by KERRY BARNES
Afraid in the knowledge that he was one underhanded, dangerous man, she knew she mustn’t let him enter her house. Her first reaction was to slam the door in his face, but as she tried, he shoved his size eleven Timberland boot in the gap. His scowl and tight lips frightened her; no way was this the Eric who’d pulled her from the underground prison and saved her – this man was a stranger. His presence unnerved her so much that she really couldn’t think straight. What would he do this time? Would he rape her or kill her? The silence, as they locked eyes, was terrifying; thoughts of who he really was made her tremble. Her eyes then switched to his bandaged hand and to the gold ring on his little finger. Then she breathed in the strong sweet aftershave that he always wore – Joop! It was him! He was the man who’d held the knife to Tiffany’s throat and had planned to take her down – to ruin her business and to destroy her firm. Eric was the sly and devious bastard who’d tried to plant doubts in her mind about the Lanigans. Here was the jealous brother who’d acted like a spoiled child. She felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth as his grimace turned to a cruel smirk that showed his top teeth.
With her attention firmly fixed on him, she struggled to believe that someone like Eric could run a business that would eventually take over South-East London and turn innocent kids into savages. How could he and Mike be so different? Or were they?
She had to do something because once he was inside her house she would be fucked.
‘As you can see, I’m not dressed, so please remove your fucking great boot!’ She knew she sounded pretty feeble and was stating the obvious, but she felt especially vulnerable: she was only wearing her pyjamas and a robe, although he had seen her in those before.
‘No, I wanna come in!’ he growled.
His face looked charged with spite. She was helpless; there were no weapons to hand and she didn’t even have her bladed glove on her. And right now, she was too weak with fear to fight. ‘Go away!’ was all she could say.
He pushed his way through the door and into her hallway. ‘No, Zara, I’m not going away. You’re gonna fucking listen to me. You nearly took my fucking hand off!’
He held up his bandaged wrist. ‘I didn’t deserve that.’
‘You bloody well did! You should never have forced yourself on me.’ She knew she had to keep the argument about them and not let on that she knew he’d held Tiffany at knifepoint.
He rubbed his sweaty forehead and took a deep breath. ‘Look, Zara, you have to listen to me. I want you to come with me. Please, just come back to my house. I need to talk to you.’ He grabbed her arm so tightly it made her wince, and she was no fairy.
‘Get the fuck off me! Now!’ She tried to break free, but with no other hand, she was defenceless. She attempted to kick him, but she missed and instead slipped on the wooden floor. Nevertheless, he held her up.
‘Stop it, will you! For fuck’s sake, you’re coming with me. Now, stop struggling!’
She tried again to kick him hard. This time, she didn’t miss; she managed to strike him on the inside of his thigh. His leg buckled, forcing him to release his grip. She kicked him again, which made him holler in such pain that he needed to lean against the wall for support.
It was enough time for her to run back along the hallway to her father’s office. Her eyes searched the desk for her gun, but she suddenly panicked – it was under her pillow upstairs. All she could do was to grab her phone and call someone. But as soon as it was in her hand, he was there like a monster, trying to snatch it from her. She just managed to pull away from him, but in doing so, she dropped the phone, and now he had it.
He went to seize her again, but she sidestepped and missed his clutches. From the corner of her eye, she spotted her father’s heavy glass ashtray – it was the only weapon available. She ran around the opposite side of the desk to Eric, grabbed the heavy object, and went for him, ramming it into the side of his head.
She gasped as he fell back. She knew she’d hurt him; she’d felt the impact from the ashtray making contact with his bone. He staggered and tried to focus. The clump had disorientated him. She watched as he stumbled about, but she couldn’t move. Then a sudden feeling of guilt swept over her. His eyes looked so full and frightened. Yet she wasn’t going to be fooled; he was a devious bastard.
Slowly, she stepped backwards, walking away from him, before he could hurt her. As if he’d taken control of his senses, he straightened up. Zara’s heart beat faster; he was like the man who wouldn’t die. Yet, as she gritted her back teeth to stop them from chattering, he looked harshly at her.
