by KERRY BARNES
If he’d been handed a knife, he would have ended his own life, but he was too frightened to pour acid on his own face; not only would it hurt like nothing on earth, but he’d still be alive to see the consequences.
He turned to look at his handsome and favourite son, and he knew what she was about to ask him to do. Although he detested Zara and everything she stood for, he had to admire her. The innate cold expression and the demonic glint in her eyes were unique. She had all the characteristics of a ruthless leader.
‘You know what I want, Torvic, because if the shoe were on the other foot, you would do the same!’
Everyone watched in anticipation. Willie chuckled in excitement, Staffie’s stomach churned over, Mike and Joshua just stood there in amazement, but Zara – she didn’t move a muscle.
Neil and Shamus stood with their backs against the wall, their eyes glued to Zara. It was shocking how calm and deliberate she was, when conducting an act that would have grown men turning their eyes away.
‘Aw, come on. Please. This is sick. I can’t do it. He’s my son,’ he begged.
Torvic was resigned. The fire had gone from his eyes, and the anger and the frustration had dissipated, leaving a sad, trembling, and pathetic wretch.
She stared motionlessly.
‘Please, I can’t. I just can’t do it.’
With one hand, she flipped the lid and tilted it slowly until the acid reached the neck of the bottle. One millimetre more and the acid would burn a hole in his granddaughter’s head.
Terrified she would hurt her, Torvic gave in. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
Flipping the lid from the container in his hands, he turned to face Alastair. ‘I’m so sorry, Son.’
Alastair’s eyes were now huge, as the realization had just caught up with him. ‘No! No! No!’ he screamed in a high-pitched, petrified, and blood-curdling voice. With his body jolting, as if he were in the electric chair, he cried like a girl.
Lance watched on in pleasure. This was a better form of retribution than he could ever have devised.
‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Torvic, shaking his head in submission.
The fight had left his body like a demon during an exorcism. He closed his eyes, lifted the bottle above his son’s head, and poured the contents. The screams were so horrific that only Lance and Zara kept their cold stares focused on the scene of destruction. The others had to look away. Stephan lost consciousness, and his head flopped down to his chest. Torvic just closed his eyes; the sight and sounds were too much to bear.
Zara continued to stare, her eyes fixed and her expression emotionless, as she watched Alastair shaking his head and screaming as the acid ate into his skin. It ripped into his bones. It devoured his eyes, leaving them as sunken sinkholes. The screams subsided as Alastair’s face melted away.
Torvic couldn’t look; all he could smell was the distinctive odour of burning skin. The decanter fell onto the concrete floor, and he instantly vomited over the glass fragments.
The macabre scene witnessed by everyone stunned them into silence, until Zara spoke. ‘Willie, would you sort out Stephan for me, please?’
Willie, already high from the exhilaration, instantly hurried over to the man slumped in the chair. Before anyone had time to grasp what he was about to do, he pulled Stephan’s head back and cut his throat with his knife.
‘Fuck! Willie! I meant, I wanted you to wake him up!’ shouted Zara, as she rolled her eyes.
‘Oops, sorry. Shall I give him the kiss of life instead?’
It might have been laughable if they’d been together watching a scene like this from a make-believe show in the comfort of Zara’s home. However, like the acid ‘show’ before it, this was death at its rawest. It wasn’t pleasant – and it wasn’t funny.
‘Oh dear, Willie!’ she sighed.
Torvic was numb. He looked at Stephan, who died instantly, and then he locked eyes with his granddaughter’s. Never in his life had he wanted to see her die, and he couldn’t bear it if they did the same to her. She looked so traumatized that he wondered, if she ever managed to leave this place alive, whether she would be normal again.
‘Right, Torvic. It’s time for us to get down to business.’
Torvic felt vomit rising again, but he nodded to show he was listening.
‘I take it you don’t want your granddaughter screaming like your son did, do you? So, I’ll let her go. But there are conditions. I want names and places. I want the name and details of your supplier. I want the codes you use. In fact, I want everything you know that will have me face-to-face with the man who makes this shit you call Flakka. And if you tell one little porky, your granddaughter will be put into an acid bath alive!’
