Inescapable Fate: Hanleigh's London (The Fate Series Book 1)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  “Don’t be silly, little Bint,” I murmur before leaving the apartment.

  I’m quick to return. I don’t want to leave her alone even for a second. It’s not that I think she will get hurt, although she’s the clumsiest fool imaginable. It’s more that I want to be with her.

  When I return she’s no longer awake. Her head is resting on the armrest and she’s curled herself up into a ball. I pull the blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over her before returning to the kitchen to cook her dinner.

  I make pasta because I want to make something quick and easy. As it boils, I stand and watch her sleep. It’s hard to believe how much I’d completely misunderstood the little lioness that is now sleeping soundly. I’m loathed to wake her when I bring her dinner. I place the plate on the coffee table before kneeling down in front of her.

  “Little Bint, time to wake up.”

  She doesn’t respond, except to turn away from me.

  “Georgia.” I run my hand through her hair. “Little Lioness, dinner is ready.”

  I lean in, kissing her forehead.

  She reaches out for me. “Little Lioness?”

  Shit! I hadn’t planned on saying that out loud.

  “You need to eat,” I tell her, ignoring her snickers.

  Chapter Seventeen – Georgia

  The next morning, I wake to the sound of Trent preparing to leave. I practically glare at him.

  “Please let me come with you.”

  “No,” he says, completely unaffected by my anger.

  “Please.”

  “Not happening.”

  “What if I…”

  “Silly Bint, there is nothing you could offer me that would be enough for me to risk your safety. Next week – and not before.”

  I frown but I don’t say anything. In fairness it’s pretty sweet that he’s concerned about my safety. Climbing out of bed, I step up on my tiptoes and kiss him softly on the lips.

  When I pull back, he’s looking at me with a strange expression, it’s somewhat unfathomable.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” I ask. “For what?”

  “I didn’t stop him. I didn’t save you.”

  I laugh harshly. “I never asked you to.”

  “I still should have.”

  “No. You did your job.” I pull him towards me. “I don’t expect anything else.”

  The next few days, I live for the evenings. The days are filled with utter boredom but by night I get to know Trent better. We eat dinner together each night. He comes back earlier than he should and I tell him off repeatedly for it.

  Although we still haven’t discussed what’s going on between us, we talk about everything else.

  He tells me about his ex-girlfriend, the one he proposed to and I talk about Darren. He asks about the two times I’ve been kidnapped and for the first time in my life I find myself willing to answer. I don’t go into detail, but I tell him about what happened when I was nine. I struggle to tell him about the second time I was kidnapped. Little over a year and a half ago, it still feels raw.

  “I was working a case with John at the time,” I tell him. It’s late; we’re sat in my bed. We haven’t done anything at all – not since the hospital – he’s been a complete gentleman. “It was a murder case – the perp was particularly messed up. You know the sort… a serial killer with no remorse… he was a psychopath like I’d never seen before.”

  He doesn’t answer, he simply listens.

  “As we chased him, he became infatuated with me. Stalking me. Sending notes to the yard for me. They insisted on taking me off the case and reassigning me temporarily to a desk job. I worked the front desk. But what we didn’t know was that he was a PC downstairs. As safe as we thought I was inside the yard, I wasn’t. He offered to walk me home one night. I didn’t think anything of it. Everyone had been walking me home for weeks.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Around the corner from my apartment he knocked me out.”

  He’s angry, I can see it in his expression and the way all his muscles seem to have tensed up.

  “How long?” His words are gruff and unapologetic.

  “Two weeks.”

  His eyes are wide with shock and fear. He almost doesn’t want to ask the rest of his questions, for fear of what I might tell him.

  “He kept me locked in a dark room. There was no furniture, no way out, nothing... I fought back, tried to escape but every time I did, he overpowered me.”

  “Did he…?” He can’t utter the words.

  I shake my head. I know what he wants to ask.

  “No. He didn’t rape me,” I clarify. “He was violent but he never…” He never had sex with me, I finish in my head because even after a year and a half I still can’t face it. “He was creative with his punishments. I came away with broken ribs, internal bleeding, broken bones, half-starved with a concussion. At some point I gave up, stopped believing that I would be rescued… when they came for me, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it.”

  “They shot him. He’s dead. John was the one that came for me. He carried me out of there, telling me I was far too light if he was able to carry me.”

  He’s quiet. Now that I’m talking, I’m not sure how I will stop.

  “I’ve never seen my dad so scared. Broken by fear. My mum was…” My words crack. “I promised myself right then that I’d never let them worry so much again.”

  We talk some more but at some point, the conversation falls away and he kisses me.

  The kiss is rough as if we’ve both suddenly realised how miraculous it is that we can even be here together right in this moment, how miraculous it is that he can kiss me. As his tongue explores my mouth, my hands wrap around his neck. He holds my face in place, cupping my chin with his hands before allowing one hand to drop to the strap of my pyjama top.

  He hooks his finger under it and pulls it down my arm, exposing the flesh on my collar bone. He pulls away from me so that he can kiss the newly exposed skin. His kisses leave my skin tingling.

  I want more.

