by Emmy Ellis
She shot in the direction of his knee, but the bullet sailed over it and hit him in the collarbone. He howled and, despite the pain, managed to stagger to his feet, favouring the leg that hadn’t been shot. He swayed, his eyes going glazed, and raised a blood-soaked hand to the new wound.
“You absolute…fucking…bitch.”
George and Greg laughed. It gave her confidence, and she moved back a step, ready for if Dave found the energy to dart towards her. Lime had gone down easily, perhaps admitting defeat rather than fight for his life, but she had a feeling Dave wasn’t up for that.
“You mentioned slags,” she said. “Like we’re scum. Funny how that didn’t apply when I was in the basement. You wanted to ‘do’ me, but your mate there stopped you. Why would you want to do that if you feel nothing but disgust for us?”
“Like I’ll answer your sort. You’re nothing but holes to be used.”
She aimed and fired. A hole ripped open his throat, blood spatter flying, and as she registered his shocked expression, then pain clouding it, she shot him again and again until the bullets ran out, and even then she still tugged on the trigger. Anger, rage so violent swept over her, and she laughed maniacally at him thudding to the floor, his stupid hand flopping onto Lime’s, as if he’d wanted to grasp the one person who understood his sick mind.
Amazingly, he was still alive. She stepped over to him and stared down. At the blood pumping from his neck and the other holes she’d put there, all of them along his collarbone. At his ashen face. At the red river spewing from his mouth, down the side of his face.
He turned his head to look at Lime. Closed his eyes, coughed up a spout of blood, which landed on Lime’s face. His breathing turned into the sound of the sea swooshing, and she watched, waiting for his lungs to give out, hoping he went to Hell and the Devil gave him a hard time.
It was no less than he deserved.
Chapter Forty-Three
George picked up the circular saw. These girls weren’t as strong as Debbie, they didn’t have the emotional capacity to cope with anything more than what they’d already done, so he’d be chopping these bastards up. He’d take a leaf out of Debbie’s book and slice them into several pieces. It’d been easier to dump Harry in the river that way, so these two wouldn’t be any different.
Greg had ushered the girls into the shower room along with their clean clothes and shoes. It was the other night all over again, and many more nights to come when people needed offing.
George didn’t feel bad about it, didn’t think much beyond getting rid of whoever pissed them off. He got to work, sawing through muscle and bone, while Greg came out and watched, arms folded.
It didn’t take long—George reckoned Debbie had strung it out to get maximum enjoyment when she’d done it—and they bagged the blokes up, ready for the next step.
“Take Lime’s ring off,” Greg said. “It can identify him.”
George slid it off the man’s pinkie finger and slipped it in his pocket. His suit was fucked anyway and needed burning, so more blood from it on his trousers wouldn’t hurt.
“I told the girls to stay in the bathroom out of the way,” Greg said.
George nodded, and they went about in their unspoken way, carrying the bags out to the river wall in six trips. Once they were done and got on with the task of emptying the bags, George had to tell Greg his thoughts.
“We agreed to keep this quiet, but we need to let one of the other leaders know it was us so they fuck off and leave us alone. Otherwise, someone else is going to try to take The Estate, and we’ll be doing this until there’s no one else left.”
“We’ll do it later, once the girls are settled in bed.”
George held a bag over the wall and smiled at body parts hitting the water. “The East End fella is best, he doesn’t get as shitty as the others.”
“Hmm.”
“He’s next in line to take over a patch, so he’ll be happy with Lime’s. He’s decent enough to acknowledge we fought for The Estate and won. It’s ours by right now.”
And that was a damn fine thought. They’d done it, earnt it fair and square, and now they were true leaders, like they always should have been.
Chapter Forty-Four
Sarah woke to strange curtains across the windows, then she remembered where she was. She’d stayed over with The Brothers, going to bed an hour or so after they’d got home. She’d had to wait for the adrenaline rush to leave her, and when it did, she was so tired she could have dropped off on the sofa.
She got up and had a shower, thinking about Greg burning their clothes and shoes last night. It was just as well, they didn’t need any evidence hanging around. She dressed and walked down to the kitchen. Beth was there, eating a bacon sandwich at the island, her eyes even more sunken than before. She looked like she hadn’t slept much.
“How are you?” Sarah asked.
“Weirdly, I’m fine. I don’t feel guilty at all. I thought I would, but it’s done now, those two won’t hurt us again, so we have to move on. Besides, I’m going to see Gran today. She’s the reason for it all. I’d do anything for her.”
“Clearly.” Sarah smiled. She didn’t feel guilty either. While she’d shared her secret and now three other people knew what she’d done, she’d got the sense they had a close-knit group with the four of them, like she could turn to any one of them and not face recriminations, no matter what she did. “I feel so free. No more worrying about them finding my flat, no more standing on the corner wondering if they’re going to grab me.”
