Rejects (The Cardigan Estate Book 5)

by Emmy Ellis

  So was it a case of four children all needing their mum in different ways, all going without what they wanted the most? She should be sad for them, but Len especially had been as mean as Mum, treating Orchid worse than he had Will, and she couldn’t forgive him for it—and certainly didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut about this.

  “So…so what’s going to happen now?” Len asked, that falter at the start of his sentence revealing his emotions.

  “You’re going to stay here all day,” George said. “Then we’re going to take a little trip to our warehouse. We’ll let your brother and sister give you a bit of pain if they want to, kill you if they want to, then you’ll be disposed of.”

  Trev whimpered again.

  “Why, though?” Len grimaced. “Why do we need to be killed?”

  Orchid sighed. “Because we know you’ll do exactly what Mum and Benny were going to do—take me home and kill me.”

  Len’s expression betrayed him, proving her words true. “We’d never do that.”

  Trev grunted. “Yes we fucking would.”

  “D’you know what,” George said. “These two are boring me. Shall we just get it over and done with?” He smiled at Martin. “It’ll mean a new carpet and sofa, but we’ll sort that for you.”

  Martin’s eyes widened. “I’ll, um, I’ll go into the bedroom.”

  He walked out, and Orchid wondered whether she should follow. Could she stomach two more deaths? Every nasty thing her elder brothers had done to her came to the fore, as if her mind knew she needed the reminder in order to proceed. She looked at Will, who nodded and stood between George and Greg. He took George’s gun.

  “We had a rotten life, me and Beck,” he said. “And neither of you did anything to stop it. What got me the most was how you ignored us getting beaten, how you thought it was okay for two little kids to steal shit from people. You never stepped in and saved us, like Beck did for me. She used to make out she’d done whatever bad thing Mum was blaming on me, and she took the smacks instead. What did you ever do? Stand by and laugh? Egg Mum on to hit us harder? You’re as sick in the fucking head as she was.”

  “We had to else she’d have turned on us,” Trev moaned, panting, the pain in his foot most likely killing him. “You do what you have to.”

  Will nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

  He shot Trev in the face, blood and brain matter spraying out, landing on Len, who shouted incoherently, leaning away, his arm up to shield him from either getting more on him or hiding from the sight. Orchid stared at Trev, fascinated at how one second he’d been the same brother she’d always known, and now she didn’t recognise him at all. She was relieved yet puzzled by how she felt nothing at all except revulsion.

  “Fuck me, don’t do this,” Len said, his voice muffled by his arm. “I swear to God I didn’t mean any of it, we were forced, told to hate you.”

  She could believe that. Mum was the sort of person to get a kick out of manipulating two of her kids to round on the others, but there had never been any on-the-quiet help, no compassion in their eyes, only pure hatred and that glee Mum had expressed in the warehouse, some rabid need to enjoy the hate they felt towards Orchid and Will. He was lying, trying to save his life, and she reckoned he deserved exactly what he’d dished out to her. So she stared at him in the same way he’d always stared at her, letting him know no help was forthcoming and he’d have to suffer like she had.

  “I don’t believe you,” Will said.

  He pulled the trigger again. The bullet went through Len’s biceps and into the side of his face. A scream, a jolt of Len’s body, and his arm dropped, him moving his hand to cover his wrecked cheek. Blood spurted from his mouth, flowed down his chin. George and Greg retreated, and Will shifted along to get a better shot. Len peered up at him, one eyeball splashed with scarlet, and Will aimed.

  “I fucking hate you,” Len said, all the bravado deserting him, his words a whisper instead of filled with the usual venom.

  “We fucking hate you, too.”

  Will fired.

  A lifetime of memories came then, snippets of Orchid’s experiences at home jerking from one to the other inside her head, then she focused on Len in the present, how she was relieved he was gone—they were all gone, those people who’d despised them for no reason. Mother, brothers, Benny, Anthony. What was wrong with Orchid and Will that so many had detested them?

  She came to the conclusion that bad people didn’t like those who were good. Kind didn’t fit into their idea of who you should be. Compassion didn’t feature. If you weren’t evil to the bone, you didn’t belong.

  You were rejects.

  “We were good,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “That’s all we did wrong. We were good.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Spending the afternoon and evening with corpses sitting on a sofa wasn’t George’s idea of fun, so him and Greg had left the flat and fucked off. They had other business to attend to, the day-to-day running of the patch, and remaining with the others wasn’t a productive use of their time. Now the threats had been dealt with, Orchid, Will, and Martin had gone to Orchid’s flat to wait the day out.

