All Screwed Up (Belial's Disciples Book 2)

by AJ Adams

  “I know.”

  “I’m not saying we hand her over to the Horde,” Crush continued carefully. “But we should send her away.”

  My head was saying it was sensible, but my gut told me it wouldn’t work. “She’s a model, and as she says, it’s a pretty small community.”

  “Barrows is an idiot, and from I hear, he’s also rapidly turning into a drunk. He’ll be too far into his bottle to find her.”

  “Pig is a smart cookie, and he will track her down in a heartbeat.” I thought of the sweet curves and the cheeky smile. “Lacy stays.”

  “It’s your call,” Crush sighed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lacy

  There was no meeting to discuss a truce; the Horde began their attack the very next day, robbing the petrol station ten miles out of Bonnington and attacking the Golden Goose restaurant next to it.

  “They got next to nothing from the robbery, but the restaurant is trashed.” Rex’s kitchen was Disciple executive central, and Crush was updating his team. “They smashed up the bar and stole a tonne of stock but the sprinkler system was state of the art, so they didn’t manage to burn the place down.”

  I pinned back my ears and eavesdropped shamelessly.

  “Amateurs,” Zero sneered.

  “We hit back and as we’re not a bunch of fucking amateurs, “ Crush continued, “The Green Knight was burnt down to the ground, and we put the Horde’s top three dealers in Lincoln in hospital.”

  I saw Rex’s smile, and I knew who’d struck the match that put an end to the Knight. He’d gotten revenge for Pig stealing his wine.

  Crush was all about the bottom line. “We reckon Pig’s lost seventy percent of his revenue stream whereas our losses are minimal.”

  Not a word about Skegness, the Disciple stronghold where Mia was.

  “He should quit,” DT mused. “You can’t lose that amount of income and keep going.” I’d forgotten he was an accountant.

  “Pig’s got no brakes,” Crush shrugged. “His fistfights are the same way: he just keeps smashing at the opposition, no matter what.”

  I was in a quake, wondering if I’d made a mistake hiding Mia, when Crush continued, “Pig always works the same way: he destroys his enemy’s support structure, waits until his enemy is isolated and weak, and only then does he go in for the kill. He hit Skegness and Durham, hoping to put them out of the picture and leave Bonnington open to attack.”

  Rex took the floor. “What we’re seeing is a covert war. Pig is trying to weaken our economic base.”

  Mia was safe. My hands shook as I chopped tomatoes and onions intended for a pot of minestrone, and so I only took in bits of the rest of it. The bits I caught, “Fake Cabernet” and “tourist complaints hitting the press” suggested Jason was working his evil.

  By the time I finished chopping the basil, Rex was summing up, “Bonnington’s reputation is getting hammered.”

  It wasn’t looking good.

  “We took out the Grantham weed farm,” Crush announced. “Tomorrow we take aim at the Horde’s sex clubs in Lincoln. If we’re quick, we can bankrupt Pig. Without money to pay his troops, he’ll have to give up the war.”

  “Think we’ll do it?” Kraken asked.

  “Not in one night,” Crush admitted. “But I reckon Pig’s fought battles but not long drawn out wars.”

  “But we’ve got plenty of experience,” Flash grinned.

  “Pig’s good, and he’s a quick learner,” Crush cautioned him. “Let’s take advantage while we can and see if we can end this quick.”

  “Whether we wipe the Horde out tonight or not, bad press lives forever,” Rex pointed out. “With the punters screaming about bad wine and the Rampage reprinting every slur, I want to tackle that issue as soon as possible.”

  “How will you do that?” Kraken asked. “It’s not like you can swan up and tell people to shut up, right?”

  “Influence is all it takes,” Rex started to explain.

  As they plotted, I snuck off to call Mia.

  “How’s work, Mummy? Buttercup is missing you.”

  It broke my heart. “I’m doing my best, love. Tell me, what does Buttercup think of the seaside ponies?”

  Mia cheered up, telling me all about her best rides but even so, not seeing her was killing me.

