Contents
ARMED
Copyright
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BABYFATHER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TRIAL
PROLOGUE
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NO SECOND CHANCES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARMED
BOOK 1
Copyright © 2013 Davie J Toothill
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the author.
Davie J Toothill
Cover Design for Trial and No Second Chances by Rocking Book Covers
Typesetting by Davie J Toothill
The following novels are works of fiction and not based on any real life events. Any similarity to true stories is purely coincidental.
.
PROLOGUE
Shaniqua wondered why she was feeling no pain, why the blood covering her stomach and hands felt so warm and disturbingly comforting on her skin.
She took a step forward but her legs gave way and she hit the concrete hard, her knees taking the full force of the impact. Small stones and pieces of broken glass cut into the soft flesh of her legs, but she barely noticed.
Her eyelids began to feel heavy and she put a hand to the floor, struggling to stop herself from collapsing completely. A pool of vomit a few feet away from her made her throat constrict painfully.
The alleyway showed all the remnants of a typical night on the Goldsworth Estate. Broken vodka bottles, crumpled beer cans and used condoms.
Shaniqua crawled a few inches, aware that the blood was seeping across her white jacket with alarming speed. She put a hand to her stomach and withdrew it again, her fingers dripping with thick, dark blood.
Her head was beginning to feel light and she realised her whole body seemed to be shaking with the effort of keeping herself on all fours. When she realised, it became more of a struggle. Her knees were groaning in protest at their prolonged contact with the hard, glass-littered floor.
Gathering her strength, she pushed herself up from the floor, knowing that if she was to get home she would have to walk. Crawling would take too long, and for all she knew they might come back and finish her off.
She rose to her feet and felt a momentary relief, before her legs gave way and she collapsed back to the ground, the fall knocking the breath out of her. She lay on her back, struggling for air, a foul stench of beer and piss burning her nostrils.
Trying to sit up, Shaniqua became aware of the pain in her stomach. She gasped and knew she needed help soon.
She was here alone, lying on the floor, losing the feeling in her legs.
The bag beside her began to vibrate, the sound of a ring tone echoed inside her head.
Shaniqua remembered her mobile…
CHAPTER ONE
Shaniqua had been walking home from the JZ Club. The air was cold, and the sounds and smells of Piccadilly Circus and the clubs had faded into the darkness. The only noises were the distant blare of sirens and the sound of arguing coming from an open window in a nearby flat.
She pulled her flimsy white jacket around herself, her only defence from the cold.
Although she was nearly home, she’d always had a sense of imminent danger when entering the Goldsworth Estate.
The estate itself was a rambling concrete landscape, with several high blocks of flats and a labyrinth of courtyards, alleyways, and poorly lit stairwells, the perfect place for dealers and gangs to lurk in the shadows.
Shaniqua had lived on the estate all of her life, and although she’d heard the horror stories from her friends, she had never directly experienced anything like the Goldsworth was infamous for.
As she had turned a corner, she’d seen a group of figures sitting on a low wall, laughing and messing around. She recognised some of them. They were in her younger sister’s year at school, which put them at sixteen years old, or thereabouts.
Nearing the group, she became aware of how exposed she was, in her miniskirt and heels.
She knew what some men could be like, especially when they were in their teens, and she felt a shiver of apprehension.
As she walked past them, she caught one of the two girls’ eyes. Shaniqua saw the girl frown, and averted her gaze. She knew her from the estate. Brandy Mason. And she knew who her boyfriend was, Troy Banks, brother of the formidable Banks brothers, who ran a gang notorious on the estate and who dealt a variety of drugs.
“What you looking at?” she heard Brandy sh
out from behind her.
Shaniqua quickened her pace, her feet aching and her chest heaving. She was nearly home. She heard male voices behind her, and Shaniqua guessed it was Troy Banks and his friends.
“She disrespected me,” Brandy was shouting.
Shaniqua heard the sound of trainers on concrete, and she was surrounded by people. Brandy and Troy were in front of her, blocking her way.