  Night had come, the approach of the witching hour near. George and Greg had returned to the flat, dragging a body apiece, down in the lift, out the front door, then along the side alley. Dead weight was a fucker, but George managed easily, reaching the street behind where he’d parked the taxi. He stuffed Len in the boot, and Greg dumped Trev on the back seat, covering him with a blanket.

  George turned to go back to the flats, but a flash of light stopped him. He stared at where it had been, pissed off that it was from a window at the rear of the weird house, the one where the photographer lived. He’d had a feeling about that bloke all along, hadn’t liked the idea of them possibly being watched coming and going, and now they had another fuck-up to deal with.

  He walked up the alley then halted until Greg caught up with him. “Did you see that?” he whispered.

  “Hmm.” Greg sighed. “For shit’s sake.”

  “I know. Come on.”

  He led the way to the street and scanned the area. All windows had curtains drawn, and no lights shone through the material. He twisted to look up at the creepy house and caught sight of a shadow at one of the top windows. So the photographer had followed them to the front, had he. Well, he’d soon regret being a nosy twat.

  At the front door, George took his pick set out and inserted it into the lock. The chain prevented him from opening the door fully, so he kicked at the wood. The bloody thing swung inwards at a clip and banged into the wall, but that sort of thing couldn’t be helped. Inside, he took his gun out, Greg closing them in then following George up the stairs.

  This sort of collateral damage upset George. He didn’t much like offing innocents, but what choice did they have? It was either let him live and risk him phoning the police—if he hadn’t already, and there was no guarantee Rod Clarke would be called out for this—or kill him.

  On the landing, he made for the room the photographer had been in. The door was open, and a shadow-figure stood in the far-right corner, the light from the streetlamp showing his silhouette. George raised the gun, and a hand on his shoulder from Greg brought sense into the equation. Yeah, shooting this bloke here meant trouble, Clarke being brought in to sweep the crime under the carpet, and to be honest, that shit wasn’t necessary.

  “Oh fuck,” Photo Man said.

  “Yeah, oh fuck.” George stepped into the room. “We’ve got a problem, and while I’d rather we didn’t, we have to deal with it. It’s all very well snapping pictures for a living, mate, but when you take them of us… Can’t allow it. Throw the camera on the bed.”

  Photo Man tossed it, and Greg moved forward to take it, his other hand holding his gun steady.

  How to play this? George pondered for a minute, the resident’s breaths coming hard and fast, and he felt for the poor bastard really. Still, some parts of their job weren’t pleasant
, and this happened to be one of them.

  “Lie on the bed, facedown.” George stuck his gun in his waistband.

  Photo Man whimpered and obeyed. George and Greg already had gloves on, so George rooted through a chest of drawers beneath the window, the light from outside giving a hint as to what it contained. He found a row of rolled-up ties and got busy securing the bloke’s wrists at his lower back. Next, a pair of Y-fronts. He gripped the fella’s hair and drew his head back, stuffing the material in his mouth. Photo Man mumbled, but George couldn’t allow for sentiment. He closed his mind, his heart and, together, as if Greg had read his thoughts, they took an arm each and pulled their captive standing.

  Going downstairs was a bit of a struggle, what with the fight Photo Man put up, but eventually, they made it to the back door, out into the garden, and through the wooden gate at the bottom. Greg pushed Trev off the back seat into the footwell, then they shoved Photo Man inside—he was crying, sniffing in air through his nostrils between sobs, and if he wasn’t careful, his nose would get blocked and he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

  That’d save George or Greg the job of killing him.

  He drove them to the warehouse, Greg contacting Martin to go and raid the weird house for a laptop, computer, other cameras, and any devices evidence could be stored on of the previous times they’d been to the flats. George asked himself what time they’d make it home. If they worked quickly, they might get at least three hours of sleep.

  That sounded good to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Days had passed since it had all kicked off, and Orchid had returned to work. She’d had some time off to spend it with Will, and they’d processed their feelings, talked it all out, and as far as she could tell, they were going to be fine. She’d already lived with the guilt of murder on her conscience prior to this, so what were a few more bodies?

  Martin had got his new carpet and sofa, pleased he could get back to normal working for The Brothers—until the next situation came along. He’d even bought a coffee machine, and many an afternoon, Orchid and Will went round to Martin’s and had a cuppa. Will and Martin had formed a friendship of sorts, so at least her brother had one mate.

  Will had moved into the empty flat on their floor, unable to believe it came furnished and The Brothers rented it to him at a low rate if he worked for them. While Will hadn’t wanted to do anything bad, to get involved in the illegal side of things, he’d agreed to be on hand if they needed him—okay, that was still illegal but preferable to gadding about murdering people.

  Orchid sat at the bar in The Angel, on a break in her shift, needing out of her room and the parlour for half an hour. Lily sat beside her, having said she felt much the same way, and they stared at their reflections in the mirror at the back, the bottoms of the optics giving their foreheads a split-down-the-middle effect.

