Him lying in a derelict building, aiming a rifle into a room full of criminals.
Now, as Sam pulled the car into a parking space at the far end of the road, he began to wonder exactly what would happen if he couldn’t find Jasmine.
Aaron was relying on him to bring his daughter home. He had killed three men, wounded over a dozen more, and tortured a man to near death. He had gone to war with police and left a number of them in the hospital.
The entire country was looking for him.
He was public enemy number one.
It would all have been for nothing.
He scolded himself for even thinking it. If there was even a half per cent chance he would be able to bring Jasmine home, then he would do it all again. If he ended up facing a lifetime behind bars or the barrel of a gun, then so be it. As long as there was a breath in his body big enough to push him forward into the fight, then he would gladly go.
He would fight. Until there was nothing left.
Sam pushed open the gate to Aaron’s house and froze on the spot. Aaron was sat on the steps, soaked through and with a bottle of whisky in his hand.
In the other was a gun.
Sam slowly stepped forward, one hand out protectively, trying to gauge the mindset of a desperate father who had clearly reached breaking point. As he stepped closer, Aaron lifted his head, his hair drenched and his eyes red through crying.
‘Sam.’ His voice was slow and slurred. ‘It’s about time.’
‘Aaron.’ Sam stepped forward carefully. ‘Give me the gun.’
‘I need to show you something,’ Aaron spoke joyfully, the alcohol clearly behind the wheel. He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I need you to do something for me.’
‘Let’s just go inside.’
‘No,’ Aaron snapped, pointing the gun towards Sam. ‘It’s in the garage.’
‘Garage?’ Sam asked, alarmed. Aaron stumbled off the steps and towards the garage door. ‘Aaron. What have you done?’
Without a response, Aaron lifted the metal door and woozily stepped into the darkness. Sam quickly followed, stepping in just as the lights pinged on and the door behind him began to close. As he adjusted his sight from the immediate blast of brightness, Sam saw the shape of a car. It was a newer model, with a logo of a rental company on a faded sticker stuck to the inside of the windscreen. Aaron shifted around the vehicle, pressing himself against the wall for support. As he reached the boot of the car, the garage door connected with the concrete, shutting them in.
‘I’ve got him,’ Aaron said, his words slurring like snakes coiling around each other.
‘Who?’
‘Him. The one who took my daughter.’
Sam took a few steps further, confused, his eyes locked on the weapon in the drunken man’s hands. As he got to the rear of the car, Aaron stepped back, raising the gun once more.
‘Open it.’
Sam kept his eyes on Aaron, watching as he took another excited swig from the bottle of whisky, a trickle dribbling down his chin. Sam searched beneath the logo for the latch, clicked it and lifted the boot. Sam soon realised that Aaron hadn’t just reached the edge.
He had gone over it.
‘What the hell have you done?’ Sam asked once again, taking a step backwards. Lying in the boot of the car was a black, teenage boy. A horrible gash was pumping fresh blood over his blindfold and a gag was wrenched into his mouth. Both his hands were bound with thick layers of gaffer tape.
Tears stained his cheeks. Urine had stained his trousers.
The young boy quivered with terror, his muffled voice begging for help. The sound of the safety latch of the pistol clicking echoed around the garage like a gunshot and Aaron stepped forward, gun in hand. He aimed squarely at Sam’s chest.
‘I want you to kill him.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dana Kovalenko hung up the phone and a sickening grin spread across her full, red lips. Her extravagantly tipped fingers clutched the phone tightly as she turned, her heels clicking against the marble flooring as she strutted from the guest room of her brother’s penthouse suite. A few of the armed guards who followed her family tried their best not to lay eyes on her tight, figure hugging dress that highlighted her phenomenal body.
Leering at Dana would have your eyes removed.
Andrei had blinded four of his own men for ‘eye fucking’ his sister, and she took pride in both the danger she put the surrounding work force in and also the pedestal her brother placed her upon.
