The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  He felt his phone vibrate and glanced at a message from Scarlett. He slid the phone back in his pocket without reading it, taking a long gulp of beer. He could not think about her right now.

  “Once we’ve finished these, I heard there’s a party later on,” Kent said, passing what remained of the joint to Leon, and picking up his can. “I say we head over and check it out.”

  Kojo joined in with the others as they nodded.

  He took another drink. He wanted to forget, or to celebrate. He was not sure which, but either way, a party sounded like the perfect escape right now.

  * * *

  Adrianna poured herself a vodka, spilling some on the kitchen counter, but not bothering to wipe it up. She had showered in hot water and dried herself, her body aching once more.

  She could hardly believe that what had happened was real. In her own home, on her own bed. They had strolled out, laughing and joking, as if nothing mattered, as if they had not just broken her once more.

  The vodka burnt her throat as she gulped half the glass down in one. She winced, almost gagged, but she took another drink. The shower had done nothing to help. And staying in bed, moping and crying and trying to forget, would not work this time, any more than it had done last time.

  She topped the glass up with vodka again and returned to her bedroom. The bedding was in a pile in the corner of the room. She had not wanted to touch it, feel it on her skin, any longer.

  She sat down on the bare mattress and clutched the drink in her hand. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror hanging on the wardrobe door. She looked like shit, she thought. Who could blame her?

  Taking a long drink, she closed her eyes and willed the memories away.

  Even though he was dead, Trent Banks was torturing her, with his army of thugs and his broken promises to her.

  She took another gulp, then another.

  Soon, she hoped, the vodka would black out everything and the memories would be gone. At least for now.

  * * *

  Corey Healy could hardly believe the news that Jayden had shared with him.

  Tyrese Banks was giving up, taking himself out of the game, giving them free reign to take over the Goldsworth and he would do nothing to stop them. Perhaps without Trent he felt weakened, or maybe he was too grief-stricken to carry on. Whatever the reason, it was great news for them.

  Alcohol flowed, and joints were sparked up, but Corey could not shake his feeling of unease. Even Jayden was getting into the party spirit, but Corey did not join in. He often found himself avoiding parties now, preferring to keep his distance from other people and focus on himself, left alone with thoughts of Jessie and the babies she had carried and lost.

  Perhaps that was why he did not feel like celebrating. Trent was dead and he wondered if Jessie would forgive him or not for taking out the hit on her brother. There had been no love lost between them, but Trent had still been her brother at the end of the day, no matter what had happened in the past.

  He went upstairs, leaving the sound of drunken laughter and thumping bass music, settling himself in his room. He wished Jessie was here now.

  His thoughts turned back to Tyrese. He did not know whether he could trust him. Jessie had not trusted her eldest brother, and so Corey doubted anyone else could either. Perhaps this was a trick to catch them off guard.

  Whether it was sincere or not, Corey did not want to wait and find out.

  He wanted Tyrese Banks dead and buried alongside his brother.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dante Cortez lay on the top bunk, his legs stretched out on the thin mattress, and eyed the cell door as a prison officer opened it. He murmured something into the stale air and moved on to the next cell.

  “Breakfast, boss?” his cellmate, Reese, asked from the bottom bunk.

  Dante swung his legs over the side of his bed and dropped to the floor. Reese stood up, a step behind him as he left the cell, his dreadlocks rustling atop his head and his shoes scuffing along the floor as he always did, mildly irritating Dante.

  He could overlook such small annoyances though. Reese had proved a loyal cellmate and he did whatever Dante told him to. It was the perfect set-up and he could drag his feet and make all the noise he wanted to as far Dante was concerned, so long as he continued to prove his worth to him.

  His life inside had changed since Troy had got out. Dante no longer had to hide his true intentions, no longer had to pretend that he was afraid. He was the king on this block now, and he felt that he had earnt it, for having to put up with Troy as his cellmate and for having to pay him his dues, for having to pretend that he had ever respected a waste such as him.