  Afterwards, I had a word with Rachel. “It may be a while,” I warned her. “Jason’s off his rocker, and he’s recruited some new dangerous mates.”

  “I think you should call the police. They can warn Jason off.”

  “He won’t listen, and they won’t do anything until he puts me in hospital.”

  “Those plonkers don’t care about us women, do they?” Rachel was upset, she never swore. “Well, look after yourself, love. And know that we’ll keep Mia safe.”

  I was thankful, but I couldn’t help blubbing after.

  Rex caught me in mid-snotter. “We’re off to the village,” he started. Then, seeing my red eyes, “Are you crying?”

  “No. It’s allergies.” It just came out; I wasn’t in the mood to share.

  “Liar.” Surprisingly, he put an arm around me. “We’re getting you some work in London, which will keep you busy.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned into him, thankful for his care.

  “I could send you to the States.” Rex was thoughtful. “Visas are a pain at the moment, but it would mean no language problems.”

  He didn’t want me. It broke my heart, but I was considering Mia an instant after. A small home in cowboy country would be safe, and she’d love the lifestyle. “Maybe,” I hesitated. It also meant leaving everything we knew behind, including Rachel, Alex, and her cousins.

  “Think about it while I check out what it would take,” Rex said. “In the meantime, we’re off to the village.”

  He felt good, the long, lean muscles rippling comfortingly. He might not want me around, but I was grateful to him. “The minestrone will keep till you get back.”

  “I’m asking you to come along,” he said gently. “I need to influence minds, and you could do with cheering up.”

  “A date? Me, going out with you?” I couldn’t help but smile. “It won’t make the local girls happy, will it? They’re more likely to form a mob and tear me to shreds.”

  “Good,” Rex laughed. “Anything that stops people trashing Bonnington.”

  “It’s bad, huh?”

  “We can handle it.”

  “Well, let me go and put on my face.”

  Half an hour later, wearing my happy polka dots and having repaired the ravages of my tear fest, I trotted down the stairs to find Rex walking past his ancient and muddy Landrover and making straight for the carriage house. Two seconds later he was roaring out, driving out a bright yellow two-door, two-seater sports car.

  “You’ve got a Jaguar? An F-type? And you drive that heap of junk?”

  Rex just laughed. “I had no idea you liked cars.”

  “That’s not a car; that’s a work of art!”

  “We’ll take the long way around, then.”

  We worked the town, with Rex determinedly bouncy. In the Oak Leaf beer garden he was loud and happy, “Bonnington is best! We’ve got more terrace bars than the Costa del Sol and no endless queues at immigration.”

  In the Coach and Horses pub, he announced, “We’ve got Miss Bonnington next week, and you’ll never guess who’s coming to judge. The editor of Elle magazine!”

  He was also superb at spin, hobnobbing with the gourmet punters in the Dog and Duck, “Yes, vintage wine can disappoint. Of course, less sophisticated pallets don’t quite understand that it’s about the history.”

  “Quite, Lord Ravenshurst,” a suck-up in a cravat nodded.

  “Call me Rex,” Rex said instantly. Then, leaning in confidentially, “I’d never say it publicly, but as you and I know, people who want predictability should order supermarket plonk.”

  It worked so well that when we strolled into the Feathers Hotel, the cravat was there, parroti
ng, “I drink the Reserva because it’s pure heritage. I’ll have it over predictable supermarket plonk any day.”

  Rex nodded and smiled, buying a bottle of red and sending it to the table with his compliments.

  “Is that a posh Grand Cru?” I asked. “What if it’s not perfect?”

  Rex winked. “It’s a nice robust wine, practically indestructible. He’ll love it.”

  I took in the hotel crowd, realising for the first time how much was at stake. As Mitch had pointed out, everyone from the chef to the cleaner depended on having plenty of happy customers, and I knew from new and painful personal experience that it wouldn’t take much to put people off. Bad reviews would drive the holidaymakers away, whether they were true or not.