She approached her brother’s bedroom door and rapped her knuckles against it. As she waited, she peered out of the large glass window at the city below. Lit up like a million fireflies, she adored the beauty of the city.
The life they lived was so far away from the one they grew up in that it lightened the load on her conscience. In a different life, she may well have been one of the young girls, tied up in containers and shipped off to warehouses in the derelict, run-down towns in the south of Ukraine. Her father was a monster of a man, and if selling her body would have brought in more cash, then he would have done it.
Thankfully, Andrei put a stop to that.
The door clicked open and her brother emerged, his shirt open and his hair messy. His body, once neatly sculpted, was now a little looser but the tattoos were still as prominent. Over his shoulder, Dana could see two women lying on his bed, their naked bodies entangled and a pile of cocaine on the bedside table. Andrei cleared his throat.
‘What is it, sister?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Oleg called. He says that Sam Pope drove to the docks early this morning and scouted the place.’ Dana’s eyes lit up. ‘Shall I give the order for Oleg to eliminate?’
‘No, not yet.’ Andrei lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag before tilting his head back pushing the smoke upwards. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Oleg says he is at a house in London. We believe it’s the father that Wiseman spoke about.’
Andrei nodded and took another puff. Oleg had relayed the information he had beaten out of the young kid. The desperate father of one of the girls in his next shipment had caused a scene and managed to get Sam Pope hunting for her. Knowing that the city’s most wanted man was hot on their tail should have been enough for him to change the schedule.
But Andrei didn’t bow or bend for anyone.
Certainly not a man with a gun.
‘We keep to schedule. Have the girls delivered to the port tonight. You stay here, in case anything does happen.’
‘You’re going?’ Dana asked, her immaculate eyebrows raised.
‘Yes. If this Pope wants to get involved in my business, then maybe I make him my business.’
Andrei’s thick, Ukrainian accent had always added a tint of danger to his words and Dana hung off every one of them. Andrei finished his cigarette and turned back to his sister.
‘Tell Oleg to keep following Pope. If he needs to intervene, tell him I want him brought to me. Alive.’ Andrei’s face twisted into a cruel grin. ‘We can then post him to our partner, piece by piece.’
‘That will certainly help his campaign.’
The two siblings laughed, their cruel humour only exacerbated by the complete ignorance of their partner. His ties to the city were huge and his involvement with the large businesses were what had funded his entire campaign. He had unknowingly opened doors that allowed Andrei to operate his business.
Soon, when the man was in power, Andrei would show him the evidence trail and secure him in his pocket forever. Andrei managed his crime empire like a game of chess, always thinking five moves ahead.
Two more moves and it would be check mate.
Behind him, a gasp of pleasure erupted from the bed and he turned, a sickening smile on his face.
‘Duty calls.’ He flashed a grin at his sister and turned back towards the bed, unbuckling his belt and dropping trousers as he did. As he positioned himself behind one of the woman, he shot a glance back to his sister, who watc
hed on from the doorway. He knew she would be impressed at his display of power, and once he had sent off that evening’s shipment, he would publicly kill Sam Pope and send a message loud and clear to his partner and to the Metropolitan Police.
London belonged to Andrei Kovalenko.
‘No,’ Sam said firmly, turning back to face Aaron whose eyes lit up with fury. He took another angry swig of the whisky and then slammed the bottle down on the tool bench at the back of the garage. The cupboards shook and the metal tools clanged together. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stepped forward, gun raised.
‘Kill him.’
‘No.’ Sam shook his head. ‘He’s just a kid.’
‘The kid who took my little girl.’
‘Aaron, this boy isn’t the person responsible for what has happened to Jasmine. You need to calm down.’
‘Fuck you,’ Aaron spat angrily. ‘This little prick lured my girl to a party and snatched her from me. So do what it is that you fucking do.’
Sam stepped away from the boot of the car, his arms up in surrender. Aaron’s eyes were watering with anger, tears sliding over the lids and down his tired face.
‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked.
‘This is what you do right? You find the bad people and you kill them. Or do you get to be the judge and jury as well as the executioner? Huh?’
‘Aaron, you don’t want to kill this boy…’ Sam tried to mask the hurt in his voice, but Aaron’s words were hitting him hard. Was that how he was perceived? Not as a force of good but just as a weapon of vengeance?
‘Why do you get to choose who lives and dies? What gives you the right to decide whether one life is worth more than another?’ Aaron’s tears were full force now, his breathing intensifying as well as his grip around the gun. ‘He took my daughter, Sam. The police did nothing. I appreciate that you tried but you haven’t found her. She’s gone.’
‘She’s still out there,’ Sam pleaded. ‘I’ve tracked the people responsible and I’m waiting for a call to tell me where.’
‘Waiting. Waiting. Waiting,’ Aaron said drunkenly, swaying slightly as the whisky flowed through him. ‘I’m tired of waiting. I might not have my little girl back, but I won’t let them get away with it. So do what you do and kill him.’
‘Aaron, you need to give me the gun.’
‘Kill him.’ Aaron repeated, his emphasis getting louder with fury.
‘Killing a teenage kid isn’t going to bring her back. Letting me go is.’
‘KILL HIM!’ Aaron screamed, lifting the gun once more. As soon as he did, Sam expertly swung a hand to the back of his jeans and pulled up his own pistol, both hands wrapped around the handle, his finger resting on the trigger. Aaron stumbled back, colliding with the bench and sending the bottle of whisky to an explosive journey to the concrete below. The sound of the smashing glass made the young captive jolt in the boot, his weeping increasing. Aaron, his hand shaking, lifted his gun back at Sam, who stood firmly.
‘You do it,’ Sam said coldly.
‘W-w-what?’ Aaron eventually stuttered, his words catching in throat.
‘You want him dead. You kill him.’ Sam kept the gun pointed squarely at the drunk’s forehead. The eyes that were filled with furious tears were now wide with terror.
‘B-but I…’
‘You think it’s so easy, then you do it. Like you said, your daughter is gone. This boy is responsible. So kill him,’ Sam demanded, stepping forward towards Aaron who cowered slightly.
‘B-b-but…’
‘Come on, Aaron. Your daughter is probably being raped or beaten as we speak and you did nothing to save her. Could do nothing,’ Sam said through gritted teeth. ‘This boy, this young kid who has been forced into the life by manipulative adults is the reason she was taken in the first place. So kill him.’
Aaron sobbed as he stepped forward, a wave of regret crashing into him as he looked at the outcome of his actions. The young kid wept uncontrollably, hearing every word of the two men arguing over who was going to end his life. After taking a few more short breaths, Aaron lowered his arm, the gun dropping to his side and he turned back to Sam, defeated.
‘I can’t.’
Sam clicked off the safety.
‘Kill him, or I will kill you.’
Aaron stumbled back, his calves connecting with the bonnet.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Like you said, this is easy for me. Killing people is what I do. You have made it clear to me that this boy deserves to die. So either you put a bullet in his head or I’ll put a bullet in yours and leave your daughter to rot.’
Aaron shook. Sam’s sudden, cold turn had blindsided him and he felt the wooziness of alcohol beginning to take control of his body. He thought of his daughter, alone and scared. He imagined her hands bound, her eyes covered, and the terrifying voices of two men who were deciding whether to kill her or not.
He realised then that he was no better than those who had taken his daughter. The young adult in the back of his car was as vulnerable as his daughter had been, only he had been taken in a different way. He had been coerced into gang culture by adults who preyed off the poverty of youth.
This young man had lured his daughter to a fate worse than death. But he didn’t deserve to die.
‘I can’t,’ Aaron finally uttered.
‘Last chance,’ Sam said, hating himself for every moment of this. ‘Kill him or you will never see her again.’