A few more boys surrounded her, accompanied by a heavily pregnant, red-haired girl, whose face was contorted into a snarl.
“Why you disrespect me?” Brandy asked, hands on hips.
Shaniqua felt her body tense. Brandy was inches from her, glaring at her. She could smell beer in the air and knew they had been drinking.
“I didn’t -”
“We all saw you, bitch, giving me evils when you walked past.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
Shaniqua’s words tumbled out of her mouth and she swallowed hard, her throat dry and her voice cracking.
Brandy sniggered.
“Yeah right, I know your type. Think you’re better than us, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t –”
“It’s about time you learnt some respect,” Brandy said, glancing at her boyfriend. “Don’t pick a fight if you ain’t willing to finish it, bitch.”
“I didn’t want a fight, I just want to go home and –”
Shaniqua’s voice fell away as Troy pulled his hand out of his pocket and Shaniqua caught a glimpse of metal in the dull moonlight.
The atmosphere changed within the group. It was as if the air had become heavier, thick with urgency and peril. The group seemed to change as well. Armed with a knife, the group seemed to become almost feral. They were no longer a group of kids; they were a pack, united as one, like wolves surrounding their prey.
As panic set in, Shaniqua attempted to push past them, but then she felt the cold metal on her stomach, and the feeling of warmth.
Looking down, Shaniqua saw a deep crimson stain spreading across the front of her white jacket.
The group seemed to snap out of their vicious trance, and after a few moments of deafening silence, the group fled, pushing passed one another in their haste.
Then she had found herself alone, lying on the floor, when her mobile began to ring.
She reached for the bag, felt her fingers touch the cold leather straps, and her eyes became heavy. After struggling with the clasp, and fumbling around for her small phone, she finally felt it at her fingertips and clasped it in her hand, before her vision began to blur and the world went black.
* * *
Alone in Troy’s bedroom, Brandy looked at her reflection in the small window. Her eyes observed her flawless dark skin, perfected by the make-up she wore, and her hair, which had remained in place all day thanks to her liberal use of hair spray.
From the bathroom, the noise of a tap being turned on made her jump. She was on edge, but she didn’t understand why. Although she had never expected what had happened tonight, she had known that it was only a matter of time.
After all, if Troy wanted to get in with his brothers, and start earning and getting respect, then it would take a lot to impress them. Brandy knew she had been a key figure in Troy’s life. They had been together since she’d first moved onto the Goldsworth Estate, nearly five years ago.
The sound of sirens in the distance made her shiver. Could they be the police coming to get them?
No, she told herself. Nobody would have found her yet. Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Brandy took off her parka and threw it on the small armchair at the foot of the single bed. She removed her sleeveless top, kicked off her heels, and was in the process of pulling down her mini-skirt when the bedroom door opened and Troy entered.
He looked stressed. His dark features seemed alert, even frightened, but she knew that Troy didn’t get frightened. It was a girl’s thing to get scared, as he so often said. As he pulled the door closed, Brandy quickly shut the window. She didn’t want him freaking out if he heard the sirens. She crossed the room and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Are you okay, babe?”
Troy nodded. “I’m fine.”
Brandy wasn’t convinced, “You did the right thing, you know. That bitch disrespected us. She disrespected you. You were just defending yourself.”
Troy’s eyes flashed angrily, and he slapped Brandy’s hand away from him.
“I know I did the right fucking thing, you stupid cunt. I ain’t got a problem with what I did, she deserved to die, the fucking bitch. Now fuck off.”
Brandy felt her own temper rising at Troy’s outburst. Although she had long ago got used to Troy’s temper, it always rubbed her up the wrong way when he did this. It was a personal affront; it was as if he was dismissing her. She was his girlfriend, had supported him through so much, let him use her body for his own pleasure, and he had the nerve to call her a cunt. Well, she thought, fuck him.
“Who the fuck d’you think you are?” she hissed, “I can’t be arsed with this shit anymore. I’m going home, you can find some cheap slag to sleep with tonight.”