  I’d been angry at Jason, but now a surge of loathing consumed me. At least his crazy vengeance trip on me had been personal. I didn’t like it, I thought he was a right piece of work, but this was different. He and the Horde were willing to destroy the town purely for power and money, and they didn’t give a stuff who got hurt in the process.

  “This is a war, right?” I said to Rex. “Well, I’m ready for a fight. Count me in.”

  Rex put an arm around me. “Thanks, love. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  I looked at the crowd around us. They were all having a good time but with the Horde and the Rampage pushing negative news, true and false, keeping Bonnington’s rep clean was going to be completely whack-a-mole.

  I picked up my glass, filled with practically indestructible red, “Seeing you’re the PR guru, just tell me what you want to be done.”

  Rex took in my curves and grinned. “How about you start by promoting the Miss Bonnington contest?”

  I’d told Rex I was ready for a fight and he took me at my word and put me to work. By the next morning, he had me settled in Perdition’s grand library, at an antique walnut desk topped with the latest super amazing computer, talking new models into trying their luck at the beauty and talent contest as well as chatting up journos into coming to Bonnington to give us positive press.

  Amazingly, Rex gave me a free hand. “Here’s what we’ve done so far. Do your magic, Lacy, and get people to come along for the party.”

  “Don’t you want to give me a script?”

  “You know how these things work. I trust you.”

  Honestly, I was a bit taken aback. I mean, I’m a model, not an advertising or public relations expert. But I went for it and discovered I enjoyed it. I looked at it as if I were throwing a party, except that I was inviting lots of people who hadn’t mixed before.

  While I was inviting the entire country to Bonnington, Rex was working his executive magic, persuading the local bureaucrats to stamp his paperwork and then persuading contractors to sign up.

  It took me a week to get my insurance company even to register my report that the roof had collapsed but Rex had the world in his pocket. Barely a week after getting the go-ahead from David, Rex collected his permits from the council. Pausing only to collect me, he made straight down to the Dog and Duck, where the contractor was waiting.

  “Digging the foundations for the condos will take a few weeks,” Rex said quietly. “But you should be able to start pouring cement for the marina’s main dock within days.”

  “That’s a bit unusual,” the contractor said. “Usually we start with the big project and end with the little one.”

  Rex handed him a cheque. “It doesn’t make a difference to the overall plan, and I like to see things moving.”

  “At the moment our equipment is there on our dime. But the moment we start to pour, you’re locked into making payments.”

  “I have no problem with that,” Rex said blandly. “It’s not like we haven’t been planning this for the last year.”

  The contractor put the cheque in his pocket. “In that case, let’s roll.”

  I was stuffing my face with the most fantastic watercress soup, but it didn’t pass me by that this was Rex locking in David and his board of bankers into his marina project. It was dead subtle and rather fun.

  The engineer leaned in and lowered his voice. “I hear the Disciples are going head to head with the Horde.”

  Rex shrugged. “You know how gossip is exaggerated.”

  “We’re not in for another war then? Like with the Alistairs a few years ago?”

  “Absolutely not,” Rex said firmly.

  But that night the Horde upped the ante, abandoning the sneaky mind games, and taking the war right into the centre of Bonnington.

  Rex had kept out of it until then, definitely twitchy but determinedly concentrating on watching the cement being poured for his marina’s main dock and taking me out in the evening to spread good cheer in the village.

  But when the call came through at midnight, announcing that the Horde were in the village square, he was up and off on his Ducati.

  “I thought you were to stay out of it?” I asked.

  “Not when the fuckers are in my village!”

  He came back well after dawn, stinking of smoke and with swollen, bleeding knuckles. “The sprinkler system took care of the attack on the garage but they torched the kiosks in the square, and a dozen cars parked outside the Feathers were trashed.”

  “But nobody got hurt?”

  “Damn straight people got hurt. I caught three of the Horde just outside the Feathers.” Rex put ice into a bowl and added cold water and salt. Plunging his hands into the frosty mix, he winced. “They didn’t go down easy.”

  “Wait, it was them against you?”

  Rex grinned. “Yeah, I got lucky. Crush and the others were dealing with the garage and the kiosks.”

