“It doesn’t have to stop at protection. You can build a happier life, away from what your father pushed you in to.”
“You raped my mother, Joe.”
The words mumble out of me, still thinking about whatever the fuck those words meant from my Emily. He smiles, not caring about my anger and powered into not giving a fuck by these two dicks he thinks protect him.
“It’s the way it’s always been, Quinton. Honour amongst thieves.”
“Fuck you.”
He frowns a little, his fingers tightening around his glass and then putting it down on the side table as if he’s about to stand. “Sit the fuck down old man.”
“You’ll respect the debt, Quinton.”
Marco backs away, his fingers hovering around the gun beneath his pristine suit. I snarl at both of them, not giving a damn who lives or dies in this room.
I pull my gun, aiming at Joe’s chest before he’s got a chance to move. Marco draws his as quick, the barrel levelled straight at my head. I smirk at Joe’s shocked face, amused at the triangle of weapons and wondering who’s gonna pull first. Whatever happens, this cunt is dying now. He’s dying because of my mother. He’s dying because of what my father turned me into. And he’s dying because I’m not fucking living like this anymore.
He stands and moves into me, some senile thought imagining he can still tell me what to do, as his chest hits the barrel.
“Quinton, you’re drunk. I’ve known you long enough to see when booze is taking over your level head,” he says, his hand reaching for the end of my gun as a mocking jeer settles over his face. “Put the gun down before something happens.” Condescending fucker. I stare, my hand as still as it’s ever been regardless of the liquor still swimming through my blood. “Your father wouldn’t have been so stupid.”
I’m not my father.
My finger pulls the trigger, a hole splitting Joe’s chest open the moment I do, blood splattering back at me. Another shot rings through my ears. I brace, ready for the bullet to drive into me, unsure if we’re all going to fucking die, and swing to Marco. He sneers and walks past me, gun aimed over my shoulder at the dick behind.
I nod at him as he walks over to the other guy, another shot being fired straight into the head of his crumpled body, and I smile as I turn back to Joe. Done. Finished.
Blood pours, his eyes still widening after the event. I watch his half-slumped body begin dying and pick up his drink to down it as I lower my eyes to look into his face. It’s twisted about, the handsome old smile gone from his lips as he realises what’s happening. Children have fucking grown up, that’s what’s happened. We’ve taken over, removing old debts as we do.
“You played the wrong family this time, Joe,” I say, reaching for the decanter and pouring another drink as he gurgles a breath. I chuckle, amused at the look of shock that still lingers around his eyes. “Should have looked closer to home, old man.”
Marco arrives at my side, his long legs standing above his father’s decaying body. I watch another of the few founding fathers exit this world they created, disgusted with the blood that bubbles from his mouth.
“I was young, Quinn,” Marco says. I glare into Joe’s eyes, watching as they begin fading away. “I did as I was told back then.” I narrow my stare and push the anger away, letting it go to places I’ll not have to deal with again. “It’s done now.”
I nod, not at him, but at the sentiment of what he’s saying. Nothing like the old times will continue now. We’ve organised a new generation, one that can pride itself on modernisation.
The past is gone.
Two sets of shoes come running into the room, and we both spin, guns pointing at the threat. The guards look confused, their barrels flicking between me and Marco, until Marco holds his hands up and glares at the pair of them.
“This piece of shit needs disposing of,” he snarls, walking in front of me. “You work for me now.” I smirk behind him, holstering my slice of heaven and wondering where the fuck we all go from here. Home is where I’m going.
Home to organise the beginning of a new future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sit and stare out at my garden. It’s the only part of my house that Jenny didn’t touch and the only place that gives me any comfort. It’s like I’m a stranger looking in on my own life the rest of the time.
Mum and Dad were pleased to hear from me. Jenny had told them we’d gone on an unexpected holiday. They didn’t think to worry as it had only been a few weeks. Of course, I played along. I couldn’t bring myself to admit what had happened. I didn’t go to the police. There was no one else to tell.
When I charged my phone, I was saddened to see so few messages. A handful of texts, mainly about choir rehearsal, but that’s all. Quinn could have kept me for another month and I don’t think anyone would have noticed. I hadn’t realised my life had grown so insular. I’ve worked so hard on my business that friendships have slipped through my fingers. And now, I’m left wondering if Quinn was the wake-up call I needed.
That thought sours my already grey mood. I can’t shake the feeling that I miss him. A nagging at the back of my mind, like I’ve forgotten about something but can’t remember what. It’s the most ridiculous feeling in the world and I wish I could forge forward without this strange doubt lingering.
I’ve emptied the rest of my savings replacing my camera and computer for the studio. It will take some time to build up what I can offer clients again, but I’ve worked from nothing before. The camera was the vital purchase. I can't be a photographer without one. Credit cards are there for emergencies and this counted as one.
My wardrobe was only missing the dresses I hoarded and never wore regularly. Of course, Jenny didn’t take any of the everyday wear. Why would she? Everything else I can make do without. Nothing keeps my attention or can stop my mind from replaying the last few weeks.