  I pull his t-shirt over his head and take in the sight of him. There doesn’t seem to be an inch of fat on him. He’s an Adonis and I don’t say that lightly. Perhaps it’s because Darren was my first boyfriend but fuck, I’ve been missing out if this is what the rest of them look like with their shirts off.

  He lowers himself down, lifting my top, kissing along my stomach as he uncovers it, careful to avoid my bandaged wound. Before long, my top meets his on the floor and his eyes seem to devour me.

  I’m breathless and needy for his touch.

  His mouth is on my left breast, kissing, sucking and at times biting. My nipples tighten in response and I can’t quiet the moans that escape my mouth. He raises his head and smirks, licking his lips before returning his lips to mine for another kiss, his hand replacing his mouth on my tit. My entire body is alive with his touch as if set alight.

  “I want you,” is all he says before he makes quick work of the rest of our clothes.

  His head between my thighs, he laps at my sex, flicking his tongue over my clit, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. My hands fist in the sheet below me. His finger enters me, and I buck my hips violently into his face. It thrusts in and out and I whimper. I need more.

  “Please,” I beg him.

  I don’t have to say it twice.

  He’s out of the bed in a second, walking away from me. His arse is amazing, and I find myself ogling him. I watch as he picks up his trousers from the pile of clothes on the floor, removing a condom from his wallet.

  He sits down on the side of my bed and I sit up, coming behind him and kissing his neck. I can’t keep my hands off him, even as he sits there putting on the condom.

  I suck on his neck before biting down gently.

  He takes me by surprise when he turns abruptly and lifts me into his arms before dropping me back onto the bed, right in the middle. He acts quickly, enterin
g me without warning.

  The sudden fullness is overwhelmingly good as he starts to move within me.

  I lift my legs, wrapping them around him, pulling him closer, forcing him deeper. He pounds into me violently. My side is sore, but I ignore it. I won’t give him an excuse to stop and I know he will if he thinks I’m hurting. It’s only a momentary thought before I’m completely lost in the sweet sensations that are coursing through my entire body at his touch.

  I clutch to his arms, my nails digging into his flesh.

  His eyes are on mine, focused on me as if I’m the only person in his world. Then he’s kissing me once more. The combination of his kiss, his hands on my body and his dick inside me is enough to take me over the edge. My head spinning and my body shaking, my thighs quiver as every muscle in my body tenses and the walls of my pussy pulse around him.

  Then all control gone, I collapse back onto the bed, unable to move, think or speak.

  Chapter Eighteen – Walker

  Last night we lay there together, talking in whispers, occasionally touching and kissing for hours. That hadn’t been the plan. I’d told myself when I came to stay with her that we wouldn’t have sex. I’d told myself firmly that it was 100% not allowed while ever she still had her stitches. Yet, not three days later I’d fucked up and well… fucked her.

  As annoyed at myself as I am, I don’t regret it.

  If she were to tell me I hurt her, then I might but without those words, I can’t bring myself to regret something that felt so bloody brilliant.

  She grimaces as I get ready to go to work.

  “It’s early,” I say quietly. “You should go back to sleep.”

  “I want to go to work,” she says.

  I lean down, kissing her on the forehead.

  “Not today.”

  She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t need to, her eyes say everything. She’s pissed off. She doesn’t want to spend another day stuck in this house.

  “The rest of the time will fly.”

  “Doubt it.”

  She crosses her arms.

  My mind isn’t really with me today. It’s still in bed with Kentley. Distractedly, I text her throughout the day. Although she frequently tells me off for it, she does try to use it as a way to find out about everything she is missing here at Scotland Yard. I don’t tell her anything, much to her irritation. She ignores my texts after that and my mood suffers as a result.

  When I return home that night, I drop a case file on the sofa beside her and wait for her reaction.

  She doesn’t disappoint. She jumps up from where she is sat and launches herself at me exuberantly.

  “Thank you!” she says before scrunching up her face in pain.

  I force her back down on the sofa.

  “Moved too quick?”

  She nods her head, her teeth gritted. “And that’s why I won’t let you come back to work…”

  “Quit the I told you so crap,” she grumbles before opening the file, her face lighting up as she does.

  “So easy to keep you smiling, little Bint… just have to give you plenty of work.”

  She slaps my arm in fake annoyance and I sit myself down beside her, turning on the news and settling in for a quiet evening in.

  I’m relieved when Kentley finally returns to work. The team just isn’t the same without her, but I won’t be stupid enough to tell her that. I insist on driving her there and fortunately she doesn’t resist. She’s highly independent, but I’m about to mess that up for her.

  The boys are ridiculously excited to see her.

  “I got a cake to celebrate you coming back,” Alvin tells her happily.

  They all circle round her, hugging her and welcoming her back. I lean against a desk and watch them, arms folded across my chest. She really does inspire people to care about her.

  Take me for example. Three weeks ago, I had disliked her, convinced that she was here as a result of nepotism. I’d completely underestimated just how amazing she was.

  The briefing is quick and easy; we spend most of it catching Kentley up on everything she has missed.