‘You should have listened to me, but you’re so fucking stubborn, and it will be the death of you, ya stupid woman!’
Zara felt her heart beating almost outside her chest and her body was alive with fear. Still gripping the glass ashtray, she remained steadfast and watched as he swayed from side to side and stumbled out of the office and back along the hallway to the front door.
Once she heard his car start up, she let out a lungful of air and relaxed her shoulders before putting the ashtray down and hurrying to the front door. With her hand trembling, she pushed the door shut.
What the fuck was that all about? she thought.
After she’d managed to calm her erratic breathing, she went back to the office where she noticed the blood on the glass ashtray and suddenly felt sick. This should never have happened. Eric was supposed to be a part of her family; he would have been her brother-in-law.
She had to call Victor; he would know what to do. He was always there giving her advice; it was as if he’d taken over from her father. The phone! Oh my God, Eric still had her phone. Pulling open the drawers, she looked for an old phone, and there in the bottom drawer, she found a Nokia, along with the charger. Luckily, after plugging it in, it fired up and still worked. There were, however, no numbers saved.
She retrieved the ledger from her bag and leafed through the pages until she came to the number next to the word ‘Machine’. She sighed and keyed in the digits, leaving the ledger on the desk. Easing herself down on the old leather office chair, she waited as the phone rang, her eyes staring at the phone number.
Then, as the phone suddenly died, she spotted something on the page of the ledger that made her look more closely. It had been written in there and then rubbed out. She twisted the book so that the light would catch the indented words. It was hard to see. In among the pot of old biros was a pencil, now almost blunt. Gently, she used it to trace over the letters until she could see more clearly what was written. Oh shit!
She dropped the notebook and gasped. Her hand felt clammy with sweat, and pins and needles pricked the back of her neck. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Snippets of conversations and timings flashed through her head like a computer processor, until, suddenly, she realized the truth. She’d been played big time. The anger took over her shock and fear. The saying her father rammed home to her – always – came to her in a flash: knowledge is power. She could hear him saying those words. ‘Oh, Dad, you were so right, but now you watch me,’ she mumbled under her breath. ‘I will show them who the fuck is running this manor.’ She waited for the Nokia to become fully charged because she was going to make a call that might well last a long time – she just hoped she had the right number.
***
Arty turned left into an avenue, which had large detached properties that were sitting on substantial plots. ‘It’s got to be on this road, in three hundred metres.’
Liam laughed. ‘What, is there an echo in this car? ’Cos we can hear your sat nav, mate. We don’t need an interpreter.’
Arty ignored him. He wasn’t in the mood for a bit of ribbing. ‘Here we are,’ he said, as he entered a long drive.
Liam was the first to help Poppy out of the car. He gripped her arm and laughed. ‘Oops! The neighbours are gonna talk. You’re still in ya pyjamas.’
She was an inch away from Liam’s face, and for a moment she felt like kissing him. He may not be Liam Hemsworth, but the
Liam holding her certainly had some features she liked, not least his beautiful eyes and his sunny disposition that had her warming to him.
Arty pulled his shoulders back and smoothed down his Ralph Lauren polo shirt collar. ‘Is that your sister?’ he said, as he looked up at the window.
Poppy tried to grip her crutches but was making a pig’s ear of it. ‘Yeah!’
Suddenly the door opened, and Brooke ran over to them. She took Poppy’s other arm, while Arty removed the crutches.
‘Poppy, I was so worried. Look at your face! My God! Does it hurt?’
Arty watched Brooke fussing and decided she was right up his street. The girls may look alike, but Brooke had the edge; perhaps it was her puffier lips or her fuller mane. As soon as they were all inside, Arty shut the door – it signalled an intention that they weren’t leaving just yet.
Liam and Brooke helped to get Poppy comfortable while Arty felt a bit like a spare part. ‘Um, shall I get us something? What about a burger, drinks?’ As soon as he said it, he felt silly, yet when Brooke finally noticed him, her face looked prettily pink.