Torvic assumed he’d nothing else to lose with the one exception: his granddaughter. He expected to die anyway, and yet he could save Tiffany. ‘I swear, I’ll tell you everything, in return for her life.’
‘Good. At last, we’re on the same page. So, then, start talking . . . Willie, would you remove the remains of Alastair and Stephan? You know where the acid pit is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Boss!’
She then looked at the floor where Dez was curled in a ball, convulsing. ‘Oh, yes, and you see that cunt?’ She turned to Mike. ‘Do you want to use the tools or give him a slow death? I mean, Willie loves using his knife. I think a few slices and a dip in a cesspit will leave him rotting for a day or two.’
Mike grinned coldly. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
For a moment, Zara wondered if Mike was looking at her with admiration or love; for the most part that evening, the impassive expression had given nothing away.
Staffie and Willie dragged away the three men, leaving Torvic alone in the middle of the room with just his fear for company.
‘Right, let’s begin. Who’s your supplier?’
‘Barak!’ he replied, without any hesitation.
Zara frowned and straightened up. A tingling covered her entire skin. ‘Barak who?’
‘Segal!’ he spat, as his eyes darkened, and his lip curled.
It was Joshua who intervened. He had stood back and watched his cousin in action, but the name Segal had him raging. ‘Barak Segal? You liar. He’s dead!’
Slowly, Torvic shook his head. ‘No, he’s not. He’s coming for you, Zara, mark my words, and you’ll be sorry. You thought that you were the hunted, you and the Regans, by Guy Segal, but, you silly woman, you were hunted by Barak. Oh, and yes, the man is clever— silently devious. Although Guy and Benjamin are in prison, Barak is alive, and he’s coming for you!’
It was the first time that Zara lost her calm expression. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.
But Joshua stepped forward. ‘Oh, he’ll be the one who’s hunted, and you, Torvic, you’ll be the man who leads us to him, or all you’ll have left are the bones of your granddaughter to hold.’
Those caustic words ousted Torvic from his mocking pulpit.
Zara composed herself. ‘Where will I find him?’
‘He’s in Poland.’
‘You know I’m going to keep you alive until he’s captured, don’t you? And you wanna hope it’s soon because your darling Tiffany will be begging to die by the time I’m done.’ She turned and grinned at his granddaughter who looked traumatized. ‘So, every day that it takes me to find Barak, Tiffany will lose a finger and no doubt her sanity.’ She peered down at her own false hand.
Torvic nodded. ‘You have my word, Zara, that I’ll tell you everything you need to know to catch him, but . . . ’ he sighed, ‘like me, he has no scruples.’
‘And like my father, he’ll feel my wrath!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The sun was just peeping through the clouds, and for the first time, Lance felt alive as if he’d stepped out of a big black hole. Did all that really just happen? he asked himself. The feeling was surreal. He’d just been through an unbelievable experience, akin to his days in the SAS. The hangar – the woman – the violence.
Now
he had one final job to do. Pulling into the Police Commissioner’s drive, Lance smiled. It had been a long time since they’d butted heads and this morning’s meeting would be a sweet taste of revenge for all the heartache and misery the Stoneham family had put him through when they helped Rebecca take back custody of Kendall. The first knock at the impressive double oak doors was ignored. The second one resulted in Stoneham hollering, ‘Go away. I have nothing to say.’
Lance grinned. He guessed that Conrad was assuming he was just another reporter, since he’d heard the news of Rebecca’s arrest on the radio. ‘Open up, Conrad. It’s Lance. We need to talk!’
Conrad was nursing a brandy, staring at the photo of Kendall. Still wearing yesterday’s clothes and with his hair unbrushed, he rose from his chair and slowly walked along the hallway. After he opened the door, he walked back to the lounge and sat down. There was not even an acknowledgement of Lance’s presence.
Lance looked around the room, a picture of perfection, but that couldn’t be said for the tired-looking commissioner.
‘What do you want, Lance, because I am sure it’s not to gloat, is it?’
‘Gloat?’
