'Sorry, Helena. I didn't. Give me a minute. I can't think on an empty stomach.' That much is true at least.
'Oh, goodness, forgive me. Let's get some food into you.' Helena busies herself by switching on a metallic cream kettle, where she sets the water to boil at precisely ninety degrees centigrade. It makes all manner of weird bleeping noises that are extremely irritating, before she then goes over to raid the fridge, which is in the exact same shade of cream as the kettle. Meanwhile, I try my best to consider which type of suit I'd like for my upcoming sham of a wedding. I know she isn't going to let up about it, so I may as well get it over with. If or when I get married for real, I want a fairly casual suit and setting. The last thing I want is a society wedding, but that's exactly what this is, even though Helena and I are both lepers skirting the very outskirts of that term. People will turn up to watch us tie the knot, but more as a kind of freakshow performance. Either that, or they'll be there for the free food and drink. Anyway, seeing as how I have little choice in the proceedings, I might as well go all out and dress in something ridiculous. Maybe I'll let Helena pick it, after all. That would probably be fitting. A horrendous suit to go with a perfectly horrendous day. Marvellous.
'So, what have you being doing with yourself since the last time you saw me?' As Helena places a steaming hot mug of Earl Grey beside me, and finishes putting a plate of cold cuts together, I find myself nearly spitting out my mouthful of tea.
Hmm. What have I been doing? Fucking another woman? Oh, and another man. Then you can add a bit of torture to the mix. I've also been knocked around and abducted, blackmailed and shot at.
'Oh, nothing much, really,' I reply. 'Just sorting out a few odds and ends. How about you, darling? What have you been up to?' I need to keep the woman talking. That way she won't have time to fire questions at me.
'Oh, we've been visiting hotels, looking at menus, sending out the invitations, checking out some fabric swatches for bridesmaid dresses - that sort of thing. It's been a lot of fun, really. It's just a shame you weren't here, Brandt.'
No, it wasn't, but smiling sympathetically I make all the right noises.
'So, who's going to be here tonight?' I really don't want to know the answer, but it will keep the conversation flowing in the right direction. Now that a plate of food has finally landed in front of me I have an excuse not to talk, and I intend to make the best of it.
Helena shrugs. 'Pretty much everyone my parents could get hold of at such short notice. We'll have a fairly sizeable amount of glitz and glamour in attendance. Dad's work colleagues, some of mum's friends, a few minor celebrities, some stuffy old officials, and your friends, of course. I rounded up everyone I could think of.'
I look up and finish the mouthful of quiche I'm chewing. There's one thought at the back my mind which has my body tied up in knots. 'Are my parents coming?' I ask eventually.
Helena gives me a pitying smile and shakes her head. 'I'm so sorry, Brandt. We asked them, but they refused.' She gives my shoulder a reassuring nudge. 'They will forgive you. They just need time.' Bollocks. They've had five years to forgive me. If they couldn't figure it out in that time, I don't see why another five should make any difference.
'No matter,' I say lightly enough. It would have been nice to speak to someone in my family before I'm buried six feet under, but that doesn't look likely now. I'm not exactly surprised. I've known the score for a while now. 'Tell you what, Helena. Why don't you pick out my suit for me? I know you'll pick out something nice.' My words make her face light up and somewhere inside me something dies. I am going to lie to the woman and hurt her. I will marry her, and a few hours later I will either disappear or be dead. The woman is pregnant, she's counting on me to save her sorry ass, and I'm not going to be there for her. I should feel guilty. She'll be jumping from one scandal straight into another, and she'll have to pick up the pieces all on her own. Still, what choice do I have?
Helena rattles on for the next ten minutes about how the preparations for the wedding are going. I listen half-heartedly and make nods at appropriate intervals. I don't give two flying fucks about the wedding. What I need is time to think about how I'm going to get myself, Harper and Gabriel out of this mess. Currently I don't have any bright ideas, nor do I have anyone I can turn to for help. I'm on my own, and since I've been in jail for the past five years, there isn't anyone around I can lean on.