  “Do you ever want to give this up?” Lily said.

  Orchid had asked herself the same thing once or twice, but like she’d thought in Birmingham, what would she do to make a living? She’d turned to selling sex because of that dilemma, and now was no different. She still didn’t have any job experience, still didn’t have anything she could pop on a CV except: Good at spreading legs.

  “Maybe, one day,” she said. “But not anytime soon.” She could ask The Brothers if they needed someone to do admin, but that was a laugh, wasn’t it. As if they needed anyone for that. Nothing they did was on paper. Martin did their cleaning, so she couldn’t even offer that service.

  “It’s just that my kids are getting older,” Lily said. “They’re starting to ask questions. Like why do I come home at three in the morning? Why can’t I change shifts at Tesco—that’s where they think I work, stacking shelves—and do days instead? How come their friend’s mum who works nights there has never seen me?”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a problem. How old are they?”

  “Thirteen and fifteen. Then there’s their father—he’s always causing trouble, and he’s turned up again, pissing me off. I split with him when they were little, haven’t had a relationship since.”

  Why was Lily being so forthcoming with information? She was usually closed off, and Orchid supposed she could understand why Lily’s glass always seemed half empty. She must have a lot to deal with.

  “Have you saved enough to live on while you look for another job?” Orchid asked. “I mean, we earn quite a bit.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got about twenty thousand, so I could even go to college, study, maybe move on to uni. Start again.”

  “Why don’t you then?”

  “I’ve got used to the wages.”

  “Ah.”

  Orchid caught sight of Tommy Toes in the mirror and sighed. He was okay, apart from his foot fetish, and she spent her time with him zoning out, blocking off what he was doing to her feet or else she’d bottle it. There were some things that didn’t sit right, but no one else wanted to take him on.

  “Bloody hell,” Lily said. “Look who’s just walked in.”

  “Yeah. Not in the mood for him tonight.”

  “Want me to take him, give you a break?”

  It was weird, Lily being so amenable. Orchid would accept her offer, though. Sometimes, you had to take the hand held out to you, didn’t you. Sometimes, you admitted you couldn’t carry your burdens alone.

  “Want me to look into further education for you?” Orchid offered.

  Lily bit her lip. “God, it’s a big step.”

  “Yeah, but for you to bring it up, you must have been thinking about moving on.”

  Lily nodded, darting her gaze about, and it struck Orchid as off. Why was the woman nervous? It couldn’t be about servicing Tommy Toes, surely.

  “Fuck.” Lily took a deep breath. “I just need to say this, okay? I had no choice. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I have to get out of this life, and when you get an opportunity…”

  “What are you on about?” Unease crept up Orchid’s spine.

  “You’ll see. Please don’t hate me—and don’t tell anyone what I just said.” Lily got up and turned, smiling at Tommy. “Come on then, love, you’re with me tonight.”

  She led him down to the double doors, leaving Orchid sitting there wondering what the fuck those cryptic words meant.

  A man edged up to her, his arm touching hers. He made eye contact in the mirror, his craggy features indicating he either spent a lot of time outdoors or he’d led a hard life. His crewcut and facial scars gave him a rough look, although his suit must have cost a bob or two. She inched to the side, breaking contact, and took a sip of her Coke.

  “Where did she go?” he asked Orchid. “Your friend?”

  “Probably to the toilet.” She didn’t know him from Adam and wasn’t about to explain the parlour. He could be a copper for all she knew.

  “With a fella?”

  “Maybe he needed to know the way.” She glanced at Lisa behind the bar and lifted her eyebrows: Weirdo customer here.

  Lisa strutted over and smiled at him. “What are you having?”

  He smiled back, his teeth all white bar a gold one at the front. “I’m not drinking.”

  Lisa shrugged and walked off.

  He leant towards Orchid and said quietly, “Revenge, that’s what I’m having.” He paused and jerked his head in the direction Lily had gone. “And she’s going to pay.”

  Alarmed, Orchid rose, the need to run to the parlour and warn Lily fierce inside her, but the bloke’s hand shot out, and he gripped her wrist.

  It hurt.

  “Nah, you won’t be saying anything.” He stared at her, bright-blue eyes an unsettling shade—contact lenses? “Sometimes, keeping your gob shut is the best way to go. Now then, you’re going to take me to wherever that slag just went.” He produced a gun and held it low, beneath the bar, pointing it her way. “Or…”

  Fear rushed through her, and she nodded. “Okay. Okay…”

  “Prepare to watch me blow her head off, by the way.” He fla
shed his gold tooth at her. “I’ve got a score to settle.”