‘Oh, you must have heard about Rebecca? I should think the whole country has, by now.’
Lance stared at the resigned expression on Conrad’s face. ‘Oh, that! Not relevant. I came with a message from Regan.’
Conrad frowned and looked up. ‘What? How do you know Regan?’
Uninvited, Lance took a seat opposite. ‘Where do I start?’ He sighed. ‘I’m not who you think I am, Conrad. I left the armed forces and worked for various people – whoever paid me the most, I guess. Then I was called into the special operations team.’ He paused and waited for a reaction.
Conrad’s eyes widened, and he sat up straight. ‘You? I mean . . . the special operations team?’
Lance slowly nodded. ‘Yep, the project set up to oversee your work, your sloppy work. Please don’t tell me you assumed that your method of dealing with the shit on the street was to hide it from the press, hire the likes of Mike Regan, and thereby hope that your little scheme wouldn’t go unnoticed by those in government?’
Lowering his head in shame, Conrad stared into his glass, swirling around the dregs. ‘Yes, well, I made a mistake. I thought perhaps Mike Regan would . . . anyway, what does it matter now? I’m resigning.’
‘You thought Mike Regan would find the man they call the Governor, didn’t you? Tell me, what did you have on him to make sure he carried out the job?’
‘Well, his mother, for one. We’re pretty sure she killed Tracey Harman. Proving it, of course, would have been a stretch, although he wasn’t to know that. But Regan saw the deal was a win-win for him and his firm: being let out of prison, going about his business as usual, and having our backing in doing so. The only leverage we had was his fiancée, Zara Ezra, who played into our hands. We had her on CCTV at a BP garage close by to where a druggie called Lennon was murdered. A witness saw this one-handed woman. There are not too many around who can kill with their bare hands, or, in this case, one hand. He never knew I had that over him, though. But none of that matters now. Anyway, what’s Regan’s message?’
Lance could have wound him up and taken great pleasure digging the knife in, but something in Conrad’s face said the man’s spirit was completely broken.
‘We’ve found the Governor and his two accomplices, Alastair being one of them.’
In total shock, Conrad jumped to his feet. ‘What? Who? Are you serious?’
Lance nodded. ‘Deadly. He raped and killed Kendall.’
The blood vessels almost popped out of Conrad’s neck as the anger surged around his body. ‘Where is he now? I will fucking . . . ’
‘Oh, he’s dead.’
Conrad suddenly realized who he was talking to and shrank his shoulders. ‘Did you make him beg for his life or hear his screams?’
Lance smiled. ‘Oh, more than that. I watched his skin peel from his body before he died.’
There was silence for a moment as Conrad took it all in. Then his expression changed. He appeared older, more sorrowful. ‘You will never forgive me, Lance, will you, for allowing Rebecca to take Kendall away from you?’
So much had happened in the last few hours that had changed Lance’s stance on life. ‘It wasn’t you, though, who was pulling her strings, was it?’
‘No, she was her own woman. So much like Father, it’s untrue. Me, I am nothing like them. As for Alastair, I think he and my sister were well suited. I often wondered if she was mentally unhinged, like my father. Sadly, now I know she is. I just hope Brooke and Poppy—’
Lance instantly interrupted. ‘They weren’t Alastair’s, they’re mine.’
Unexpectedly, a huge smile, filled with relief, spread across Conrad’s face. ‘Thank God. Are you sure?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Er, by the way, Lance, this Governor fellow. Who was he?’
‘His name’s Torvic, but he’s not dead. He’s helping us with our enquiries the Regans’ way.’
Conrad nodded. ‘So I was right to release Mike Regan, then?’ He was looking for some credit.
‘Yes, you certainly were. The funny coincidence is that while I was on the same mission, I employed the help of his brother . . . A strange world, really.’
Conrad held out his hand to Lance. ‘Maybe not so strange. It seems we found the best men for the job.’
Lance shook his hand. ‘No, not men. It was Zara Ezra. She was the mastermind.’
As Conrad saw Lance to the door, he chuckled. ‘I wanted to be a train driver, really. I never wanted or expected to become the Police Commissioner. I was trying to impress my father. I won’t again, though. I’m done.’