She smiled, and her neat pearls of white teeth sparkled. ‘Oh, that would be lovely. What do you think, Poppy?’ she asked, full of excitement.
Poppy looked at Liam. ‘Will you stay for a while, then? I mean, I don’t actually know Lance. I only know that he was Kendall’s father.’
Liam felt it was his responsibility to sit beside her, and so he took it one step further and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Yeah, we’ll make sure you’re safe, won’t we, Art?’
Arty grinned. The day was getting better by the minute. Then his face dropped. ‘Your father. You don’t think he was behind the attack on Ricky and your sister, do ya?’ He looked Brooke’s way, aiming the question at her.
Her face suddenly lost its sparkle. ‘Well, yeah, it’s possible because something’s not right. He was like a different person. He actually frightened me. Me, afraid of my own father. Anyway, I just don’t want to go back there, not after the grim look on his face.’
‘Okay, I’ll pop up the road, grab us a bite to eat, and hopefully, me dad will have his phone back on by then, and they’ll know what to do.’
Just as he opened the front door, he came face-to-face with a tall, broad, dark-haired man, with a snarl that would shit the life out of the king of the jungle. Not knowing if he was Lance or the girls’ father, he stepped back but squared his shoulders as he did so. ‘Who are you?’
Lance grabbed Arty’s shoulders and propelled him backwards down the entrance hall. He was in two minds whether to beat the shit out of the lad but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment. His words though were frightening enough. ‘Not relevant! So, who the fuck are you?’ he replied, with a deep, hoarse voice.
‘Lance, it’s okay. It’s . . . er, they brought Poppy back!’ said Brooke, now standing in the hallway.
Lance let go of Arty’s polo shirt, but the determined scowl didn’t leave his face. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded again.
‘Arty Stafford. I’m friends with Ricky Regan, er . . . Kendall’s boyfriend.’
It took a moment before Lance could make sense of what Arty had just said. ‘Did you say Stafford?’
Arty nodded, now beginning to read Lance’s body language and see the change in the man’s tone. ‘Yeah, and me mate’s Liam. We brought Poppy back from the hospital.’
Lance marched into the lounge to find Liam in the doorway and Poppy with her foot up and in plaster, her face badly bruised. ‘Fucking hell! Who did that?’ he demanded.
Poppy looked a little shaken, hearing Lance’s deep voice. ‘Well, actually, it was my mum. She ran me over.’
Lance was so shocked. He jolted back as he grasped the significance of what Poppy had just said. ‘You what? You can’t be serious? No way. I’ve just left your mother’s. She never said—’
Before he’d a chance to say another word, Liam piped up, ‘Well, she wouldn’t say, would she? The bitch ran her over and did the off.’
Lance looked at Liam and his brows knitted together. ‘Are you Willie Ritz’s boy?’
Liam nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Why? D’ya know me dad?’
‘Oh yeah, I know him all right.’
Before the charged atmosphere in the room settled down, a buzzing sound came from the cabinet. Lance spun around and pulled open the drawer. It was his ‘other’ phone. He stared down at the flashing screen on his mobile and thought for a moment. Then the phone rang off. ‘Look, guys, do me a favour, will you? Stay here with the girls. I need to do something.’ His demeanour instantly changed, his shoulders dropped, and the tight, angry expression faded. No one said a word until he was out of the room.
‘He’s one scary fucker him, ain’t he?’ said Liam.
Brooke laughed at the expression on Liam’s worried face. ‘I think his bark’s worse than his bite, though.’
Arty screwed his face up and rubbed his shoulder. ‘Oh, I dunno about that. He’s got a tasty grip on him.’
Brooke fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Did he hurt you?’
Arty was a little bruised from the encounter, but he wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Nah, not at all. I’d have bashed him, but I didn’t want to clout the wrong fella, if ya know what I mean.’
Liam could see Arty was showing off in front of Brooke, so, as a loyal mate, he helped boost Arty’s ego. ‘Cor, yeah, not ’alf. Arty would’ve had that bloke on his arse in one blow, if it went too far.’
