She could not allow Troy to get away with any more. He had taken Shaniqua’s life, and Sasha’s, and he had gotten away with it. She would not let him steal Clint from her too, would not let him escape justice again.
“Don’t worry,” Serena said, giving her a smile. “This time we’ll nail the bastard.”
* * *
Troy had finished packing a sports bag with his stuff, and clothes and toiletries spilled across his bed. Tyrese had not told him how long he would be going for, so it was hard to know what to take, but something made him nervous about his brother’s behaviour. He had called Trent, wanting to know what was going on, but his brother had not responded.
Though he wanted to trust his brothers, he knew that Tyrese was not telling him something and his nerves were on edge, as if he was being tricked somehow. He had cracked open a can of beer to try and steady his nerves, but he could not shake his doubts.
His phone began to ring on the bed and he snatched it up as Trent’s name flashed on the screen.
“What’s going on?” Trent asked at once. His voice was slurred but he sounded anxious.
“I’ve almost finished packing,” Troy told him.
“What? Where are you going?”
“Liverpool,” Troy replied. “Tyrese said -”
“Don’t listen to a word that he tells you,” Trent said forcefully. Troy was surprised by the urgency in his voice. “Don’t let him send you away, Troy.”
“He said it’s just for a while whilst the police are -”
“He’s a liar,” Trent interrupted him. “It’s not just for a while. Tyrese struck a deal with Jayden Healy. He said he’d send you away, get you out of the city. He’s sending you away for good, Troy, you hear me?”
Troy froze. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Tyrese had used him like a bargaining chip, and for what? He had always looked up to his eldest brother, had respected and trusted him, but now all that was shot to shit. If he could not trust Tyrese, who could he trust? Trent? Trent had gone out and got drunk, and though he might have his back, he could do nothing to help protect him from the police, nor from Tyrese.
He was on his own, Troy realised, just as he had been inside.
“Troy are you there?” Trent asked.
Troy hung up. He snatched his sports bag off the bed and threw the bedroom door open. Tyrese was in his bedroom, but Troy did not go to him as he sped through the flat and out the front door. If he could trust neither of his brothers, could not rely on anyone, then he would have to take matters into his own hands.
He hesitated outside the front door.
Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder as they approached the estate. Troy imagined Detective Patterson heading an army of officers coming after him.
Panic flooded him, his pulse racing at the thought of being put back in handcuffs and dragged to prison again. He took off at a run for the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. The sirens were loud now, car doors slamming and voices shouting out to each other.
He ran across the courtyard and ducked down an alleyway as he caught a flash of uniform. His mind was blank, filled only with the desire to escape. He turned and crashed into someone, staggering backwards as a muttered expletive was flung at him.
He straightened himself up and looked at Brandy.
“Those sirens for you?” she asked, eyes narrowing at him.
Troy sighed. He nodded.
Brandy considered him for a long moment. Troy had no idea whether she would give him up to the police or let him pass without any comment. Perhaps she had no idea herself.
“Come with me,” Brandy said, her voice quiet but determined.
Troy hesitated.
“Do you want to get banged up?” Brandy asked. “Or do you want me to help you?”
Troy nodded, and Brandy looked relieved as he followed her.
* * *
Adrianna had finally emerged from beneath her covers and showered. The hot water had done nothing to lift her from her despair, and now that she was faced with daylight and a new day, she had no choice but to think about what had happened.
She tried to force the images away but however much she tried, she was unable to. Her body ached as much as her mind did, a constant reminder.
After her shower she had considered calling Brandy, but what use would that do? Her friend would not be supportive, and even if she was, that would not change what had happened. Perhaps Sanjay could help, but she pushed the thought away. He would not answer her, and if he did, as with Brandy, what could he do to make any of it better? Nobody could help her. Nothing could change it.
Her headache blossomed into a migraine and she raided the bathroom cabinets for paracetamol. No luck. Of course. She rummaged in her bedroom drawers, hoping some may have been left discarded from a hangover, but no luck there either.
She hesitated at her brother’s bedroom door. They shared a flat together and they were family, but they had very separate lives. She was not supposed to go into his private space, just as he did not go into hers. He was a handyman, or so he said, but she got the impression he was far more than that. She had never asked, never pried into his life, and in return he had offered her the same courtesy.
It was only paracetamol, she told herself, and she would only be a moment.
She had heard him go out earlier, so she gave just a quick knock on the bedroom door and then let herself in. The room was tidy, for a man’s standard, and she checked the cabinets and drawers, finding nothing that could help her.
Hesitating at the bottom drawer of his bedside table, she wondered if she should really be rummaging through her brother’s underwear. She shook her head and slid her hand into the pile, being quick.
Her hand closed on cold metal and she gasped, freezing.
With a deep breath, she pulled a handgun out from beneath the folded boxers.
Whatever her brother had been up too, he was no handyman. Her instinct was to put it back where she had found it, but something made her stop. The weight of the gun in her hand, the power she now wielded.
Perhaps this was a sign.
