The Reprisal

by Kerry Kaya

  Cathy rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? It’s not loaded.” She then proceeded to rap her knuckles upon the wooden door.

  It seemed to take an age for the door to open, and with their hearts beating wildly inside their chests, the four women braced themselves. No matter what, Cathy was determined that she would get inside the building, even if that resulted in her steaming in and using brute force.

  “Yeah, who is it?” The door opened to reveal a young woman dressed in a sheer black body stocking that left little to the imagination. On her feet, she wore six-inch high-heeled open-toed stilettos. All the better, as far as Cathy was concerned. At least she wouldn’t be able to easily escape their clutches wearing those heels.

  “Where is Devan?” Hissing out the words, Cathy was upon the woman within nanoseconds. She twisted the terrified girl’s arm up behind her back and shoved the gun into her side, before she’d even had the chance to open her mouth to answer them, and more importantly, alert anyone else of their arrival.

  Frog-marching the girl down the hallway, she twisted the girl’s arm up even further. “Tell me where he is, otherwise I’ll break your fucking arm,” she growled into the terrified girl’s ear.

  “He’s not here.” Marcella was close to tears. “He hasn’t been here all day.”

  “What’s going on down there?”

  Cathy snapped her head toward the staircase. A thin brunette woman wearing nothing but a short red satin kimono that was tied loosely around her waist, exposing her full breasts, walked down the carpeted steps.

  Still holding the girl’s arm in a vice like grip, Cathy pointed the gun out in front of her. “I take it that you are Monica?” She saw the woman’s eyes ever so slightly widen. “Well, Monica, do yourself a favour and get Devan here, now.” She twisted hard on the girl’s arm until she was gasping with pain and practically bent over in two. “I’m not playing games. I want that bastard here. Do that, and no one will get hurt.”

  Monica held up her hands, and reaching the bottom step, she gestured toward a door that led off of the hallway. “The telephone is through there.”

  Cathy licked at her dry lips and nodded her head.

  Following closely behind Monica, they came to a halt outside a door at the far end of a dimly lit corridor.

  “Wait,” Cathy aimed the gun at Monica’s chest, “no funny business, I’m warning you. I’m not scared to use this, lady, and the mood I’m in, I’d shoot you dead and laugh while doing it.”

  The hint of a smirk played out across Monica’s lips. “And from where I come from, darling, I wouldn’t need a gun to tear your fucking head off.”

  Cathy took the warning on board, and curling her lips into a snarl, she jerked her head toward the door. “Move it.”

  * * *

  Marty was having a nap when the office door crashed open. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he gripped onto the desk and reeled backward in shock at the scene in front of him.

  “What’s going on?” Swallowing down the urge to cover his scars, his voice was thick from both shock and fear.

  “These ladies would like to see Devan.” Monica’s eyes were full of meaning as she nodded down at the phone. “Be a love, would you, Marty? Get him on the blower. Tell him,” she looked across to Cathy and cocked her head to one side, “who are you exactly?”

  Cathy gave a nasty chuckle. “I’m his worst nightmare come true, darling.” She yanked Marcella’s arm up an inch higher, causing the girl to let out a strangled sob. “Tell him that Cathy Mooney is here to see him.”

  On hearing the name, Marty’s eyes widened and he scrambled to reach for his mobile phone. In his haste, he knocked a packet of chocolate digestives, a full mug of tea, and a pile of paperwork to the floor.

  By the time he’d located his phone, his breathing had become shallow, and tapping out a series of digits, he didn’t take his eyes off of the gun as he relayed the situation across to Devan. The man’s response was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. Switching off the call, he cautiously placed the device on the desk. Aware that any sudden movements could easily result in a bullet careening in his direction, he blurted out, “He’s on his way.” He caught Monica’s eyes and raised his eyebrows slightly. “He said to clear out the building.”

  “She stays where she is,” Cathy growled, and flicking her head toward an empty chair, she motioned for Monica to sit down.

  Monica rolled her eyes, and sighing deeply, she shook her head. “He’ll kill you for this.”

  “Maybe,” Cathy sneered, thrusting the gun forward, “maybe not.”

  “They’ve got a point, Cath, the less witnesses the better,” Donna whispered from behind her.

  Taking a moment to think the situation through, Cathy nodded her head. “You,” she pulled the scantily clad girl toward her and growled in her ear, “get everyone out.” She yanked on her arm, ignoring the yelp of pain that she cried out. “If you so much as utter a word about what is going down, I’ll kill you, you got that?”

  Marcella vigorously nodded her head, and as Cathy pushed her none too gently toward the door, she rubbed at her injured arm. She was clearly terrified and it showed. So acute was her fear that she didn’t even look back in Marty’s or Monica’s direction as she fled from the room, as fast as her high-heeled shoes would allow her to.

  “Well, this is much better, isn’t it?” Cathy grinned. “All we need now is for the bastard who murdered my family to make an appearance.” Her gaze fell upon Marty and she narrowed her eyes. “You.”

  Marty swallowed deeply.

  “Were you involved? Were you there when my boys were butchered?”

  Marty shook his head so fast that his heavy jowls wobbled. “It wasn’t me,” he cried.