With her peachy cheeks and shiny eyes, Brooke laughed. ‘So you really are our knights in shining armour, then?’
Arty puffed out his chest and winked.
To Liam’s surprise, Poppy turned to him, nudged his arm, and flicked her eyes to Arty as if to say, Take a look at those two. Liam pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. ‘Are you, okay, babe? You’re not in any pain, are ya?’
She snuggled into his chest. ‘No, Liam, I feel fine now.’
As he kissed the top of her head again, he looked up at Arty, beaming. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d pull a bird like Poppy. He’d assumed she was way out of his league, unlike Arty, who could click his fingers and have the pick of the bunch.
As Arty left the house to fetch some food and drinks, he spotted Lance on his mobile, walking up and down the drive. His face was taut and his eyes moody. The second Lance caught sight of Arty, he placed his hands over the phone and beckoned him over. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting some burgers.’
‘Be quick, then. I don’t want the girls left alone . . . and I mean it. You can handle yaself, lad, can’t ya?’
Arty nodded. ‘Is their father a lump then, or what?’
Lance sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. All I know right now is I want those girls looked after, and if you, Stafford, and Ritzy in there are anything like your fathers, then my girls are in safe hands!’
Arty frowned. ‘Your girls, did ya just say?’
Lance gave a slow, meaningful nod. ‘Yeah, I did. They’re mine!’
‘Okay, Lance, no worries. We’ll look after them.’
‘Good. See ya later.’ He turned his back on Arty and returned to his conversation on the phone. ‘So, tell me, what does this geezer look like and what does he drive?’
Arty knew Lance was finished with him, and so he left with speed in his step, unsure of how dangerous this situation actually was. He wondered who Lance was talking to on the phone, who this man – the girls’ father – was, and what all this had to do with Ricky. Once he was in his car, he called his father’s number. The phone was still turned off.
***
Mike left Staffie and Willie guarding Randy and Dez, while he drove Woodrow back to London.
The journey had a very different feel about it. For a start, Woodrow was sitting in the front – as a free passenger – and, secondly, there was no gun aimed at his stomach.
‘How the hell are you so cocksure that I won’t go to th
e Ol’ Bill?’ His question wasn’t meant as a threat; he was just very curious.
Mike laughed. ‘Seriously, mate, don’t underestimate me. I have my reasons, but you’re the one that should be asking yourself that question.’
Woodrow was tired, the shock and horror of the last few hours having sent him into his shell. He thought he was hard; his little firm were scared of him, and they gave him respect and a name. He looked at Mike and realized that he himself was such a small fish in a big pond; his way of dealing with business was nowhere near in Mike’s league. At one time, he thought that it was a myth how the old-school gangsters were cool and yet fucking dangerous. Not now, though. He felt as if he’d just stepped out of a film about the Kray twins. The vision of Mike swinging that heavy-duty spanner with so much aggression, and yet doing so with such deliberation, as if it was all planned, kept filling his mind. Of course, he wouldn’t go to the police. If Regan’s firm ever caught up with him, then God knows where his body parts would end up.
‘Is it true that Dez was gonna rape your son?’
Mike’s knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Woodrow could see the man’s anger appear from nowhere. ‘Sorry, I guess that question was a bit close to the mark. I just wanted to know, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, he was, as a matter of fact. He also fucking burned all but one of the photos I had of my son when I thought my boy was dead. It was lucky for your brother he was in prison when he held a knife to Ricky’s throat, ’cos if he’d been on the outside, I’d ’ave killed him.’
Woodrow inhaled slowly through his teeth, and his top lip quivered. ‘You’re gonna kill Dez, ain’t ya?’
Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, I am . . . but Randy will live, and ya sister will go about her daily business, if you do as you’re told.’
Woodrow’s muscles tightened in his chest. ‘Me sister’s a good woman. She’s a nurse, so please don’t hurt her. I didn’t think you old-timers hurt women and kids. Some rule like that, anyway.’