It would help if I knew who Mal wanted me to kill. Then I could start making some kind of plan. Mal's not stupid, though. He's going to keep me in the dark until the last possible minute. That means I need to figure it out myself. It feels like I'm trying to find a particularly small needle in a haystack the size of London. It's not going to happen. And when I solve that problem I have a dozen more that need attention, but at least I'd have something to go on.
'Looking forward to meeting our guests, darling?'
'Absolutely,' I lie. Making nice with London's elite is not high on my list of priorities, but on the upside, at least I'm not in Mal's shed. Things could be worse.
'Fabulous,' Helena trills. 'Before we greet our guests, though, would you do me the honour?' She places a small red velvet box beside my hand, and I know what's expected. Even so, it makes my stomach crawl. If I ever lay hands on Mal Adley again, he's going to pay in spectacular style.
'Of course, sweetheart. Would you like me to get down on one knee?' It's a rhetorical question. There is no doubt in my mind that the answer to my question is...
'Yes!' Helena giggles. 'Would you mind, darling?' She tips my face up with a finger underneath my chin and gazes at me adoringly.
'Not at all.' All of a sudden I'm back in the past, being the suave, sophisticated man of my youth, but this time around I have a few years of experience under my belt. The innocence that was once prominent in my eyes has been replaced with cynicism for the world at large, and any semblance of respect for the people I am now about to meet has long since vanished. I know what these lawyers and law makers are capable of. I know how they work the system. I know how utterly unfair it is. If I was a smart man, I would know how to take advantage of that fact. Am I a smart man?
Getting down on one knee, I take the little velvet box and flip the lid. I'm curious as to who bought the ring inside it, but not that curious. I'm just glad it wasn't me.
'Darling,' I purr, taking Helena's hand, 'would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?' I look at her expectantly, even though this is a done deal, and raise my eyebrows. If she wants the act, she might as well get the whole damn charade.
There's another giggle as Helena puts her hands over her lips, and then she nods her head. For some reason I appear to have rendered her speechless, and that can only be a good thing. Plucking the ring out of the box, noting an impressively large emerald-cut diamond, I slide it gently upon her finger. It sparkles like shards of glass in sunlight, and I almost feel like it's laughing at me.
Squealing, Helena places her arms around me and plants a kiss on my lips. Thankfully it's a quick one. She obviously doesn't want to ruin her make-up, and unless I'm much mistaken, that's the sound of the doorbell I hear. It looks like it's time for my debut performance as a soon-to-be-husband. Shit.
The guests at our engagement party are, for the most part, exceedingly dull. We've got a couple of councillors, a few doctors, one or two police officers of varying seniority, a couple of band members, some paramedics, and lots of scientists. Apparently that's Rupert's field, although I haven't worked up the courage to enquire as to what it is he actually does. If I play my cards right this evening I'm pretty sure I'll find out anyway, whether I want to or not. On the female side, there's a few more doctors, a veterinarian, the deputy mayor, two prominent authors, a couple of celebrity bloggers, someone who's been on Strictly Come Dancing, a firefighter and all manner of delightfully sparkling and coquettishly elegant socialites. The firefighter is hot, by the way.
'It's quite a crowd here this evening,' I whisper to Helena, when I can get a word in e
dgeways. Presents have been delivered by the droves, and by the time we've greeted everyone I already feel exhausted.
'Oh no,' Helena whispers. 'This is just who we could gather together at a moment's notice. At the wedding there'll be at least ten times this many.' I fail to see how that can be possible, seeing as how we're only giving them a couple more days' notice, but I refrain from mentioning this to my fiancée. The last thing I need is an argument, and I've read somewhere that pregnant people get very emotional.
'Is there anyone in particular you'd like me to speak to?' I ask. I'm sure she's got a few people she'd like to impress. Helena always struck me as someone who wanted to move up the social ladder, but alas, she's probably got to put those plans on hold. I wonder if she realises she will never be accepted now? All her fluffy little dreams have been dashed for a stupid petty crime and a romp under the sheets with someone unsuitable. How terrible.
