About the Author

Kerry Barnes, born in 1964, grew up on a council estate in South-East London. Pushed by her parents to become a doctor, she entered the world of science and became a microbiologist. After studying law and pharmaceuticals, her career turned to medicine.

Having dyslexia didn’t deter her from her passion for writing. She began writing when her daughter was born thirty years ago. Once her children had grown up she moved to the Kent coast and now writes full time.

Praise for Kerry Barnes

‘A shocking, gripping read’

Dreda Say Mitchell

‘Sweeps along at a breakneck pace’

Anna Smith

‘Another cracker from Kerry Barnes. The Hunted is a rollercoaster ride!’

Jaime Raven

‘An absolute must-read from this talented author.’

Jacqui Rose

Also by Kerry Barnes

Deceit

The Hunted

The Rules

The Choice
KERRY BARNES

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Kerry Barnes 2019

Kerry Barnes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008314798

Version: 2019-06-20

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for Kerry Barnes

Also by Kerry Barnes

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

About the Publisher

For Terrie Taylor

You were an inspiration and I only hope you knew that.

God bless.

Chapter 1

As soon as the huge metal door that sealed off the hidden room was slammed shut, Torvic felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten and his jaw clench. He still couldn’t feel his hands because the ropes were so tight that his circulation was cut off. As his bowels churned, he felt sick. He needed to shit but he had to stop himself. He was the Governor and could take on most things, but shitting himself and losing his dignity wasn’t one of them.

He looked at his granddaughter Tiffany and wondered if he should just have let her lead a normal life instead of pulling her into his world. He stared at her head. It was tilted back, with sweat covering her brow, along with a blue tint that lined her lips. His eyes watered as he recalled that horrific moment when Zara made him choose either Tiffany’s life or his son Alastair’s. He wondered if he ever managed to escape this hellhole, he would be able to forget the torment of making the choice. The smell of his son’s burning flesh still lingered inside the hangar and Tiffany’s semiconscious moans still rang in his ears. To him, his granddaughter was still a kid, but Zara Ezra hadn’t seen it that way.

He gritted his teeth when he thought of the hard-faced bitch. She had to be the sickest-minded woman he’d ever met. He should have admired her, and yet his anger towards her overruled his rational mind. She’d said she would stoop to depths lower than the Governor – he himself – would ever dream of, and, by Christ, she had meant it. He really thought he’d had her fooled. He’d been the man they were hunting down – the Governor – and there he’d been, right under their noses all the time, pretending to be a dear old friend of her father’s. He should have given her more credit. Yet, never in his wildest dreams would he have believed her to be as smart as her father. Izzy Ezra had been a genius. Not many could match his brains and power. But Torvic realized that his earlier assessment of Zara’s ability had been completely wrong. For while her father had been a good teacher, she’d been an exceptional student.

There was no question that Zara had listened to Izzy and listened well. Torvic felt every nerve in his body come alive with fury because Zara had played him for a fool. Pretending she was in over her head, she’d acted like a vulnerable woman, lost in confusion. Zara was good, he had to give her that. All the time she’d confided in him, letting him believe she had concerns regarding the Lanigans’ and the Regans’ loyalty, she’d been dangerously plotting his capture. He should have sussed her out; he should have realized that Zara wouldn’t suspect Mike Regan – the one man she loved – or his brother Eric for that matter. Torvic knew he’d been mugged off big time, and yet he had one last hope, which was that his new recruit was up to all she’d promised. However, he did have that nagging doubt as to whether she would be a match for Zara.

Tiffany was insensible, the terror over the last few hours having knocked the stuffing right out of her. Torvic wished he could just take away her fear. He looked at the shut door. ‘Hurry up, woman, for fuck’s sake,’ he said to himself. A sudden vision shot through his mind, and, for a moment, he had to breathe deeply to hold back the vomit that was about to protrude from his mouth. He wondered if he’d actually been blindsided by all his previous success. Had he really gone down the path that had made him believe he was invincible?

Alastair sure as hell thought he had, but, yet again, his eldest son had been a psychopath, and up until the point that the flesh-eating acid had been poured over his head, he’d shown absolutely no emotion.

He looked back at Tiffany. No wonder she was so traumatized, seeing such a horrific scene. Not even Stephen King could have dreamed that one up. He shuddered and then felt his bowels rumble again.

Just as he thought there was no hope and that the woman had bottled out, the sudden heavy rumbling, as the door began to slide open, made his heart pound. He stared at the opening, willing it to be her and not Zara. His prayers were answered. There, standing like Catwoman, dressed in black jeans, a black jumper, and with her black hair tied back, stood his dark angel. She looked sleek – like Zara – and even her stance was similar, but she was a little rougher around the edges.

The woman looked behind her and then quickly nipped inside. Torvic’s notion that maybe she was a match for Zara soon went out of the window when she nervously fumbled around in her oversized bag. Eventually, after digging around and pulling half of the contents out, she found what she was looking for – a knife. She quickly got to work cutting Torvic free.

As soon as his hands were in front of him, he ripped the tape from his mouth. ‘You took ya fucking time, didn’t ya?’

‘I had to be sure they were all out of sight. Don’t moan at me. I did what ya fucking wanted. Now, where’s the rest of me dosh?’ she demanded, as she began putting everything back into her bag, battling with a sudden gust of wind, which had blown some of her papers across the smoothly polished concrete floor.

Torvic was unravelling the rope from his feet. ‘For fuck’s sake, woman, cut her ties, will ya!’

Shaken by the bellowing from Torvic’s mouth, she scooped up the remainder of her belongings and rushed to cut his granddaughter free. By the time she’d hacked through the rope, Torvic was on his feet.

He aggressively took over. ‘Right. Take us to the car and I’ll get you your fucking money. Help me with her, will ya! The girl’s traumatized.’

‘Cor, you’ve changed ya tune. You were all sweet words and roses last week. Now, you’re like a bear with a sore head.’

Torvic was about to lay into her verbally but thought better of it. He didn’t need any two-bit brass running and squealing to the Regans. ‘Sorry, babe, it’s just been a tough night.’

‘You’re fucking lucky I actually managed to open this fucking door or whatever the hell it is. It was only the fact that Zara forgot to put the remote in her pocket and it was on the worktop, or you would’ve been locked up for good and probably dead in a few hours.’

Torvic glared. ‘Dear woman, they wouldn’t have killed me. They think I have something they want.’

‘Oh yeah, and what’s that then?’

‘A contact, a piece of information,’ replied Torvic, with a sickly grin and an evil look of spite in his hooded eyes.

She stared for a moment. Was she looking at a reincarnation of the Devil? A man in his sixties, Torvic was dark and devious, and the way in which he lifted up Tiffany demonstrated that he was as strong as an ox.

* * *

Shelley Marwood sat on the hard wooden chair, nervously biting her nails. It should never have been this way, grovelling for her father’s help. She wondered if the cold, uncomfortable chair was a deliberate ploy to make his clients tense or whether its purpose was to deter them from sitting there for hours and talking too much. Was he getting a kick out of this? she thought. Nevertheless, she had no choice – he was her only hope.

Colin Crawford, a man in his early seventies, still had an extreme air of authority about him. As a child, Shelley could never understand why people feared and respected him. Why they stuttered or shuffled nervously in his presence was beyond her. He was always so sweet, gentle, and kind to her – at least he had been at one time. But as he turned from gazing out at the urban landscape, she could tell from that grave look in his eyes what it felt like to fear him.

He clasped his perfectly manicured hands together in front of him. A thin smile formed, one that lifted his cold, grey eyes. ‘So you want my help?’

She nodded fast. ‘Yes. Please, Dad.’

He unclasped his hands, stood up, and walked back to the window and stared off into the myriad shapes of London.

She followed him with her eyes, holding her breath, and waiting for him just to tell her he would. The silence seemed to linger for so long, her palms were wet with sweat.

‘You have a fucking nerve, Shelley. But you have front asking me, I’ll give ya that. I like your balls.’

‘Dad—’

He spun around, sharply stopping her from continuing. ‘Don’t you “dad” me. Dad is a term of endearment. The proper word is father. However, even that doesn’t seem fitting, coming from your mouth.’

She swallowed hard and wanted to cry. He was a stranger at that moment. The man with the pearl-grey hair, chiselled cheekbones, and thin lips looked at her like she was a piece of shit. Longing for the expression he’d shown her in the past brought tears to her eyes.

‘Shelley, don’t put on the fake waterworks. It has the least effect on me.’

‘Dad, please, it was such a long time ago …’

Colin narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, you are damn right there, and a lot has changed, like your dear mother dying without you showing your face, with not even a call. That poor woman died longing to hear your voice one more time. But you, ya selfish bitch, couldn’t even be fucking bothered. So why should I do anything to help you, eh?’

The venom in his voice raised her anger. ‘Because, Father, he’s your fucking grandson.’

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she wished she hadn’t said them. He was over to her in a flash. With one almighty flick of the back of his hand, she was knocked sideways. She clutched her mouth and felt her puffy lips sting.

With both knuckles now on his desk, his eyes bore into her. ‘Grandson!’ he yelled. ‘You have no idea what you fucking did to us. You let us bond with the boy, and then you did the unthinkable. Not only did your sweet mother lose you, she lost her grandson too, and now you expect me to help him when I don’t even know the boy.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Christ alive, you’re one selfish bitch. D’ya know that?’

‘Dad, doesn’t this show you just how desperate I am? I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve had to live with it for over twenty years. I’m sorry. You have to believe me. I am so sorry.’ She could force another tear, but he hated tears, never believing that they were real.

‘Oh yeah, that’s right. What you did was disgusting. Of all the fucking men on the planet, you shacked up with my enemy. Oh, and I bet he was having a right good flaming laugh. Well, Shelley, tell me this. Why ain’t your fucking husband coughing up the goods, eh? Why ain’t your darling Nicolas making arrangements? Past it now, is he? Washed up and dried out, is he?’

Shelley lowered her gaze in shame.

‘Well?’ he screamed.

‘He’s left me,’ she whispered contritely.

Colin stared in disbelief. His daughter – this good-looking woman – had married Nicolas Marwood, a much older man. In fact, he was nearly the same age as himself. At forty-three, Shelley could easily pass for thirty-three. Her auburn hair, cut in a pixie style, and her round hazel eyes were fashionably attractive, and she’d not let her figure go to waste either.

‘He’s left you? Why?’ he demanded.

She looked up, hoping to see some compassion on his face, but he just stared ominously at her with those cold, dark eyes.

‘He was sniffing around a younger woman, took me credit card, and then he threw me out with just enough money to rent a gaff.’

‘You’re his wife. You’re entitled to fucking half! Jesus, girl, you ain’t that thick, surely to God, are ya?’

‘No, Dad, I ain’t that thick. But our money wasn’t in any fucking bank accounts, was it? The house was in his brother’s name, the cars were in his name, and the cash was hidden in places that only he knew about, so that’s about the fucking strength of it.’

‘I fucking knew this would happen. You can’t even do up your shoelaces by yourself. For fuck’s sake, that bastard took you away from me, and now he’s left you hung out to dry and he’s still having the last laugh.’

She wanted to defend Nicolas, but then she thought if she agreed with her father, he would be more inclined to help her.

‘Yes, Dad, I reckon he is, but, as I said, I can’t do fuck all about it.’

‘Well, I can. Where’s his brother live? I’ll send him a visitor. I want that house in your name and—’

‘Dad, I don’t care about the money or the status. I just need you to help my son. And you’re the only one who can sort this situation out. Please!’

‘He got himself in this fucking mess. He’s a stinking druggie.’

‘No, I swear, he’s not anymore,’ she pleaded.

‘Well, he’s a bloody idiot, chucking shit down his neck. It only ends up one way – huge debts or being dead.’

‘I know, I know, but please help me. You have contacts, so you can help him.’ She watched his face, knowing the cogs were turning. She really wanted to be brave and suggest that it was probably his drugs that her son had been hooked on. She wasn’t blind and knew that her father had his hand in the drug underworld. But she kept what she knew about her father’s dealings to herself.

‘Ya know what? I never had your husband put in a concrete boulder and stuck at the bottom of the river because you were his wife. End of. But now, I have no reason to hold back. You give me everything you have on that man, and I’ll help your son.’

‘Your grandson, Dad. He’s your bleedin’ flesh and blood too.’

‘Don’t push it, Shelley. Now go, and then come back when you have enough information for me to annihilate that son of a bitch.’

As Shelley got up from her chair, she faltered, unsure whether to attempt a hug; yet, again, he turned his back on her and looked out of the window once more.

Closing the door behind her, Shelley allowed a satisfied grin to creep across her face. She thought the meeting could’ve gone a lot worse. However, she’d put on her best acting skills and exaggerated the truth just enough to suck him. It had clearly worked.

* * *

Zara pushed back the white cotton sheet and was about to swing her legs around to clamber from the bed, when a heavy hand stopped her.

‘No way is my future wife gonna slip outta the sheets without a kiss. We’ll start as we mean to go on.’

Zara allowed a smile to lift her cheeks. It felt surreal, waking up in Mike’s bed for the first time ever. The years of stubbornly playing with each other’s emotions had now come to this. She was the boss, and yet, in their relationship, he would call the shots. She rolled into his open arms and snuggled her nose into his neck. ‘You feel so good, Mikey.’

‘And don’t you forget it, my wife-to-be.’

‘Er … I don’t see a ring on this finger yet.’ She laughed, holding up her right hand.

For a moment, Mike’s heart felt heavy. She should have been holding up her left hand, but she couldn’t, as there wasn’t one.

‘Well, today, we are gonna do something about that. You and I, my angel, are gonna pick the biggest, fattest diamond you fancy and show the world ya mine.’

‘A bit controlling, wouldn’t you say?’

Mike shuffled so that he was face-to-face with Zara. He blinked as he took in her natural beauty. Her skin glowed with the freshness of the morning.

‘There is no man or woman alive that could control you, and you bloody well know it.’

She gently kissed his lips and then pulled away. ‘No, Mikey, there isn’t because outside of me and you, there’s my business, and that’s when I’m the boss. But inside this house and outside of work, I might just let you take control.’ She winked. ‘Er, well, every so often perhaps.’

‘What, like this?’ he replied, as he rolled on top of her and grabbed at her underwear, ripping her knickers away from her. She looked at the passion in his eyes and felt her heart race. She loved the way he was so animalistic in the bedroom, and yet she could be just the same. She snatched the back of his head and pulled him close, biting his bottom lip.

Disturbed by the phone ringing, Zara tried to pull away.

‘Leave it, babe.’

‘No, not today. We still have business to attend to.’

Mike rolled off and stared up at the ceiling. She was right. Torvic and his granddaughter, Tiffany, were still tied up in the secret room at the back of the hangar.

‘Hello, what’s up?’ asked Zara, as soon as she answered the call.

‘Fuck me, Zara, the hangar. Torvic and Tiffany have gone!’ said Neil, her business partner.

Mike could tell from the shock on Zara’s face that something was awry. He jumped up from the bed. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Instantly, Zara sat upright. She put the phone on loudspeaker so that Mike could hear. ‘You what? How can that be? The fucking room was locked. No one apart from us knows how to open it, and I have the … Oh shit, wait. Did I bring the remote with me? Hold on!’ She turned to Mike. ‘Where’s my jacket?’

He bent down and picked up the padded jacket that had been thrown on the floor before they’d ripped each other’s clothes off in the early hours.

She snatched it from him and searched the pockets. To her horror, they were empty. ‘Oh no! Damn it, I must’ve fucking left the remote there!’

Mike shook his head and expelled air heavily from his mouth. ‘Fuck me!’

For a moment, Zara looked at Mike and considered whether he viewed her as an idiot, because, right now, she saw herself as exactly that. After all they’d achieved last night, she’d blown it completely by leaving behind the bloody remote device that opened up the back room.

Seriously agitated, Mike was running his hands through his hair and pacing the floor. ‘It’s all my fucking fault!’

Zara was puzzled and gave an exaggerated frown. ‘How do you work that one out?’

His face dropped in shame. ‘’Cos if I hadn’t distracted you so much before we left, you would’ve remembered the remote. Bloody hell, we were tired, you were tired. I should’ve let you finish up before I decided to propose and get all fucking soppy.’ He sighed heavily.

‘Mike, have a bloody day off, will ya? It wasn’t your fault. You’re right. It was a hell of a long night and shit happens. Now we need to get ourselves together.’

There was silence as all three, including Neil, who was still on the phone, tried to take it in.

‘Neil, give me a minute. I’ll call ya back. I need to get my head around this.’

She placed the phone back on the bedside table and turned to face Mike, who was now jumping into his jeans.

‘What the fuck d’ya think’s happened?’

Mike was white-faced and angry. ‘I dunno, but we all need to meet up. I’ll call the lads. If that bastard is on the loose, then whoever set him free has more clout than us. Fuck me, we don’t even know who we’re dealing with.’

Zara wrapped her silk robe around her naked body. She would have drooled over Mike in just his jeans and with his huge muscular chest on show, but not this morning. The fear of Torvic taking revenge shot through her like shards of glass. Her stomach churned when she thought of what she’d made Torvic do to his own son. The acid had burned the man’s skin from his bones. Jesus, she thought, what if he planned to do the same to anyone in her firm? Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

Mike was now frantically trying to find his phone. His main concern was for Ricky, his son, who’d been recovering in hospital following Torvic’s son’s brutal attack on him. Ricky was supposed to be discharged at lunchtime.

Mike was sweating profusely. He couldn’t let anything happen to Ricky – not now, when he had just been reunited. He’d lost contact with his son from the age of six, until meeting him unexpectedly in Maidstone Prison only months before their final release.

In all that time apart, both Ricky and his father believed each other to be dead, so now they had an unbreakable bond, and Mike was buggered if he was going to let Torvic get his hands on him now.

‘Ring my phone, Zara. I can’t fucking find the poxy thing.’

With her body shaking, she dialled his number; Mike pulled his phone from his back pocket.

Zara rolled her eyes. ‘Babe, we need to calm down and think this through.’

Mike didn’t answer her; he was calling the hospital. After a few minutes, he yelled, ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake, why don’t they bloody pick up?’

‘Mikey, seriously, you need to calm down. Call Ricky’s mobile.’

Mike took a deep breath. She was right, of course. He really wasn’t being clear-headed.