Her voice had risen, she knew, and Troy’s brothers would have lowered the volume on the TV in the room next door, hoping to catch a small part of the argument. They were always listening. She knew it was because they wanted to know when, or indeed if, they could trust Troy enough to let him in on their deals. Troy looked sheepish, unsure of what to do, torn between his need to keep up his bravado and the urge to calm the situation down. Brandy grabbed her top from the armchair, but Troy rushed forward and grabbed her arm, snatching the top out of her hands.
“What the fuck?” Brandy shouted, her temper flaring again.
“You ain’t leaving, not tonight,” Troy said, “Not after what’s happened. If the pigs come looking, then I need you here to back me up, babe.”
“Back you up? Is that all I am to you, then, a fucking alibi?”
“You know you ain’t, babe,” Troy backtracked. “Now chill the fuck out.”
Brandy bristled, but they both knew she was pacified. He had admitted that he needed her, albeit for an alibi, and in an indirect way, but it was enough. Brandy yearned for his full attention, to be the one thing in his life he truly wanted and loved. She might never achieve it, she knew, but she could at least try her hardest.
“I love you, babe,” Troy whispered, pulling Brandy into his arms. He was talking quietly, not wanting his brothers to overhear his rare tender moment.
“I love you too,” Brandy smiled, moving her lips to his.
She felt his tongue in her mouth, exploring, and his arms closed in around her waist, pulling her thin body closer into his frame. She felt him stirring, and Troy expertly unclipped her bra and began pulling down her skirt and knickers.
Pushing her onto the bed, Troy pulled down his tracksuit bottoms, and shrugged himself out of his jacket. His Lacoste trainers already lay discarded on the floor. Brandy slowly, teasingly, pulled his boxers off. Troy was kissing her neck, his strong, firm hands groping her chest, whispering in her ear. Brandy’s back arched and she let out a soft moan as he entered her. Although they had shagged millions of times before, this time it felt different. It felt better. Both of them felt it. Tonight’s events had changed things for them. Troy was now a proper man, he was solid. People wouldn’t mess with him. Troy knew he would be respected from now on, would be hard. Brandy knew this too, and couldn’t wait until tomorrow. But for now she was happy to live for the moment, all alone with Troy.
* * *
In Flat 115, Clint Jackson scrubbed himself furiously. The hot water from the shower burned his skin, but he still didn’t feel clean. The thought of what had transpired played on his mind. Only this nightmare wasn’t in his dreams, it was his life. The sound the blade had made as it pierced the girl’s skin filled his head, deafening him.
A loud banging on the door awoke him from his thoughts.
“What you doing in there?”
His dad was standing there, a grimace on his face. His eyes looked bloodshot, and Clint could smell the stench of beer and cigarettes.
“What the fuck were you doing in there?”
Before Clint had a chance to respond, his dad had pushed past him and into the bathroom, where the door slammed shut and the sound of vomiting drifted underneath the door.
Clint sighed, and went into the living room.
His mum, a large woman with long braided hair and a deep infectious laugh, was watching a repeat of EastEnders, deeply absorbed in the action. The only thing Clint knew from the show was that it was nothing like the London he knew, and that the Mitchell sisters were fit. He had watched them when they first came in, but now he wasn’t interested. They were blond and busty, but he didn’t go for girls like that anymore.
Realising he was stood in the doorway, his mum turned around.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Chucking up in the bathroom,” Clint replied.
“Oh Lord.” Clint’s mum grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, before rushing into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She kissed Clint on the forehead as she went past him to the bathroom.
Clint went into his bedroom, and flicked the light on. He dumped the towel on the floor, and crossed the room to his single bed in the corner.
A small grunt came from the other single bed in the room. Clint’s younger brother, Kojo, rubbed his eyes.
“Go back to sleep, bro,” Clint said.
“What time is it?”
“Time to go to sleep,” Clint replied.
Kojo groaned, “I don’t want to sleep.”
Clint flicked the light off and stumbled back to his bed in the dark.
The Goldsworth Series Box Set Page 1