She had come looking for a way to escape her pain and had she not found one? It was far from a packet of paracetamol, but the gun would end her suffering far more quickly, far more finally, than medicine ever could.
Closing her eyes, she thought of Jessie Banks and what she had done. Could she do the same? Could she put the gun in her mouth and pull the trigger?
Adrianna took a deep breath, the gun shaking in her hand.
* * *
Brandy was not sure why she had offered to help Troy. It would have been easy to walk by and let the police find him, or let him escape on his own, leave it up to fate or whatever the hell anyone liked to call it, and not involve herself.
Perhaps she had learnt nothing from the past, she thought, as she walked briskly down the balcony towards her flat. Troy was a step behind her, his hood pulled up to hide his face. She could smell his sweat, could almost taste the fear coming off him in waves. The wail of sirens drowned out any sounds of their footsteps and made conversation impossible, not that Brandy had any idea what she could say.
She hesitated at the front door, hoping that her mother was out, and that Aunt Bo and the baby were asleep, or at least preoccupied. The enormity of the risk she was taking now struck her. Troy would be in the same flat as their son. One question, or one mistake, was all it would take for her secret to be exposed.
Unlocking the door, she stepped aside to let Troy enter the flat. He hurried down the landing to her bedroom and went inside, and Brandy quickly locked the front door and went after him. She closed the door behind her and looked at Troy closely as he finally lowered his hood.
His expression was a mixture of relief and apprehension, but he forced a smile when he saw her watching him.
“Thanks,” he said, gesturing around the room. He sounded sincere.
Brandy nodded, her throat dry, lost for words. Troy’s phone started
to ring, saving her from having to speak. He fumbled in his pockets and answered.
“Tyrese, what’s going on?”
Brandy turned away, on the pretence of giving him privacy, though she had wanted to hide the nerves that she was certain were written all over her face now. Troy was on the run from the police, and she was sure they were after him for good reason. His brothers were clearly involved somehow. She had brought him here, would no doubt face charges of her own if the police learnt she had hidden him, helped him to escape, and then there was the risk that he would discover Frazer was his son.
She did not know why she was helping him, could not have explained her reasons if she had a gun held to head for answers. She jumped when a hand clasped her shoulder and she spun around, startled to find Troy so close, that his conversation with Tyrese was already over.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to -” Troy stammered, taking a step back.
“No, no, I’m just a bit on edge,” Brandy admitted, blushing.
Troy nodded.
“Me too,” he sighed. He kicked off his shoes and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. He let out a long sigh and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook, and it was a moment before Brandy realised that he was crying.
She hesitated, before she sat down beside him and put a hand gently on his knee.
“Troy, what’s going on?” she asked him. “What’s happened? What did you do?”
Troy continued to sob, before eventually his face emerged from behind his hands, and he wiped his tears away, his eyes still red and watery.
“I killed Clint,” he said, his voice raspy with emotion. Brandy was shocked, felt her body tense with the news, but she did not let it show on her face. Troy shook his head. “I didn’t mean to, we were fighting, and it happened so fast. And now Patterson has everyone looking for me. This time they’re going to put me away for good if they catch me, I can feel it.”
Brandy squeezed his knee gently in what she hoped was a reassuring way.
“If it was an accident, maybe you should tell them that,” she said, though she knew it was doubtful they would believe him. “You can’t hide forever, Troy.”
Troy shook his head.
“You know Patterson has it in for me,” Troy said. “Besides, I won’t survive in prison, trust me, Brandy. It was hell, being in that place. I can’t ever go back there. I won’t go back.”
“What are you going to do then?” she asked.
Troy sighed.
“I’m going to go on the run,” he replied, his voice quiet, almost whispering, as if they might be overheard. “My brother wanted to send me to Liverpool, but I can’t trust either of them now.” Brandy raised an eyebrow but did not inquire further about what had happened between him and his brothers. Troy continued. “I’m going to get a ferry to France, make my way to Spain or somewhere like that. They won’t be looking for me over there.”
Brandy could see several problems with his plan, but she did not think now was the right time to point them out, not when it seemed that Troy was clinging to this plan as if it were his last hope.
“You can stay here for tonight,” Brandy told him.
Troy looked into her face, smiling at her, his eyes still watery. She was struck by his vulnerability, his openness and honesty. She had always been drawn to his bad-boy act, his hardness and his cockiness, but that had been what had eventually driven them apart too. Now she found herself drawn to this new Troy, could almost picture a future with him.
She realised she was still looking at him, and he was looking at her, their eyes locked upon each other, the moment intensifying between them. Her breath felt short, her pulse racing. Troy leant forward and pressed his lips against hers. They were so familiar to her, yet there was a tenderness in his kiss that she had never felt before. Brandy kissed him back, her hand going to his neck, whilst his arms slid around her, holding her close to him.
Though part of her screamed out in protest, warned her not to do this, she was powerless to resist, and she shivered against him as her lips parted for his tongue and she felt his hands slide up the inside of her legs.