Ricky’s phone rang twice before he answered. ‘Dad, are you coming to pick me up? The doctor said I can go home in an hour’s time. They’re—’

‘Son, listen to me. Stay put and I will get Staffie to pick you up. Do not, and I mean do not, leave that hospital with anyone other than him.’

‘Dad, what’s going on?’

‘I ain’t got time to explain. Please, just do as I ask.’

‘Of course, Dad. No worries.’

Mike sighed with relief. ‘Right, I’m gonna get the lads over here now and make a fucking watertight plan.’

Zara raised her brow. ‘Er, no, we’ll meet at my house. It’s more secure. I have cameras.’

Mike was about to demand otherwise but he was aware she was in charge. It was agreed and that was that. He bit his lip and nodded.

Zara quickly pulled on her jeans, threw on a black jumper, and tied her hair back into a ponytail.

‘Let’s go. We’ll call the others on the way.’

* * *

Once Zara had reached the entrance to her long drive, she pressed the fob clipped to her car visor and the ornate metal gates opened. She drove slowly, surveying the land on either side of the drive, looking for anything that was out of place. The early morning dark clouds made the house in the distance appear eerie. It was dauntingly large and resembled a castle – just how her father had designed it. Paranoia wormed its way through her mind as she began thinking all sorts of crazy things. It wasn’t surprising though, after the previous evening’s events at the hangar. Knowing Torvic, he would seek retribution, so, in the cold light of day, anything was possible right now.

As she peered in the rear-view mirror, she could see two cars behind her. Fortunately, she recognized them as Willie Ritz’s and Neil Lanigan’s vehicles. Lou Baker was riding shotgun with Willie.

Willie and Lou stepped out of the car and made their way to Zara’s Range Rover, where they climbed in.

Willie looked like Stig of the Dump, with his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes heavy with brown rings.

Mike shook his head. ‘State of you! Ya need to leave off that gear, mate. You look like death warmed up.’

‘Thanks for the compliment. Anyway, what’s the hold-up?’ He winked and gave a cheeky grin.

Mike looked at Lou, who was the polar opposite of Willie. In his Hackett three-piece dark-blue suit and with his hair neatly cut and freshly shaven, he appeared groomed to perfection.

‘We’re not sure if Torvic or his men are already at the house.’

Unexpectedly, Willie sighed, climbed back out of the car, and marched on ahead.

‘Oi, Willie, what the fuck are you doing, mate?’ called out Mike, from the open passenger window.

Willie, in his long jacket and with his sleeves a tad too short, spun around. ‘It’s been pissing down all night. Wet mud will show any footprints.’

Zara stepped out of the car on hearing Willie’s thoughts. She was followed by Mike and Lou.

‘He has a point. I haven’t had a chance to have the gardens around the house landscaped yet, so it’s all just soil. If anyone’s been up there, he’ll know.’

They held back and watched as Willie wandered around, searching for clues to any intruders.

Lou laughed. ‘Cor, blimey, he even looks like a Red Indian tracker. All he needs are a few feathers in his hair.’

As they watched, Neil Lanigan and his cousin Shamus approached the house. They got out of their car and joined them. ‘What’s happening?’ asked Neil, in a less than confident tone.

Zara turned and gave Neil a soft smile. For the first time, she saw the look of a worried man on his face. ‘Willie’s just checking for footprints. We want to make sure no one’s been up there.’

Neil shivered and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

His discomfort had Zara a little on edge. She didn’t like to have men around her who were nervous unless of course they were on the other side of her wrath. Yet the Lanigans were her trusted business partners, and even when she was held prisoner for five years by her brother Ismail and the Segals, Guy and Benjamin, they still kept her going concern in order, splitting every penny earned completely down the middle. She flicked her eyes to Shamus, who was now puffing furiously on a cigarette. As much as they were big, muscly Irishmen, both had soft faces with large, round, boyish eyes.

Shamus was patting his cousin’s back. ‘I didn’t have a good feeling about this. Remember, I said to you last night, what if we are being fecking watched?’

Neil nodded. ‘Aye, yer did that.’

Still blaming herself for the cock-up, Zara felt sick. She looked from Mike and Lou, then back to Neil and Shamus. There was a marked difference in the men. Mike, Lou, and Willie were ready for battle; she could see in their eyes that they weren’t so afraid. On the other hand, Neil and Shamus looked like two rabbits caught in car headlights. She would have to make a plan that wouldn’t include the Lanigans – not this time – for she couldn’t afford any more mistakes, and their terrified expressions told her they would be more of a hindrance than a help.

Willie, with his crooked smile, held up his thumbs. ‘No fuckers ’ave been ’ere.’

Lou laughed. ‘Well done, Sitting Bull.’

As Zara entered the house, she paused and listened. Her nerves were on end. She just couldn’t help but feel freaked out. It was all well and good having Torvic and his evil family tied up and tortured for information, but it was another thing knowing he was out there somewhere with multifarious plans for her firm and Mike’s. The revenge on her would be horrific, and the others who were involved last night wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably either – that was a given.

Mike gripped her shoulders and whispered in her ear, ‘You’re safe with me. Go on, babe.’

She continued on and into her father’s study where the monitor for the CCTV cameras sat on the desk.

She quickly tapped the buttons to rewind the footage and watched to see if anyone had been on the property in the last twelve hours. All she could see were leaves floating in the air and the bows of the trees bending in the wind. No one, it seemed, had been near or by. She felt her tense shoulders relax. Glancing out of the window, she saw another car heading up the drive. Her eyes widened for a moment before she realized it was Mike’s brother Eric driving, and he had Lance with him. He was the man her father called ‘The Machine’, who she only recently discovered was called Lance Ryder and not Torvic. It took a while before her heart began to stop beating so fast. She left the monitor and went over to the bar. ‘Brandy anyone?’ she asked, as she turned to look at the five seated men.

They all nodded. It was still early, yet, under the circumstances, no one objected, and they gratefully accepted the drink offered.

The loud knock at the door had Mike on his feet. ‘I’ll let ’em in.’

Eric’s appearance was in direct contrast to Lance’s. Much like Lou, he was clean-shaven and smartly dressed in a neatly pressed shirt and suit trousers. Lance, on the other hand, looked dishevelled, although his expression never gave anything away. He always wore a severe poker face. His long, thick, dark hair lay on his shoulders in messy waves, and his brooding eyes were almost unblinking.

Once everyone was seated, Zara took her position behind her father’s desk. Neil and Shamus sat to her right, while Mike, Willie, and Lou sat to her left. Lance and Eric took seats across the desk.

‘So, tell us exactly what you found, Neil.’

Her sudden change in tone brought everyone to focus on this slim, tall woman with the copper-coloured eyes. Her slender neck and tight jawline gave her an almost regal aspect.

Lance was intrigued more by the intensity of her personality, which seemed to radiate charisma. It reminded him of one of his female commanding officers over in Afghanistan on his last tour of duty, years ago now. She was similarly built and a real firebrand when the mood took her – which was often.

He hadn’t known Zara for very long. Yet last night, he’d watched her command her army with a cold, stern heart. He was dumbfounded by how the man they called the Governor – the head honcho behind the new drug Flakka – had been right under the noses of him and the special operations team.

It was Zara who had managed to capture the monster. Her shrewdness and detailed planning would have put the Army to shame. Yet there was something more than that which had fascinated him. It was her ability to act so coolly and almost mind-read Torvic. How she’d sussed him out and then pieced everything together was sheer genius.

‘We got to the airfield and I said to Shamus that the back wall of the hangar looked ajar. So, as we drove nearer, we could see that it was actually wide open,’ said Neil.

Zara nodded. ‘But the hostages had gone, so there was no sign that they’d been killed, was there?’

Neil shook his head. ‘No. The chairs we had them tied to were where we left them, but the ropes had been cut and left on the floor. There was no blood or mess anywhere. They’d simply vanished.’

Zara tilted her head to the side. ‘Was there a note left or anything or—?’

Shamus interrupted. ‘No. Nothing. The place was as clean as a whistle. We had a good look around before calling you, but, honestly, it was as if the SAS had done a search and rescue.’

Zara looked at Lance. ‘Any thoughts?’

Lance glared around the room with his dark penetrating eyes. There was not a smidgen of niceness about him. She appreciated his composed demeanour and his straight-talking. Her father was right about him: his skills and strengths were to be respected. Ex-military, he was a lone wolf now, working for whoever paid the highest. Her father, of course, could afford the very best, and so, back then, Lance’s abilities had caught his attention.

‘I think we know who’s behind it. It’s this Barak Segal guy. That Torvic fella gave you his name under extreme duress, so we should turn our attentions to him.’

Eric sat almost shoulder to shoulder with Lance; both were heavily built men. He cleared his throat to say something but immediately looked at his brother. He didn’t want to be shot down in flames for speaking out of turn, which was a habit he made all too often in Mike’s company. Yet, surprisingly, Mike nodded for Eric to talk.

‘Me, if I were Torvic, after last night, I’d be too shit-scared to try and take revenge. We all saw how terrified he was of his granddaughter getting hurt.’

Zara shook her head. ‘No, Eric, he would do what I would and that’s to get Tiffany far away, out of reach, and then come for us. And he knows we have a substantial united strength. He will take us down one by one. Probably, he’ll start with our families, our closest loved ones, because he’ll want to see us in pain. He’ll want us to be begging for forgiveness, like he was.’

As she looked around, she could see the fear in their eyes. All of the men in the room now, no matter how big, hard, and ruthless they were, still felt the ultimate fear deep inside for their kids or their women getting hurt.

Willie was fidgeting and rubbing his hands down the front of his trousers.

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Mate, ya need to stop using cocaine. We have to keep our heads straight.’

Willie looked up and raised his brow. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’m clear-headed, coked-up or not!’

Mike was taken aback; Willie never got shirty, not with him anyway.

Zara sensed the tension and put up her hand.

‘Right, listen up. For now, we need to get the kids away, and when I say away, I mean out of the country.’ Her father always sent her away when things got too hot. ‘What about Poppy and Brooke, Lance?’

He nodded. ‘Well, I think you’re right. Arty and Liam seem to have sparked up a friendship with my girls, so I’d feel better if they all stayed together.’

With Ricky on his mind, Mike got up from his seat. ‘I’m gonna check that Staffie’s with Ricky. Lance, can you organize flights? Lou, you call the missus and arrange for your lot to go today.’

Zara knew only too well that until their families were safe, the men wouldn’t be able to get down to serious business. She had to take control and make decisions but what could she really plan? It had taken the police force, the special operations team, and the toughest criminals to hunt the man down, and it was more by luck than good judgement that she’d managed to suss out who he was. He was, after all, right under her nose. Now he was missing, and she knew deep down that it would take more than their combined skills to find the fucker again. Also very worrying was who had been watching them. If it was Barak’s men, or even Barak himself, she would sacrifice her own life if it meant she could metaphorically get her hands on him and kill him.

She stared off into the garden as the men made the requisite calls. Her mind was now on how she would hunt down Torvic.

Once they regrouped, Zara tried to temper everyone’s anxieties. They needed to stay dispassionate.

‘Right, we don’t know a lot, except for the fact that if we were being watched, and I suspect we were, then it was by either Torvic’s men or this Barak guy. And, more importantly, they couldn’t have had the force to intervene or they would’ve done so. They wouldn’t know that we would hold Torvic hostage, would they? Not even I knew that at the time until Torvic told us he was working for Barak. So, that much we do know.’

Neil nodded. ‘Look, we’re all safe for the moment, we’re all here and accounted for, so I reckon you’re right. They didn’t have the manpower to take over last night.’

Zara suddenly went white. ‘Shit! Joshua! I haven’t called him.’

She quickly pulled out her phone and made the call; yet it went straight to voicemail. Her mouth felt dry. Her cousin had been the first one to leave last night. She tried again but there was still no answer. Then she scrolled down to find his landline number. His wife would know if he had got home safely or not. Zara felt sick and filled with guilt because Joshua was only called in to help her. He didn’t live her way of life anymore. He was a sweet, gentle man who now lived for his children.

The phone rang and rang until, finally, Bella answered in a flustered voice. ‘Hello, Josh?’

‘No, Bella, it’s me, Zara. I take it Josh hasn’t arrived home?’

There was a long pause. ‘Er, no, Zara, I was hoping he was still with you. I’ve waited up most of the night, but I’ve heard nothing. His phone just goes to voicemail. Oh my God, Zara, do you think he’s okay?’

The terrifying thought drained the blood from Zara’s face. She swallowed hard before she was able to speak. ‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ she lied. ‘Listen, don’t worry. He had a few errands. I was just calling to see if he’d finished, that’s all.’ She hoped she sounded convincing.

‘Okay, Zara. Please tell him to call me, once you hear from him. I’m so concerned because he always answers his phone.’

‘Oh, it’s probably run out of battery.’

‘Maybe,’ came the deflated voice.

‘I’ll call, Bella. Goodbye.’

The men all stared open-mouthed, waiting for some explanation.

‘Josh didn’t go home, and he ain’t the type to go off without telling Bella. They’ve got him. I’m fucking sure, but if they …’

Her anger was rising, and she could feel her heart beating relentlessly. The notion that her sweet cousin was being tortured or mercilessly killed at the hands of Torvic was hard to bear.

‘I swear to God, I’ll shred every fucking piece of skin from the man’s bones if he …’

Mike gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Hey, listen, we don’t know what’s gone on yet. Please, Zara, babe …’

Not wanting to crumple, Zara stiffened. ‘I’m fine, Mike. I think we need to establish first whether it was Barak or just some of Torvic’s druggies in his firm. Once the kids are out of the country, we need to check out all the places from where that shit drug Flakka was sold. Let’s find out what’s going on.’

She looked at Neil. ‘Look, no disrespect, but I want you to go back to Ireland with Shamus. Torvic will want to pick us off, one by one. I need you away …’ She tried to find the right words that wouldn’t insult him.

‘No!’ he said, sharply, before lowering his tone. ‘I’m your equal business partner, so this fight is just as much mine. Shamus and I will check out your restaurants. Torvic and his gang of druggies may not start with the families. He could try to destroy your businesses first.’

Zara nodded. She knew he had a valid point, which made her realize that her knowledge of Torvic’s sick acts probably only scratched the surface.

‘Fine, but never alone.’ She shot a look at Shamus, who nodded in agreement.

Chapter 2

Arty washed his face and combed his hair. He then searched Lance’s bathroom for some hair gel. Liam stood in the doorway. ‘Fuck me, mate, this is serious shit. Me ol’ man sounded right worried.’

Arty looked at his reflection in the mirror once more and turned to face Liam. ‘I dunno what I’m gonna do, Liam. I ain’t even got a toothbrush, let alone a change of clothes. And Spain, I hate mainland Spain. They could’ve booked flights to Ibiza.’

Liam shook his head. ‘Arty, mate, you can buy as much fairy fart smellies and Hugo Boss T-shirts as ya like, once we get there. We gotta take this seriously, right? I ain’t never heard me dad talk like that before.’

Arty chewed the inside of his lip. ‘All right, mate. How are the girls doing?’

A cheeky grin slithered its way across his face. ‘Poppy’s using me as a crutch, which I kinda like. I can’t believe the bird likes me. I mean …’ He pushed Arty away from the mirror and pointed. ‘Look at that face. Who the fuck would fancy that, eh?’

Arty put his arm around Liam. ‘You ain’t so bad, Liam, mate. Stop doubting yaself.’

Liam looked Arty up and down. ‘Aw, come on, Art. You look like you’ve stepped outta an action-packed movie, but me, well, I’ve stepped outta a fucking horror film.’

Arty laughed. ‘See, bro, I may have the looks, but you have the humour.’

Liam looked again at his long, bent nose and skinny, lanky body. ‘Yeah, I guess I gotta have something, eh, ’cos that Poppy is one stunner and she likes me.’

Arty ruffled Liam’s hair. ‘Nothing to do with ya big dick, then?’

Liam giggled. ‘Nah, she ain’t met that yet. That’s gonna be a bonus.’

* * *

Poppy stared down at her cornflakes. ‘Brooke, it’s all exciting and fun, but, in reality, this is so alien to us. What the hell do we know about this way of life, and why is Lance so determined to keep us safe? He’s not even really related to us.’

Brooke, her twin sister, reached across the table and grabbed her hand. ‘You are the clever one. I thought you would have worked it out by now.’

Poppy looked up and frowned. ‘Worked what out?’

Brooke moved a loose long blonde strand from her face. ‘I think Lance is actually our real father.’

Poppy nearly choked on her cereal. ‘That’s absurd.’

‘No, it’s not. Listen. While you were in the hospital, and I was here, Lance said don’t go poking around. Well, I took a leaf out of your book and became the Secret Squirrel. I did have a good snoop and …’ She got up from her seat and wandered over to a cabinet.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Poppy.

Brooke removed an album from the top drawer. ‘Look!’ she said, returning to her seat and opening the first page. She pointed to a picture of a woman.

Poppy pulled the album closer, to get a better view, and suddenly gasped. ‘Who the hell is that? Oh, my word, she looks just like us. I mean, she could be our mother. Let’s face it, we look nothing like our mother, do we? And we certainly look nothing like Alastair.’

‘No, exactly. I looked at the other photos, and there are some with Lance and her. I think she’s his sister, which means that we could be his family.’

Poppy leaned back on her chair. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Perhaps we are just scrabbling around for answers. I mean, our mother is hardly the motherly type, and as for Alastair, he isn’t really the ideal parent, and both you and I came to the same conclusion. So perhaps we are purely fantasizing.’

Brooke was adamant. ‘No, Poppy, of course it’s possible. Think about it. Kendall was only a year old when we were born. Kendall was Lance’s daughter, although Mother did insist we all have the same surname. So who’s to say we weren’t his as well. Anyway, when he comes home, I am going to ask him outright …’

Poppy sighed. ‘Brooke, stop a minute. Do you really want Lance to be our father? I mean, what difference will it make now? We are grown women.’

‘He came into the bedroom last night and must have assumed we were asleep. He removed my glasses and put them on the side. I would quite like to have a real father who cares, even when I’m fifty years old. It would be kind of nice, don’t you think?’

Poppy looked at her twin sister’s sweet, childlike expression and felt sorry for her. The poor girl had been to hell and back. The rape must have been horrendous, so she could see why Brooke would want a strong man to make her feel safe and loved.

