Simon tells me we have to go and visit his friend Leon, who is holding onto the passports for him. He was worried that R would figure it out and do something to him. Told me that if anything happened to him then I could get the passport from Leon Quick.
Simon’s bag is on his bed; he shows me the cash he has stashed inside. I don’t care about money, but I know that we need it to get away. He tells me my father will never hurt me again. I want to believe him, I really do.
I reach up and touch Simon’s face. I don’t know how much time we have but it feels right. He leans forward and kisses me again, and I kiss him back. In the back of my mind, I don’t truly believe we will escape. A part of me even wonders if I am awake and out of bed yet. Getting this far always felt like such an impossibility.
I push him onto the bed and climb on top of him, kissing his neck. We make love on the bed. I have never slept with anyone besides R. It’s different, it’s nice.
As we go to leave the apartment, I smell something; something familiar that makes my hair stand on end. R smokes these brown cigarillos. They aren’t very common, and I just know he is close by and that he knows.
He told the truth about me never getting away. It took him less than three hours to find me. There is nothing I can do now. He is here and it’s over. Does he have someone following me around? I wonder if Simon has realised we have been found. I should never have dragged him into this.
The front door bursts open with such force I let out a yelp. One of R’s men has kicked it at the lock. R walks in and two men in black knitted masks follow behind. I smooth my clothes and hair instinctively, hoping my appearance doesn’t displease him. As if somehow that will save me. I realise instantly how stupid that is. I don’t feel like I recognise the men, but then I rarely go onsite anymore and of course I can’t see their faces.
They each grab one of Simon’s arms and restrain him as R approaches me. There is no point playing games anymore. R looks and sees the bags on the floor by the door; he knows we are running away together.
My cheek burns before I even notice R’s hand as he swipes it across my face with such force it affects my hearing. My ear is ringing. I stumble, grabbing onto the doorframe for support.
R grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me into the bedroom. The men follow, pulling Simon along with them. I wonder if R can tell we slept together.
I watch as Simon futilely begs for my safety, not for himself, which makes me sad; he doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen. I know if I say anything, if I defend Simon in any way, that it will just make things worse. When R is angry like this my protests never help.
R tells the other men to hit Simon and he instructs me to watch. R says he is making an exception for me. He doesn’t usually get involved in the dirty work, but he wanted to see how this played out.
He doesn’t look at Simon as they hit him – he looks at me. He wants me to know this is all my fault. He doesn’t need to press the point home. I already know.
Within a few minutes, Simon is unrecognisable. That’s when I first see the gun. R is holding it, pointing it directly in Simon’s face. I can’t help but let out a sob and he cuffs me across the face with his other hand.
I see the fear go from Simon, a look of acceptance on his face. I recognise that face – I have worn it enough times.
R lets out a belly laugh and then raises the arm that’s holding the gun, allowing it to spin in his hand so that he is holding the barrel. He strikes at Simon, hitting him with the butt until Simon collapses on the floor, bleeding. His hand reaches out to me, either asking me to intervene, or just a final attempt to run away together – a delusion of hope.
My face is soaked with tears. I call R a bastard and he smiles. I tell him if he doesn’t let Simon go that I will run again; if he does, I will stay. R tells me that he’s done with me. That I am more trouble than I am worth. That I just don’t listen. That I belong to him.
I spit in his face and he slaps me again. He tells me he has to go, but that neither Simon nor I will ever get the chance to betray him again. He uses his fist this time when he hits me and I fall to the ground.
R turns to the men and tells them to take us both to the site on the business park and put us in the foundations. I listen helplessly. I am not sure if I hear R correctly, but he takes one of the men to the side and tells him that he wants Simon to suffer when we reach our destination. He wants him to make Simon his bitch before he kills him. I know R well enough to know what this means.
Simon is looking at me and I see him mouth the word sorry, as if he has anything to be sorry about. I am the one who should be sorry. I caused all this.
Reece leaves and we are dragged to the back of a van and bundled inside. After a while the van slows and I realise we must be on residential streets judging by our speed. I can hear them saying they are bringing us to the building site. The foundations for the community rock garden are being laid in the week and they can put us there. We need to get away. I watch Simon drift in and out of consciousness, his face swollen and disfigured, gashes where the metal of the gun hit his temple and jaw and tore through the skin.
As we are driving, we go over a large bump in the road, maybe a stray log or tree, and I feel the van tilt and rumble as they try to carry on driving. The tyre has blown. The men in the van start to argue. They stop the van and get out, opening the side door. I play possum and pretend to be unconscious as they start working on the tyre.
I can hear them arguing at the front of the van. It’s the front tyre. The back doors are ajar – it’s almost as if they have forgotten what is in the back of the van. I jostle Simon until he wakes. He is punch-drunk, but he understands when I tell him we have a chance to go.