* * *
Aurora was stirred from an uncomfortable sleep sat on a chair in the waiting room of the hospital. She rubbed her eyes as the door closed behind the surgeon who had been operating on Clint for the better part of the day.
She glanced around, but there were no windows to indicate whether it was day or night. She rose to her feet, walking to the surgeon, suddenly anxious for what he had to tell her.
“Mrs Jackson,” the surgeon addressed her, and Aurora did not correct him, nodding hurriedly for him to continue. “Clint sustained some serious internal injuries and bleeding from the two stab wounds, and he lost a lot of blood.”
Aurora nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.
“We gave him a blood transfusion,” the surgeon continued, “And we have managed to stop the bleeding. He’ll remain in intensive care until I’m satisfied that the surgery was successful.”
“He’s going to be okay?” Aurora gasped, tears sliding down her cheeks, relief threatening to overwhelm her in her fragile state. “He’s going to live, right?”
The surgeon nodded, but he did not smile as Aurora would have expected. Her relief quickly turned to concern. If he was going to survive, then what could be wrong?
“Will he be okay?” she repeated.
“Mrs Jackson,” the surgeon sighed. “He lost a lot of blood, and he was unconscious for a long period of time, with oxygen cut off from his brain for a sustained period. I am satisfied that he will regain consciousness, but until he does we won’t know if he has suffered any brain damage, or the extent to which it may have affected his movement.”
Aurora swallowed hard, nodding though her mind was still racing to try and process the news. If he had brain damage, if he could not walk again, but at least he was still alive.
“Thank you,” she said.
“The important thing now is that he will live,” the surgeon told her. “And I would suggest you get some rest yourself. He won’t wake up for a while, so you should go home and sleep.”
Aurora nodded, relieved that he had given her such an instruction. She did not think about the possibilities of how Clint may have changed when he woke up, she only focused on the fact that he was going to live, that Troy had not stolen another loved one from her.
* * *
The gun was still heavy in her hand and Adrianna felt as if her hand would shake with the weight of it, but it remained perfectly still, though her palms were growing sweaty, both with the fear of what she could do and the possibilities battling in her mind.
It would be so easy to put the gun in her mouth and pull the trigger. A few seconds and everything would be gone. Her shame, her fear, her regret. Her pain and distress evaporating in the blink of an eye, a twitch of her finger on the trigger.
She could not bring herself to do it though.
Hearing keys rattling at the front door, she was brought back to reality at once, all her dark thoughts gone in an instant. She hastily shoved the gun back under the boxers and slammed the drawer shut, retreating from the room and closing the door behind her, as the front door swung open down the hallway and she heard her brother come in, chatting in Polish on the phone.
She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door, hoping he would not realise that she had found the gun, that his secret was exposed to her.
Not that she cared that he had a gun, or why he might have it.
Sitting on her bed, she felt relieved that he had arrived home when he had, that he had pulled her from such dangerous thoughts. They lingered in her mind, but she knew that she could not kill herself.
Jessie Banks had been weak, she decided. She had suffered, and she had been selfish, ending her life instead of fighting on like everyone else had to do.
No, she would not take that way out of her pain. Adrianna was stronger than that. She took a deep breath.
She could not forg
et her trauma, she knew that she never would, but that did not mean she would give in to her demons. That would be letting Trent win, and for what he had done to her, she would never let that happen.
* * *
The flickering of the overheard light out on the walkway was the only light as it filtered through a crack in the curtains and Troy finally found himself able to relax now that the estate had fallen into silent darkness and the sirens had long since departed.
He lay on Brandy’s bed, his arm wrapped around her, her head on his chest, beneath the damp sheets, feeling content with himself. He listened to Brandy’s gentle breathing, felt her breath caress the skin on his chest, and wondered why he had ever thrown this away all for trying to get a piece of Aurora.
She was nothing compared to Brandy, could not even hold a candle to her.
Brandy had stuck by him through everything, and even after everything he had said and done to her, all the ways he had hurt her, she had helped him tonight when nobody else would have. She had proven her loyalty and it touched him in places he did not know were possible.
He held her close, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what his future would now hold.
He still had every intention of getting the ferry across to France, of making a life for himself in Spain or somewhere in Europe, on the coast, where the police and that bitch Patterson could never find him. Now he could imagine Brandy at his side, spending his days and nights with her, could hardly picture the future without her now.
Closing his eyes, he wondered how he had not realised this sooner. He loved Brandy. He wanted to be with her and only her. She understood him, every part of him, the dark and the light, the bad and the good, and she loved him anyway.
Perhaps he always had loved her and just not realised it, or perhaps he had been scared at the thought of such a thing and shunned her for it. Whatever the reason, he could no longer fight it, could not pretend that he did not know it.
He wanted Brandy to be with him. Yet he was asking her to give up her friends and family, her whole life, to go on the run with him. Part of him wondered if he should let her stay, let her live her life without him, if that was what he should do if he truly, deeply loved her.
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