‘Yes, Brooke, you’re right. But I think, from the sound of things, we have more pressing issues, like understanding why we need to leave the bloody country. Lance has gone to the house to collect our passports. It’s all happening rather too fast for me to get my head around it all.’

Brooke placed the album back inside the drawer and joined her sister. ‘We will have Arty and Liam with us.’

Poppy smiled. ‘I guess that’s a bonus, then.’

By the time Lance arrived back home, he looked worried and had no time for any girlie dramas. He pushed the door open and marched into the dining room, ready to act like a sergeant major and kickstart the girls into gear.

‘Right, this is what’s going to happen. Firstly—’

Brooke stopped him in his tracks. She rose from her chair and stood in front of him, with her hands up, signifying that she had something to say.

He tilted his head and took a breath. Poppy noticed how his stern features softened as soon as Brooke was in his face. It was at that moment she wondered if Brooke was right about them being related.

‘Lance, may I ask you something very personal?’ said Brooke, in her sweetest voice.

Lance appeared to blush slightly, and a gentle smile crept across his face. ‘Um, like what?’

The huge serious-minded man seemed to have shifted personalities, which made Poppy want to laugh.

Brooke stepped back. ‘I know you said not to be nosey, but I did find an album …’ She paused, waiting for a reaction. Either he will go ballistic or remain with that soft expression, she thought.

Luckily for her, he chose the latter option. She took a deep breath, glanced back at her sister, and then asked outright, ‘Lance, are you our father?’

Poppy looked down, embarrassed, wishing the floor would swallow her up.

However, Brooke stared directly into his eyes. It was most unlike her. She was the shy one – normally.

His huge, broad shoulders relaxed, and he took a seat at the table. ‘Only a DNA can confirm it either way.’

‘I can sense a “but” in there, Lance,’ said Brooke, eager for him to continue, as she too sat down at the table.

He looked from one girl to the other. ‘You could be. I believe your mother lied about your due dates, and you both look so much like my sister. She had the same eyes, and I’ve no need to tell you that, if you’ve been looking through the album.’

Brooke looked at Poppy’s gaping mouth and grasped her sister’s hand. This was so unbelievable.

‘So, what will all this mean, Lance? I mean, like, between us?’

Lance unexpectedly grabbed her hand. ‘I don’t know, Brooke, but what I do know is this. I lost Kendall, although she actually wasn’t my own flesh and blood. I discovered that eventually. But I loved her all the same. I hate to say this, but your mother wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she made out. And, by the way, I heard she’s been arrested for running you down, Poppy. Nevertheless, I need you two as far away as possible because something pretty serious has happened. I don’t want you both in the way. Luckily, I managed to find your passports.’

Brooke knew he had changed the subject deliberately, but like a dog with a bone, she pressed him again. ‘Lance, please, before we go, what do you want to do? I mean, a DNA or …?’

Lance smiled and shook his head. ‘The truth is …’

Poppy suddenly noticed his little finger was bent. Her heart raced as she looked at her own and then at Brooke’s. They all had the same condition. Without rationalizing it first, she blurted out, ‘Lance, you are our father. I know that now for a fact.’

Lance frowned. ‘How?’

Poppy slid her trembling hand across the table and tapped his crooked finger. ‘Look! We have the same condition. It’s hereditary, so I think we can safely say that you’re our father.’

Brooke was suddenly beaming with excitement. ‘Oh my God, you’re our dad, our real dad, then!’

Totally out of the blue, Brooke leaped from her seat and flung her arms around his neck. ‘I knew it, I just knew it.’ Her excitement brought tears to her eyes.

It suddenly hit Lance that it was one thing saying they were his daughters, but it was quite another dealing with the emotion and now the responsibility. However, he was unexpectedly gripped by a warm feeling – a new sensation. His years of combat had made him cold and heartless, but the look on his girls’ faces stirred another emotion.

Out of character, he turned to Poppy and held out his arms for her to do the same. She hesitated at first, but once those huge arms pulled her into his chest, she also felt a great comfort.

The revelations and reactions from the trio were halted as Arty and Liam entered the room. Arty looked a little uncomfortable, almost sheepish, since Lance was such a big, stern man, and his expression gave nothing away.

‘My dad called. I think we’re going to Spain … all of us.’

Lance straightened up and nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. We just need you guys to be away until we get something sorted out. I know, Arty, that it’s not your responsibility to look out for my girls but …’

‘Lance, we will anyway, take my word. We’ll look after them.’

Liam pushed his way into the room. ‘Yeah, mate, we’ll take care of ’em.’ Then he looked over at Poppy and winked.

Lance rolled his eyes. ‘Christ, you’re so much like your father, Liam. What I mean is, make sure no harm comes to them.’

Liam was nodding as if his head would fall off. ‘I know what you mean, Lance. But I ain’t what you think. I wouldn’t take advantage, would I, Arty? I ain’t like that.’

‘He’s right, Lance. We’ve been brought up to be respectful.’

‘Sorry, lads. Yeah, I know your fathers, and I know if you’re half the men they are, then my girls are in safe hands.’

A car horn sounded.

‘Willie’s here already. Right, lads, you go with him, and I’ll take the girls. We’ll meet you at the airport in an hour.’

Liam wasted no time in kissing Poppy on the forehead, and Arty kissed Brooke on the cheek.

Once they were out of sight, Lance turned to his daughters. ‘So I guess they will look after you then? Do I detect more than a friendship going on?’

Poppy blushed. ‘No, Lan … I mean, do we call you … I mean, can we call you Dad?’

Lance squeezed her shoulder. ‘Baby, you can call me whatever you like, but Dad sounds good.’

She blushed again. ‘Dad, we are just friends, for now. They are good men. I feel safe with them.’

He chuckled. ‘A bit different, I guess, from your mother’s friends.’

Brooke laughed. ‘Worlds apart, Dad. But you know what? I hated Mother’s way of life. It was so stilted and cold, and as for Alastair, well, he was like a passing shadow. I always wondered why he wasn’t like my friends’ fathers. Still, I am sure he won’t miss us.’

Lance gave a fake smile. Inside, he was reliving the moment when the acid was poured over Alastair and the painful, ugly way in which he was killed. How was he going to explain what had happened to him?

‘Come on. Let’s get going, girls. We can’t waste any more time.’

* * *

Willie drove more rationally than usual. He didn’t want to attract any attention. Arriving at Arty’s house, he instructed him to grab his passport and not fanny around. They would be given enough money to buy a wardrobe of clothes once they reached Spain. Arty did as he was told and was back in the car in record time.

As they approached his ex-wife’s house, Willie was so intent on getting the lads to the airport that he wasn’t aware of a black BMW parked across the street. Inside, a man wearing a dark hoodie was watching them.

The thought of the previous night’s events still trickled through Willie’s brain. If Torvic were to capture any one of the lads, there would be carnage. He had to keep his mind on track. He’d never before felt fear, and now it was beating him over the head and causing waves of nausea to engulf his body.

Liam was his mini-me, the be-all and end-all of his life. As he watched his son skip towards the car with his hair messily blowing in the wind, his heart ached. If only Liam had taken on his mother’s looks instead of being cursed with his own features. Still, there was something very lovable about Liam, and the firm all had a soft spot for him.

The excitement had the lads chatting for England; however, Willie remained quiet. If the boys knew why they had to get away, he wondered if they would be so up for it. He decided he would discuss the seriousness of the present situation when they reached the airport. He just had to find the right words that would instil vigilance yet not frighten them. He wasn’t the best with words; that was Lou Baker’s job or Mike Regan’s, for that matter. He tended to be a little reckless and never thought before he spoke, but he realized that today would be different. His worry was so intense that he’d even ditched his cocaine pouch. There would be no more drugs until this was over. He had to be clear-headed because too much was at stake for any flippancy.

Gatwick was busy, and a sudden downpour had everyone busily crossing the road as if a tsunami had hit them. The rumble of people and cars had Willie distracted, and so he was still unaware that the black BMW, which had been parked outside his home and had then been tailing them throughout the whole journey, was now parked two cars away from his own.

Arty and Liam were still babbling on about the two girls, oblivious to the concerned expression on Willie’s face. Always the joker or the butt of jokes, Willie was silent. With very little time left before departure, Willie turned to Liam and Arty and shepherded them over to a quiet area. He needed to have a serious conversation with them about the events surrounding Ricky’s injuries and the death of the twins’ sister Kendall, now that Torvic had managed to escape from the secret room in the hangar. He knew what he was about to tell the boys wouldn’t go down well. It didn’t. The look on Liam’s and Arty’s faces spoke volumes.

Checking their passports were in order, they followed Willie into the departure entrance. Willie marched ahead, looking for Staffie and Ricky. He didn’t bother with the long conveyor belt ride, wanting to be in front and not have to squeeze past people. Arty and Liam had to keep hurrying to catch up. Once they were by section C of the check-in counters, they spotted Ricky, and both rushed over to embrace their friend.

Ricky looked surprisingly well for someone who had been near to death after the horrendous beating he’d taken. He still looked a tad pale, but, other than that, his large, round, grey eyes were sparkling.

Liam hugged him. ‘So, are we gonna have a blast, kiddo?’

Ricky gave him a weary smile. ‘Good to see ya, Liam, but, I dunno. Dad sounded pretty serious. Do you know what’s going on?’

Not wanting to alarm Ricky, Liam shook his head. ‘Nah, only that we’re off to Spain with Poppy and Brooke.’

Ricky had met Poppy in the hospital, after she’d been mown down by her mother. He frowned. ‘Poppy and Brooke?’ He looked at Arty.

‘Yeah, mate. Brooke’s Poppy’s twin sister. It’s a long story, but, anyway, they’re coming with us.’

* * *

Staffie pulled Willie to one side, making sure they were out of earshot. ‘I don’t like this, Willie. I wish I’d never got involved.’

Willie ran his long, thin fingers through his hair. ‘Well, we are, buddy, so let’s just get on with it. ’Ave ya seen Lance yet?’

Staffie shook his head. ‘Nah, I ain’t, but I spoke with Terrence. He’s made all the arrangements. The kids can stay at one of his villas. He’ll have them picked up at the airport, and he’s got some serious tools if needs must.’

Willie grinned. ‘Nice one, ’cos if that Torvic turns up, they’ll have to fucking shoot the cunt. He’s like the man that never dies, and I don’t like it, Staff. I ain’t afraid to say it, but we’re in over our fucking heads. That bastard is on the loose, and so that means he has one hell of an advantage.’

Willie suddenly spotted Lance and the girls. Poppy was being helped along by her father. Not only was her leg still badly bruised, but she needed an arm to lean on. ‘Oh, shit me. Will they let her on the plane like that?’

Staffie sighed. ‘Oh Christ, that’s all we fucking well need.’

Willie hurried over and pulled Lance to one side while the lads wasted no time in fussing over the girls.

‘Lance, mate, they won’t let her on the plane without a doctor’s note.’

Lance grinned. ‘Well, my girls are one step ahead. Clever little things they are, they did a mock-up doctor’s note on the phone, an e-mail or something. Anyway, don’t worry, they’ll be on that plane.’

Once they were ready to go through passport control, Staffie handed Arty one of his bank cards. ‘Don’t rinse the fucker.’

Arty laughed. ‘Thanks, Pops, but ya know I will.’

Staffie looked his handsome son up and down. He was proud of his boy. He was a fearless lad with good looks, yet he had a heart of gold when it came down to it.

Willie was still on edge when he placed an arm around Liam’s shoulders. ‘Listen, my boy. Don’t talk to anyone. You make sure at all times the security alarms are switched on in Terrence’s villa, got me? If ya think anyone’s watching ya, you call Terrence right away. And ya know me number. You look after yaself and call me every fucking day.’

Liam didn’t like the look on his dad’s face. He knew that this was probably the first time in his life that his father was genuinely shitting himself.

‘Dad, don’t worry. I’ll be careful, I promise.’

‘Good lad, and listen, boy. I love ya, yeah?’

Liam frowned. He knew his father loved him, but he’d never heard his father actually say those words.

‘Hey, Dad, we’ll be fine, and I love ya too, ya silly ol’ git.’

Staffie was giving Arty strict instructions as to what to do if Torvic turned up. He described the man and then finished by saying, ‘Don’t fuck about, Arty. If the bastard turns up, kill him. We’ll sort out the mess afterwards.’

Arty raised his brows. ‘Fuck me, Dad! What? You want me to actually kill him?’

Staffie felt the tears in his eyes well up. ‘I’d never tell you to kill anyone, but for your sake and theirs, you won’t have a choice. The man is evil. I mean, really fucking evil.’

Arty stared into his father’s eyes and knew then that whoever they were running from had the power to take out the firm.

‘Dad, are you gonna be all right?’

Staffie laughed. ‘Son, I’m always all right. I might be reaching me sell-by date but I ain’t there yet.’

Poppy and Brooke hugged their father. ‘It’s so sad that we have only just met you and now we’re going away,’ said Brooke, teary-eyed.

Lance kissed her cheek. ‘It’s not forever, babe, and take this,’ he said, as he pulled a fat wad of notes from his inside jacket pocket.

Poppy’s eyes widened. She had never seen so much money. ‘Oh, we couldn’t possibly. That’s so much.’

Lance then kissed Poppy’s cheek, which made her blush. ‘Poppy, spend it on what you like, but just make sure you two stay together and with the lads. Never go off on your own.’

Both girls nodded, each wanting to know more, but they knew that this was not the right time or place.

* * *

As the youngsters said their final goodbyes, the man in the dark hoodie watched from a distance and made a call. He turned his face away so that Willie couldn’t see him. He whispered down the phone, ‘The flight leaves in one hour.’ He reeled off the flight number and then ended the call. He took one last look to make sure they were definitely going to check in, and then, as he watched Arty hand over his passport, he scurried away. His job was done.

Chapter 3

Neil and Shamus left Zara alone in the office with Mike while they made coffee in the kitchen. It still fascinated Shamus as to how Zara could bear to be in this house. Putting aside the fact that it was her childhood home, it still became her prison for five years. His eyes shot to the floor on the far right, and he wondered if that was the actual entrance to the room downstairs where her brother held her captive. Just as Neil poured the last cup, Shamus had a thought.

Without helping Neil, he went back to the office. ‘Zara, your brother. Wouldn’t he know about Barak?’

Zara looked up and frowned. ‘Ismail is a sap. He would know fuck all. Barak wouldn’t trust him with any sort of significant information. I spent five years listening to him being ridiculed by Guy and his son Benjamin. Nah, he wouldn’t know a thing.’ She stared at Shamus, her mind going over something.

‘What, Zara, what are yer thinking?’ asked Shamus.

She turned to Mike. ‘Guy and Benjamin are inside. They won’t let me visit them, that’s a dead cert. But there are other ways to get blood out of a stone.’

Mike grinned devilishly. ‘Yeah, some of me oldest pals in Brixton Prison specialize in that. I’ll make a call to Boomer.’

Zara looked back at Shamus and winked. ‘One way or another, I’ll need to find out what they’re up to.’

Mike scrolled down his phone, looking for Boomer’s number. The man was inside for a multitude of crimes and wasn’t getting out anytime soon. He’d been inside for years and had everything he needed, including his own phone.

‘Boomer, it’s me, Mikey Regan. How ya doing, mate?’

The deep, gruff voice replied, ‘Not as good as you, ya lucky fucker, getting out on parole.’ He laughed. ‘Really, mate, I’m as sweet as a nut, and you?’

Mike’s face lit up. He liked Boomer. The nickname was given to him because when he re-enacted a fight, along with the air punches, he would also make the sounds. The loudest and most common one was ‘Boom!’

‘I need a favour, mate.’

‘Well, spit it out, Mikey boy. I’m a very busy man, as ya know.’

Mike laughed. ‘Guy Segal, the old Jew, and his son Benjamin. I need some information out of those bastards. I wanna know if Guy’s brother Barak Segal is alive or dead, and what his plans are. I also need to know if the man is in the country.’

‘Right, mate, I think I know who you mean, but tell me more.’

Mike went over the past, making sure that Boomer knew everything, including the circumstances leading to Benjamin Segal cutting off Zara’s hand and how he and Guy had kept her a prisoner for five years.

‘So, are ya up for it, Boomer?’

‘For sure. No worries, lad. I’ll have that info for ya. Call me in a couple of hours. I don’t wanna waste me minutes. Oh, and do us a favour, will ya? Me ol’ girl needs some dosh. Could ya whack her over a couple of hundred?’

‘I’ll pop over five grand. How’s that suit, bud?’

The thick, gruff voice seemed to soften, and Mike detected an emotional tone. ‘Aah, Mikey, you are a real gent, ya know that? Call me later and give my regards to ya father. The man saw me missus all right for me. He’s a good ’un is ol’ Arthur.’

‘Cheers, Boomer. I’ll bell ya later. Watch yaself.’

* * *

Trenton Smith leaned against the metal doorframe, rolling his last lot of tobacco. ‘All right, Boomer? Any chance of a baccy loan? I’m clean out, mate,’ he asked, as he peered into Boomer’s cell.

Boomer grinned and nodded. Trenton knew then that there was something evil on the man’s mind. He straightened up, and for a second, he wished he hadn’t asked. Boomer was a man in his sixties but had more standing in prison than anyone else. He ran the wing, had the screws eating out of his hand, and was the only man who could sleep without his door wedged tight. Any drugs – even tobacco or hooch – going around the prison were generally dealt with through Boomer. Anyone looking at the two of them would never have thought that little Boomer was more reckless and tougher than Trenton. However, as much as Trenton was a tall, muscular man, with quick movements, no one was as fast as Boomer.

‘Go on, Boomer, let’s ’ave it, then. What ya got on ya mind?’

Boomer stood up and beckoned Trenton in. ‘Close the door.’

As Trenton did as he was told, Boomer offered him a seat on the bunk.

‘There are two geezers in here, Benjamin Segal and his ol’ man Guy Segal. Two Jewish men. I need information from them. They may squeal like pigs, or they may need a little coaxing.’

Trenton nodded. ‘I know who you mean. That Benjamin is the fat, ugly ginger fella that follows his ol’ man around like a lost lamb.’

‘Yeah, that’s him. So, are you up for getting me what I want?’ asked Boomer, with a raised eyebrow.

