Rejects (The Cardigan Estate Book 5)

by Emmy Ellis

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kath sat beside Benny on the train, their thighs touching. It was his way of letting other people know she was his, no one else’s. A display of ownership. He’d said that from the start, she wasn’t to go shagging around now he was on the scene—“I mean, look at you, four kids by four different fathers. What a state to get into, and who else would have you except me anyway? You ought to count yourself lucky I do, woman.”

  She knew plenty of women whose kids had different fathers. It didn’t mean they were bad people, just that they’d made some dodgy choices with their relationships. Kath had done the same, plus she couldn’t hold on to blokes for long because she got bored, always wanting more—a bigger thrill, that excitement from the first flush of love, although she didn’t think she’d ever love-loved any of them as such, even Benny. She hadn’t told him the last two kids were the products of rapes, he’d say she’d asked for it, all that flirting she used to do. “What did you expect, you cockteasing cow?”

  He had a point. Sometimes, she couldn’t work out whether they were rapes, what with Benny’s opinion on the matter, skewing her views. He’d honed his gaslighting skills to perfection, but she wouldn’t forget those nights. She’d asked for the attention, the sex, then it had got a bit rough, and she’d said stop. They hadn’t.

  Yeah, she’d been violated, no matter what Benny said. That was one subject she wouldn’t budge on.

  She’d loved him at first, the danger he represented, the power he gave her while they were on jobs, the power he’d placed in her hands regarding the kids, so she could lord it over them with the added weight of him as a threat, order them around, be someone important, someone as feared as Benny was. It was a big ‘fuck you’ to Len’s and Trev’s dads: Look what I’ve become. I’m not just some sad council estate girl now.

  She’d been infatuated with Benny, she was aware of that, the benefit of hindsight and his treatment over the years bringing clarity, showing where she’d gone wrong and which roads she should have taken, the signposted turnings to them ignored because, as always, she knew best. But after two failed relationships then that business with the two men who’d taken what was no longer on offer, Benny had presented stability, ropey as it was—and a balm to her bruised ego. Now she tolerated him for the money, simple as. His hands on her weren’t the same, not since Rebecca had grown a pair of tits. He’d changed then, acting aloof more often than not, and once, he’d called Rebecca’s name while in bed with Kath, and how was she meant to feel about that?

  There were only so many things you could put up with. She hated her daughter for being beautiful and, truth be told, she was glad the bitch had run off. Less eye candy for Benny to leer at. He had a habit of staring at the fairer sex, all younger than Kath, and while observing, he groomed that bloody beard of his with finger and thumb as much as he probably wanted to groom those he ogled. Girls, all of them, some underage, all with dark-red or plum-coloured hair.

  Like Rebecca.

  “What’s your obsession with that colour? It’s weird, the way you are about it,” she’d said once, knowing she wouldn’t get a truthful answer, and to be honest, would she want one, even now?

  “I just like it,” he’d said. “Nothing weird about it at all.”

  “But you’re with me, and I’m blonde.”

  “Oh, give over, you whiny tart.”

  Who does he think he’s fooling?

  She folded her arms in a huff and switched her mind elsewhere. They’d opted for public transport, getting them to London faster so she could meet up with Rebecca and Will, her playing yet another part, one she’d detest, but if it meant getting what she wanted, she’d do it. She hated those two kids, the Devil’s spawn, and wished she’d listened to her mother, aborting them as soon as she’d got wind they’d burrowed their evil, needy selves in her womb. But no, she’d known best again, couldn’t let Mum be right under any circumstances—“You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, our Kath…”—and had gone on to have them, and every day thereafter, she’d been tormented by their shitty little faces, the image of their fathers, reminding her time and again of what she’d been through, how they’d been conceived, how she hadn’t had control, the blokes had taken it from her.

  Bastards, both of them. And their sperm donors.