It turns out I came back on a Friday. I’ve been gone three weeks. It seems like the longest time of my life. So much has happened and I’m still processing it. I can’t sleep. I can’t relax in my own home. I don’t feel safe, which is ironic considering where I’ve been. My mind keeps playing tricks on me. If I thought I was going insane for behaving the way I did with Quinn then I’m positive I need to see someone now. I’ve grown paranoid about the house and studio, checking and re-checking the door to make sure it’s locked when I come in, and repeating the precaution throughout the evening as well. The same goes for the studio.
And I don’t want to admit or face the real problem.
I’ve spent time in the studio, first trying to ensure all my bills are paid, but then going through my old account files for my past client list. With the new computer set up I can start to build again, using the small mailing list programme I have to get back in touch with them.
I’ve missed five bookings over the weeks. My inbox is filled with messages, and I have some refunds to process. It makes me feel incompetent. I worked so hard and now I have to start over, and no one can know the reason behind it. That’s my secret now and mine alone. Every day I have to wake up and crawl through the shame and regret that drench me before I can look to the future. But every day it’s harder, and my mind blurs the details, making me question everything I’ve locked away in the shadows of my mind.
The weather has turned. The rain lashes down as I run from the tube to the studio. A puddle forms around where I stand in the doorway for too long feeling lost. Jenny’s desk is empty now. I’ve moved it to the side and placed a beautiful vase filled with cut flowers on it. I turn on my computer and hang my coat up in the back room before switching the kettle on.
I hear the chime of the bell and pop my head out to see who’s come in.
“Mrs Banks.” My heart sinks. I left her a message on her answering phone to apologise. The deadline for her album has just passed, and I have nothing to give her. Jenny even took my hard drives. “Mrs Banks, I’m so sorry.”
“I’d just like to say how disappointed I am
. I came to you and trusted you to help mark my anniversary. I don’t know what personal problems you have, but I thought you were a professional.” She storms into the studio, bristling with anger.
“I am. I just—”
“You had plenty of opportunities to inform me that you needed more time. But I heard nothing from you. The studio was closed when I came for my appointment, and now we won’t have anything for my husband.”
“I’m sorry. If there was anything I could have—”
“I’d like my photos.”
“Mrs Banks, please.” I gesture to the sofa, but she straightens her stance. “I’m afraid that… Well, it’s just, I was robbed and all my equipment and computers were stolen. I won’t be able to give you the photos back.”
The door jangles again, and I glance out the corner of my eye to see who it is. My blood runs cold as I recognise the man. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.
“Emily, I don’t want to sound harsh, but you’ve had weeks to get in touch with me about this. You sat here and promised me that I’d have a wonderful gift. Perhaps if you were married for as long as I have been, you’d better understand. I trusted you, and now I have nothing to show for it.”
“Mrs Banks, again, I can’t apologise enough.” I plead with her to understand, but how can she if all I’m telling her is a half-truth. My eyes flick between her and my unwanted visitor, who’s still lingering in the corner near Jenny’s desk.
“I’ll expect to see the money I paid you returned to my account.”
“Of course. I’ve already made arrangements. It should be cleared in the next day or so.”
She nods and turns to leave.
“Goodbye,” I call after her.
“She got her knickers in a twist.” Shifty pushes off the wall and comes further into the studio.
“What are you doing here?” I stand, facing a man I hoped I wouldn’t have to see again.
“I’ve been stopping by, seeing if Jenny’s still around.” His eyes dart around the space, living up to his name.
“Jenny?” I question, not sure I believe that.
“Yeah.”
“Shifty, she’s gone. She set me up, stole my money and anything else she could get her hands on, and has gone.”
“Right.” He nods, looking around the room and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
“How did you meet her, anyway?”
“At a club. Then saw her again at a game.”
“A gambling game?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
“You allowed her to run up debt?”
“She was always good for the money.”
“Well, not this time,” I mumble.
Realising how Shifty being here isn’t a concern, I go and finish making my cup of tea.
“So you don’t know where she’s gone?”
I finish brewing my tea and go and sit at my desk. “No, Shifty. She didn’t leave a note after tossing my house and stealing whatever I had of any value. If she’s got any sense, she’ll never come back. After what she’s done… well.” I wish I could verbalise how gutted I feel. Jenny’s betrayal is harder to take than anything else. What happened to her for her to hate me enough to send me to Quinn, knowing it would never end well?
“Alright.”
I take a sip of tea and hear the bell, signalling Shifty’s departure. I let out a slight breath and resist going to the door to lock it. I’m at work. The shop needs to be open. I can’t close it just because I feel uncomfortable, certainly not after the money I’ve had to pay out to replace everything. But Shifty’s visit has brought everything to the surface. The date, my impulsive reaction to Quinn, the kidnapping, his back and forth behaviour. I swipe the stack of magazines from the coffee table, scattering them across the floor.
My cheeks are damp before I realise I’m crying again. A storm of confusion and shame cloud my mind and pull me deeper into despair. For every step I take in claiming my life back, I fall back three. I cling to the memory of my hands tied to the chair in the dark room. The fear and anguish I felt reminds me that I should be glad to be free. But when I remember, my mind doesn’t block out the pleasure that Quinn always managed to give me, or the way my heart began to beat for him.