Trenton took a deep breath. ‘Got any puff to go with that baccy?’

‘Crafty fucker, you. Yeah, go on, then.’ Boomer laughed as he pulled two pouches from under his mattress. ‘Take them. And listen. Those Segals are cruel bastards. They cut off the hand of Mikey Regan’s bird and kept her captive for five years.’

Trenton’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘You’re joking, ain’t ya?’

Boomer dramatically shook his head. ‘Nope. So listen. This mission is for Mike Regan. He wants a few answers out of those two, and if it means getting nasty, and you feel the need to put the pressure on them, you’ll ’ave Mikey’s blessing. They’re gonna end up dead anyway.’

Trenton moved his long fringe away from his eyes, and then he rubbed his beard. ‘The Hells Angels’ way it is, then.’

‘Good lad. Now then, after exercise, I’ll give you instructions, and you’ll need to memorize the questions because that’s the most important bit. We want answers before they end up in the prison mortuary.’

Trenton smirked, showing his black teeth. ‘I’m surprised they made it to prison, with Mike Regan gunning for them.’

‘Don’t you worry about that. His bird wanted them locked up. Ya know, so they could have a taste of what she went through, but now she and Mikey want them done away with.’

* * *

Guy and Benjamin had a cell next door to each other. They’d managed to pay a screw to organize it, yet they couldn’t afford the amount it would cost for protection. Both were quiet and had tried to keep themselves to themselves. Outside prison, they had power through their wealth and influence, mainly in the Jewish community, but inside Brixton Prison they were sitting ducks.

Every day they worried that the Regans, or Zara Ezra, for that matter, had paid someone off to do away with them. In fact, Guy strongly believed his days were numbered and it led to him coming out in a permanent rash. Benjamin, as big as he was, was really just a fat pussy. He only had clout on the outside because he had men behind him. Those same men ran a mile to avoid the looming trouble when he and his father got nicked. They were all well aware of the Regans’ and Zara Ezra’s reputations and were shit-scared of any repercussions.

After exercise was over, Trenton and his two sidekicks, brothers Wasp and Zane King, met up on the landing. Each brother had a glass shard tightly bound to a stick.

‘Tooled up?’ asked Trenton.

Wasp, a small, chubby, bearded man, with only one tooth in his head, nodded and looked down at his hand. ‘Yep, I ain’t used this in a while, but she’s still as sharp as the day I made her.’

Trenton then looked at Zane. ‘And you?’

Zane didn’t answer. He just nodded and chewed on his gum.

As they made their way along the landing, a senior officer gave them the once-over. He didn’t like to see the three characters together. They were devious, and, worse, dangerous. Yet, as he was spying Trenton, Boomer was clocking him, and he instantly called out, ‘Oi, Gov, can I have a word?’

Senior Officer Gladding recognized the deep growl coming out of Boomer’s mouth and spun around. He liked the wing to run smoothly. Any hiccups from Boomer, and the inmates would all be on lockdown, and then the nightmares would begin. ‘All right, Kitson?’

Boomer leaned against the wall and waited for Gladding to approach; he wanted him distracted.

‘I’ve got this bit o’ skirt coming up on a visit. Any chance you could organize a family visit? Ya know, in one of those private family rooms?’

Gladding sighed and felt a little uncomfortable. He hated saying no to Kitson, but the lifers were only allowed one family visit per year, and he’d already had his quota. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise, ’cos you’ve already had yours this year, and we don’t want to draw attention. The number one governor is clamping down on special treatments and keeping a close eye.’

Boomer quickly peered over the officer’s shoulder to see Trenton slip into Guy Segal’s cell and Wasp and Zane slide into Benjamin’s.

‘Fuck me, I thought that would be easy, a man of your power and status.’ He gave his twisted grin and watched as the officer squirmed. ‘Aw, all right, mate. Look, don’t worry. I tell ya what. Can ya get me some of that hair gel, so that I can at least look the part when she turns up?’

At last, Gladding relaxed his shoulders. ‘Yeah, sure, I can get some for you.’

He was about to walk away when Boomer stopped him. ‘So, how’s your son getting on with the new football team?’ he asked, knowing that once Gladding started boasting about his son, he would talk forever. The question worked, and Gladding pushed back his shoulders with pride and gave Boomer a rundown on how brilliant his son was at scoring two goals for the new team. Inside, Boomer was laughing because Gladding’s son was only eight years old and anyone listening would assume he was playing against Manchester United.

* * *

As Trenton entered the old man’s cell, he quickly closed the door, causing Guy to jump and turn around. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ His voice sounded firm, yet it didn’t suit his Wee Willie Winkie appearance.

Trenton held up his bare hands. ‘Just a word, mate.’

Guy’s thinning hair and long white beard were kept well groomed, and Trenton noticed that on closer inspection, the man was quite solidly built with a look that was pretty much daring.

‘And what word would that be?’ asked Guy, bitterly.

‘Cor, you’re cocky for an ol’ dead man walking, ain’t ya?’

Guy’s jaw shot forward in a temper. ‘Just ask your fucking questions and leave me in peace.’

Trenton stepped forward. ‘Barak, your brother. What’s he up to?’

Guy’s frown deepened as he twisted his head. ‘Barak’s dead!’

‘Fucking liar, he’s in Poland. Now, I was polite, and I asked you nicely, but now, I won’t be so polite, so what the fuck is Barak up to?’

Guy’s face dramatically paled, and his eyes widened. ‘I am telling you the truth. He’s dead. I went to his fucking funeral.’

‘Mikey Regan says you’re one evil cunt. And your son’s no better. He had his bird’s hand chopped off. You’re a right slimy bastard, so I don’t believe ya, and no one cares what happens to you either fucking way!’ Suddenly, he pulled his tool from his back pocket and held it up. At the same time, he showed his heavily stained teeth and chuckled. ‘Now then, I think I’ll let me blade ask the fucking questions.’

Guy backed away, his body trembling. ‘I promise you, he’s dead. I swear I was there when they lowered him into the grave. Please …’

Trenton was fast, and in one fluid movement, he slashed his jagged knife across Guy’s face. Guy clutched the loose flaps of skin and was about to scream when Trenton grabbed him and threw him on the bed, plunging the weapon into his stomach. With his hand over Guy’s mouth, he glared into his eyes. ‘Now, you, ya ’orrible prick, will tell me where this brother of yours is and what he’s up to, or you, pal, will fucking bleed to death.’

Guy could feel the dull pain and knew he was in trouble. Without any help, it was true he would bleed out. He stared back, trying to think of what to say, but the fear of death was consuming him. He just couldn’t put his thoughts into any logical order. Then he heard the muffled screams from next door. His son. They had got his son. His eyes filled with tears. It was over. He knew one day the Regans would have him and his son killed, but he didn’t think it would have anything to do with his brother.

‘Now, I’ll remove my hand, and you’re gonna tell me everything you know about Barak, and if I’m satisfied, then I’ll press that emergency button. If not, I’ll plunge you again. Got it?’

With beads of sweat covering his brows and a sickening feeling as though he was underwater, Guy could only nod.

Trenton pulled his hand away. ‘Talk!’

The thick blood was covering his sweatshirt and pooling on the bed. Guy knew he didn’t have long.

‘Please, believe me. He really is dead. He was buried at Golders Green Jewish Cemetery … on Hoop Lane, two years ago … through old age.’

Trenton stared at the old man. He was obviously telling the truth. He then watched as the man took his last breath. He was dead. Trenton looked down at himself. Luckily, he didn’t have blood on him. He cleaned the knife in the sink, washed his hands, and crept away. The landing was quiet. As he clocked Gladding still chatting to Boomer, he slipped into the next cell. Wasp and Zane had gone over the top.

‘Lads, clean up and let’s go.’

Zane was covered in blood and Wasp was standing with his tool dripping in claret. Benjamin was on the floor with so many puncture wounds, it looked as if the Apaches had used him for target practice.

‘I hope you got what I wanted before ya killed him? What did he say?’

Wasp lisped through his toothless mouth. ‘His uncle’s dead … buried in London. He died a couple of years ago.’

As Zane ran the taps and cleaned himself, Wasp rifled through Benjamin’s locker, stealing all his chocolate bars.

‘No wonder the fucker was so fat. He must’ve spent all his canteen money on sweets. The dirty git stinks, so he ain’t been spending it on smellies. Cor, and I thought those Jews were kinda pure. Ya know, religious an’ all.’

‘Come on, lads, let’s go. The coast is clear. You, Zane, ditch ya sweatshirt. It’s covered in claret.’

As they left the cell, Trenton took one last glance at what looked like a beached whale. The man was one ugly bastard in life, and he didn’t look any better in death.

* * *

Mike took the call. ‘Any news, mate?’

Zara stood up and waited anxiously while Neil and Shamus remained seated. She tried to gauge Mike’s expression, but, as always, he was composed and just listened.

‘Okay, thanks, mate. I owe ya one. And I’ll have that five grand sent to your ol’ lady tonight. Cheers. Stay safe.’

Mike ended the call and sighed. ‘Well, they questioned Guy and Benjamin separately. Both said that Barak was dead. He died two years ago, and he’s buried in Golders Green Jewish Cemetery.’

Zara gritted her teeth. ‘They’re lying. Did your men use force? I mean, did—’

Mike interrupted, slightly annoyed. ‘Zara, of course they did. Jesus, they ain’t gonna have a nice chat over a cup of tea, are they?’ He took a deep breath and sighed. ‘They knifed ’em. In fact, both of ’em are now brown bread.’

Neil grinned. ‘Fecking good job as well.’ He turned to Zara. ‘Listen. You knew them better than us. Would they take information to the grave or would they sing like canaries?’

Zara nodded. ‘Yeah, they were weak men, especially Benjamin. He would grass anyone to save his own arse.’ She shuddered when she pictured him. It was that satisfied grin on the man’s face as her hand was severed from her wrist. She contemplated whether she would ever get over that moment.

It was Mike who recognized her troubled expression. He followed her eyes as she looked down at her prosthetic hand. In that second, he wanted to comfort her, but he wouldn’t because this was business and she had to be in charge.

‘Just to be sure, I want the cemetery checked out. Then, we’ll know. But right now, we have to assume they were telling the truth, which means that someone else broke Torvic and Tiffany out of the hangar, and I, for one, am baffled,’ said Zara.

Shamus slowly rocked back and forth on his chair; he was tired and worried. ‘That Torvic has someone who has the guts to take us on, and by letting that bastard loose, he, whoever he is, has just got himself heavily involved. Who would have the balls?’

Zara picked up her phone and dialled her cousin’s number, praying that he would answer. Yet, once again, it went over to answerphone. ‘They have got Josh. I can feel it. He would never ignore my calls, ever.’ She left the room, not wanting to show how upset she was.

Neil got up to follow, but Mike grabbed his arm. ‘Leave her, mate. She needs a moment.’

Neil had worked with Zara for five years while Mike was inside. They had a bond like a brother and sister connection, and he didn’t want Mike to think otherwise, so he stepped back. ‘Yeah, mate, you’re right.’

He paused. ‘Mike, I love Zara, but not how you might think, yer know. She’s like me sister, that’s all.’

Mike patted Neil’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to explain it to me. I know you looked after my girl, and if there was anything between ya, it would ’ave happened when I was in the nick.’ He laughed.

Neil lowered his head. ‘Good. I’ve always wanted you to know that.’

‘Some things don’t need explaining,’ replied Mike.

It was so apparent to Neil why Zara was in love with Mike. He was firm and projected a persona that commanded attention. Just his gravelly voice and intimidating glare made anyone want to listen. Yet with Zara, there was a slight softness when he spoke, and his eyes were shining when he looked at her. Neil would have wanted Zara for himself, but he knew there was only one man she’d ever loved and that was Mike Regan.

Zara came back into the room. ‘I want to go to the hangar to see if there are any clues.’

Shamus shook his head. ‘I checked. It was as clean as a whistle.’

‘I’m sure you did, but I just want to go back. I know the hangar like the back of my hand. If anything is out of place, I’ll know.’

Mike shrugged. ‘It’s your call, babe.’

Just as she was about to speak, her phone rang. It was Bella. Quickly, she took the call and held her breath.

‘Zara, the hospital’s just called.’

With the blood draining from her face, she asked, ‘Is he hurt? Or …’

‘No, well, yeah, he is, but the stupid man didn’t eat after he took his insulin, and I guess working late or whatever … Anyway, he forgot, and so he went into a hypo and crashed the car. The doctor reckons he’ll be okay, but he’s got a few broken ribs, concussion, and no doubt the DVLA will take his licence away this time.’

Zara chuckled in relief. ‘Thank God.’

‘What do you mean, Zara? He’s in bloody hospital!’

‘Sorry, Bella. I just mean, thank God he’s alive.’

‘Well, yes, but, it’s still not a laughing matter.’

Brought to task, Zara cleared her throat. ‘No, sorry, it’s not, but listen. Don’t worry about him not being able to drive. I’ll organize a driver for you.’

‘Zara, please, I’m begging you. Don’t pull my Josh into your circle. I know what you’re about, but your cousin is … well, he’s a gentle man. I … we … just want a normal life.’

Zara fully understood. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I won’t pull him in again, rest assured. Now, listen. This is serious, Bella. I want you to take the kids and go on holiday, yeah? I’ll make sure Josh is okay.’

Zara sensed the hesitation in Bella’s voice.

‘You mean it, don’t you, Zara? This isn’t a request, is it?’

‘No, love, it’s not. Just go today. I’ll transfer money into your account, but just go now.’

Bella’s voice sounded sincere. ‘I will, but promise me you’ll make sure my husband’s safe?’

‘He’s my only remaining flesh and blood who I can call family, so you have my word.’

Chapter 4

Poppy and Brooke sat on either side of Liam on the plane, while Arty sat with Ricky. Arty didn’t want Ricky to feel like a gooseberry. ‘D’ya reckon you’re gonna be all right? I mean, there ain’t no chance of your brain going funny again, is there? ’Cos ya did give us a right royal fucking shock.’

Ricky crossed his eyes and put on a funny face, making Arty laugh.

‘No, Art. They fixed me up. I’m as right as rain. I just can’t take another blow to the head for a while. I’ve got a plate behind my ear, and they sorted out all that water on me brain, so I’m ready for the sun.’

Arty stared at the last of Ricky’s yellow bruises and wondered how he could be so upbeat. He’d been in a chemical coma after the vicious beating. The doctors were reluctant to say he would survive, and yet, here he was, with his round girlie eyes and his prominent dimples, smiling back at him.

‘You’re a lot like your father, ya know that?’

Ricky beamed. ‘So everyone says, and if I am, then I’ll be proud of meself. I’m so glad I found me dad and you guys. It’s like I was never away all those years. I’ve still got a lot to learn, though.’

Arty guessed what he was on about. ‘Ricky, you just take your time and let me and Liam take the lead. Any grief, and you get behind us, yeah? Because, right now, something’s going on. I’ve never heard me ol’ man so shit-scared for me. Neither has Liam for that matter. His dad’s face was so serious. The situation is tense but it’s nothing me and Liam can’t handle.’

Ricky nodded and looked across at Liam. Chuckling away, he said, ‘He’s in his element, ain’t he?’

Arty laughed along. ‘Like a pig in shit. That Poppy really likes him, ya know. I think she’s a bit of a geek, and they say opposites attract.’

Ricky thought about Zara and his father. ‘Yeah, that’s supposed to be the way, but I worry that Zara and me dad are too alike.’

‘You really like Zara, don’t ya?’

Ricky blushed. ‘Yeah, I do. She’s ace, ya know.’ He held up his wrist. ‘She gave me this gold bracelet with BRAVE engraved on it … I wish she’d been my mum, instead of Jackie.’

Arty noticed a sadness creeping over Ricky’s face. ‘Was she really as wicked as they said she was?’

With a deep breath, Ricky replied, ‘The truth is, Arty, me ol’ man only knows part of it. If he knew the full extent of what she put me through, he would kill her. Not that her death would be on me conscience, but the risk of me dad going back to prison would. I fucking hate her.’

Arty didn’t press for details. He could tell that whatever it was that Ricky had endured it had been cruel at the very least, and the expression on Ricky’s face suddenly changed from a soft, sweet, schoolboy look to one of Mike Regan’s in a rage. Those piercing pearl-grey eyes dulled, and his brows knitted together.

‘Well, let’s try and treat this as a bit of a break. We’ll soak up the rays, have a dip in the pool, and shop.’

Ricky laughed. ‘Shopping? What are ya? A girl?’

Arty screwed his nose up. ‘And so, Ricky, me ol’ son, are you gonna wash out ya smalls every day, then?’

Ricky rolled his eyes. ‘Point taken, mate.’

As the plane changed its course, the boys knew that they were not far away from their destination. Arty glanced over at his friend and realized what the problem was. Ricky was worried about the impending descent and the effect this would have on his ears. Ricky had discussed this with Arty on the flight, telling him that as they descended there would be a corresponding change in air pressure that would send sharp pains around his tender scars where the doctors had operated on his brain to stop the bleeds.

By one o’clock in the afternoon, the aircraft began its descent. Arty panicked as he watched the agony on Ricky’s face. He pulled him close and covered his friend’s hands with his own, trying to help with the pain. Ricky was sweating profusely, and Arty was attempting to comfort him.

‘Suck on these sweets.’ He handed Ricky a few sherbet lemons. ‘See, I said we’d take care of you. Fuck me, I should ’ave been a nurse.’

Wasting no time, Ricky began sucking on the sweets until he felt his ears pop and the pressure begin to release. The colour then came back to his cheeks. ‘Christ, I thought for a minute I was going to have another haemorrhage.’

‘Don’t say that. Jesus, you had me sweating for a minute.’

As the plane landed, Arty looked for his passport and phone in among the safety leaflets and magazines stuffed in the pouch of the seat in front of him. Then his attention was diverted to two men roughly the same age as himself, who were making disparaging remarks regarding Liam and the two girls. At first, he thought he had misheard, until one of the cheeky bastards laughed.

‘Cor, I bet he thought all his Christmases had come at once, sitting between two lookers.’

The other young man, now in on the joke, replied, ‘No, mate. I bet the girls thought all their Halloweens had come at once.’