  In one of her magazines, it had said it wasn’t the baby’s fault, they shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their greedy, sex-grabbing dads who preyed on women in the darkness—down alleys beside pubs in her case—but it certainly wasn’t Kath’s fault, she’d fought them, so why should she feel bad at treating the resulting rugrats like shit? Still, they’d turned out handy once Benny came along, using their stubby fingers to lift purses and whatnot, and the gang had flourished as they’d grown older. Benny ought to be grateful to her for providing the majority of the members, but he’d argue otherwise.

  Always got to be right, he has.

  That sounded a bit like her, but she wouldn’t dwell on that.

  Always has to be the one with all the answers. He runs the show, and none of us should forget it. Well, bollocks to that now. He’s got his card marked. I know exactly what’s what these days, and his fixation with getting Rebecca home will come back to bite him on his withering arse. God, he isn’t even attractive anymore.

  He’d devised the plan for this evening, of course he had; there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her do it. She was to have a miraculous change of heart, telling Rebecca she’d experienced an epiphany—Benny had to explain to her what that was—and wanted her to come home, that she loved her really and was sorry for everything she’d put her through. Prior to that, Benny would shoot the London men, whoever they were, and then they’d get the train back to Birmingham, the four of them, as if nothing had happened. Once they were on home turf, Rebecca and Will would get what was coming to them, and Kath would relish every second of it. She was aborting them like she should have done all those years ago, a little too late in the day but it’d be done all the same, and this way, Mum would never know because the nosy old goat was dead. No one to say ‘I told you so’.

  Benny burped—Oh, for God’s sake—and opened the Thermos, pouring himself a coffee into the lid cup. No offer for her to have one using the spare beaker she’d packed in her voluminous handbag, no caring whether she was thirsty. Benny was only in it for number one, he’d made that clear over the years. If Kath didn’t adore money so much, he’d have been gone ages ago.

  She had a beef with him today. The cheeky bastard had confessed, as the rolling countryside with its grass-topped hills and trees abundant with summer growth had flown past, that he’d known where Anthony had been all along this past fortnight. His confession was delivered with the usual air of righteousness about it, and if he chose to keep things to himself, that was the way of things, always had been, always would be.

  But it won’t always be that way.

  She hadn’t answered him. Yet.

  Kath had stewed on it for miles, even contemplating messaging Len and Trev to polish up their guns and go with her and Benny when it was time to kill Rebecca and Will—so they could turn those guns on Benny and get rid of him, leaving her as the leader, the one who made all the decisions. The queen, her king cold and lifeless.

  What a fine thought, her and her two favourite sons together, taking on jobs and splitting the money equally.

  And as for Will buggering off down south without saying so—he knew how angry she’d been when his sister had done it, yet he’d travelled down the same road, taking matters into his own hands. Okay, he’d done it for the good of the gang, messaging Benny to tell him what he’d discovered, but that had chewed a massive hole in Kath’s nerves. Why had he turned to Benny and not her? Hadn’t she shown those brats she was the one to fear? How many times had she smacked them, using the sole of her slipper if they’d been particularly annoying, to get them in line? Once, she’d used a belt Trev’s dad had left behind when he’d walked out on her—“You�
�re an absolute bitch, Kath, I can’t take it anymore.” She’d caught Will with the buckle, splitting his skin, and had to warn him if he ever told anyone, she’d cut his throat in his sleep.

  That was where the suggestion had come from for Benny to use his flick knife on them, holding the blade to their skinny necks. The more threatening they were, the more the kids would do as they asked.

  She couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “Why didn’t you tell me right away that Anthony had gone to London? Why lie to me and make out he’d fucked off?”

  Benny chucked back a mouthful of coffee. “Because I didn’t want you sticking your oar in and going down south to muck things up, or sending Len and Trev to make a pig’s ear of things. And why the fuck are you questioning my motives? They’re none of your business.”

  “They are when it’s to do with my children.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, that bugging beard of his parting to show his long narrow teeth. “Since when did you give a fuck about those two? You’ve only ever been all right with Len and Trev.”

