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Wrong Number

Dinner Talk

HOLLY’S POV

Whilst it was something that I should have become accustomed to by now; the raw scent of defeated sweat, fresh blood and dry dirt mixed on the fight cage floor still made my stomach twist. The sound of grown men cheering on young, weak athletes all looking for a rags to riches story to their deaths made me feel physically ill; although I knew that if it weren’t human beings tossed into those cages, there’d be dogs, and that; knowing that innocent animals were being mistreated, I couldn’t live with.

The slapping sound of bare fists coming into contact with skin echoed throughout the substructure beneath my fathers home. It was his piece of non-existent reality away from the world he often referred to as harsh and inconsiderate. The soles of my shoes padded along the ground quietly as my fingers intertwined and fell to my waist; the crowd parted as I walked through towards a man I could only want to describe as the devil yet had to refer to as ‘daddy’; - the cigar at his lips only budging to let him speak.

“Holly, princess – I thought I told you not to come down here after 6...”
“But Daddy, dinner’s ready..”

The crowd made up of faces I was both familiar with and knew along with eyes and smirks I hadn’t before seen fell quiet; my father standing to his feet, fixing the way his suit jacket rest on his chest announced unbiased that the ‘fight’ would continue later on in the night. I knew for a fact that this wasn’t over; the look both men in the ring gave me was a combination of relieved and deceived.

“Let’s go princess”, my father spoke with his dry, rough tone placing his arm out so that I could link mine through. For someone as ruthless as himself, he sure did have a soft side that came out every once in a while.

Pork tenderloin and roasted vegetables; that’s what we sat down at the table for tonight. Between gluttonous bites and sips of local red wine; Maria the family maid did rounds of the dining table to ensure everyone was taken care of – my sister, Chloe who had dropped by for dinner, her boyfriend Ryan who my father wasn’t completely sold on yet nonetheless dismally impressed with, myself – the youngest of the Davidson household and a place-setting for my mother who would have been with us had she not been shot down in front of the family home years ago.

“So how’s work Daddy”, Chloe sparked up, her eyes lit bright and the smile across her face painting more a picture of deception than anything else.
“Like you care”, I mouthed silently, waiting for my fathers response on the now subject at hand.
“Good sweetheart; busy..”

He was lying. He always lied when he used the word sweetheart in a sentence. Work had been flat lately. There wasn’t necessarily a market for stolen goods and counterfeit documents. The fight scene – the betting, the cash flow, the monetary gain; that’s where his focus was at the moment and we knew better than to bring that up in conversation away from the cage and rings.

“How about you Clo?”, I asked pushing the conversation along. My sister threw her napkin onto her lap and braced the edge of the table we were sitting at to deliver assumingly her news.
“So, Ryan and I have been given the research grants we applied for last fall to work on our psychological project”, she began to explain.
“The connection between men and violence”, Ryan said throwing his two cents in.
“And we were wondering Daddy”, Chloe continued putting on a childish voice, “If you’d let us interview some of your fighters--.”
“No.”

His words were cold and stern.

“But.. Daddy – we need research material and--.”
“No.”

His words were simple yet austere.

Falling back against her seat; the colour from my sisters face washed out from what I’m assuming was the only reason she’d come over for dinner tonight. It wasn’t a secret in regards to the ‘activities’ my father was hosting; yet with the reputation and money flow he had, it was something a lot of people – even law enforcement turned a blind eye towards.

“I um.. just going to excuse myself”, I pardoned quickly rushing out into the hallway.

I was never someone who liked confrontation; and even though this small bicker was between my father and sister, I couldn’t quite help but feel if I was around him or her for long enough, I’d somehow get involved at no intention of my own. Heart racing and breaths short, I tried to compose myself before I headed back in. I knew my food was getting cold but I was worried about could possibly happen – my father and sister had the same kind of temperament. Shutting my eyes, wishing my mother was still here so that she could keep conversation civil; I felt someone walk into me; pushing my shoulder forward as I stood in the middle of the hall.

“Sorry…”, the voice apologized before I had a chance to open my eyes.
“It’s fine---“, I rushed tripping over my own words as I took a first glance at the person.

He stood tall; well above my height dressed in all black aside from his boots, which stood out as charcoal coloured. His eyes were the same colour as my own – a genetic trait which took from my mothers side and unlike almost everyone else I’d been around, he smelt of cologne which was yet to be tainted from physical exertion.

“Can I help you?”, I asked quietly, wondering how the hell anyone had made it into the house I didn’t have a vague idea of. His hands slid into his pockets before a small step forward closed the already tiny gap, which had been left between the two of us.

“I was hoping to speak to Ronald Davidson”, he explained; his lips pursing when he spoke.
“He’s having dinner”, I explained not thinking, “And you are?”
“Mr Styles”, he informed me, “We have a business meeting – you might call it.”
“Oh, well I’ll get Daddy to come see you right away then.”
“Daddy?”, he asked raising an eyebrow, “Ron never told me he had a daughter.”
“Two”, I corrected him shifting my weight from one leg to the other before deciding to enter the dining room again, “I guess there’s just something’s he likes to keep secret.”