Arty looked over at Liam who must have just caught the end of their joke. Instead of looking ready for a punch-up, he actually appeared hurt. Clocking Liam’s gutted expression instantly had Arty gunning for the opinionated bastards. He watched the passengers all shuffling, ready to get their bags together, and then he noticed Ricky’s bottle of water still in the pouch. He smiled to himself, retrieved the full bottle, and unscrewed the lid. As the two men fiddled with the overhead lockers, Arty tapped one on the shoulder. ‘Is that my bag, mate?’ he asked. As the guy turned to face him, he stared him straight in the eyes and poured the contents of the bottle down the front of his trousers. Arty stepped back. With a voice a little louder than necessary, he said, ‘Er, mate, you should’ve used the toilets. A bit too old to piss yaself, ain’t ya?’

The young man glared and then looked down at his light-coloured chinos. Sure enough, it did look like he’d wet himself. Then he spotted the bottle in Arty’s hand. ‘Why, you fucking shit!’

Ricky and Liam were now laughing very loudly, and they were joined by Poppy and Brooke. The furious man looked across at the group and decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.

Poppy leaned into Liam, feeling sorry for him, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Will you help me up, Liam?’ she asked, in her sweetest voice.

Liam looked over at the angry man and grinned. ‘’Course I will, my babe.’ Then he returned the kiss. Inside, he was elated. His pretty bird had gone out of her way to make a public show of affection for him and he felt a million dollars. Not many women would have done that: most would have edged away.

Brooke, however, was impressed with how Arty had managed the situation, and a sense of excitement ran through her. She wasn’t used to men who could handle themselves. All the boys that she’d dated in the past were proper geeks and would run away from any confrontation.

As Liam helped Poppy, and Arty did likewise with Ricky, they made their way through the terminal. Once they were outside, Liam spotted Terrence.

Terrence, a tall man, dressed in beige linen trousers and a white casual shirt, was leaning against a Bentley stretch limo. He looked fit and well, with a tan that set off his white hair and blue eyes. In his late sixties now, Terrence had once worked for Arthur Regan, Mike and Eric’s father. He was only a kid back then but soon got in with the firm and joined them on two heists that made him a mint. They called him Terrence The Skid because he could handle any vehicle and was their top getaway driver. He was fearless behind the wheel of a car and could easily outrun the police, having done it many a time. He wisely invested his money in property and prudently made friends with the local Spanish mayor. Now with two restaurants and a nightclub to his name, Terrence was going straight, except for the fact that he took a significant cut in any drugs that were sold on his premises.

As soon as he saw Arty and Liam, he pushed himself away from the car and walked over with his arms outstretched to hug the boys. Arty was first to embrace the man, followed by Liam, and then Terrence turned to look at Ricky. Arty knew that once Terrence clapped eyes on him, he would get emotional.

Ricky grinned as his vague memories of Terrence came flooding back like a film. Visions of Terrence teaching him to dive, when he was six years old, flashed through his mind.

‘Fuck me, ’ave I missed you. Come ’ere and give ya Uncle Skid a hug.’

Ricky fell into his arms and allowed the man to hold him for more than the customary two seconds for a greeting embrace.

Arty and Liam smiled at each other as they both noticed the tears welling up.

‘Look at ya! I would’ve recognized you anywhere. You’re like ya grandfarver was back in the day. It’s good to have you back, my boy.’

Ricky’s cheeks glowed. ‘And it’s good to see you too, Uncle Skid.’

‘Terrence, I need to get some clobber, mate. We didn’t have time to pack,’ said Arty, itching to get some new clothes.

‘Arty, just get in the motor, will ya? We can’t hang about, fella. I’ve been given strict instructions to get you to a safe villa. It’s me new drum that not a single soul knows about, including me missus.’

Poppy and Brooke were now smiling. They both knew that this was another world. Of course, they’d watched the gorgeous tough guy Vinnie Jones in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels – but that was pure theatre! The way this man and Ricky’s dad and his friends spoke and acted, though, with their flash cars and their serious demeanour and urgency, was altogether a different ballgame. And it was cool.

The excitement of seeing Ricky again had caused Terrence to take his eye off the ball. He didn’t notice the unsuspecting tatty car following them. Even as he weaved about along the winding roads into the mountains, he still didn’t see the red Ford Focus that allowed other cars to get in front.

The Ford Focus followed the Bentley for about fifteen miles and still showed no signs of catching it before the limo shot up a private drive. The driver slowed down and glanced across to the right to see a gated entrance and the gates closing automatically. Retrieving a phone from the passenger seat, he took a snapshot before driving away.

‘Now, lads. I’ve everything you need except a housekeeper, so I’m afraid you’re gonna have to clean up ya own shit, yeah? The fridge is loaded with food, the pool’s clean, and the bar’s stocked. You two lovely ladies, you have the top floor. The windows ’ave shutters you can lock, and, lads, I’ve three handguns with your names on ’em. One other thing. I know gin is all the rage these days, so I’ve twenty different Vera Lynns, all ready for ya in the drinks cabinet. I can’t say fairer than that!’

Poppy’s and Brooke’s eyes were on stalks. Vinnie Jones had nothing on Skid. Poppy loved his outfit. And, of course, she couldn’t help but spot the gold Rolex and the mirrored sunglasses – did all gangsters wear these? she mused. Then she thought about what he had just said. Handguns.

Terrence spotted Poppy’s reaction as he peered into the rear-view mirror. He could see she looked nervous, but he didn’t know why. ‘All right, back there, Poppy?’

The lads went quiet, waiting for her response.

‘Er, what’s the matter?’ asked Terrence.

‘Um, Poppy and Brooke, well they … Ya see, it’s like this, Terrence …’ Arty was at a loss for words. He didn’t really know how to explain that the girls weren’t from their world.

Ricky took over. ‘Uncle Skid, the girls don’t really know what’s going on. It was only a few days ago that they were at uni. Their muvver’s an MP. It’s kinda complicated.’

Terrence stopped the car directly outside the impressive-looking villa. He twisted himself around to face the look of shock on both the girls’ faces. ‘Jesus. Listen, girls. All I can say is, you’ll need to learn fast. Uni students, eh? Well, if ya both have brains, the lads’ll ’ave to teach ya stuff that you ain’t ever had to learn before.’

Poppy then smiled and nodded. ‘Look, we’ll be okay, I am sure.’ She chuckled. ‘Is there anywhere we can do some target practice? Mind you, I have to say, we have been clay pigeon shooting, and Brooke is first class, aren’t you Brooke?’

Brooke beamed. ‘Oh, yes. So, loading and handling a gun for a different sport isn’t alien to me.’

Terrence almost roared with laughter at that remark, but he didn’t want to embarrass who he now believed to be two very middle-class young girls … and pretty to boot. Instead, he allowed his smile to reach his eyes. ‘Good on ya. Maybe you can teach Liam, then, ’cos you ain’t a shit-hot shot, are ya, Liam? D’ya remember, you nearly shot me cat last year? Poor ol’ Lucky ain’t never been the same.’

Liam couldn’t help laughing at that wisecrack, and he was joined by Arty and Ricky, who were doubled over, which instantly broke the worried tension.

They stepped out of the car and followed Terrence into the villa. Brooke marvelled at the inside. The entrance hall, which was wall-to-wall marble, led into a massive lounge, which boasted an enormous fireplace surrounded by sofas. Just off the lounge was a dining area with eight fashionable white leather chairs set around a long oak dining table. Although this was impressive, it was the huge bifold doors opening up to an amazing view of the mountains beyond that stunned the girls. Brooke had only seen something like this on TV while watching the X Factor contestants performing at one of the judge’s houses.

Terrence led the way back to the entrance hall and into an enormous room leading off to the right. ‘’Ere’s the kitchen. It’s all stocked up. There’s the cooker, and, well, you lot can suss out the rest.’

Poppy and Brooke were looking at each other in astonishment. They’d never been inside such a plush villa. They knew one chapter of their lives was over. The suffocation of living with their mother, Rebecca, and their so-called father, Alastair, they thought had come to an end. Now they were being drawn into a new world – a very different world – they really didn’t know how they felt about it. It had all happened so quickly.

Brooke had been preoccupied, obsessed even, with her own problems. The rape incident had affected her very badly, and it had only been a few days ago that she’d agreed even to leave her bed, never mind the house.

Poppy, for her part, had been busy revising for end of term exams, her life focused on herself. But something had made her think more about Brooke. They had both lost their stepsister, Kendall, and maybe it was for that reason they’d suddenly become close. The fact that their own mother had consistently lied to them regarding who their real father was only made them realize that they’d been living in a fake family. How their lives could have flipped on their heads in just a few days was mind-blowing. Meeting Ricky, for example, in the hospital, after her mother had mown her down in a hit-and-run, only to discover he was Kendall’s boyfriend, proved how strange life could be. And while Kendall had been killed in the horrific assault, he’d been beaten near to death.

Nevertheless, they were here now, and excitedly she bit her lip, thinking about Liam. In such a short time, he had become her rock.

Terrence came back through the lounge and unlocked the door to the outside. The warm air instantly hit them, a stark contrast to the air conditioning inside.

‘Wow,’ said Brooke, as she spied the infinity pool. ‘That is beautiful.’

Arty and Liam looked at her and smiled. This was just the norm for them. They often spent their holidays with the firm in Spain, and Mikey’s villa was in the same league, so they were used to no less.

Poppy and Brooke, though, had only ever been on package holidays where everyone fought for a sunlounger around the pool.

‘Lads, come through to the bar. I need to get you geared up,’ he said, as he looked at Poppy and Brooke, who were still soaking in the surroundings. ‘I didn’t get a chance to organize flak jackets, but I’ll bring ’em tomorrow.’

The girls strolled back into the villa, and Ricky, ever the gentleman, decided he would escort them upstairs to their rooms.

Liam and Arty followed Terrence into the games room, which was more of a lads’ room, comprising a full-size snooker table, a poker table, and a well-stocked bar, with a huge curved TV screen set up on the wall.

‘Cor, Terrence, this is the mutt’s nuts, mate.’

Terrence nodded. ‘I had it put in for when your farvers come over for a break, so don’t you youngsters go and have wild parties and fuck it up, will ya?’

Arty laughed. ‘Terrence, have ya seen those two girls? The wildest they’ll ever get up to is a glass of Pimm’s over a game of Scrabble.’

‘I see one has a bruised face. She looks as though she’s been in a car crash!’

Liam exchanged glances with Arty. Terrence looked on, wondering if he was witnessing a private exchange, until Arty realized that his dad’s mate hadn’t been briefed on every event over in England.

Accordingly, he said, ‘Unfortunately, you ain’t far wrong, mate. Ricky met Poppy in hospital when he was recovering from the attack. Ya knew about that, right?’

Terrence looked at them both, all traces of humour now over. ‘No, not that. Mike told me a lot about what’s been goin’ on, and, quite frankly, I just couldn’t believe it at first. What he didn’t mention, though, was the business with the girls. He just said that they were with you and would I treat them like I would you lads.’

‘Well, Poppy and Brooke’s muvver is the local MP. She’s a dodgy prat. Anyway, she ran Poppy down, probably by mistake, ’cos it was dark, but she didn’t stop, so it was a fucking hit-and-run. I think she’s now on remand, but I don’t know if the girls know that.’ Arty noticed Terrence’s face, which was poised for more information.

‘The twins, Brooke and Poppy, had a stepsister called Kendall. She was Lance Ryder’s daughter, who was killed during the attack on Ricky,’ said Arty, eager to fill in the missing details.

‘About the twins. Who is their father?’

‘Well, funny you should ask. They thought their ol’ man was Alastair, the son of this Torvic bloke. But they only just found out their real dad is Lance Ryder.’

‘Mike told me about this Alastair bloke. Do the girls know he’s dead?’ Terrence suddenly lowered his voice.

‘No, but from what I can gather, they weren’t that close to him. In fact, they weren’t close to their muvver either. Kendall’s dad, this Lance bloke, is looking out for them now,’ said Liam, who had remained quiet up until this point.

‘Fucking hell. There’s a lot of coincidences,’ said Terrence, with a deep frown.

‘No, not really. The only fluke was Ricky dating Kendall. The blokes who attacked Kendall were after Ricky because he’s Mike’s son, but they killed Kendall. The sick twist is that not only did that bastard Alastair play a hand in killing his own stepdaughter but he fucking raped her first,’ said Liam.

‘The dirty fucker! Right, I’d better show you the gun collection.’

Terrence then walked over to the cabinet and unlocked it. As the door was opened, Arty grinned. ‘Cor, fucking tasty, mate.’

Ricky appeared in the doorway and made his way over to see what they were looking at. ‘I told the girls to check out the upstairs. Ya don’t mind, Uncle Skid, do ya?’

‘No, lad, not in the least. Right, now you’re all here, those three guns there are loaded. I’m supposed to have them separate from the ammo, but I didn’t see the point. Anyway, don’t get drinking and start playing silly buggers, ’cos I don’t wanna have to explain how the fuck any of ya got shot.’

Arty patted his shoulder. ‘Terrence, in case you ain’t noticed, we’re all grown men now.’

Terrence raised his brow. ‘Yeah, is that right? Well, you’re still kiddies to me. Okay, in that drawer, there are two small handguns for the girls. Now, look on those walls. See those red buttons? If ya press them, make sure no one is near the windows or the doors, ’cos you may well lose a foot. The minute you press any of the panic buttons, those metal shutters come down, and trust me, they’re fucking heavy and they hit the floor like shit off a shovel.’

As confident and self-assured as Arty was, he suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘Terrence, tell me, mate. How serious is this business back home? We were given a quick briefing at the airport, but, I mean all this.’ He pointed to the gun cabinet. ‘What’s going on?’

Terrence leaned against the bar. ‘Sit down, lads. Ya wanna brandy?’

Liam nodded. ‘Yeah, sounds as though we’re gonna need one.’

As soon as the tumblers were placed in the boys’ hands, Terrence took a deep breath. ‘Okay, there ain’t been many times when Mikey Regan calls me in a right two and eight, so when he does, I pay attention. All you really need to know is that some geezer called Torvic, a dangerous fucker by all accounts, was held captive by Zara Ezra and Mikey, while they tried to get information out of him. Ya know, “the Mikey way”. Anyway—’

‘Hold it, Terrence. What do ya mean by “the Mikey way”?’ interjected Ricky.

Liam put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. ‘Oh, trust me, buddy, you’ll live and learn, now you’re part of the firm.’

As Ricky turned to face him, Liam winked. ‘Our pops take no shit.’

Ricky thought back to the brief spell he’d spent in prison when he’d been reunited with his father, and how he had put the fear of God into people. ‘Yeah, Liam, I ain’t really surprised.’

Terrence was relieved that the boys’ fathers hadn’t kept them wrapped in cotton wool. Clearly, they were following in the footsteps of their fathers and grandfathers before them. But he didn’t know what they knew and what they didn’t. Although he and Mikey spoke on the phone occasionally, they never spoke about business. That was a no-no in their line of work. Fucking GCHQ and all that listening bollocks was apparently being extended from listening in on known espionage and terror related set-ups to any nefarious activity that was making serious money and denying the government of valuable revenue.

‘Well, this Torvic bloke was set up by Zara and Mike. Torvic’s sons got murdered, and his precious granddaughter was threatened. The deal was that Torvic would lead them to a man called Barak Segal in exchange for Torvic’s granddaughter’s life. Anyway, Zara and Mike had ’em locked up overnight only to find that the bastard and his granddaughter had escaped by the morning. This Torvic geezer is on the loose, and, apparently, from what Mikey told me, he’s one sick fucker who will come for one or each of you, out of revenge.’

‘Why did they kill the man’s sons?’

Arty tutted. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ricky, they would’ve had their reasons, wouldn’t they?’

‘I know that, but I wanna know why.’

Terrence poured them all another drink. ‘Because, Ricky, and Liam has just confirmed this, one of his sons was responsible for your beating … and another thing,’ he pointed his finger upwards to where the girls were, ‘he was supposedly their father … a bloke called Alastair. It’s all a bit of a mess. Torvic was importing a drug called Flakka into the whole of South-East London and had gangs of druggies doing his dirty work. But the bastard was killing and hurting innocent people. His son, Alastair, also killed his own stepdaughter by forcing that Flakka shit down her throat before he raped—’

‘Kendall?’ interrupted Ricky, horrified by what his uncle was telling them.

Terrence had been gauging the effect his news was having on the lads and particularly on Ricky. ‘Yeah, sorry, son. She was ya girlfriend, weren’t she?’

Ricky looked away, tears forming, and he suddenly felt very light-headed. He took deep breaths, as suggested by his nurse Constance at the hospital, whenever he experienced a flashback where he was subjected to that savage beating in Kendall’s flat. He got up from the bar stool and walked around in circles, processing this news, while Terrence, Arty, and Liam spoke quietly, trying to give Ricky some private time.

Terrence knew this would be difficult for Mikey’s son. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to get involved in all of this mess, but he owed Mikey big time for all the work the big man had given him, and, of course, for the rewards he was now blessed with. He needed to be there for the lad, and he would be.

Five minutes later, Ricky was back, sitting at the bar. His mind made up now, he said, ‘Evil cunts! Ya best show me how to use one of these guns, because if this geezer shows his face, I’ll blow the fucker’s head off!’

Arty and Liam had never seen Ricky get angry. But then, Ricky was a relatively new face, as an adult, anyway.

Ricky had just started school when Jackie, his mother, had taken him from Mike’s home, ostensibly to escape to Spain and to safety, following a war that had just taken place between the Regans and both the Harman and Segal families. Jackie, though, didn’t go to Spain. She used all the money she had siphoned from Mike to buy a house in Cambridgeshire, intending to shack up with Scottie Harman. But her illicit involvement with one of the Harmans was a step too far for Mike. Knowing what Mike would do if he caught her, she scarpered off to Ireland, back to her roots, to live in a caravan. No one knew where Ricky was until fate decreed that both Ricky and Mike would be reunited in HMP Maidstone.

The handsome, cheeky chappie with an innocent smile had transcended into someone far more frightening. Now his look of rage was identical to Mike’s. Even Terrence spotted it.

‘Cor, you’re your father’s son all right. It’s like watching Mikey all over again.’

‘So, are you gonna show me how to fire that thing?’

