My heart beats really hard as I walk up to the front door of my house. I hope my Mum isn’t still mad at me. I linger at the door, staring at the peeling red paint. Finally, I slide the key in the rusted lock. It releases with a forced thud, and the door opens, hinges squealing loudly. My chest is tight, and I feel sick. Inside, the house smells like cheap potpourri. My Mum is obsessed with the stuff.
I kick my shoes of and put my school bag in the cupboard under the stairs.
“Mum?” I call out, my voice trembling slightly. What if she kicks me out again? What if she can’t forgive me? I go into the kitchen. Everything is spotlessly clean as always, but my Mum is nowhere to be seen. Her Bible sits on the kitchen table, open at Jude. The story of Sodom and Gommorah. I know the story well.
‘Sodom and Gomorrah, too, and the neighbouring towns, who with the same sexual immorality pursued unnatural lusts, are put before us as an example since they are paying the penalty of eternal fire.’
I close my eyes, trying to quench the sick feeling in my stomach.
The stairs groan ominously as I make my way up them. I go to my room and change out of my school uniform, hanging it up like Mum always tells me to, so she doesn’t have to iron it for the next day. It’s only when I sit down on my bed that I hear it. In the silence of the house, there’s a dripping sound. I know what it is, of course, now - in this memory, this dream I’ve had a hundred times before- but I can’t stop myself from standing up.
I follow the sound. Drip, drip, drip. The bathroom door is slightly ajar.
I push it open, and like slow motion, the scene before me is revealed. The bathroom is a pristine white, almost blinding, and yet it’s tainted by crimson. My mother is in the tub, and for a moment, I could almost think she’s asleep. If it weren’t for all the blood, she’d look peaceful. I’ve re-lived this moment so many times, and yet it never gets any less horrifying. The water is red, staining her white night gown like some gruesome baptism. One arm hangs over the side of the tub. Drip, drip, drip. Blood falls from the deep gash in her wrist, hitting the floor. A red puddle sits in the centre of the tile, pooling against the side of the tub.
“Mum?” I cry, hoping she’ll wake up, knowing she won’t.
I rush across the bathroom, slipping over, her blood soaking into my socks. I shake her, but her head just falls to the side limply. She’s so pale and her red hair floats in the bloody water.
“Mum!” I shake her again. Nothing.
Tears run down my face, and my heart thumps in my chest hard. I don’t know what to do. I did this. I made my Mother kill herself.
I open my eyes and drag in a deep breath. It’s been a while since I’ve had that dream, though I know no matter how long I go, it’ll always come back and haunt me eventually.
I sit up and grab the small remote from my bedside table. With the push of a button, the blinds begin to rise and the television comes on, showing the morning news. The first brilliant rays of dawn paint my room in a warm amber glow. London lays before me, the concrete jungle stretching beyond my father’s penthouse.
Some days I still have to pinch myself. I went from living in one of the poorest areas of London, to Greenwich. There were days where I’d get porridge for tea, and my Mum wouldn’t eat because she couldn’t afford to. She prayed for us every night, and yet she never contacted the man who helped create me. She said he was a bad man, a sinner. What she didn’t tell me was that he’s rich. All those years we struggled, and all she had to do was ask. Dad would have helped us. After her death, he took me in without a moments hesitation, and he didn’t even know I existed.
Pushing thoughts of my mother from my mind, I rise to my feet and head for my en-suite bathroom. I shower and dress in my college uniform. It’s my last exam today, and I’m both excited and nervous about the future.
When I get downstairs, my father is already sitting at the dining table, his coffee in front of him and a paper clasped in his hands. William Kingsley looks like he walked right out of a Scarface movie. I’ve never seen him out of a three-piece suit, and his greying hair is always combed back, his face clean shaven. Today’s suit is a navy blue ensemble with a pale blue shirt.
The scent of bacon and eggs greets me, and I know Roisin will be busying herself, making breakfast as always. My father’s wife likes to mother everyone. Well, everyone but me.
“Ah, Jase.” My father grins. “Happy birthday my boy.” His cockney accent is thick, and puts almost everyone he meets at ease.
I remember at fourteen years old being faced with this larger than life character. He walked right up to me in the police station, a cigarette between his lips. “Well kid, I’m your Dad. Sorry about that.” Then he laughed and pulled me into a hug. And that was that.
My Dad pushes to his feet now and pulls me into another bear hug. “Thanks,” I say.
Roisin comes out of the kitchen with two plates in hand. She places one in front of me, though the permanent look of distaste she wears in my presence is dutifully in place. “Thank you, Mrs Kingsley.”
My father rolls his eyes and slaps his paper down on the table. “For God’s sake, call her Roisin.”
She clips him around the back of the head. “You wash that blasphemy from your mouth, William!”
“Really, woman? Using his name in vein; you really think that’s the worst of his worries here?” She ignores him and hurries back out to the kitchen. He smirks at me as he picks up his knife and fork. “She might bitch, but she makes some good eggs.”
I hide a smile as I eat my food in silence. That is one thing my mother and Roisin have in common; they’re both deeply religious. Maybe that’s why she hates me so much, because my father had an affair with another woman from the church. I struggle to imagine my mother ever having relations with a married man. Roisin says I was born of sin. She’s right. I’m steeped in it. That’s why my mother killed herself.