'Yes, darling. Mingle with everyone. Impress them all. Show them how wonderful we are.' Helena stands up and twirls around in her black evening gown, the ends of which sparkle with sequins. She nearly loses her balance for a second, and I catch her before she totters on her heels.
'You haven't been drinking, have you?' I frown at her for a moment, but she pinches each of my cheeks with her fingertips and shakes my head in her hands.
'Only a tiny glass of champagne, darling. It is my party, after all. Which reminds me, you need one, too. Did you know it's rude not to drink at your own party?'
I didn't, but I do now.
'Okay sweetheart, I'll grab a glass and go talk to some of our guests. Will you be all right on your own?'
Helena looks at me as if I'm a little green alien from outer space. 'Of course, darling. I've known these people for years. Go have fun.' She gives me a peck on the cheek and shoos me away. Suits me.
Plucking a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter's tray, I take a sip as I wonder who I should talk to first. I've already figured out there's a reasonable chance that whoever I'm meant to kill is here tonight, although it's possible they might only turn up to the wedding. Still, I'm here, so I might as well try to find out what I can.
Who would be Mal's most likely targets? Someone in a position of authority, perhaps? Does he need them out of the way? Is he killing them in order to replace them? I need to consider all the possibilities, and quickly. Time is something I don't have much of.
With that in mind, I begin doing the rounds and flirting the ass off any piece of skirt that comes my way. I dare say my fiancée is going to be roaring mad by the time I've finished, but she's about to learn she's not the only one who can manipulate people. It's been a long time, and I'm out of practise, but judging by the looks I'm getting I might actually be quite good at this. Being inside has taught me a few things, you see. Never trust anything you hear at face value, and the best secrets will only be spilled one of two ways. If you can figure that lot out, to the victor go the spoils. Although it's unclear what I'll be winning if or when I manage to figure this little puzzle out, I might as well enjoy what little time I have left, while I can.
Unfortunately, this means I can't start with the hot firefighter. I fail to see what Mal could possibly gain from killing her, unless she's killed someone he knows, and if she had, she'd already be dead. Whoever I need to kill will be either difficult to corner on their own or there will be major ramifications for killing them - which Mal wants to distance himself from. Squeaky clean Mal. He wouldn't want to get his hands dirty, now would he? Mind you, what's the point when you can get a patsy like me to do the deed for you? That way you don't lose any men, and you get to show your girlfriend what an incredible catch you are. Yeah. About that.
Anyway, it's time to get to work. Do I start with the women or the men? I decide to go with the men. The women will give me something to look forward to later. I immediately head towards the law enforcement guys, as I figure they're probably an obvious choice. After that, I'll do the rounds with the officers and officials, and maybe even add the odd doctor into the mix. I might chat up the Strictly girl, too. It depends on how much time I have. If Helena has a spike anywhere, I guarantee my head is going to be on it by the time this evening has finished, but at least it'll make for an exciting life. Besides, it's about time I showed her who's boss.
Chapter Eight - Gabriel
The fucking bastards drag me all the way back up to the top of the rafters, only to let me drop again. Then, they do it again, and again. Obviously this is quite a fun game, and it doesn't take me long to figure out that they enjoy the sound of my screaming.
Somehow I have to figure out how to shut my cake-hole without swallowing my tongue, and then hopefully they'll become bored rather quickly. I know how these thugs think. When I eventually manage to accomplish the task, the game finishes abruptly. With any luck they'll hurry up and kill me now. If they don't, they're about to have the contents of my stomach decorating their shoes. It will be a fitting end to my miserable excuse of a life.
'Get him down,' Steroids yells, when everyone stands there gawping at me. This is when I begin to wonder if I wouldn't have been better off left back up in the roof. It's more difficult for them to hurt me up there. It's not that I'm a coward, but I'm not very fond of being beaten to a pulp, either.