Arty got up and pulled Ricky away. ‘Listen. They’ll find this Torvic fella, so slow yaself down. Let’s get settled in and then we can have a little target practice, but first, mate, you need to get rid of that anger, ’cos no one learned anything when their mind’s on revenge.’

By the time Terrence had given them the complete rundown and left the villa, they were ready for the pool except they had no swimming gear, only their underwear. The situation was so bizarre to the girls that they were done with being so ladylike and self-conscious. The boys were in the pool in just their boxers, which was okay by them. Arty thought, though, that the girls might be a little embarrassed going into the pool wearing only a bra and knickers. But Poppy and Brooke didn’t need asking twice: they stripped off and joined them in a flash.

Enjoying the attention, the girls played around in the infinity pool. Meanwhile, the lads still had the looming threat firmly on their minds and kept ever vigilant. And they had to be even more so now that Poppy and Brooke were with them because they had lived somewhat privileged and sheltered lives, and so they wouldn’t really have a clue how serious this situation was. But their fathers had made it clear that if Torvic showed up, then there was to be no messing about: they were instructed to shoot to kill. It was the first time ever that they’d been told to kill anyone, so they weren’t going to take any chances. It was the day they had to grow up – to step into their fathers’ shoes and to take no prisoners.

Chapter 5

Once Mike had been informed that the boys were safe, he knew he would be able to relax a bit. Staffie and Willie continued to make calls, trying to track down Torvic and anyone linked to him. Shamus and Neil had their men covering the restaurants. They would probably be places that Torvic would likely go to find them. Mike, though, hoped his firm would be one step ahead.

By nightfall, there was no news on Torvic’s or his granddaughter’s whereabouts. There was damn all left to do but sleep. Zara and Mike returned to Mike’s house where they tried to rest, but it proved to be an impossible task. Any noise caused them to sit bolt upright. Zara slept very little anyway: she was tossing and turning, thoughts of what she’d done to Torvic’s sons firmly on her mind.

* * *

It was seven o’clock in the morning when Zara arrived at the hangar, which had now been the focus of two macabre episodes in the last decade or so: the demise of some of the Harman family, and, most recently, the deaths of Torvic’s sons.

She shivered as her eyes fell on the two chairs taking centre stage in the secret back room. There, on the floor, lay the abandoned ropes that had been cut by the mystery person coming to the rescue of Torvic and his granddaughter. Bizarrely, everything else had been left untouched. Even the remote device remained on the worktop.

Shamus stood by her side, his jacket lapels turned up, shielding him from the cold breeze that encircled the large open area. He had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were slumped. ‘See what I mean, Zara? It’s as if they’ve just vanished. I don’t like it one bit.’

Zara looked over at Mike who was wandering around the room. ‘Someone must have been hiding back there in the bushes with a pair of binoculars and watching the whole fucking drama. All I can say is they couldn’t have been strong-armed because they waited for us to leave before they came to set Torvic free. Which means one of two things: either he had already planned to have someone there that night, believing that I wouldn’t kill him, or one of our own men went back. Me, I think he was one step ahead of us.’

Neil shook his head. ‘I don’t get it, Zara. How could he have been so cocksure you wouldn’t kill him?’

Zara slowly and deliberately turned to face Neil. ‘Because he’s fucking clever, that’s why. He threw me a line that I would go for, and, stupidly, I took the bait – hook, line, and sinker. He knew I needed information and putting out that Barak was the main supplier was a clever ploy on his part. He shrewdly guessed that name would have me determined for a meeting. He knew about the past; the bastard knows everything, including how to fucking play me. Jesus, how could I have been so gullible? Of course it’s not Barak who supplied him with the drugs. He threw that in there to secure his own life. The man knows too much about me. How the hell he does is a mystery, but the fact is, he does. But I have to hand it to him. He employed the oldest trick in the book. Give your interrogator something that sounds convincing and they’ll buy it. Well, it worked, didn’t it?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Okay, now we know that Barak is not behind this, we’d better put out a few feelers and find out as much as we can about this Torvic bloke.’

She paused as she watched Mike’s eyes focus on one of the kitchenette cabinets. Ignoring her, he squatted on his haunches and placed his cheek on the cold concrete floor.

‘What are you doing, Mikey?’

Still ignoring her, he tried to stretch his arm under one of the units that was attached to the back wall. He groaned as he reached further. Then, suddenly, he was on his feet, holding a piece of paper. ‘Zara, your hangar, as you once told Staffie, is always as clean as a surgeon’s scalpel, so what’s this?’ He unfolded the tatty piece of paper as Neil, Zara, and Shamus hurried over to see for themselves. The note was partially printed and in the corner was part of an address. At first, they all looked dumbstruck: no one recognized it for a moment.

‘It may have just blown in with the wind. The back room’s been open to the elements,’ said Shamus.

But then, Zara looked at Mike’s face. He was staring as if what he was seeing meant something.

‘Mike?’

He snapped out of his gaze and slowly turned to face her. ‘I’ve seen this before, but … no, there must be some mistake. I, er …’

‘Mike, spit it out! What’s going on?’ demanded Zara.

He scratched his head. ‘This is mental. When Jackie was at mine, I tipped her bag out. She told me that on one of her court summonses there was an address of the Flakka supplier. It was Number Three, Sycamore Cottage. To me, this looks like the start of that address. And look at the corner of this paper. It has a reference number and serial numbers. That’s an official letter, like a court summons.’

Zara stepped back and screwed her face up. ‘Aw, come on, Mike. This has to be a coincidence. I mean, Jackie, your fucking ex-wife, in cahoots with Torvic? Give me a break. The bird’s a tent short of a circus, as thick as pig shit, and twice as stupid. No way!’

As Mike stared at the paper, he tried to remember if it was the same one he’d read at his home at the time of finalizing the divorce with his wife.

‘Zara, this is no coincidence. Who writes down addresses in pen these days? In fact, who uses a pen? Nah, this was in her bag, I’m telling ya.’

Stunned by the find, Zara paced the floor. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, removed the cellophane with her teeth, and, after lighting up, she puffed away like a steam train.

‘I’m going to fucking kill her,’ Mike said. ‘Doesn’t the stupid bitch realize what she’s done? My Ricky could be in fucking danger because of her. Right, I’m going to Essex, and I’m gonna burn her fucking caravan down, with the ugly prat in it!’

‘No! Don’t be so reckless. That piece of paper may not confirm she was the one who released Torvic and Tiffany. For all we know, he may have been in her company, and, in some way, that piece of paper ended up with him.’

Mike stood with his hands on his hips and gave her a defiant glare. ‘Give over, Zara. It’s more likely that he’s given her a stash of money, and we all know she’ll do anything for cash. I ain’t gonna stand here and leave her be. I’ve had enough. She’s been the fucking thorn in my side for years now. It ends today.’

‘Mikey Regan, you might just find yourself back in the same position you were thirteen fucking years ago, with you inside and no help to anyone …’ She paused, allowing the words to filter. ‘Listen. Torvic was one step ahead of the game, but we have something now. We have Jackie. We ain’t going in like escaped maniacs, we’re gonna plan this out and find a way to get to Torvic. Jackie can wait. There’ll be plenty of time later to deal with her.’

Mike rolled his eyes and bit his lip. Zara was right, of course, so he had to control his urge to let rip.

* * *

As the Spanish sun dipped beneath the horizon and the cold crept in, Arty went inside. He decided to make a fire. It would give them all something to focus on and they could enjoy time snuggling up on the sumptuous sofas with the big screen on. It was essential, he reasoned, for them to keep their minds firmly on doing things. Otherwise, too much time spent on reflection would bring all their worries to the fore. Poppy and Brooke were fun to be around, the three lads were tight, and all five of them seemed to gel effortlessly.

The screeches and laughing simmered down as they slowly wandered inside. Poppy and Brooke were both huddled in the entrance hall, shivering inside their towels. Their eyes lit up when they spotted see-through bags of what looked like tracksuits, T-shirts, and jumpers. Arty was prodding the logs, stopping them from sliding off the grate.

‘All right, girls. We should be warm pretty soon unless you want the heating on as well.’

Poppy looked tired. The pool was great for the recovery of her leg injury, but she still hadn’t really had enough time to recuperate from her ordeal.

Brooke, however, was still lively and wandered over to the bags. ‘Arty, are these for us?’

Arty was still kneeling on the floor, attending to the fire, but he looked over to see what Brooke was referring to. ‘Oh, yeah. Terrence stopped by. He dropped off some clobber. He doesn’t want us to leave the villa unless it’s an emergency.’

Brooke was trying to see what exactly was in the bags; it wasn’t every day she was given new clothes.

‘Can I have a look? I need to get something warm and clean on.’

Poppy sat shivering close to the fire. ‘Y-e-ss, me-e to-o.’

With the go-ahead, Brooke began opening the bags. To her delight, they were crammed with designer clothing, with authentic labels, no less. Two fleece-lined Nike tracksuits in pastel shades caught her eye and instantly she looked at the size. They were spot-on. ‘Here, Poppy, this will warm you up. They’re lovely, so soft, and, Poppy, they’re Nike. Wow, I love them. Do you think we could keep them?’ she asked excitedly.

Arty stood up and helped Brooke to carry the bags into the lounge. ‘Of course, babe. I don’t think they’ll look much cop on Terrence.’

Brooke giggled and blushed, and then turned to her sister, who, by now, had blue lips and was covered in goose bumps. ‘Hey, are you okay?’

Poppy nodded. ‘I’ve just got too cold, I think. Maybe I overdid it a bit.’

Brooke quickly got her sister to her feet. ‘Come into the other room, get out of those wet bits, and I’ll help you get dressed. You will warm up soon enough.’

While the girls left to get changed in the games room, Liam and Ricky came into the lounge, still laughing. Both looked like drowned rats. ‘Where are the girls?’ asked Ricky, clearly concerned for them.

‘Getting changed, I believe. Oh, yeah, there are tracksuits for you two. Terrence dropped them off. We ain’t to leave the villa, apparently. He brought us some big steaks an’ all, so we can have a right good feast up.’ He stepped back away from the huge TV screen and fiddled with the remote. ‘There we go, lads. A warm fire, a good film, and you, Liam, ya think ya some kinda naked chef, so you can cook us all dinner!’

Liam rubbed his hands together, beaming. ‘Yep, ol’ Gordon Ramsay has nothing on me.’

Ricky laughed and shook his head. He enjoyed Liam’s sunny personality. He was always so upbeat and funny. In fact, he laughed at everything, including himself, sadly.

As they all sat around the fire, drinking beers, Liam, the joker, dressed in just an apron, came into the lounge holding a frying pan. ‘So, how d’ya like ya steaks?’

They all fell about laughing as he turned around to show his bare backside. Poppy winked and laughed along. ‘If I could get to my feet quick enough, I think I’d slap that arse of yours.’

Her sudden change to a cockney accent made everyone roar, including Liam, who was loving the attention, especially from, as he saw her, the prettiest girl in Spain.

Ricky threw him a tracksuit. ‘Get dressed, or the sight of your two cheeks will put me off me steak.’

Liam dodged the tracksuit as it flew past him and landed in the kitchen. Laughing away, he returned to cook the steaks.

Poppy had stopped shivering and was now curled up sipping her beer, while Arty flicked through the TV channels.

Ricky laid his head back and closed his eyes. With tiredness sweeping over him, perhaps he too had overdone the playtime in the pool.

Brooke chatted away to Arty about the best Marvel movie she’d watched, which impressed Arty because he had a liking for the same film.

After a few minutes, Arty called out to Liam, ‘Oi, chef, are you fucking milking that cow or cooking it? I want mine rare, mate.’ He chuckled, but there was only silence.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. Ricky opened his eyes and held his breath. Brooke looked at Poppy with tremendous fear on her face. Arty silently got up and put his finger to his mouth, telling the others to be quiet. He backed away from the lounge, hurried to the games room, and returned with a gun in his hand. ‘Liam!’

Ricky was now on his feet and behind Arty as they crept towards the kitchen. As they reached the door, Arty cocked the gun and peered in, but the kitchen was empty. The frying pan was sizzling away, but the tracksuit was on the floor, and Liam was gone.

‘What the fuck?’

The side door slammed shut. Arty ran across the marble floor and ripped the door open. Outside, there was no sign of movement, and the air was still, with no obvious sound whatsoever. And no lights could be seen. It was baffling. Liam had seemingly vanished into thin air.

‘Liam!’ screamed Arty.

Ricky ran back to the lounge to check the girls were still there. ‘Liam’s gone. Stay there. Don’t move.’

Poppy grabbed Brooke’s hands, and, instantly, they both held each other. This was so terrifying, like one of those slasher movies.

Ricky ran into the games room and pulled one of the shotguns from its case. He then dashed to the pool, where, immediately, the floodlights came on, lighting up the complete back area. ‘Liam!’ he screamed. But all he could hear was an echo of his own voice.

Arty ran from the side of the villa around to the back where Ricky was standing, now totally flummoxed.

‘Christ, what if they’ve got him? I mean, how the fuck did it happen?’ asked Arty, whose face was deathly white.

‘Are the two cars still there? Maybe, he left to go to the shop to get other stuff for dinner.’

Arty shook his head and peered at the innocent expression on Ricky’s face. ‘The cars are both there, and he wouldn’t go out in just that fucking stupid apron. Ricky, someone’s got to him. Oh, Jesus Christ, they’ve got him …’ He suddenly ripped at his hair and tears filled his eyes. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he cried.

Ricky could feel his mate’s pain as Arty slumped to the floor, banging his fist like a silverback gorilla.

‘Wait, Arty. We don’t know for sure. Come on back inside. Let’s think.’

Arty allowed Ricky to pull him to his feet as he sniffed back a tear. ‘Christ, Ricky, if they have him, it’s my fault. I said he should cook dinner. Fuck. If only I was in the kitchen, not Liam.’

Ricky put his arm around Arty’s shoulder. ‘Listen, we need to think straight, right? Call his phone.’

Arty snapped out of his grief and worry and started to head back inside the villa. He looked at the girls, who had now come outside to see what was going on.

Poppy was as white as a sheet, too afraid to actually know the truth. Brooke could tell it was serious by the look in Arty’s eyes. ‘Someone’s taken him, haven’t they, Arty?’

Arty was too upset to reply. His deflated expression spoke volumes about what he felt inside. He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding her look of concern.

Ricky knew that Arty was going down the road of resignation and needed geeing up to get his act together. ‘Arty, call his number, will ya?’

As soon as Arty dialled the number, a phone began ringing in the kitchen. Liam had gone. They all looked at each other as if an ominous entity had entered the room. ‘He never went anywhere without his phone.’

‘Call Terrence.’

Arty did as Ricky ordered, letting him take the lead. He was in too much of a state to focus properly.

‘Terrence, Liam’s gone. I mean, one minute he was cooking dinner, and then the next, he just vanished. The side door was open, the cars are still here. He ain’t even got clothes on, and his phone’s still on the side.’

There was silence as all three stared at Arty’s expression, praying that Terrence would have some answers, yet the pause was very long.

They couldn’t hear what Terrence was saying, but they got the impression that whatever it was it had knocked the stuffing right out of him.

‘Yeah, will do, mate,’ was all Arty said before he finished the call. ‘He’s coming to get us now. He told us to close the shutters. He’ll ring when he’s outside.’

Poppy felt her breathing quicken. It was instantly noticed by Brooke. ‘Pops, it’s okay. Take deep breaths. Slowly does it,’ she said, as she gripped Poppy’s shoulders.

‘Hey, is she having a panic attack? Because, to be honest, girls, we really need to pull ourselves together.’

Ricky’s tone was gentle, but, nevertheless, the point was a good one. In a flash, he ran up the stairs and snapped into action, and within a few seconds, all the shutters were hitting the floor like guillotines. The only light in the lounge was coming from the fire and the TV.

Brooke decided she needed to join in because sitting around huddled in a terrified state wouldn’t help them one bit. She turned on the lights and went into the kitchen to ensure the shutters were down. Then she noticed on the floor, just abutting the kitchen unit nearest the doorframe, there was a syringe.

‘Arty, come here!’ she yelled.

‘What is it?’ asked Arty, as he rushed into the kitchen, looking anxious.

She bent down and carefully held the syringe by her fingertips. She showed it to Arty. ‘I think someone has taken Liam, unless Terrence is a drug user.’

Arty carefully took hold of the syringe and placed it on the granite worktop. He stared for a moment as Brooke looked at his expression of fear – pure fear. Visions of Liam being drugged and taken to a warehouse, naked, and strapped to a torture table, gave Arty a foul taste of bitterness in his mouth.

‘Are you okay, Arty? What do you think this means?’

Arty wasn’t about to divulge his inner terrors, and so, gently, he shook his head. ‘This could mean anything, but, listen. Let’s just stay put in the lounge and wait for Terrence.’

They didn’t have to wait long before he called – he was outside.

By now, Ricky had similar thoughts to Arty, once he’d been told what was found in the kitchen; however, Ricky wasn’t afraid. He was angry. This was a serious piss-take.

Terrence parked his car in between the two others. His men wasted no time in jumping out from their cars and scouring the perimeter. Terrence bundled the four youngsters into his Bentley and stood for a moment like a bodyguard. After all, as far as he was concerned, he had precious cargo to get to safety.

Once they were away from the villa, Terrence asked them to relay every bit of information before he would make that all-important call. He knew that it would turn Mike’s firm entirely upside down.

And he also knew it would set off a chain of events that would probably lead to a devastating outcome.

* * *

Zara decided it was best if they all returned to her father’s house. She couldn’t devise a plan alone as she needed their input on how they should move forward.

Mike phoned Eric and told him to go to their parents’ place and make sure they were ready to move out for a while. Mike knew what his father was like: it would take more than the threat of Torvic, the Russian, to have him running scared.

Eric reluctantly agreed to go, as he felt excluded from the decision-making, and he wasn’t happy about that. As usual, he reasoned, big brother Mikey was playing the role of top dog while he – barely ten months younger, for Christ’s sake – was the puppy once again. It was a fucking nightmare. He felt out of it, quite naturally, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time either. However, he wasn’t going down the road of another confrontation. This was serious business, and if he was being truthful, he really was best out of the way.

Sitting behind the desk, Zara looked at the men in front of her. They were all tired, and as much as she wanted to reel off a plan, in her mind, she had nothing that would ease their concerns or even get them motivated.