Roisin joins us, and I keep my gaze fixed on the plate in front of me, hating the tension in the room. After breakfast, she clears the plates. I stand up.
“Sit down, son,” my father says.
I sit and face him. He produces a small box from his pocket and places it on the table, sliding it to me. It looks like a jewelry box.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. Open it.”
I take the box and flip the lid back. Inside is a key. “What’s it for?”
A grin stretches his lips and he leans back in his chair. “The key to the kingdom. If you want it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, you’re eighteen. An adult now. You can either go to university and forge your own path, or…you can join the family business. I’m inviting you in, Jase.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I’ve never really belonged anywhere, always felt like an outsider. My father does his best to make me feel welcome, but this…this is a big deal. It means he wants me to be a part of his world, permanently.
“Say yes.”
I smile. “Yes.”
“You’ll be a proper Kingsley in no time.”
Chapter Two
I walk inside the club, the floor vibrating through my feet with the steady thump of the music beyond. There’s a small reception desk, and one of the girls sits behind it. A bouncer stands beside her, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze remains fixed straight ahead.
“Mr Kingsley,” the girl says, pushing to her feet and flashing a blinding smile. Aria, I think her name is. “Welcome.” Her eyes flick over my body quickly and she bites one side of her bottom lip. She’s pretty, though not my type. My gaze flicks to the bouncer, his bulk straining against the confines of his suit.
“Mr Kingsley,” he says curtly, still unable to look at me. He’s new. I definitely would have noticed him if I’d seen him before.
I smile and move past them both, swiping my access card across the keypad for the main door. Inside, the gentleman’s club is like every mans fantasy. Literally. There’s something for everyone. On the main stage, a couple pe
rform, their bodies intertwined, both of them nearly naked. Men sit around the stage as lingerie clad women bring them their top shelf whiskey. They pay for this privilege handsomely, and in exchange they get something exclusive.
I pass another stage where one of the girls dances, though her body is bound in ropes, and she contorts, dislocating various joints in order to disentangle herself. That one always makes me feel a little ill.
I release the buttons of my suit jacket as I make my way to the back. It’s been six months since my father invited me into the Kingsley empire, and last week he handed me control of this club, the most profitable legal holding we possess. Of course, it cleans illegal money, and that’s where I come in. I’ve spent months learning the ropes, how to make money disappear. And I’ve become good at it, really good.
I unlock the office door and step inside to find Juliet, my bar manager, sitting on my desk. Her short dress exposes miles of long legs, and I can just see the top of her stockings. Long brunette hair spills around her shoulders in silky waves, kissing the top of her ample cleavage.
A sexy smile tilts her bright red lips as she crooks a finger at me.
“Look at you.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hmm.” I move closer to her, trailing fingers along her throat as I sweep hair away from her neck. “As much as I would love to fuck you, I can’t.” She pouts and presses her hand to my crotch. I snatch her hand away. “I have a meeting. Out.”
On a sigh, she drags herself off the desk and moves to the door, hips swaying with every step. “Later then.” She winks and pulls the door open before disappearing back into the hallway.
I take a seat behind the desk and start up the computer. The scent of Juliet’s perfume clings to me. My task this evening is the profit and loss figures for the club. I’m on the third page when there’s a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The bouncer from the door walks in, his body rigid, like a soldier on guard. “Mr. Saint for you, sir.” Great. My meeting is early.
“Bring him in.”
He steps to the side and beckons a figure into the room. The man sweeps into my office, and instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Deep blue eyes lock onto me like a predator watching prey. His black suit matches inky black hair that contrasts against pale skin. More than that though, there’s a wrongness to him. He’s too still, too intense. There’s an air about him that can only be described as unsettling.
Pushing to my feet, I round the desk and approach him, holding my hand out. He simply stares at it, distaste clear on his face. It’s only now I’m closer that I see the familiarity in his features. The eyes, the set of his jaw. He looks just like my half brother Judas.
“Saint,” I say quietly.
A slow smile pulls at his lips, though it does nothing to put me at ease. “Good, that saves time.” I’ve never met my other half brother. My father says he’s strange. Judas says he’s a psychopath. Whenever his name is spoken around Roisin she seems to shy away from it as though it physically hurts her.
“I’m Jase. If you want to speak to William, he should be in later.” I go back to my seat.
He lowers himself into the chair on the other side of the desk, his spine rigid. “I know who you are, and I did not come to speak to our father.” He sneers as he says the word father, as though it offends him.
“Then why did you come?”
His eyes sweep over me. “I wanted to see his latest pet for myself.”
I clasp my hands together on the desk in front of me, my temper spiking. I force it down though. Father has taught me that anger never achieves anything except to expose weakness. “Well you’ve seen me.”
His eyes narrow. “Tell me, did your mother repent for her sins?”
I swallow the bile that creeps up the back of my throat. I grit my teeth as anger bubbles to the surface. “My mother—”
“Was a woman of the faith, was she not? And a sinner, an adulterer. I merely ask as to the condition of her soul. Did she repent?” I watch him closely, waiting for a smile, but it never comes. I think he’s serious.