“Same.”
“Life will be okay now, you know that, don’t you?”
Beth nodded. “As okay as it can be.”
Sarah didn’t ask for more information. If Beth wanted to tell her, she would. Sarah hoped they’d be proper friends now, sharing the corner, watching each other’s backs. She hadn’t had a corner buddy since Princess, and she missed it.
“I’ll look out for you,” she said. “Always.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Beth held Gran’s hand in one of the most decent rooms she’d ever been in. It was modern, and Gran even had a kitchenette to one side. Two doors at the end led to her bedroom and bathroom, so it was like a little flat.
“Are you happy here?” Beth asked.
“Oh yes, Carol, it’s lovely.”
Carol was Beth’s mum. Although Beth knew Gran couldn’t help it, it still stung when she didn’t know who she was. It hurt her to think of Gran being unaware of what she was saying or seeing. Yes, Beth looked like her mother, so there was bound to be some confusion, but it was like Gran had gone back in time and didn’t realise Carol would be so much older now.
“How’s that son of mine?” Gran asked.
“He’s okay.”
In reality, Beth didn’t know. She’d cut ties and wouldn’t darken their doorstep again. They didn’t deserve her or Gran. Look at how they’d left Beth to sort the old woman, signing over responsibility to her so they could continue their drugged-up, alcohol-fuelled lives without any hassle.
“He’s always been a good boy,” Gran said.
Beth patted her hand, refusing to enlighten her as to what he’d done.
“I haven’t seen him in a long while.” Gran’s yellow-tinged eyes watered.
“No.”
“He takes drugs. I just remembered. He stole my necklace and wedding ring once.”
Tears clouded Beth’s eyes. “I’ll buy you new ones.”
“You’re a good girl. You shouldn’t have to do that, Beth.”
Those tears fell now Gran had recalled who she was. It would always be this way, topsy-turvy visits, Beth never knowing which side of Gran she’d get, Gran never knowing which woman she thought she was talking to. But that was okay, so long as she was safe.
Like Beth had always said, she’d do anything for her.
Even commit murder.
Chapter Forty-Six
Debbie sat at the bar in The Angel, drinking a Coke. There had
been rumbles going around that The Brothers legitimately ran The Estate now, something about Lime and Dave going missing.
She laughed to herself. ‘Going missing’ was the term around here for being killed and disposed of. Like Harry.
Sid Dempsey, Harry’s mate, had been asking her every night if she’d seen him, and every night she’d replied that no, she hadn’t, and if Harry came anywhere near her again, she’d lump him one.
Here Sid was again, sidling over to her in his slinky way. “Seen Harry?”
She sighed. “Nope. Why don’t you give it a rest, eh? He’s fucked off somewhere most likely, so why waste your time worrying about him, especially as he gave up selling your goods on the market when he went to work for The Brothers.”
“True.” He swigged some beer. “It’s just that with Mickey gone, and the rumours that he’d been killed, I got to wondering if the same had happened to Harry.”
She’d had enough of this. “If Harry was killed, don’t you think there’d be a good reason for it? And you poking around might mean someone ends up killing you. Have you got a death wish or something?”
“Blimey. No. Keep your ruddy hair on.”
He shuffled away, sipping his pint. She’d have to warn The Brothers he kept asking her questions. They could deal with him as they saw fit. She had no plans to murder anyone else anytime soon—unless Sid got close to the truth and she was on the verge of being exposed.
Debbie stared into the mirror behind the bar and smiled. Lavender had turned up early for work, although she didn’t look best pleased about it. Debbie turned to greet her, and Lavender jerked her head in the direction of the toilets where the door to the parlour was.
Debbie got up, grabbed her Coke, and followed her, unlocking the first door and ushering Lavender into the corridor that led to the second entrance.
“What’s the matter?” she asked her.
“I’m in trouble.”
Debbie frowned. “What kind of trouble?”
“Men.”
Debbie laughed. “Oh, for a minute there, I thought it was something serious. Which men? I’ll give them a warning for you.”
“Not any customers.” Lavender wrung her hands. “They’re men from my past.” She paused. “And we really don’t want them coming around here.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly, and I’ve got no one to turn to but you.”
Debbie’s shoulders sagged. She’d gone from one frying pan into another, and she just had to hope she didn’t fall full pelt into the fire. “Come on, you can tell me all about it.” She opened the other door, something telling her this was so serious, even The Brothers would struggle with it.
One problem was solved, and another had appeared.
Well, she’d just have to get on with it. After all, she was working in Cardigan’s name, and if one of her girls needed help, she’d give it.
That was the price she paid for loving a gangster.