Mike’s phone rang. It was a distraction that Zara welcomed.

‘What? Go on. I wanna know everything,’ said Mike brusquely to the caller, as the others remained silent.

Zara noticed right away that Mike not only looked deeply troubled, but his eyes were intently focused on Willie. Her skin became covered in goose bumps.

Suddenly, Willie clocked that out of all the people in the room, Mike was looking at him.

With wide, frightened eyes he jumped up. ‘What the fuck’s ’appened?’

Mike ended the call and stepped towards Willie, preparing for an embrace. Yet, Mike’s sombre smile filled with grief and sorrow made Willie jump back.

‘What, Mikey? What’s ’appened? Just tell me, will ya!’

‘Willie, mate, I’m so sorry …’

Willie’s eyes darted around Mike’s face. ‘Nah, nah, not my boy, no way. He ain’t part of this. Fuck me, he’s …’

Mike leaned forward to reach out to Willie, to hold him before the man went nuts. But, to his surprise, Willie suddenly slammed his hand into Mike’s shoulder.

‘Get the fuck away from me! This ain’t my war, or my boy’s fight. It’s yours, Mike, and …’ He spun round and glared with spite at Zara. ‘And yours!’ He stared defiantly, looking Zara up and down. ‘Ya see, don’t ya? This is your fault! Why my boy, eh?’

‘Willie, please,’ said Mike, desperately trying to comfort or even calm a situation that could easily turn nasty. ‘Look, we don’t know what’s ’appened yet.’

‘Well, has he been shot or stabbed? What the fuck’s going on? Tell me! Now!’ he bellowed, as his eyes turned red with rage.

Stupidly, Zara thought that being a woman, she could intervene and somehow calm Willie down, but the moment she was a mere foot away, he viciously flung his arms about and knocked her prosthetic hand. The clanging sound made everyone jolt and prepare themselves for the backlash; either Zara would lose it or Mike would.

Willie’s actions shook him into sanity. Instantly focused, he looked from Zara to Mike, expecting a nasty repercussion.

But Mike held his hand out, still intent on comforting Willie. He knew he was the only man in the room who would know precisely how Willie felt.

‘Willie, don’t assume he’s dead. One minute he was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for them all, and the next, he vanished. Someone has taken him, but …’

He looked at Zara and then back at Willie. ‘But Terrence thinks he was drugged and taken away. Now, before you start jumping to conclusions, right, we don’t know he’s dead.’

Willie could hear Mike’s words but they just wouldn’t register. All he could see was his son being cruelly murdered.

‘Get fucking real, Mike. Look what we did to that cunt Torvic. Jesus, it was sick.’ He glared again at Zara. ‘What you made him do to his own son, it was obscene. And you reckon the bastard won’t do that to mine? What … are you lot fucking delusional?’

Zara felt physically sick because she knew no amount of talking would ever stop Willie from thinking the worst. After all, in his position, she’d feel exactly the same. ‘I don’t think it’s Torvic’s style—’

She didn’t get to finish. Suddenly, Willie was in her face. ‘Style? Style? What the fuck would you really know? ’Cos if you knew so much, he wouldn’t have fucking escaped, would he? And he wouldn’t now be torturing my boy!’

It was Lance who brought Willie back to thinking rationally. ‘Look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Torvic hasn’t got your son because he couldn’t have got to Spain and set this up all in a matter of hours. The kids were rushed out of the country. He would’ve had to second guess everything. So, there’s no way Torvic’s involved. I don’t believe it was him.’

Willie kicked the chair out of the way, ran his trembling hands through his hair, and then punched the wall. No one said a word as they watched the man collapse to his knees with cries that would set off a pack of wolves.

Mike hurried to his side and flung his arms around the man, holding him close. ‘Come on, mate, try and stay with us. We all feel your pain. Ya know I do, what with all that happened to Ricky. You were all there for me, and we’ll all be there for you too. We don’t know what’s happened yet, but I swear to God, we’ll do everything to find out. And one more thing: there’ll be fucking murders when we find the fuckers who have done this to one of our own.’

Willie’s chest heaved in and out as the sobs choked the life out of him. But slowly, after he’d calmed down, those words of Mike’s resonated with him. They were all family. Ever since their school days, it had been all for one and one for all. It had served them well in the past. He earnestly prayed it would do so now.

Zara could only watch on, helpless. This was turning into her worst nightmare.

* * *

It was early evening when Shelley parked outside her father’s office. The rush-hour traffic was at its height, and she couldn’t find a parking space for love nor money. In her frustration, she pulled into a reserved parking bay and climbed out of her car, slamming the door shut. The wind was fierce and almost knocked her sideways, forcing her to regain her composure.

Just as she was about to lock the door, a jumped-up traffic warden called after her, ‘Sorry, but you can’t park there!’

Raging, Shelley spun around to face him. ‘Go fuck yaself!’ she hollered back, to the disgust of some passers-by.

‘Madam, those spaces are paid for and—’

‘Aw, fuck off. It’s my father’s building and his parking slots, so mind ya own business.’

The traffic warden looked at the windscreen of her car and grinned. ‘Well, that might be so, but you don’t have a pass on show, so that means you can’t park here.’

Shelley didn’t have time to argue. She took a deep breath and was about to walk away, but the traffic warden wasn’t having any of it.

‘Madam, I said you can’t park here. You’ll have to move.’

Inhaling through her nose, she tried to hold in her anger, but she was on edge and had been for days.

‘I said, go fuck yourself!’

Suddenly, the tall glass doors to the building opened and out stepped Glen Maitland, the security guard, a long-legged black man with a cold, expressionless face. He held up his hand. ‘It’s okay. She has a pass!’

‘Not on the windscreen she hasn’t, and—’

Before the traffic warden could finish, the security guard pulled a card from his pocket and waved it in front of the man’s nose. ‘Yes, she does!’

Glen turned and sneered at Shelley. ‘He’s waiting for you. Give me your keys.’

Shelley wondered if all of her father’s staff hated her, but then her mind cast back to her son, and, instantly, she went into one of her couldn’t-give-a-shit moods. She slapped the keys into Glen’s hand and made her way into the building and took the lift to the top floor.

As usual, her father was dressed impeccably. Anyone who found themselves in this building facing him would only assume he was a successful financier. Underneath the sleek facade was a razor-sharp businessman, with a keen eye for illegal gains. She had admired him as a kid. Then, as a teenager, she’d understood why he was so well off and why he had men kissing his feet. His game had initially been counterfeit money. He’d set up factories all over the country. So good were his copies that it had caused mayhem back in the eighties, severely affecting the banking system. He knew when to call it a day, though, and by the time he was loaded, he reinvested some of the money into property. He had the local MPs and councillors in his back pocket and managed to secure run-down warehouses and disused factories, turning them into luxury apartments for the Russians to purchase as an investment.

Shelley paused for a moment, wondering what mood her father was in. He was seated and staring at a computer screen. She hated it when he didn’t acknowledge her right away; it was one of his trademark management tricks to show those he allowed into his working space had to pay homage to him. It made her think that perhaps that was why she’d run into the arms of his enemy. The thought sickened her because her father was worth a fortune, and since she was the only child, she should eventually inherit the lot. But that wouldn’t be the case now: he’d made that crystal clear.

‘Any news, Dad?’ she asked, in her softest tone.

‘Yes, your brother-in-law will be assigning the house to you.’ His wicked smirk etched its way across his face, and it turned her stomach. She knew what he’d done. It was another one of his euphemisms: Mack would have been tied up and forced to sign the paperwork.

‘I meant, did you make arrangements for Lucas?’

Colin looked away from the computer and sighed. ‘Yes!’ he spat, as his skin tightened around his jaw. Shelley hated that look: she knew it was controlled anger.

Yet, right now, she wasn’t concerned. ‘Oh, Dad, thank you. Oh my God, I’ve been so worried. I feel like …’

‘Shut it!’ he yelled, which made her recoil. ‘I ain’t doing it for you. I’m doing it because it’s what ya dear ol’ mother would’ve wanted. You were right to fuck off with that bastard husband of yours, ’cos you two are cut from the same mouldy cloth. You’re as useless as he is, and as for your son, he fucking got himself into this mess!’

‘Dad, you would’ve done it for me when I was a teenager, wouldn’t you?’

Colin stared straight through her. ‘I’ve bailed your arse outta shit many a time. Having men beaten or buried, I did it to protect your name, when, really, you were nothing but a slut, using my reputation to swan around like you fucking owned the place. I paid your debts, I gave you everything, but you still went off with that bastard. See, that’s where me and you are worlds apart. I know which side my bread’s buttered. You’ve been brainwashed by your estranged husband for so long, you’re not my girl anymore, you’re still his.’

The pulse in her neck felt like a jackhammer, and she wondered if he was actually right. But then the vision of her son came into her head, and she didn’t care what her father thought of her, as long as she got what she wanted.

‘About Lucas. How long will it take, Dad?’

‘It’s happening tonight. And I’ll tell you this much. This has cost me a fucking shitload of money, so once it’s done and dusted, I don’t ever want to see your face again. And when Lucas is sorted, please don’t think for one minute that by sending your son to butter me up, it will in any way change things. It won’t. He’s off limits, as you are. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Dad, he’s a lovely boy. You really should get to know him.’

The flash of anger in her father’s face made her eyes widen.

‘Listen to me, and fucking listen good. I don’t want no fucking needy kid of yours knocking at my door! Got it?’

With a firm nod, Shelley got up to leave. ‘Yeah sure, Dad. Message received. Is there anything I can do?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve everyone and everything in place. I don’t want you interfering, or you’ll fuck things up, and I ain’t going to jail for you, so you stay well away. My private jet will be leaving tonight for Spain, with Lucas on it.’

‘Oh shit! You’re flying him out of the country, then?’

‘Yeah, tonight, so keep away. I have my people on the case, and they know what they’re doing. I’ll have your ticket ready at the airport. You fly separately, though. Understood?’

‘Yeah, sure, but why Spain?’

Colin flared his nostrils in a temper. ‘Shelley, either you want my help, or you don’t. If you have the right bloke, then he is in fucking Alicante. Your dipshit of a son is just lucky I have contacts in Spain to sort out this problem. Now shut up with the fucking questions and piss off.’

She had a million things to ask, but she knew it was her call to leave.

Colin watched as his daughter, dressed in her tight-fitting black tube dress and her short cream leather jacket, toddled out of his office like some Barbie doll on drugs.

He sighed and took out a small bottle of Scotch from his side drawer. It was hard to believe that his daughter, the former love of his life, was now like a looming dark shadow, gnawing away at his conscience. He’d planned to go completely straight and leave all his criminal days behind him, yet Shelley bursting once more into his life was sending him right back to the past where he’d done anything to get to the top. Now he was at his peak, he was annoyed that she’d put him in this position.

All he could do was to thank his lucky stars that he knew many people who owed him, and now he had to call in every single favour. He shuddered; pouring another drink, he gritted his back teeth.

* * *

Amanda Wells, Colin’s personal assistant, had the door to her office partially open, hoping to earwig on his conversation with Shelley. She’d heard Colin on the phone the day before and knew that his daughter was expected around mid-morning. Knowing Colin’s history with Shelley, Amanda felt uneasy that he was even entertaining his daughter. ‘Gold-digger,’ she mumbled, under her breath, as she heard the clip-clop of Shelley’s stiletto shoes recede along the corridor.

* * *

As soon as Shelley stepped outside, where the blustery, cold wind whipped around her bare legs, she felt as though a sudden dark veil of guilt and sadness covered her mind. She did miss her father, if she was being honest with herself, and now there was just him alone, she wondered if he was happy. Would he have still been the same man if she’d not gone down the path she had? It was too late now though – or was it?

Once he met Lucas, he would see that the boy was just like him, his grandfather. Maybe Lucas was not as handsome, but he was tall and smart looking, with the same chiselled face, except his nose was longer and his eyes were piercing blue. Yet she saw her father in him and hoped her father would too.

Chapter 6

Jackie sat nervously in her caravan as she watched Torvic pace the floor. He tutted and moved her belongings out of his way, using his forefinger and thumb as if he might catch some disease.

He growled, with his eyes glaring at her. ‘I gave you enough money as security to get a decent car and follow the bitch and keep a lookout. Yet you fucking turn up in your shitty jeep with gaffer tape and an engine, which, in another twenty miles, would have given up the fucking ghost. Bloody hell, woman, how fucking stupid are you? The fumes blacked out the village. Talk about leaving a fucking trail. Ya nearly gassed half of Kent.’

With each sharp word, she blinked. ‘Look, Mr Torvic, you didn’t give me any time to get a decent motor. One minute, you were at my door, putting on the bleedin’ charm, and the next, I was hiding in the fucking bushes with a bloody pair of binoculars watching …’ She paused and looked away, reliving the horrific scene. ‘Well, let’s just say, I didn’t expect to be caught up … in this shit.’

Her last words faltered as she recalled the moment Torvic poured that acid over the bloke’s head. Her ex-husband, Mike, who she’d lived with over thirteen years ago, had a reputation, and that was no secret. But she’d never seen him in action, and as for Zara, she shuddered, because a while ago, she’d fronted the woman out and got swiped across the face with a blade for her trouble. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever believed her life would’ve turned out in the way it had.

Nausea made her mouth fill with saliva. It was all very well in the past giving Mikey some verbal stick because she believed then, deep down, he wouldn’t have hurt her. After all, she was the mother of his precious Ricky. Now, though, after what she’d witnessed in that hangar, she was having second thoughts. Equally, she was stuck in her poxy caravan with some nutter and his granddaughter, who was in and out of consciousness. She swallowed the rising puke and took a deep breath.

‘Right, listen to me very carefully. I need to sort something out. This is the last place that Mike or that bitch Zara will think of coming to. So I need you to take care of Tiffany for an hour or so, and I mean take care of her. You’ll get the rest of your money, all in good time, but, for now, guard that kid with your life!’

Jackie looked over at Tiffany who was slumped on the sofa. She leered at her in annoyance. Kid? Was he having a laugh or what? She was a woman. End of. She stared at Tiffany more intently, noticing the gold chain around her neck and the expensive-looking watch on her wrist. Yes, those would keep her in Grey Goose for a couple of months, she thought.

Torvic snatched her car keys, shook his head, and exited, without even closing the door behind him.

‘Fucking pig,’ she grumbled, under her breath. Then, she turned back to Tiffany, who suddenly appeared to be coming round. Her eyes blinked, and she tried to sit up.

‘Where am I?’

With flushed cheeks, Jackie excitedly jumped to her feet. ‘Aah, it’s all right, babe. Your grandfarver’s gone to get some ’elp. He said to give you something.’

Tiffany’s long dark hair was matted, and her usually pretty, made-up eyes were smudged as if she’d been on the piss all night.

Jackie pulled open the drawers, like a frantic burglar, until she found the box of sleeping tablets. Pouring four in the palm of her hand, she shoved them under Tiffany’s nose.

‘Take these. You’ll feel so much better. Ya grandfarver said to take ’em. He’ll be back soon.’ Jackie tried to sound soft and motherly, but it really wasn’t in her nature. Still, she would give it her best shot.

‘Go on, babe. You’ve been through one ’ell of an ordeal. This’ll take the edge off.’

She gave the tablets to Tiffany and went over to the rotten, dirty sink where she grabbed a glass that had congealed milk at the bottom, swirled it under the tap, and then filled it with fresh water.

Tiffany was still slightly wobbly and didn’t notice the tiny milk particles floating on the top. She threw the tablets to the back of her throat, groggily took the glass, and swallowed the contents. The cold water seemed to help: it livened her up. Suddenly, her expression was different: cold and dark.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Jackie stepped back and frowned. ‘Ya grandfarver asked for my help. He’s just popped out.’

Tiffany had a teenager’s attitude, but her level of violence was that of a grown mental maniac at times; it was a trait which made Torvic thoroughly proud.

‘What am I doing in this shithole? Fucking ’ell, don’t tell me that Pops has been banging a skank like you? Jesus!’

Seriously insulted, Jackie retorted, ‘Oi, ya cheeky little cow. If it weren’t for me, you would still be inside that room pissing in ya knickers.’

‘Oh, shut up. Who d’ya think you are?’

‘Me, love? More like who the fuck d’ya think you are! I rescued you, ya ungrateful bitch. I should’ve left you and ya grandfarver in the hands of Mike Regan and his lot.’

Jackie snatched the glass out of Tiffany’s hand and threw it in the sink, mumbling under her breath, ‘Ya fucking nasty cow.’

‘But I don’t get it. So who are you?’ Tiffany persisted, thoroughly disgusted with her surroundings.

Jackie turned around to find the girl with her nose in the air and wiping her hands down her trousers.

Leaning against the sink, Jackie curled her lip. ‘Ya Pops, or whatever the fuck he’s called, asked for my help. Now, if you ain’t happy sitting in my caravan, you can just as easily do one. There’s the fucking door.’

They locked eyes, each sussing the other out, until a sudden wave of tiredness gripped Tiffany. The visions of last night avalanched through her mind. It had been like seeing her dad and uncle thrown into a shark tank with buckled bars while a great white circled before them, ruthlessly devouring its prey. The fight had been relentless, harsh, cold, and – yes – very one-sided. She felt sick but swallowed hard to control the feeling of nausea.

Tiffany’s mind once again began to switch off as the shock was back with a vengeance, except, this time, it was laced with an overdose of the sleeping tablets that stopped her from fighting the state of unconsciousness. She nestled her head against the worn, threadbare sofa and closed her eyes before she was out for the count.

Jackie continued to stare until she was sure the girl was out of it. Then, quickly, she kneeled next to Tiffany, hooked her index finger just under the gold chain and eased it from under the girl’s top. It was a long, thick belcher chain with a gold horseshoe and three sizable diamonds set into it. Jackie’s eyes widened as she guessed the value. And the charm being a horseshoe as well was such a bonus, she could sell it on to most of the gypsies on the site. Carefully, she unclipped the clasp and slowly pulled it from the girl’s neck.

Tiffany was gently snoring.

As Jackie kneeled down on the floor, she carefully lifted the girl’s arm, twisting her wrist slightly to see the safety catch on the watch. Still, Tiffany didn’t move, and Jackie got to work, removing the gold watch while thinking of the perfect buyer. The watch slid off easily, and as Jackie held it close to her face, she could see the gold hallmark. Her grin cruised across her face until it revealed her stained teeth.