'If you're going to kill me, can we go with a headshot? I'm not especially bothered how I'll look in my funeral casket, mostly because there won't be anyone there to see it. Just make it quick.' I give Steroids a decent pleading look and wonder if I should blow him to seal the deal. He looks like a homophobe, so I don't think there's much point, and it probably won't do my chances of a quick death any good if I piss him off.
He shakes his head at me. 'Oh, we're not going to kill you just yet. Where would the fun be in that? Besides, we need you alive just in case your mate gets cold feet. That's where we tie you up and start cutting things off. A severed finger or toe usually makes sure the job gets done, but if not we can always film you begging for your life as we poke holes in you with a big knife. That usually does the trick.'
My stomach does a dry heave, but it's been well-trained. I hold half a ton of bile back while I consider how pretty it would look decorating Steroid's face.
While the boys rip the tape off my body, my gaze continues to focus on him. He seems to be the ringleader here, and the one to watch.
'Where are you taking me?' It's a reasonable question. I probably won't get an answer, but it doesn't hurt to try.
Surprisingly, the guy is generous enough with the details. 'Back to Mal. He wants to watch Harper and you together again. He'll probably film the shit and send it to pretty boy. He likes screwing with people's heads.'
Yeah, I'd noticed that. 'Lovely,' I remark, with what I hope is enthusiasm. 'I'll look forward to that.' If I have to do a threesome with Mal, I am going to bite that man's dick off in two places.
'I doubt it. Mal doesn't like it when his friends enjoy themselves too much. I don't think you're going to have a lot of fun in the next couple of days.'
Honesty. It's so refreshing among thugs, thieves and drug lords. I can't resist a quip after that. 'Thanks for the heads up. I'll pretend she's the worst shag I've ever had then.' I get a cuff around the ear for my troubles, which almost sends my head off its hinges. Ow. Steroids knows his stuff.
'If I were you I'd keep quiet. You might live longer that way.' I'm grabbed by the scruff of the neck and frog-marched towards the door. I'm not sure whether I should be rejoicing the fact that I'm now on solid ground, or shaking in my boots. I can't think that spending any time with Mal is going to be good for my life expectancy, so I hope Brandt is on top of this crap. If he isn't, I'm pretty sure I'm going to suffer a long and painful death, and I suspect Harper won't be far behind me.
Steroids bundles me in a car, with a thug on either side of me, to make sure I behave. As I suspected earlier, we don't need to travel far before we reach the boss' headquarters. Everything is in darkness, and there's no sound bar the noise we're making.
Maybe I'm in luck. Maybe Mal is otherwise occupied. That thought, unfortunately, is short-lived.
Steroids raps on the door, and a few seconds later Mal answers. 'Put him in the room at the back,' he says, 'and make sure you tie the fucker up. That one's dangerous when left unsupervised. I'll have one in the back of the 'ead before I blink.' He's right, but he underestimates me. If I get the chance the last thing I'm going to do is shoot him. I'd have to like him in order to give him a clean death. If I get the chance to kill him, he's going down slow, and he's going to scream the whole way. He's not the only one that can inflict serious pain around these parts.
Unfortunately, that's not going to happen tonight. I'm shuffled off to the back room as ordered, and when I get there someone pushes me to the floor and pins my arms behind my back. There's no point struggling, so I don't bother. There are four guys surrounding me and Mal's out back. My chances of success are slim, and if I fail, I won't be alive to tell the tale. I need to bide my time and pick my moment. Mal isn't someone you mess with. I'll only get one chance to end the bastard, so I need to play this very carefully.
After they've finished tying me hand and foot, leaving me flopping about in the middle of the room like a wet fish, the guys file out letting the door slam behind them. That's when I look up.
'Long time no see,' says Harper, with a rather resigned look on her face. This might be because she is dressed in nothing but a pair of stockings and high heels. It might be because of the evil black eye and red lump she is sporting across her cheekbone, or it might be because she is tied hand and foot like me, but this time in an 'X' shape across the wall. More than likely, it's probably due to all three.
Beautiful Tyrant (Enemies to Lovers - Dark Romance Book 3) Page 7