  She couldn’t argue with that; she’d never made any bones about how she felt regarding the younger two. Many a night she’d complained to Benny beneath the quilt on how they got her skin crawling, although of course, she’d made up some cock-and-bull story as to why they grated on her.

  “Oh, balls to you,” she said, defeated already. But no, she shouldn’t let him beat her down so easily, shouldn’t fall back into old patterns, not when his delicious death sat waiting in her future. She imagined Len blowing his brains out, and if they did it inside, she’d get to watch the blood spatter on the wall, a pretty pattern, bits of his grey brain sticking to it in soggy clumps.

  “What are you bloody smiling at?” Benny asked.

  “Finally getting rid of a pain up my arse.”

  “I still say we should keep them, they’re good at their roles when we do a job, but I see where you’re coming from. They can’t be trusted if they both walked out without a by your leave. Rebecca especially. I’m looking forward to what I have in mind for her before she gets killed.”

  Kath’s face burned, a kernel of jealousy flourishing inside her. She had an idea what he was thinking—having sex with Rebecca after years of lusting over her. Well, that wasn’t an option, but she wouldn’t be telling him that. Let him fantasise all he liked, it wouldn’t get him what he wanted. If there was one thing she admired about Rebecca, she’d rather die than shag him.

  Kath stared out at the scenery, her face angled away from him so he couldn’t read her expressions, of which there would be many while she envisaged all manner of ways he could die. A shot to the head was too quick, too good for him, so maybe Len and Trev could torture him first, give Benny a dose of his own medicine. Sometimes, he did that to people they robbed, tying them to their armchairs in front of the programme they’d merrily been watching on the telly before the gang had burst in to spoil their evening with unadulterated terror. He punched them, kicked them, and wrapped his hands around their necks, squeezing until just before they passed out, only to step away, let them breathe for a while, then repeat the process all over again.

  He’d got the idea from a snuff film they’d watched. She hadn’t asked who he’d bought it from, he knew numerous evil people, and she’d viewed it with more than distaste, just hadn’t said anything, making out she’d enjoyed it.

  Yes, Benny would get what was coming to him, and so would Kath. She’d been patient over the years, putting up with him, knowing damn well he took more of a cut of the money than he let on. Well, that money would be hers, Len’s, and Trev’s come the next job, she’d make sure of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Will paced outside a warehouse that belonged to The Brothers. According to George, this was where they killed the majority of people who pissed them off, and the Thames shimmered handily at the back, down the bottom of a sloping patch of grass, ready to welcome the bodies into its depths, securing them forever. How many bones were on the riverbed? How many had been jostled along with the current, coming to rest miles from where they’d originally been dumped?

  The image of that brought on a shiver, despite the warmth at eight o’clock on a summer evening. It was still light, but with all the torturing, then the murders, the chopping up, time would pass and night would come creeping, hiding them while they tipped the body pieces out of black bags into the water.

  He couldn’t believe he was doing this, it sounded so fantastical, so gangland, the stuff of films and books, yet here he was, pacing the parking area, a set of iron gates shutting him inside, ones he’d open as soon as the taxi appeared, going out to greet them, whispering, pretending to collude with them, assuring them he was on their side, and yes, he wanted his sister dead as much as they did, she should never have run away, the cheeky cow. Who did she think she was?

  Even thinking that hurt his heart. He didn’t believe that at all, but he’d have to play the part and do it well in order for the rest to go off without a hitch. Mind you, The Brothers were used to this sort of thing, and any hitches were anticipated, contingency plans just a hair’s breadth away—a shot to the head solved many a problem, so Greg had informed him.

  Beck was hiding in the BMW parked near him, but he hadn’t looked her way in all the time he’d been out here. She’d wanted to see Mum, see how she felt about remaining in the car while the deeds were done. Greg and Martin were inside the warehouse, waiting. Will had been given a tour so he knew the layout ready for going inside with Mum and Benny in tow.