With the watch and necklace in her hand, she looked around her caravan. For the first time in such a long time, she saw it for what it really was – a tin shell, filled with bleak belongings, reminding her of who she now was and where she had come from. The mould on the walls was from when she’d been too drunk to worry about the condensation. The ripped, stained sofas and faded curtains had once been immaculate and admired by the other gypsies. In fact, the women on the site used to marvel at her caravan, even drool over it, wishing they had the same. Yet now she was left with fuck all – just a filthy, rotten, and stinking mess. Holding the solid gold pieces in her hand, admiring their clean, classy quality, only served to emphasize just how disgusting her place and her belongings actually were.

After slipping the chain over her neck and fastening the flash gold watch to her wrist, Jackie’s eyes flicked to Tiffany sprawled out on the sofa. The girl’s hair, although somewhat matted, still shone like the wings of a blackbird. Her skin was smooth and fresh and everything about the young woman looked clean and untouched. At one time, she’d been the same, before having Ricky and messing with her face and her body. It was before she believed the grass was greener on the other side. Slumping down into the only armchair, she suddenly felt sick from an eerie feeling of reality. What the hell was she doing, and, more importantly, why had she done all those terrible things? And what had she been looking for? Everything around her now didn’t depict a better life, that was for sure. The drink, the drugs, and even selling herself to anyone, literally anyone, was for what? Nothing, that was what.

She reached across the small coffee table that was piled high with shit: ashtrays, court summonses, her decree absolute, empty bottles of vodka, and dirty glasses. Everything in this room was a reflection on how she had conducted her life. The ripped stomach and sore throats from too much drinking, the sour milk to ease the burning, the endless smoking, and the charge sheets for the number of times she’d been arrested for theft – all were testament to a life that had been to live for the moment.

Snatching the cigarettes, she sparked up the end of one and inhaled deeply, as she peered over at the girl once more. Tiffany certainly reminded her of her former self. Her eyes returned to the table, and she stared at the envelope containing the money that Torvic had given her. She pondered over how he’d been so sure she would have it in her to rescue him. Maybe he was well informed on how much she hated Zara and Mike, but did she really hate them? Zara maybe, but Mike, she wasn’t so sure. He’d left her with nothing after she’d signed the divorce papers, but she’d stolen a lot of money from him in the past.

As if someone had turned a light on, she felt a sudden overwhelming sense of loyalty – to Mike. She placed the remains of the partially lit cigarette on the ashtray and gripped the envelope containing the money. Her heart was beating fast, mainly through fear, but it was laced with excitement. With her thoughts so fixed on getting away and running to Mike – to the only man who had cared for her, even if it had been many years ago – she didn’t bother to check to see if Tiffany was okay. She opened the door, and through force of habit, she locked it behind her. Since she had nothing on her mind now except how she would wangle this situation in her favour, she knew she needed to think of a way that would look as though she’d planned to help Mike.

Over the years, the decking around her caravan had sunk into the ground, and she jolted her back as she slipped on the wooden surface that was wet from a recent heavy rainstorm. Holding in her urge to curse, she straightened herself and headed for the car park while looking around for curtain twitchers or nosey bastards as she called her neighbours. A few yards away, on a small gravel area, was where the gypsy residents parked their vehicles. One of them, the tattiest, was Tatum’s. She knew he was still inside Maidstone Prison. He’d always kept his keys just inside the driver’s wheel. It was a habit of his. She hoped the car would start after a year of standing idle. Glancing around one more time, she crouched down onto the ground and felt around the tyre. Sure enough, the keys were there. Quietly, she unlocked the car.

After she climbed in, she put the key in the ignition and listened to the noisy exhaust; it was just another reminder that this car had once been the envy of the site. But now, it was an old rust bucket, and, what was worse, it didn’t even belong to her anymore. She’d sold it to Tatum. All she had to her name was the car that Torvic had shot off in and her poxy caravan. Still, Tatum’s car was her only way of escaping the madness with Torvic and perhaps into the open arms of Mike, although she would have to work on that part.

The car jolted and shuddered as it warmed up, the engine backfired, and then she tore away, across the gravel towards a gap in the hedge that led to the narrow lane.

* * *

The cigarette rolled away from the overfilled ashtray and landed on the pile of court summonses and police charge sheets, causing the gentle flame, that, within seconds, climbed to great heights. The book on the table that Jackie had wanted to read, one of several from her dated collection, caught alight and fuelled the fire that was now threatening to engulf everything in its way. Tumbling to the floor, the book fell apart, and the flames licked the pages, resulting in them floating towards the low ceiling and catching alight the spiderwebs and trapped dust. The fire instantly latched on to the peeling ceiling wallpaper. Like a circle of fire, ready for a circus act, the fierce flames rose and grew in intensity, filling the room with deadly smoke and devouring everything in their path.

Tiffany coughed and tried to breathe, but as her eyes opened to the horror, panic set in. In desperation, she gasped for oxygen, but all that filled her burning lungs were toxic fumes. With her T-shirt now covering her mouth, she scrambled along the floor towards the door, but as she tried to turn the handle and push her way out, she found her only exit was locked. With the smoke now burning her eyes and her throat, she tried frantically again, but it was no use. She bashed and banged and clawed at the door, desperate to get away from the smoke, the heat, and the naked flames. But it was impossible: the harder she tried, the harder it was to breathe. On all fours, she coughed and struggled, the smoke and the flames consuming any oxygen in her body and the heat blistering her skin. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t escape. She knew she was about to die.

* * *

The car choked and spluttered, causing Jackie to curse. Boom!

‘Fuck! What was that?’

Jackie slammed on the brakes. The sound was behind her, yet it was so loud, she could feel the vibration. In her rear-view mirror, she could see the red flames just visible above the hedgerows. Perhaps the lads had burned out another car. Maybe she should get them to take her old banger away and burn it out for the insurance money when Torvic brought it back. Then she remembered she didn’t have insurance anyway.

Just as she approached the end of the lane to turn right, she saw a flash-looking motor; it was heading towards her, and as soon as it was close enough, she recognized the driver. It was Torvic. Her heart rate increased, and her palms instantly became wet, making gripping the steering wheel so much harder. She couldn’t hang around though; she needed to get away. Torvic wasn’t like Mike. He had no scruples, and she’d got the sense that he could easily get rid of her. And did he really intend to pay her the rest of the money? She thought not. She also wondered if she would ever see her car again.

As Torvic slowed down to turn left, she shot out and put her foot down. The force of the turn made her swerve, yet she wasn’t going to stop now. She had to get away. As soon as she’d straightened the car, she looked again in the mirror, and her heart rate slowed down. With a deep breath, she sighed. He’d obviously gone straight to the caravan. Perhaps he hadn’t recognized her in Tatum’s car. For after all, it was dark.

* * *

The sound of a fire engine from the distance suddenly had Torvic feeling unusually on edge. Then he saw the flames towering above the bushes, and his heart was in his mouth. The dreaded thought that the woman speeding away from the site might have been Jackie charged through his mind. If that was her, why was she leaving? He’d given her precise instructions to look after his granddaughter. Putting his foot down, he left a trail of dust behind him. As soon as he reached the gravel car parking area and saw the caravan ablaze, his head felt like it was on fire. His breathing increased, and panic gripped him hard around the throat. He rushed from the car and ran towards the towering inferno, where he was met by two men.

‘Slow down, mate. That thing could explode,’ said one of them, grabbing Torvic’s arm.

Torvic tried to shrug the man off. ‘My granddaughter might be inside that fucking caravan!’

The old man, dressed in just his jeans and a black vest, let him go, but as soon as Torvic tried to get near the caravan, the intensity of the heat forced him back. With his hands over his eyes, he tried again, but it was no use. The structure was a ball of flames. No one would have survived in there. His granddaughter, if she was inside, would be a fragile bunch of charred bones.

‘Noooo!’ he screamed, at the top of his voice.

But his desperate cries of pain were drowned out by the fire engine’s sirens. The two older men dragged the helpless, crumpled man away from the heat.

Two firemen were making their way to the blaze with a hose and pushing people aside. A well-built firefighter approached Torvic and helped him to his feet.

‘Is this your caravan, sir?’

With his face covered in beads of sweat and his hairline singed, Torvic shook his head.

‘No, but I think my granddaughter is in there. Please …’

The firefighter looked back at the red glowing ball, and suddenly, like a sardine can, the walls peeled back, revealing nothing standing of any recognizable shape. Torvic felt his legs buckle and allowed the man to lower him gently to the ground.

‘Sir, we’ll have a paramedic here soon!’

‘You what? Fucking hell, no one could have … Oh my God! No one would’ve survived that fire. What use is a fucking paramedic?’

A sad smile inched its way across the large firefighter’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I meant for you.’

As Torvic looked up at the man, he glared with dark, menacing eyes, from which the firefighter recoiled in surprise. If looks could kill.

As fit as a man in his twenties, Torvic, now in his advanced years, still managed very easily to jump to his feet and lean into the firefighter’s personal space, and growl, ‘Just tell me if my granddaughter was in that fucking fire!’

The firefighter stepped away from the demonic eyes of the evil-looking gentleman. He’d been used to aiding desperate relatives who were helpless to save a loved one from a fire, but never in his career had the anger been aimed at him; he could almost taste the fury emanating from the man. Then he wondered if this was no ordinary citizen and he’d just walked into some dangerous feud, because, right now, the guy was saying someone would be held accountable.

‘I’ll talk with the other firefighters and the police.’ His manner changed, became more assertive, to demonstrate he was in charge. ‘What is your granddaughter’s name? And you think she could be inside?’

Torvic twisted his head. ‘Just fucking find out if there’s a body in there, will you?’ He stepped away and ran his hands down the back of his neck. His whole body shook with an overwhelming sense of grief mixed with rage – an intense feeling that he was hard-pressed to hold down. If his granddaughter was in that caravan, then he would take the Regans, the Lanigans, and that bitch Zara to the fire of hell and make them see what the Devil was really capable of.

It didn’t take long before the fire was out and for the occupants of every caravan to form a crowd, just to be nosey. None of them cared if that towering ball of fire was Jackie’s cremation; it would just be another month’s worth of gossip for them. The police arrived and pushed the crowd back; they tried to cordon off the area so that the special investigation unit could have access before the scene was tampered with. Normally, Torvic would have shielded his face and made a swift exit but not today. Today, he’d lost any concerns for his liberty; he had to know if Tiffany was in that fire.

The body of bustling firefighters and police suddenly stepped aside as four special fire investigators made their way through. The tall firefighter who had spoken with Torvic then talked to the police officers.

They nodded and made their way over to Torvic. Phil, the older one of the two, gently tapped his arm.

‘Sir, could you help us, here? The firefighter said you suspect a young woman was inside that caravan.’

As Torvic turned to face Phil, his eyes were red and angry. ‘Yes,’ he hissed, ‘my granddaughter. Now, I want to know if anyone can fucking tell me if she was in that fire!’

Like the firefighter, Phil was taken aback. ‘Er, sir, we are investigating that now. Please would you come with me? I do believe the ambulance is on its way. Let’s get you checked over and I’ll organize a cup of tea for you.’

Torvic frowned at the officer. ‘Tea? I don’t want fucking tea or checking over. I’m fine. Just talk to me when you know if there was a body in that caravan!’

The firefighters continued to spray the surrounding areas, soaking the neighbouring caravans, in case sparks led to the fire spreading. Jackie’s caravan was now a black skeleton. The gasps and mumblings from the crowd pricked Torvic’s ears.

He pushed his way through to look for himself. And, shockingly, there as clear as day were the charred remains of a body. The sight was sickening, and even the toughest of the gypsies had to turn away. One threw up on the spot. The police and the firefighters tried to push the crowd back, but they were reluctant to go until they’d seen the evidence for themselves. Two teenagers even pulled out their phones and started to film the devastation, zooming in on the burned body. No doubt that video would go viral.

Phil tried to urge the older man away. ‘Sir, come with me.’

‘Get ya fucking hands off me!’

‘Please, sir, we need to clear the area, to do our job, and to get you your answers. You said you think your granddaughter was inside. Are you sure?’

Torvic didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the horrific sight of the blackened, hairless body with the unrecognizable face. In his mind, he was trying to interpret the shape as anything other than a body, but it was so clearly the remains of one. A thought occurred to him that if it was his Tiffany, then he would see the heavy gold chain around her neck or the gold watch on her wrist, but there was nothing that resembled those, only blackened remains. Suddenly, he glared as a firefighter went up to the body, blocking his view. Torvic, though, wanted to have a closer look, but he was held back by another firefighter.

Torvic blinked and came out of his trance. His eyes diverted to the fire investigators who were kneeling down by what had once been the door. They were spraying something over the areas where the handle and the lock were. Then the penny dropped. He knew they were checking to see if the door was in the locked position. Torvic shrugged the man off him and then focused on the bright-red fire blanket that covered who he assumed was his granddaughter. Now the pieces suddenly fitted together. She had been at the door, frightened out of her life, and the fucking thing had been locked. Jackie had locked her in. He suddenly had a hopeful thought. Perhaps Tiffany had locked Jackie in. Yes, that must be it. Tiffany had locked her in.

As he turned to storm away, Phil clutched his arm again. ‘Sir, we need to ask you a few questions.’

Torvic shook his head, shrugged the officer off, and marched towards his car.

Just as Phil was about to call after the scary old guy, a big-bellied gypsy accosted him. He came so close, Phil could smell the garlic from his breath.

‘I know who was in that caravan. Her name’s Jackie Menaces. She probably got pissed and set the van alight, mate.’

Phil stepped back to get a clearer look at the man who was in his face. ‘Do you know the woman? Only …’ – he pointed to the wild man who was about to get into his car – ‘that gentleman wanted to know if it was his granddaughter in the caravan.’

Torvic stopped in his tracks and turned to face them.

The chubby traveller, with a toothless grin, shook his head. ‘Nah, it was Jackie. I saw her through the window earlier.’

‘Was anyone else with her?’ asked Phil.

‘Nah, I only saw her walking around in her caravan. She’s a pisshead. She likes a good drink, that one.’

‘Are you sure no one else was with her?’

The toothless gypsy nodded his head. ‘I tell ya, it was Jackie Menaces in that van. Ask me missus. She saw her an’ all. We were coming back from feeding the horses, and as we walked past her van, me ol’ gal, said, “Look at her. She’s got a glass of vodka in her hand already.”’

‘Are you positive it was Jackie Menaces, though?’

‘Cor, yeah. ’Course I’s sure. I ain’t blind. We all knows Jax. She’s the local slut.’

Phil frowned. ‘And how do you know it was vodka she was drinking?’

The gypsy laughed. ‘’Cos that’s what she always drinks – morning, noon, and night.’

‘And your name, sir?’

‘Jericho. Me missus is Mena. That’s her, over there.’

Phil nodded and gingerly stepped towards the large woman, who was clearly shaken up. Her face was pale, and her eyes were turned down at the sides, red-rimmed and glazed over.

‘Your husband said you saw Jackie Menaces in the caravan before the fire. Is that correct? And is there anything else you can remember?’

Mena swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from her top lip. ‘All I saw through Jackie’s window – she don’t have nets up, see – was her standing with a large glass tumbler in her hand. It was clear liquid. The gal never drinks water, so I guessed it was vodka.’ Her voice cracked. ‘She has a son, little Richard Menaces. Sorry, I mean Ricky Regan.’

Torvic had heard enough. The police were now busy taking notes, and so it was his call to leave.

Cora, Tatum’s wife, heard Mena talking to the policeman and decided to join in. She edged her way over and stood side by side with Mena. ‘Yeah, that’s right. The bitch told us the boy was called Richard Menaces, but it was all a pack o’ lies. The boy got released early from prison, probably living with his real farver, no doubt. He’s some geezer called Mike Regan.’

Phil pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. ‘Mike Regan, did you say?’

Cora nodded. ‘Yeah. He was in the nick an’ all. Me husband reckons he’s a bit of a gangster or summat.’

‘So, then, did this Mike Regan hold a grudge or …?’

With a smug smile on her face, Cora put in her two pennies’ worth. ‘She had loads of enemies, that skanky bitch. She was always conning people, selling gear … even her own arse. She lied about her boy, and from what me ol’ man says, Mike Regan thought his boy was dead until he met the kid in the nick.’

Phil smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you. Um …’

‘Cora. Me name’s Cora. I live in that van over there.’ She pointed to the caravan, two behind the remains of Jackie’s.

‘I’ll call by and get a statement from both of you, if you don’t mind.’

* * *

An hour later, Phil had left the site, on his way back to the station to write up his report. He decided to put in a call to Detective Inspector Lowry. ‘Mike Regan. Does that name mean anything to you?’

Lowry was just about to tuck into a burger when he answered the phone. ‘Yes, it does. Why?’

‘Gov, his ex-wife’s van has been burned to the ground. There’s a body inside. It may be her. It could be murder, Gov, because the door was locked, and so whoever was inside couldn’t escape.’

‘Okay, Phil, leave it with me. I’ll pay him a visit.’

‘Gov, do you think he may have torched it, revenge and all?’

‘No, Phil, it’s not his style, but, Phil, leave Regan out of this. He’s … Let’s just say he’s helping us with our inquiries.’

Lowry wiped the tomato sauce from around his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. Releasing Mike Regan and his firm early in return for cleaning the streets of the Flakka drug was questionable at every turn and not a decision he’d agreed with at the time. As far as he was aware, the firm had found the gang leader, the man they referred to as the Governor, and that was the end of it. The team were told not to ask questions, and, sure as hell, he wanted the least bit of involvement as possible. His superior, the Police Commissioner Conrad Stoneham, was on leave, and it was a good job too since it wasn’t looking good for him at the moment. For Stoneham’s sister, the MP, had been arrested for failing to stop at an accident, and, right now, with the Commissioner’s face plastered across every newspaper, he was right to take time off. Having Regan brought in for questioning was something he really didn’t relish, but it might have to be done. He would put it off though until Stoneham returned. The Commissioner could take the stick if Regan had killed his ex-wife. He himself wanted nothing to do with it.

‘Damn you, Stoneham. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie,’ he mumbled to himself.

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