  Cathy’s eyes narrowed even further. “But you knew.” She turned the gun on him. “You knew what he was going to do? What he had planned?”

  “No.” He continued to shake his head, his throat suddenly dry. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”

  “He’s lying.” From behind her, Katie’s cheeks burned red as she spat out the words. “He’s lying, Auntie Cath.” She charged forward and her hands flew out in all directions as she punched and slapped Marty’s scarred head and large cumbersome body. “My baby,” she screamed, “will never know their father, because of you.”

  “Enough.” Nodding her head, Cathy indicated for Stella to pull her daughter back. “Save your energy for that bastard Barkley,” she told her niece dryly.

  * * *

  Devan was a man on the mission. Racing through a number of red lights, it took him just eight minutes to reach the brothel. He climbed out of his car—a gleaming brand spanking new black BMW—slammed the door closed, and without even bothering to lock up behind him, he charged across the pavement toward the front door.

  With flared nostrils and eyes that appeared both wide and manic, he could taste his anger, so acute was the rage that flowed through his veins. “The bitch,” he growled, “the fucking bitch.”

  The door almost came off of its hinges as he kicked it wide open and proceeded to tear down the hallway.

  * * *

  The front door slamming against the wall made the occupants of the room jump out of their skins, and hearing heavy footsteps ascend along the hallway, Stella, Donna, and Katie huddled against Cathy’s back, with the kitchen knives she had provided thrust out in front of them.

  “What the fuck is this?” Standing in the doorway, Devan was practically frothing at the mouth.

  Cathy looked up at the man responsible for the deaths of her family and sneered. There and then, she was thankful that she could see no resemblance between them, nothing to indicate that he was her half-brother. Had she seen the faces of her sons in the man she was determined to annihilate, deep down, she knew she would have faltered. How could she have not? It would have been the equivalent of killing her boys all over again.

  Taking this as their cue to move, both Monica and Marty jumped up from their seats
.

  “Sit down,” Cathy screamed, and as she waved the gun between them, her hand shook. “We’re here for him.” She trained the gun on Devan. “You killed my family.”

  The laugh that spilled from Devan’s lips only served to increase Cathy’s rage even further.

  From the corner of her eye, she noted a movement, and spinning around, she aimed the gun at Monica. “I told you to sit fucking down.”

  It was Marty who charged out of his seat, and in a state of fear, Cathy’s fingers involuntarily squeezed the trigger. The gunshot was deafening in the small room.

  Amidst Marty’s screams that he’d been hit, in a blind panic, she dropped the gun to the floor. Shock that she had actually shot someone resonated its way across her face.

  Within seconds, Devan was upon her. He punched her full pelt in the side of her face, blurring her vision, and then slamming her up against the wall so hard that her head thudded painfully against the concrete, his fingers curled around her throat.

  Gasping for air, Cathy clawed at his hands. Around her, she could hear the blood curdling screams that came from Stella, Donna, and Katie. She could hear the blind panic in their voices. Still, she continued to try and fight him off, but he was too strong for her, far too strong, and as darkness edged into her vision, she could only hope and pray that it wouldn’t be long until she saw Paul and her boys once more.

  * * *

  Amidst the chaos in the room, Devan squeezed his fingers around the little blonde’s throat even harder. Sensing her life begin to ebb away, he dropped her unceremoniously to the floor, and turning his head at the sudden movement in the doorway, his eyes widened. Standing there as large as life, as if he was some kind of avenging angel, was Lucas Vaughn. No, he blinked his eyes. No way could he have survived the deadly heroin and opiate cocktail that he himself had prepared.

  He opened his mouth to speak, and before he could even utter a word, the man’s heavy fist had begun to rain blows down on top of him.

  * * *

  For the first time in his life, Lucas understood the blind mist that had often descended over Paul. Years and years of pent up rage and anger was unleashed as he kicked and punched the living daylights out of Devan Barkley. He had a score to settle and knew instinctively that he would never rest easy again, until he had dished out his own form of retribution.

  After what seemed an age, he could feel himself being roughly dragged away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, even as he continued to kick his feet out, he could hear the screams for him to stop, could hear the concern in the women’s voices as they tried to get Cathy to her feet. He looked down at the bloodied mess that had been Devan Barkley, and hawking deep into his throat, he spat on the man’s lifeless form.

  Breathing heavily, he swatted Darren’s and Charlie’s arms away from him, and making a beeline for Cathy, he pulled her gently up from the floor and into his arms.

  “Are you okay, darling?” he asked softly.

  She collapsed into his chest, coughing uncontrollably, and gasping for air. Already, he could see a large swelling across her cheek that made her beautiful face look grotesque, and he had a sneaky suspicion that her cheek bone was fractured, if not broken. Littered around her slender neck were the vivid red marks Barkley’s fingers had left. They would soon turn to purple and black bruises, a reminder of the fact that she could so easily have lost her life.

  Although it had so far remained unspoken between them, they were both well aware that if he hadn’t arrived in the nick of time, then Barkley would have killed her. It was as plain and as simple as that. Gently stroking her hair as he held her tiny frame tight, he whispered in her ear, “It’s over, darling. It’s finally all over.”