The two men went outside and stood on the porch overlooking a copper beech tree. Lance thought he could find it in him to proffer some advice.
‘Conrad, the special unit are not so interested in how you get the job done, as long as it is, and with the Governor out of the way, the drug will be off the streets and no one will be looking at what you’re doing. I wouldn’t resign if I were you. You’ve done a good job – in fact you chose the best: Regan. That must count for good judgement.’
***
It was seven o’clock in the morning by the time Lance arrived home. He soaked up the comfort and looked at his warm, inviting hallway, with the soft woollen carpet, and then heard the sound of his girls’ gentle snoring coming from the lounge. His girls.
He tiptoed into the room to find the snoring wasn’t from his daughters but from Arty and Liam. He stared for a while, and a smile lit up his face. There was Liam, a dead ringer for his mad father, sleeping like a baby; but that being the case, how did Willie manage to end up with a boy whose personality was so different? Then he looked at Arty; even curled up under the fur throw, his legs could still be seen, on account of his tall stature. There was a resemblance to Staffie although Arty was far more handsome. He slipped away quietly so as not to wake them and tiptoed up the stairs. He reached his own bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, soaking in the cherub-like sight. His two girls were asleep in his bed. Brooke had her arm around Poppy. A lump formed in his throat; out of all the carnage in the world, there was still such innocence, and he vowed there and then that he would work hard to help keep it that way. He looked at Poppy’s bruised face, her glasses skewwhiff on her nose. Carefully, he reached down to remove them and laid them on the bedside table.
He was so proud to have them in his home away from that bastard Alastair and Rebecca. He wondered for a moment what his daughters’ reaction would be when they discovered she would be convicted and locked up. He hoped they could get over it, given time, and learn to accept him as their father. He did have one thing over Alastair though – he loved his girls with all his heart.
***
Neil and Shamus drove back to their rented flat in London. Shamus was quiet in contemplation. Neil was bursting with pride and was so satisfied that after all the y
ears of searching for Zara, not only had she been discovered alive, but she’d overcome her adversity so forthrightly, despite the loss of a limb. Business partners they may be, but it was so much more than that – it came down to trust and faith. The day they’d first met and vowed to trust each other was the day he knew in his heart that come what may he would always have her back.
‘What a woman, eh, Shamus? What a fecking woman!’
Shamus nodded; he was exhausted, but the last few hours had built up his adrenaline, and he was now wired as if he’d been on cocaine all night. ‘One fecking classy woman, that she is!’
Neil chuckled. ‘And there was me thinking I would shut her in the ladies’, so she wouldn’t get hurt. Ha, I should’ve known she’d climb out of that window and let rip. See, Shamus, I think that’s where people go wrong with Zara. They assume she’s just this refined woman who’s playing at being a gangster, when, really, she’s the fecking teacher on how things should be done . . . and, as you say, she does it with class.’
Shamus was suddenly quiet.
‘What’s up, mate?’ asked Neil.
‘I dunno. That Torvic and his granddaughter may be locked up behind the hangar, but what if . . . ?’
Neil waited for him to continue, but Shamus only laughed. ‘Oh, no matter. I just think after tonight, I need to sleep. My mind’s running away with me.’
‘Tell me, what’s bothering you?’
‘Okay, what if Zara has underestimated Torvic? What if this Barak fella isn’t in Poland and is here now and watching us? Yer know, like being one step ahead of the game?’
Neil sighed. ‘Yeah, Shamus, you’re right. You do need to get some sleep.’
***
Zara waited until nearly everyone had left and the hostages were secured. She sat in the small kitchenette area on a stool while the men cleaned up.
Lou had been the lookout from the far lane where the cars were all parked up, and once he’d received the text that it was over, he’d driven through the small opening in the bushes, along the unmade road, and stopped outside the hangar. His mind went back to the previous time he was here – the fight Zara had had with Paris Harman, and his lips turned into a smile. The shutters were opened, and he could see her in the corner of the small kitchen with a drink beside her. She looked worn out, but the tiredness had not detracted from her stunning looks.