We get out of the van and run, the sound of the men’s angry voices fading behind us. I vaguely recognise these roads: we are in Exeter. Maybe if we slip through the brush and walk along the river we can get to the quay and call for help.
It’s dark and the temperature has dropped. I feel cold and dizzy. I don’t know where we are anymore and Simon is barely moving behind me. I hear him fall in the water and I stop. He is too heavy for me to lift. I pull and pull but he doesn’t move. I try to wake him, but he is gone. I don’t have time to mourn and so I keep limping ahead, convinced that I can hear the men hot on my trail.
After what feels like forever labouring through the thickets along the bank on my own, I grow weaker without even noticing, the adrenaline wearing off and the pain kicking in. I am struggling but determined. I can see lights and try to get up a bank to get to the houses nearby and call for help.
I hear a car on the road and become convinced it’s my father’s men, come back to finish me. I crouch down as low as I can go to hide behind some bushes. I see the roof of the van as they stop and look around. I hear them calling out my name playfully as though we are playing a game of hide-and-seek.
I huddle to keep warm and rest my head against the bank, the fog in my mind taking me over. I feel powerless to stop myself from passing out as the last drops of energy leave my body.
Chapter Eighty-Two
The ambulance took Catherine Corrigan to the hospital under police supervision. She was under arrest and would give a complete statement when she got back to the station, but Imogen could see a difference in the woman already. She looked happier – not happy by any stretch of the imagination, but there was an easiness to her that Imogen hadn’t seen before.
When she was sure the other police officers were out of earshot, Imogen walked over to Adrian.
‘What were you thinking?’ she asked. ‘I know what you were doing.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Adrian said, evasive as usual.
‘When she had the gun pointed at me, you got her to turn it on you instead.’
Imogen just couldn’t figure where Adrian’s head was at at the moment. He walked towards that gun as though he didn’t care if it went off.
‘I don’t like seeing a gun on you; I’ve seen it b
efore, remember?’ Adrian said.
‘I don’t need you to take a bullet for me, Miley. I need you to stay alive.’
‘I need you to be alive, too.’
‘I don’t know what is going on, but tonight really felt like you had a death wish. The way you kissed me in the lift felt like a goodbye or something. You’re really scaring me. You aren’t the Adrian I know.’
‘Now this case is over, I’ll be able to think straight,’ he said.
He walked towards the car and sat on the bonnet. He had that distant look on his face again. She struggled to know what he was thinking most of the time, but never more so than right now.
‘What about the next case?’ she asked when she caught up with him. ‘And the one after that? You need to get a handle on this shit, Adrian. You can’t go through life just exploding whenever anything reminds you of your past.’
‘Don’t give up on me, Imogen, that’s all I am asking.’
‘I wouldn’t. I won’t.’
‘I think I need a little time off to get my shit together,’ Adrian said. ‘Tom’s got study leave coming up; I might take him away for the week. If you don’t mind?’
‘Why would I mind? He’s your son.’
He stood and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. She was taken aback, because there were still some uniformed police officers around and crime scene technicians processing both cars. Anyone could have seen them.
‘You really are too good for me,’ he said in a way that she didn’t like at all.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Adrian lay on the bed with Imogen. Reece Corrigan’s death had brought him a modicum of peace, even though the actual perpetrator of the assault on him was still out there. At least he had a place to start when he decided to move forwards, when he decided to find the people who hurt him. He just had to concentrate on the positive here, which was that Reece Corrigan wouldn’t get away with it.
Exhausted from the confrontation at the business park, they were both still in their work clothes. Neither one of them was ready to move.
They would interview Angela Corrigan in the morning and speak to everyone they had interviewed already with a hope that Corrigan’s death might loosen some tongues. Now that Angela had agreed to give a statement and had confirmed that Simon Glover was beaten to within an inch of his life in his flat, they could put together a clearer picture of how it happened.
Adrian couldn’t stop thinking about the list of names he had printed off – the ex-cons who worked for Corrigan. They would most likely be first on the list of people they would need to speak to. Maybe the police would find the two men who took Angela Corrigan and Simon Glover on that night. Adrian wasn’t sure he could be a part of that investigation, not without putting Imogen in danger again. She needed a partner who would have her back, not fall to pieces in dangerous situations.
Adrian was tired of lying, tired of keeping secrets. He only had enough room in his life for one lie now and everything else needed to be less complicated. Going to work every day and lying about being with Imogen, lying about being OK to everyone he knew, lying to his boss about decisions he had made in the past. He just couldn’t do it anymore. He had to simplify his life. There was no space for anything but that one big, ugly secret that he couldn’t yet face telling anyone.
The longer he left it, the easier it got to tell that lie and the harder it got even to think about speaking it aloud. Maybe he could put those men to the back of his mind. He had even started ignoring Dr Hadley’s calls. He had to pretend it never happened and that would take every ounce of his energy. He kissed Imogen on the forehead and then tilted her face towards him.
