise’s legs.
Brooke goes downstairs and fixes herself a strong whisky and cola with two cubes of ice. She heads outside into the courtyard and sits at the table on the patio. She lights a cigarette.
The air is cold enough to make her body shiver and her teeth chatter; even the smoke escaping her lips emerges in clipped, quivering billows.
Where the hell are you, Mum?
She has called her mother three times today. All she has been able to think about is her parents fighting thewhole night long, her mother leaving, and her lack of sleep, which caused her to nod off in several of her sixth-form lessons.
She takes a drag on her cigarette and two large gulps of the whisky, which is strong enough to make her grimace.
She thinks back to some of the things she overheard her parents yelling the night before.
You’re a despicable excuse of a man! How can you even try to justify sleeping with my
sister
?
You’ve been impossible for the past year – depressed and always crying. It’s like my wife has died and has been replaced by a crazed woman who wakes up screaming in the night. You have so many secrets it’s difficult to keep up with them. I thought
you
were having an affair!
Don’t be ridiculous. I could never be that cold-hearted. Would that make you feel better? If I went and jumped into bed with your brother? Would that even the score?
Don’t change the subject. You’re always trying to get out of talking about your secrets. What the hell has happened to my wife? What bloody happened that night?
Brooke knocks back her drink and the strength of the whisky makes her eyes glisten; she closes them and listens to the sounds of London: police sirens, car horns, distant chatter from nearby streets. Even
It’s dark. The only light is that of the moon reflecting on the surface of the deep, wide river that passes under the bridge. The trees that frame each side of the river look like sinister walls, which keep the water flowing in the right direction.
Louise stands at the edge of the bridge, her hands on the ice-cold metal barrier, and breathes the fresh air into her lungs. The chill of the wind that stalks the flowing river stings her face.
Here. I’ll do it here. Tonight I will set myself free
.
She places a trembling leg over the barrier and fumbles to rest her foot on the narrow edge on the other side, sliding her body over the cold metal. Her heart is pounding in protest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She rests the tips of her feet on the ledge, facing her car on the bridge, and musters the courage to turn around. She releases her grip on the metal rail with her left hand and pushes it out behind her as she turns on her feet, twisting and turning her body over the drop of the fall. Her left hand clasps the metal bar on the other side of her. She looks out, facing the river and the drop below. The full moon watches her intently from the sky.
As she gazes down at the long fall and the rocks protruding menacingly from the flowing ice-cold water, she begins to cry with overwhelming fear; shewonders how much pain she will feel before she is freed from this life forever.
Chapter Five
Brooke picks the lock to the drinks cabinet in the grand living room and removes her father’s favourite bottle of whisky.
You cheated on Mum
, she thinks as she looks down at the label, checking it is definitely his most expensive, beloved bottle.
The least you deserve is to have your favourite whisky taken from you, you deceitful son of a bitch
.
If her father’s car still technically belonged to him, Brooke would go outside and drag her house key up and down the paintwork with vengeful glee. That is, if his car was in front of the house, and not where she suspects – outside Denise’s flat, where he is no doubt distracting himself between Denise’s legs.
Brooke goes downstairs and fixes herself a strong whisky and cola with two cubes of ice. She heads outside into the courtyard and sits at the table on the patio. She lights a cigarette.
The air is cold enough to make her body shiver and her teeth chatter; even the smoke escaping her lips emerges in clipped, quivering billows.
Where the hell are you, Mum?
She has called her mother three times today. All she has been able to think about is her parents fighting thewhole night long, her mother leaving, and her lack of sleep, which caused her to nod off in several of her sixth-form lessons.
She takes a drag on her cigarette and two large gulps of the whisky, which is strong enough to make her grimace.
She thinks back to some of the things she overheard her parents yelling the night before.
You’re a despicable excuse of a man! How can you even try to justify sleeping with my
sister
?
You’ve been impossible for the past year – depressed and always crying. It’s like my wife has died and has been replaced by a crazed woman who wakes up screaming in the night. You have so many secrets it’s difficult to keep up with them. I thought
you
were having an affair!
Don’t be ridiculous. I could never be that cold-hearted. Would that make you feel better? If I went and jumped into bed with your brother? Would that even the score?
Don’t change the subject. You’re always trying to get out of talking about your secrets. What the hell has happened to my wife? What bloody happened that night?
Brooke knocks back her drink and the strength of the whisky makes her eyes glisten; she closes them and listens to the sounds of London: police sirens, car horns, distant chatter from nearby streets. Even