“Many times,” I say quietly.
“Good.” He nods. “Then you are not a lost cause. Mother will be livid, but I will to help you, Jase Kingsley.”
“Why would—”
A cold looks sweeps over his face. “My motives matter not.”
“I don’t need your help. I have everything I need right here.”
“Working for our father?” A smirk dances over his lips. “Such trivial ambitions.” He plucks a card from his jacket pocket and places it on the edge of my desk. “Here is my number. When my father inevitably disappoints you, call me. This,” he gestures around the office, “is mediocrity at it’s best. What I do is art. What I can give you is the exceptional.”
“At what price?”
That disturbing smile graces his lips once more. “Your loyalty, your obedience, and your worship. Nothing more.”
I almost laugh. Nothing more? I see what everyone means now. He’s strange in a way that’s troubling. My rational mind tells me not to fear him, and yet my heartbeat ticks up as though preparing me to run. I imagine this is what a sheep feels like when it knows it’s being watched by a wolf. Even if it can’t see the predator in all it’s glory, it knows, senses the danger. Saint is dangerous.
He pushes to his feet.
“Thank you.” I stand up, but this time I don’t offer him my hand, simply open the door for him.
His eyes sweep over me one last time before he leaves. I’ve never been so grateful to get someone out of my office.
The next morning, I meet with my father for our usual Sunday morning coffee. Only today, he’s not alone. Judas sits with him, my brother so similar looking to William. He has the same black hair and blue eyes as Saint, though he’s more tanned. Saint looks as though he never sees daylight. Judas wears a navy tailored suit and a white shirt with no tie. He looks positively casual next to my father in his usual three-piece suit. Grey today.
I take a seat and William smiles at me. Judas does not.
“Ah, Jase, my boy. How was the club last night?”
“Good. Busy.”
He pushes a cup of coffee in front of me. Judas clears his throat. “I hear my brother paid you a visit last night.”
I pause with the cup half way to my lips. “And where did you hear that?”
“My brother is very dangerous. I keep tabs on him at all times.”
“That’s why you’re here?” He nods without shame. “Saint is…strange.”
Judas cocks a brow. “He’s a complete psychopath.”
“You aren’t friends then.”
My father sighs. “Look, son, just stay away from him if you can. Saint…he was born wrong. His mother tried to fix him, and she made it worse.”
“He’s very devout in his faith,” Judas explains. “To the point of fanatical.”
“I have no intention of having dealings with Saint.”
“What did he want? William asks.
“He said he wanted to help me. Left his card.” They both look at each other, and Judas’ brows pinch together.
My father swipes a hand down the front of his jacket and straightens in his seat. “If he contacts you again, I want you to call Judas.” Judas takes a card from his inside jacket pocket and slides it across the table.
“Why Judas? Why not you?”
My father sighs. “Saint thinks himself above what we do. He doesn’t listen to me. He sometimes listens to his brother though.”
Judas snorts and lifts his cup of coffee to his lips. “Only because ‘it would upset mother if he killed me’,” he mumbles before taking a sip.
William and Judas Kingsley run the biggest crime ring in London. I had often wondered why Saint wasn’t part of the family business, assuming they hadn’t allowed him in. They’re starting to paint a very different picture now.
“I’ll call you if he does,” I agree.
>
Chapter Three
One year later
“Judas Kingsley has been charged with attempted murder.”
I stare at the television screen, steam from my morning coffee swirling around my face. Judas got caught. How? Our business is dirty, and sometimes people die, but we don’t get caught. Father handles these things, makes them disappear.
“The victim has been named as Brent James, a twenty five-year old stock broker. Kingsley beat him with a crow bar. He is in critical condition.”
On cue, my phone rings, my fathers name flashing across the screen.
“Father.”
“Jase, you need to go to the club, destroy all the files, the paperwork.”
“What? Why?”
“Judas fucked up, and now they’re coming for us.”
“What? I don’t—” He hangs up and I stare at the phone.
Downing my coffee, I throw on clothes and hurry out the door. When I get to the club, it’s completely silent. No one is here because it’s eight in the morning. Inside, there’s still glasses lingering on tables, spilled drinks, and the entire place has the lingering scent of sex and body odour. The cleaners will be in soon. I have to get this done quickly, because the last thing I want is any witnesses.
I open my computer and shut off the cameras here in the office. Then I begin going through various files on the computer, deleting them all. Years of spreadsheets and data. This club is one of the few places that William actually has his name on. If the police are looking for something, they’ll come here.
Next I start on the papers, running them through the shredder, several sheets at a time. The blades whir and grind, struggling with the thick wads I try and ram through.
I still when I hear a huge bang. I pull up the screen for the CCTV and see several police officers flooding into the club. Shit, shit, shit. I panic, tossing the rest of the papers into the waste paper bin. I take my lighter from my pocket and flip the metal lid before tossing it on top of the papers. They catch just as my office door flies open. The next few seconds are a blur. My arm is wrenched behind my back, and I’m thrown to the ground, several police officers landing on my back.
Devious Resolutions Page 25