  It had been too easy to take over. Officer Wimbly had continued to bring in the drugs, the same set-up as it had been before, except now it was Dante who ran things instead of Troy. Not that Troy had ever really ran things, relying on his brothers on the outside and the help of others on the inside to pick up his slack.

  Now that he had struck a deal with Sanjay Siddiqui, Dante felt even more confident that things would continue to look up for him. If Tyrese found out that his drugs were still being delivered and sold in the prison without his knowledge, Dante would just blame Sanjay.

  It was the perfect set-up as far as he was concerned. Now he did not even need to get his hands too dirty, letting Reese and a few other guys to take orders from the inmates, to deal and distribute. All Dante had to do was check his balance and skim a few lines of cocaine for himself.

  Even the thought of his murder trial starting tomorrow did not concern him, could not dampen his spirits. Serving time did not scare him, so he had nothing to fear from the trial.

  If anything, he was excited at the prospect of being the centre of attention, of seeing Charley Brunns again and tormenting her further. The distress he could cause for her, for Bolton’s loved ones, was exciting to him.

  He sat down in the canteen and rolled his eyes at the breakfast being served, but he did not complain. Reese sat down on the opposite bench from him. Dante was used to a certain level of respect from other inmates now, and nobody disturbed him whilst he ate.

  It was a surprise when Reese looked over his shoulder, nodding almost imperceptibly to Dante to alert him that they had company. Dante turned as Officer Wimbly waddled towards them, trying his best to look casual.

  “What the hell do you want?” Dante asked.

  The last thing he needed was for Wimbly to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

  “I need to talk to you,” Wimbly said under his breath as he stood over him. “We have a problem.”

  Dante gritted his teeth. Of course there was a problem, he thought, wondering not for the first time if he would not be better off finding another officer instead of Wimbly to deal with.

  “Fine,” Dante hissed through gritted teeth.

  Officer Wimbly sauntered out of the canteen, glancing back over his shoulder and catching Dante’s eye. Dante rose to his feet and followed a few moments later. Outside the canteen, Wimbly was hovering, looking anxious, his hands fidgeting.

  “What’s the problem?” Dante demanded as he joined him.

  “Nathaniel Okoro,” Wimbly said. Dante’s eyes narrowed. Charley’s father. A fellow inmate. He had thought the old man would stay out of his business, or at least he had hoped so, but Dante still felt nervous. Nathaniel was an old man, a waste of skin, but he had still taken out Uncle Jasper, the notorious mob boss and Dante’s former boss. He did not want to go up against him if he could avoid it.

  Dante swallowed hard.

  “What the fuck did he want?” he asked.

  “He knows how the drugs are getting in here,” Wimbly whispered. Sweat beaded on his brow. “He knows everything.”

  “He told you that?” Dante asked.

  Wimbly nodded.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He said he wants to see you,” Wimbly said. “Today. Alone.”

  Dante grimaced, but he knew that he did not have a choi
ce.

  “Fine,” he groaned.

  He tried not to worry about it, but Wimbly’s anxiety was infectious and as he returned to his breakfast tray in the canteen, he could not help but feel a flutter of panic in his chest.

  * * *

  Sunshine began to creep in through the gap in the curtains and Kojo moaned into his pillow, his mouth dry, his head banging and his eyes aching with the light.

  He had drunk and smoked too much last night, from what he remembered, but that was not why he screwed his eyes tight. He knew that Kent still had the recording on his phone. The recording of him fucking the blonde girl. No, he reminded himself, raping her.

  The thought sickened him, made him want to vomit all over his bedding, but he swallowed it down. It was too late to change what he had done. The girl would not go to the police, she had not done so before and she was probably too scared. Nobody would grass him up. The only possible way anyone could find out about what he had done was if the video got into the wrong hands.

  The thought of his parents, or Clint, or Scarlett, seeing the video made him shudder with horror. No, he could never let that happen, he knew that.