‘Thank you for everything these last few weeks. You’ve been so good and I know I haven’t been much fun to be around.’
‘This sounds like another one of those big goodbyes, Adrian. What is going on?’ Imogen asked.
He peered at her brown eyes and big black lashes, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t really looked her in the eye for a while. He had been avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. Utterly consumed with himself. He didn’t want to be that person anymore. This was another one of those life-defining moments and he had to make a choice. He kissed Imogen on the lips.
‘I have given this a lot of thought,’ he said.
‘Given what a lot of thought?’ she said, pulling away from him and propping herself on her elbow.
‘I’m going to hand in my notice tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I’m resigning,’ he said.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Like you said, I haven’t been myself. I think this has really taken it out of me and I don’t like the way it made me behave. You are too important to me and I just need to take a breath, you know?’
‘Just take your leave. See how you feel after that,’ Imogen said.
‘This has been coming for a long time, I think.’
‘Are you breaking up with me?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Unless that’s what you want.’
‘It’s not what I want.’
‘This way, we don’t need to creep around. We can just be together.’
‘I don’t understand. Where has this come from?’ she asked.
He couldn’t tell her the truth and although this would change everything between them, he believed it could make them better. He couldn’t keep walking into dangerous situations with her, never knowing when he was going to zone out or lose control. Never knowing who he was going to bump into.
He felt as though he was partially responsible for what happened to him, purely because he had antagonised Reece Corrigan. What if, instead of retaliating against Adrian, he had retaliated against Imogen? No. Adrian could live with a lot of things, but losing Imogen wouldn’t be one of them. He had learned the hard way that you couldn’t take love for granted, that it could be ripped from you at any moment.
‘I love you, Imogen. That’s all that matters. I just need a break from all this. With every case I seem to lose myself more and more. If I don’t take control now, I don’t know where I will end up.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t want you to worry about that. I just wanted to tell you,’ he said, noticing that she didn’t try to talk him out of it.
He saw tears gathering in Imogen’s eyes. He knew it was a lot, what he was asking. He was changing her life as much as he was his, but he honestly didn’t know what else to do. This was the only way to save himself, to save them. He kissed her again. She sniffled and pulled him in close for an embrace. For the first time in weeks they were really together, and he was thinking about her and not himself.
Adrian was going to be as honest as possible with Imogen from now on. He was going to put his attack behind him and get better. If that proved too difficult then there was a box hidden in the back of the cupboard under his stairs. The box was full of photocopied police files relating to Reece Corrigan spanning several years. His clothes from that night were in there, too, and any other information that might be useful should he decide to find the man who raped him.
He wouldn’t have the job getting in the way anymore. No one would be watching his every move, keeping him accountable. The idea of revenge and retribution stirred in the back of his mind and he found it impossible to ignore. He was almost excited at the prospect. He could make the man that assaulted him pay.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Imogen said.
‘The future. Us.’
He kissed her neck and then her face again. He was ready to show her that he was willing to change everything, for her. The weight had lifted a little and he wanted this, he wanted her. This was the beginning of the rest of his life.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I would like to thank the men who spoke to me so openly about their experiences; I appreciate how difficult it must have been and I feel privileged to know you.
Thank you so much to all the readers. Y
ou really are the best. Also a huge thanks to the book bloggers and the blogging community – you are doing a great job!
Thanks as well to everyone at Avon Books who works so hard for their authors. Big thanks to Rachel, Claire and Tilda, who have done such a stellar editing job. Thanks Helen, Ollie and Sabah as well.
A special thanks to my former editor Phoebe Morgan; I miss you.
Thanks to my agents, Diane Banks, Hannah and James at Northbank Talent.
Thanks as well to my good friends in the crime writing community. You really all are the loveliest bunch of weirdos I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Thanks to Ed James for his advice and mediocre friendship.
Thanks to my husband and kids. Sorry you had to eat so much pasta throughout the writing of this book. Normal service will resume soon.
Thanks to the rest of my family. I know I am annoying.
Author’s Note
If you have been affected by the issues in this book, please know that you aren’t alone and there is support out there for you.
Here are some resources you may find useful.
Male Survivors Partnership – working for the good of male survivors of sexual assault.
Website: www.malesurvivor.co.uk
National Helpline: 0808 800 5005
Safeline – a non-discriminatory service to help survivors of sexual assault.
Website: www.safeline.org.uk
Mankind – supporting the 1 in 6 men affected by unwanted sexual experiences.
Website: www.mkcharity.org
1in6 – support for male survivors of sexual assault.
Website: www.1in6.org
National Domestic Violence Helpline.
Website: www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk
Helpline: 0808 2000 247
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