Am I strong enough to put the pieces of my life back together when, if I’m honest with myself, I left a part of my heart with Quinn?
By 4:30 p.m. I’m ready to leave. I turn off all the lights, lock the camera and laptop away in a small safe I’ve purchased and hid in the back storeroom, and grab my coat.
I rummage through my bag to find the keys and look up, straight at a shadowy figure in the doorway. He looks familiar, and I can’t help the jolt my heart gives as my mind jumps to some romantic notion that Quinn’s come back for me.
“Quinn?” My hopeful plea is pathetic.
“No. Close, though.”
“Josh?”
“Thought I’d pay you a visit.” He steps from the doorway, closing it behind him and sending a riot of panic through my system.
“What… why? How did you know where… where I work?”
“Relax, Em. I’m not here to hurt you.” His smile looks wicked in the dark, and I wish I could turn the lights on. “I had a visit from Shifty, that’s all.”
“Shifty? Why would he come and see you?”
“Because he thought you could use a hand.” He rests his hand on the door, blocking my exit. “Now, if we’re going to have this conversation, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee?” Josh might have apologised the last time I saw him, but do I want to strike up a friendship with him? A bubble of hope that he’s come to talk to me about Quinn fills my chest. What would I do if he wasn’t here? Go home to an empty house and drive myself half crazy? We’d be in a public place. What can he do to me in a café full of people?
I nod and pull my coat tightly around my body, as if it can offer another layer of protection to my heart. Seeing Josh brings all of my memories flooding back. He opens the door and allows me to exit. I lock the studio and only manage to check it once before he steers me along the pavement.
“I told you to relax, Em. Shifty mentioned you’re struggling a bit, that’s all.”
“I’m fine.”
“The shop looks far from fine. So do you.” I try to brush off his comment, but it hurts to hear it from Josh.
We walk to the closest coffee shop, and he seats me at a table in the window. It’s surprisingly quiet, though. Not what I wanted.
He doesn’t ask me anything, just goes to the counter and then returns with two mugs of steaming coffee.
“Big brother might not be around any longer, but that shouldn’t mean you can’t benefit from the Cane family. Shifty said your business is suffering.”
“I’m fine.” My protest sounds lame, and I’m distracted by Josh’s mention of Quinn.
“You’re stubborn.”
“Maybe. But my business doesn’t involve you. Quinn said I wouldn’t have anything to do with him again.” I’m caught between wanting to be here and wishing Josh would leave all the questions.
“I’m not Quinn, although, perhaps you wish I were?”
“He kidnapped me for three weeks.” My defence is an obvious one and I know Josh will see through it.
“And he sent me here so I can be out of the way and no longer be a burden. He has his flaws.”
“Pretty big flaws.”
“But we both love him anyway.”
“I don’t love Quinn. He’s a bastard.” I hug my coffee cup with my hands, not wanting Josh to see the lie.
“I don’t think that’s how you really feel, is it?” He leans back, smiling. “I know what he’s like, Em. He screws around with whores for fun. He’s never had a… pet like you before. Someone he wants to fuck on a regular basis. You must have something he wants.”
My eyes flash around the coffee shop, praying that nobody is within earshot.
“Suddenly ashamed, are we?”
I can’t help the blush tha
t flares over my cheeks at his words.
“Maybe it’s your innocence that Quinn liked, or those mismatched eyes of yours.” He leans in closer and I have to fight my reaction to pull away.
“What do you want, Josh? I told you I don’t need help, and I’ve listened to enough.”
“Quinn ruined your business.”
“No, he didn’t.” I shake my head furiously.
“If Quinn isn’t prepared to look out for you, I am. He shouldn’t have just dumped you back here. He might get away with it with me, but not with you.”
His sudden sympathy throws me. I watch his eyes, searching for any sign he’s playing me. It’s so hard not to see Quinn in his features. He looks just like him. A smaller, leaner version, but so similar.
“What did you do to make Quinn send you to England?” I ask, wanting to shift the focus to him, and find out why he’s been sent here.
“I lost a bet to a man our family doesn’t like very much.”
“Can’t you just pay it? I don’t think Quinn is struggling financially.”
“I bet his casino. I owe the casino that he recently acquired.”
“A casino? How can you even do that when gambling?”
“You’d be surprised what you can win or lose at the right game.”
“What’s Quinn going to do?” The question’s out before I can stop it, and I hate that I’m so desperate to hear the answer.
“I don’t know. But I’m here, so it’s not my problem to solve. He’ll find some way to settle the debt. He always does.” His voice trails off, as if he knows the hurt that comes with his comment. I was a debt, used as a settlement in place of Jenny or her money. I don’t say anything else and concentrate on my coffee. My mind races with thoughts of Quinn and his business dealings. Is there any hope that his business could be the right side of legal one day?
“You didn’t talk much when we first met back in Chicago. Was that because Quinn told you to stay quiet?” Josh breaks our silence.
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