  Kent was his best mate, and he had been involved too. He would not purposefully show anyone else the video, but if someone found it, or he lost his phone. Kojo knew he would have to find a way to get Kent to delete the video.

  His stomach churned, and he threw the duvet aside and flew from his room, into the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time for hot vomit to force its way up. It splattered into the bowl, making him gag at the smell and the sight of it.

  Once he was in a fit state, then he would talk to Kent, he decided, as his stomach churned with another wave of vomit.

  * * *

  Sanjay looked at Tyrese and was unable to hide his shock, nor his disappointment. He leant closer, stretching an arm across the table in the Banks’s kitchen, and put a hand on Tyrese’s forearm.

  “Mate are you serious?” he asked, not able to comprehend what Tyrese had just told him.

  Tyrese nodded. Sanjay could read it on his face that his friend was not winding him up, was not scheming or trying to double-cross him. Tyrese was being honest. It really was the end for the Banks brothers.

  “What did Jayden say?” Sanjay asked.

  “Not much, but he understands,” Tyrese shrugged.

  Sanjay nodded, trying not to show his frustration in front of him.

  His plan had backfired. He had hoped that convincing Corey to go after the Banks brothers would spark a war between the two gangs, but all it had done was pave the way for the Healy brothers to take over the Goldsworth without any competition. They would be unstoppable, and Sanjay would never succeed with his own plans.

  “I’m sorry, Sanjay,” Tyrese said, his voice quiet. “Good luck, man.”

  Sanjay nodded and rose to his feet. The chair scraped on the floor, and Tyrese stood too. They shook hands, and Sanjay wondered what Tyrese would do now. Go legit and find a 9-5? The thought was amusing, but he could not smile about it, too preoccupied as he left the flat thinking about what he would do himself now.

  Whatever he did, he would have to act fast if he wanted to stop the Healy brothers from closing in on the Goldsworth Estate.

  * * *

  Adrianna staggered against a wall, her head spinning. She gagged, almost throwing up, but she stopped herself, swallowing it back down, cringing at the state of herself.

  She had drunk too much, she couldn’t even remember when she had started, everything was such a blur. All she remembered was that she did not want to remember. The memories of Trent, of the boys who had used her, still clung to the inside of her mind, and even vodka had not been enough to wash them away.

  At least she was numb from the pain and embarrassment that the memories caused, she thought, pushing off from the wall and regaining her balance.

  Swaying, but standing on her own two feet, she made it down the alleyway to the stairwell. It was already morning, the sun beginning to heat up. She felt it on her skin, her eyes screwed up against the bright light. She hated it, she decided.

  It was too early, or too late. She could not remember, even if it mattered at all. Did anything matter? She did not know, did not care, anymore.

  She took one step and then another. Her feet were hurting more now, protesting against the high heels. She winced with each step.

  The floor was moving, so were the walls. Adrianna clutched the wall, hoping to regain her balance, tripping and crashing hard to the floor, the steps hard beneath her as she lay there, unable to move, not even sure if she wanted to.

  She wanted the ground to open, to swallow her, so she could finally forget.

  Blackness closed in and her eyelids fluttered shut.

  * * *

  Scarlett heard her dad let himself into the flat and put himself to bed. She waited in her room until she was sure he had gone to his bedroom and fallen asleep, not wanting small-talk about his night driving the cab.

  She was too pre-occupied, her mind focused on one thing only. Kojo. She had messaged him so many times, perhaps too many times, and he had not yet responded to any of them. She had racked her brain all weekend, worried she had done something wrong, if she had put him off somehow. She had never been this close to a boy before, so she had nothing to judge her behaviour against.

  Maybe she had messaged too much, she realised, regretting her constant texts to him. He might just busy, she reasoned. Or he had lost interest.

  So many possibilities, and she had no experience of it. She had never felt this way before.

  She opened her bedroom door and almost collided with Shontelle in the hallway.

  “You’re up early,” she remarked.