  George had gone in the taxi to collect them from a restaurant. They’d done a bit of sightseeing, so Benny’s texts said, going on the London Eye for one, standing near Big Ben and taking selfies for another, and Will had wondered if they were off their rocker, being seen like that; Benny had confessed in a message that Rebecca would be dealt with once they were back in Birmingham, and if Will knew what was good for him and didn’t want to meet the same fate, he’d keep his mouth shut about that. No warning her.

  Of course, Will had let the others know what had been said, what Benny’s strategy was, or that bit anyway, as Benny hadn’t revealed anything else. But for them to be caught on camera, strolling the streets, then being seen on CCTV boarding a train with Rebecca and Will, then Rebecca going missing at home…

  They weren’t as savvy as they thought.

  He sighed and wished he was anywhere but here, the evening’s schedule heavy on his shoulders, his jaw tense. The balmy night was made for barbecues in gardens and cold beers from the fridge, not murder in a warehouse. It wasn’t as humid as it had been, which was a relief compared to the scorching sun of the day, where they’d been cooped up in Martin’s flat, the fans doing nothing but churn hot air around, too much sweat and not enough respite. He sweated now, probably through fear, and contemplated what would happen if things went wrong.

  Benny claimed to have a gun on him for killing ‘those fucking London pricks’, and it was Will’s job to try to get it off him before they entered the warehouse. Benny wouldn’t give it up, Will knew that, so the second and most likely option was Greg shooting Benny in the knee as soon as they entered, and George relieving Benny of his weapon like the no-nonsense man he was, coming in behind them and grabbing him.

  Would Mum have one?

  There were so many variables, scenarios that lurked beyond the basic schematics, and it was driving a wedge of terror into Will’s mind.

  An engine rumbled, and Will ran to the gates, holding a pole in each hand tight, peering between them, his heart thundering. The taxi rounded the bend, appearing innocent, just a vehicle to carry passengers, yet it contained two of the blackest hearts Will knew and a driver whose heart could be viewed as black but ultimately beat with pulsations of goodness, just a different kind to other people’s. The twins had a unique way of looking at life while snuffing out someone else’s.

  The taxi stopped, and the rear doors opened, Mum getting out on one side, Benny on the other. The s
ight of them churned Will’s stomach—God, I hate them so much—and they slammed the doors and waited for the cab to drive away, around the nearest corner, where George would get out and run to the front, hiding behind the high wall that enclosed the parking area. Will had to keep these two talking, waste a bit of time for George to get in place, then it was all systems go.

  “All right, kid?” Benny said.

  Awkward, that was how Will felt, knowing the plan being followed wasn’t theirs, them thinking it was. Awkward because he wanted them dead, now, not later. If he had a gun, he reckoned he’d shoot them right this second. “We need to talk quietly.” He turned to the gates. “The men and Rebecca are in there. They’ve left the door ajar, look.” He pointed to it.

  “Stupid of them,” Benny rumbled.

  “But good for us,” Mum whispered.

  Why wasn’t Will surprised she hadn’t even said hello? Why had he expected her to? Hope? The need to be important to her, not some snot-nosed kid she wished didn’t exist, now a man who still harboured dreams of being loved by his mother?

  No. No more of that. He needed her gone, dead, so he could move on.

  “Come on, we’ll chat in here.” Will led the way through the gates and stopped beside the BMW. The window was down a little, but with the tinted glass, Beck wasn’t visible lying on the back seat.

  He only hoped she didn’t catch anything cruel coming out of Mum’s mouth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Orchid, lying on her side in the back of the BMW, stared at the rear of the driver’s seat. Will was talking, telling Mum and Benny what had been agreed he should say. While he was embellishing the basic gist for authenticity, it still hurt. To listen to the words, how he said them gave the impression they could be true, that he believed them, and while she knew he didn’t, she couldn’t stop the shame burning, the tears burning.