  * * *

  Darren and Charlie, also known as the aptly named cleanup crew, set to work. Ushering the women out of the room, they looked down at Marty Hanratty. The denim jeans he wore were stained with dark crimson coloured blood, and in his thigh, a bullet that had narrowly missed an artery was lodged.

  There were to be no witnesses left behind, and after dumping Barkley’s body into the boot of Lucas’s car, they dragged a clearly terrified, screaming, and crying Monica and Marty from the room and into the cold night air.

  Once their night’s work was done, there would only be one last task left to be executed, and that was to torch the building. Using enough petrol to fill a fleet of cars, the brothel would subsequently erupt into bursts of flames, leaving nothing but charred beams and ash remnants in its wake. All fingerprints, all knowledge that Cathy, Lucas, the women, and of course themselves were ever in close proximity was to be destroyed forever, along with the brothel and its deadly secrets.

  Epilogue

  Cathy could barely keep the smile from her face as she watched her tiny grandson take his first breath. Screwing up his face, Kieran Junior screamed and hollered loudly, as if letting the world know of his safe arrival.

  She took the tiny, wrapped bundle from the midwife and peered into the infant’s face. It was like history repeating itself all over again. The child was the image of his father, and his father before him.

  “He’s beautiful.” Tears glistened her eyes, and turning to look at Donna, she half-smiled and half-cried. “I can’t believe it,” she said, studying her grandson’s face. “I’m actually a grandmother.”

  From the hospital bed, Donna beamed with delight. “Let’s have a hold then.” She opened up her arms, and as Cathy gently placed the tiny bundle into them, silent tears slipped down her cheeks. This baby, this little boy, was a gift from Kieran himself, she was certain of it.

  Together, the two women laughed and cried as they marveled over the miracle that was childbirth, and ultimately, womanhood.

  * * *

  Two days later, Cathy busied herself making a pot of tea. It had seemed only fitting that her son’s child should spend his first weeks, or if she had her way, his first few months, in his father’s home.

  From the kitchen window, she watched her new grandson’s brothers charging around the garden and she smiled to herself. As time had gone on, she had grown to love each and every one of Donna’s children. They even called her Nanny Cath, much to her delight.

  A knocking at the front door broke Cathy’s reverie, and wiping her hands on a tea towel, she made her way out into the hallway and opened the door.

  Standing on the doorstep was Lucas. In his hands, he held a blue teddy bear and he smiled at her shyly. “For the baby,” he said, thrusting the bear toward her.

  Cathy flapped her hand. “Get yourself inside,” she said gently. “If you’re lucky, you might even be able to pry the baby from my mother’s arms.”

  “Oi, I heard that,” Angie called out from the lounge.

  Smiling widely, Cathy pulled the front door open even wider. Gone was any animosity that she had once regarded Lucas with. The man had always been a big part of Paul’s life. He’d loved him like a brother, and finally, she was able to understand why. When she’d needed him the most, Lucas had been there for her, and more than anything, she knew that without him, she would never have seen her grandson’s face, would never have held him in her arms, and more importantly, she would never have truly known peace.

  Months earlier, they had come to a joint decision to sell the public houses and business, and other than her home, there was nothing left to remind her of the past. Finally, it was all over. Kieran Junior would never follow on in his father’s or grandfather’s footsteps. Never would they ever have to await a knock at the front door to tell them his life had been cruelly taken away from them.

  With the tea made, Cathy carried the tray into the lounge, and setting it down onto a coffee table, she gazed down at the wicker Moses basket. Her grandson was fast asleep, and smiling down at him, she noted how peaceful, how innocent he was. She closed her eyes momentarily. No, Donna would never receive that same knock on the door that she once had.

  Finally, she was ready to lock away the hurt and the pain that had engulfed her entire
being. Not that she would ever forget Paul or her sons. How could she? They were her everything, they always would be, but with her new family around her, it was finally time to begin living life again. Finally, the nightmare was over.

  The End

  About the Author

  Kerry Kaya is a British gangland crime Author, born and raised on the outskirts of East London.

  She is an avid reader and has a passion for books. From an early age she began writing stories, and in her later years those stories went on to become full length novels and novellas.

  Kerry lives with her partner and daughter.

  Also by Kerry Kaya

  Barking Boy

  Against his parent’s wishes, nineteen-year-old Tommy Carter throws away a promising career as a professional boxer to work for local villain Davey Abbott. Slowly he climbs the ranks and is promoted from collecting debts to working the protection rackets and strip clubs. When Davey’s old adversary Dean Johnson comes on to the scene hell bent on revenge, Tommy must take action and do everything he can to survive. When his boss is murdered in the crossfire, Tommy is stunned to learn that Davey has left his business interests to him. Recruiting his younger brothers to work for him, the Carters become a family that are both respected and feared. But its bank robberies that Tommy really excels at, and staying one step ahead of the police, Tommy plans out the robbery of all robberies when he plans to steal from the Top Dog of the East End, Freddie Smith. After months of planning will it become one robbery too many when as a consequence everyone Tommy loves is at risk from the backlash of Freddie Smith and his henchmen.