At that moment, Aaron hunched over to the side and puked. Streams of vomit splashed against the concrete, ricocheting back against the car wheel. As he furiously threw up, he wept for the path he had fallen down. A week ago, he was just a single father, trying his best to establish a relationship with a hurt teenage girl who mourned for her mother.
Now he was holding teenagers at gun point and aiding wanted fugitives.
The last of the vomit hit the concrete and he stayed hunched on all fours, his back jack-knifing as he took in deep, full breaths.
Sam re-engaged the safety on his gun and tucked it back into the waistband of his jeans. He stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on Aaron’s back. The last four years had ebbed away at his empathy, but it hadn’t made him a monster. Sam knew he was no hero, but he also knew he wasn’t the monster people like Singh painted him out to be. As Aaron’s breathing slowed to a more regular pace, Sam helped him to his feet. He smiled uncomfortably as Aaron dabbed at his eyes, regaining his composure.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ Aaron eventually said, embarrassed.
‘Believe me, you wouldn’t have killed him even if you wanted to.’
‘But I would have,’ Aaron said, regrettably looking back at the young boy held captive. ‘I really would have.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Sam reiterated, bending down to pick up the pistol Aaron had dropped on the floor. As he lifted it, he expertly slid the clip from the handle. It was empty. ‘I took the liberty of emptying this last time I was here.’
Sam handed the empty clip to Aaron, who stared at it, then back at Sam in disbelief.
‘What?’
‘I figured you wouldn’t be able to tell by the weight of it.’
Aaron chuckled, embarrassed.
‘Then why the hell did you do all that when you knew I had no bullets?’
‘Because you needed to see that this isn’t your life. You were right. You’re not like me. You can’t kill people and that’s a good thing. But I don’t kill for the sake of it. I do my best not to. I promised my son a long time ago and despite the fact I’ve broken that promise a few times, I’m working hard to get it back. But trust me, Aaron, you’re not the first Dad to feel completely helpless and then get desperate.’
‘Yeah, but at least you got the guy who took your son from you.’
Sam turned away, his own pain drilling through his chest like a Black & Decker. Memories began to race forward, dominating his mind until he realised he needed to confront them.
Befo
re he arrived back at that fateful night all those years ago, he responded.
‘Not exactly.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
The cool evening breeze danced around Sam seductively, doing its best to lead him away from the decision he had made. Edgware High Street was deathly quiet. The only sound was the intermittent noise of a train approaching Edgware Station, the final stop on the Northern Line. Sam strode up the street, zeroed in on the battered white door he had watched Miles Hillock enter.
As he approached, two youths stepped out from the chicken shop, a box of questionable meat in their hands. They made a point of stepping around Sam, one of them throwing an insult at him which failed to register. He wasn’t surprised – his lack of hygiene and care for his appearance since losing his son was apparent even to him. His scratchy beard hung from his chin in fluffy patches, his dank, unwashed hair flopped over his ears.
Sam looked homeless, and the two youths made sure he knew it.
As they laughed at him, he hunched over, his hand tucked into the inside of his jacket. His fingers tightened around the serrated blade and he did his best to keep it covered. He approached the white door and took a deep breath.
He raised a fist up and hammered against the door.
Three hard, firm knocks.
Sam moved to the side of the door, stepping back slightly into the neighbouring doorway of the estate agents. He waited patiently for a few moments, watching as two cars shot down the road, not giving him a second look.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the wall behind him and Sam felt his entire body tense.
This was it.
Months of waiting and now the time had arrived.
Sam pulled the knife from his jacket and held it tightly, his knuckles whitening and his breath quickening.
The door opened.
Sam spun around the divider between the two doors and came face to face with Miles Hillock. The drunken murderer tried to focus on the homeless man who had just jumped out on him and he startled slightly. Sam glared at him, a rage coursing through his body like someone had opened the gates of hell. Hillock took a few moments until the colour drained in his face.
The Takers Page 19