  Her sister was never up this early. She went to beauty college twice a week and apart from that she bummed around most of the time, chatting to Amal or Naz or whoever her latest flame was.

  Shontelle ignored her and led the way into the kitchen, filling up the kettle. Scarlett watched her, leant against the counter.

  Her sister put the kettle on and turned to her, eyes narrowing.

  “What’s wrong?” Shontelle asked. “You look grumpy, even by your standards.”

  “I’m not grumpy,” Scarlett insisted, not convincing enough.

  “Boy trouble?” Shontelle asked knowingly. “Don’t worry, sis, all the stress really isn’t worth it. When you meet the right guy, you’ll know.”

  “Right,” Scarlett said, rolling her eyes. “You’re the expert, right?”

  Shontelle raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t sass me, Scarlett,” she said. “I’m older, I know better. Anyway, maybe this Kojo guy isn’t the one for you.”

  Scarlett felt her cheeks flushing pink and scowled. She wasn’t sure if it was because her sister was voicing something she herself feared, or if it was the intrusion into her private life that so grated on her.

  “Mind your own business,” she snapped.

  Shontelle glared at her.

  “I’m just saying, if he’s got you this worked up, then maybe he’s not worth it.”

  It was Scarlett’s turn to narrow her eyes. She folded her arms, not impressed.

  Before Shontelle could say anything else, Scarlett left the kitchen and retreated to her bedroom. She was worried about Kojo, and at the same time she was annoyed with him. He had better have a good explanation for not messaging her, she thought.

  Lying on her bed, she wondered if he would message today. She checked her phone and quickly put it back down, disappointed.

  * * *

  Kojo flicked his cigarette as he crossed the estate, the plastic bag of breakfast supplies for his mum dangling from the other hand. He froze.

  The blonde girl was passed out on the steps in front of him. He hesitated. Any pride he had felt, any respect he felt he had earnt, started to evaporate as he looked at the state of her. Was this his fault? She looked pathetic, pale and incapable and weak.

  Despite his better
judgement, he stepped forward.

  “Hey, wake up,” he hissed. He nudged her with his trainer. She stirred, but her eyes remained closed. He smelt alcohol, and he realised she was wasted.

  He nudged her again.

  “What do you want?” she slurred, one eye opening.

  “Come on, you can’t stay here,” Kojo groaned. He adjusted the bag of shopping in one hand and tossed the cigarette, helping her to her feet. She was unsteady, but she did not resist his help. She did not know who he was. Probably, Kojo thought, she would not recognise her own reflection, the state she was in.

  He helped her up the stairs, one of her arms draped around his neck. He heaved her up, half dragging, half supporting her. She murmured, but he did not know what she was saying, nor did he want to. He wanted to make sure she got home, and then he didn’t want to see her again.

  His palms were already sweaty being so close to her, the memory frightening him as much as it stirred him.

  At her front door, he hesitated. Should he knock? Would that arouse questions if her brother answered? The girl giggled beside him and fumbled with a set of keys. She dropped them twice, and Kojo took them off her and found the right one, the third try successful, and the front door swung open.

  He held the door for her and she half fell through it, letting go of his neck and collapsing against the wall.

  “You’re a gentleman,” she smiled, not quite looking straight at him. “Walking me right to my door.” She hesitated, her drunken smile faltering. She raised a hand, frowning. “Wait, dude. How did you know where I lived?”

  “Erm, see -” Kojo stammered, his heart racing.

  “Wait, I know you,” the girl said. She seemed to sober up, eyes widening. “I know you. You and your friends. You’re the ones who -” She trailed off. Kojo froze, stood outside the front door, staring at her as she backed away down the hallway, her eyes wide. “You’re the rapist.”

  * * *

  Dante hesitated only for a second at the entrance to Nathaniel’s cell. He knew that it would do no good to show his nerves, especially in front of a man like Nathaniel. He would sense weakness, sniff it on him and use it to his own advantage. Whatever the old man wanted, Dante would have to play things very carefully if he wanted to stay on top.