  The mad bugger. “I guess you were feeling left out, huh?” He just smiled, but I knew I’d hit it right on the button.

  Sadly, Rex’s delight at being in on the fisticuffs had been caught on by a holidaymaker. It was on YouTube by lunchtime and in the Rampage by dinner.

  Banker wanker David came charging into the kitchen as I put supper on the table. “For Christ’s sake, what were you thinking? You were to keep your nose clean!”

  “It says I’m a have a go hero in the Daily Mail,” Rex countered.

  “Who the hell cares what the Daily Fail mob scribble,” David fumed. “I’ve had Kennard Wilton screaming at me all afternoon.”

  “Business isn’t tiddlywinks,” Rex quoted mischievously. “Surely you can cope with a bit of yelling?”

  David pokered up. “I’m sorry you see it that way,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to review our agreement.”

  I could barely breathe, but Rex just grinned. “We poured the foundation for the main dock yesterday.”

  David went pale. “Nonsense. You can’t have. We only signed a week ago.”

  Rex poured him a glass of the good stuff. “I’ve been planning this for over a year,” he explained. “We started the second the ink was dry on the approval permits.”

  David’s hand was shaking as he picked up the glass. “I don’t believe you. There was no press, no notice. You can’t have been that quick.”

  Rex handed him his phone. “Take a look.”

  David just glanced at the photos and groaned. “Oh fuck. I’m screwed.”

  “It’s a good deal,” Rex protested mildly. “And it’s not like your overseas projects are pristine. You work in Africa and the Middle East, with project managers who use slave labour.”

  But David was in despair. “You’ve lost your mind, Rex. People don’t care what happens abroad.” He really was upset; the wine was sloshing about as he gulped it down. “This will ruin me.”

  Rex didn’t say a word but I was watching closely, and I saw his knuckles clench.

  “My reputation,” David moaned. “Caught up with a bunch of thugs. I was in line for a k, too.”

  Typical. He’d mocked Ollie Prescott for buying his way into a knighthood, but David had been after one himself.

  “Kennard Wilton will kick me off the board, and once it g
ets round why he fired me, I’ll be blackballed.” David was working himself up into a right tizzy.

  “Nobody knows it’s your money,” Rex said tersely. “And you’re getting two extra points on return.”

  As if by magic, the lament ceased. “What?” David asked hopefully.

  “We made a private deal, so there’s no public interest. Your knighthood is safe.”

  “But your friends know?”

  “They’re not talking. About anything.”

  I knew that was true. The MC were more closemouthed than clams.

  David was reviving rapidly. “And you can get an extra two percent? How?”

  Rex handed him a file. “We planned to start in the spring. Now we’re off to an early start, I got a better deal on equipment leasing.”

  David read the figures and revived. “Kennard Wilton will kick, but I think that will swing it with the rest of the board.”

  “Good,” Rex said blandly.

  David swigged more vino, remarking absently, “This is a good vintage.”

  “I got it from Perrault, in Navarre.”

  “Tiffany might want it for her party,” David mused.

  “I’ll gift her with a dozen cases,” Rex offered immediately.

  David looked up and drawled, “Dicky is a great match. We’re all so happy for her.”

  “Meaning you were worried I’d marry her?” Rex snapped.

  “Yes,” David said quietly.

  “You should have kicked him out,” I said afterwards.

  “I need him and his board,” Rex shrugged.

  Seeing secrecy and money had fixed David the banker wanker once more, I thought it showed what a hypocrite he was. However, Rex didn’t see it that way. I knew instinctively that he hadn’t been in love with Tiffany. What hurt Rex was knowing he wasn’t quite in with the bluebloods.

  It cost Rex to stick with Disciples, but nobody would’ve guessed.

  “Now the marina project is locked in, I can do my part,” Rex was on the phone to Crush before David’s Beemer was out of the gate. “Tell me where you want me, and I’m there.”

  That night, all hell broke loose. The Horde and the Disciples clashed in Bonnington. Rex was in the thick of it, and we had Harding round at the crack of dawn.