  When she needs to go out, I insist on accompanying her. Logically, I know I should just let her work, but logic doesn’t speak as loudly as the concern that rushes through me that something might happen to her while she’s still not at full strength. I stand guard throughout the whole day, heck I don’t even let her out of my sight to buy coffee.

  The rest of the team notice and don’t hide their entertainment. They take it in turns to tease me. Lance Stone catches me looking at her as she works on her paperwork.

  “Alright boss. She’s pretty, right?”

  I roll my eyes and head off in search of coffee, ignoring him as best I can. His comment isn’t the only one. Even John gets in on the ruckus.

  “So, boss… you and Kentley?”

  I don’t respond. John already knows how I feel. He’s asked me before. I’d been pretty honest, sitting in the London traffic. I’d told him I liked her, I’d told him I didn’t think I should… that hadn’t changed. I still didn’t think it was a good idea but I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her even if I tried.

  When the day finally comes to an end, I’m relieved because I can take her home without any new bruises or broken bones. For some reason it feels like a massive achievement. I take her hand in mine as we sit in the car. It’s rush hour and we’re not going anywhere fast.

  “Did they annoy you today?” she asks.

  That’s one of the things I like most about this little lioness, she’s honest and direct.

  “Annoy me?” I’m not.

  “The lads and all their teasing.”

  “No. It didn’t annoy me.”

  “For real?” Of course, she doesn’t believe me.

  “For real, little Bint.”

  “I think I preferred it when you called me a Little Lioness,” she says under her breath.

  I chuckle.

  “I call you that in my head all the time.”

  She looks my way.

  “Then why do you call me Bint?”

  “Argh…” I shrug my shoulders. “I like calling you it.”

  I’m woken by a vicious ringing sound. It’s loud, piercing and shrill. It’s still dark when I open my eyes. A quick glance at the alarm tells me that it’s four fifty-seven in the morning.

  Shit! I look around, half dazed, for the cause of the sound.

  Georgia hides her head under the covers, muttering something about shutting the damn thing up.

  It’s my phone, I realise. Looking at the screen, I climb out of bed, pulling on clothes as I go.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve got a suspected murder case, Sir.” Mark Jackson says down the line.

  “Text me the location,” I say before hanging up.

  I turn back to the sleeping lioness. I know that she’ll want to come with me but I sort of want to leave her to sleep.

  “Georgia, I’ve got to go.” The use of her first name feels weird.

  She rolls over to face me.

  “The yard?”

  “There’s a new case,” I tell her. “Sleep some more. I’ll come back for you in a few hours.”

  Frowning, she checks the clock. “It’s bad.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll hear all about it in a few hours. I don’t know much, yet.”

  She nods her head.

  “Stay safe.”

  The sight that awaits me when I arrive at the crime scene is horrific. I’ve seen some pretty gruesome stuff in my time on the force, but this is way beyond that.

  Approaching the semi-detached house, you’d never anticipate what is inside, police cordon the only clue that something bad has happened. There are approximately five police cruisers, one CSI van and several unmarked vehicles already at the scene when I arrive. Jackson is stood at the door to the house talking to one of the guys from CSI.

  “DCI this is Al,” he says when I reach them. “Al, DCI Trent. Al was just telling me about
what they’ve found so far.”

  Al offers me a pair of plastic shoe covers.

  “Might be easier to show you, Sir. I hope you’ve got a hard stomach. It’s not pretty.”

  He opens the door with a gloved hand.

  “Probably goes without saying but please don’t touch anything, not even the walls.”

  “There’s not much to say about downstairs. There’s a broken window around the back. Looking at the direction the glass fell, we believe the perp escaped through it.”

  He leads the way up the stairs.

  The first thing I see that is amiss is a hand print on the door frame to the room we’re about to enter. It’s red in colour and against sense I wish that it isn’t blood, even though I know better.

  “Prepare yourselves lads. It’s really not nice in here,” Al says.

  There is no preparation for what this room looks like. It’s a sight that will probably stay with me for the rest of my life. There’s a lot of blood. More than seems natural. In the middle of the bed lies a girl, early twenties, her injuries numerous. Her hair is dark, her skin a mottled colour.

  “It’s the victim’s house,” Al tells me. “Her name is Mischa Dante. Twenty-Three. Of course, we’ll need to confirm it, but we’ve identified her with the ID we found in her handbag.”

  I nod, encouraging him to continue.

  “There are signs of asphyxiation, although the coroner will have to confirm the cause of death. Some of her injuries appear to be old. I wouldn’t like to say how long she was held here.”

  That surprises me. Why break a window to escape, if you’ve been here a while? Unless the perp was disturbed by something…

  “She has several stab wounds, although we’re unsure as to the weapon that caused them. There’s nothing in the house that matches her injuries. You’re probably looking for a serrated knife, possibly a bread knife. The bread knife in the kitchen, by chance happens to be missing. It’s branded.”

  He goes on to note the brand name and the colour of the knife set.

  I stare at the scene in front of me, no longer really seeing anything. I’m thankful that I didn’t let Kentley come with me. If I can save her from seeing this, by god I will. This is about as fucked up as this job gets. Chances are she’ll have to see it eventually but at least then the body will have been removed, I think to myself, grateful for small mercies.