Ah, what I’ve not done. I so want to tell her to stuff this job and walk out without a backward glance.
“And she left the office unattended.” Jolene hammered in another nail.
“Sorry,” Wren muttered.
“Untrustworthy too,” Olive snapped. “Sign the registers.”
Wren took a deep breath. “I think there’s been a mist—I don’t think they’re quite right. There are four extra names showing for each of my conversation classes and I didn’t teach any of those students.”
Olive opened the file and sifted through the papers. “They must have been added in error. Well, it doesn’t matter. You can still sign them.”
She thrust the file out. Wren kept her hands by her sides.
“But I didn’t teach them. Or test them. It’s just a matter of deleting those names.”
A variety of expressions fluttered over Olive’s face. Annoyance eventually morphed to a cold smile.
Olive gestured to Jolene. “Give me some blank forms.”
Jolene hurried to push them into her hand and Olive held them out. “Sign these and Jolene will add the correct names.”
Wren really wanted to say she’d sign after Jolene had filled them out but she took the sheets, signed all of them and handed them back.
“Thank you,” Olive said, though she didn’t sound very grateful.
“I was wondering…” Wren mumbled before her courage deserted her.
“What?” Olive’s face wrinkled like a shar-pei’s.
Oh crap. She was going to say no. What was the point in even asking? But Wren clenched her fists and stood taller. “Any chance of more hours next term?”
“No.” Olive went into her room and slammed the door.
Chapter Eight
Veton’s black Lexus idled on double yellow lines outside Ezispeke. Tomas climbed in, dropped his backpack at his feet and clicked on his seatbelt.
“Were you good boy at school?” Veton sniggered as he pulled out into traffic.
“Teacher’s pet. Where we going?”
“Harehills.”
“Why?”
“To have some fun.”
Tomas was fairly sure Veton’s idea of fun wouldn’t come anywhere near his. Every day he worried he’d be asked to do something that took him over that invisible line, perform an action that couldn’t be undone later. One slip, just a few words uttered in perfect English, could be fatal. The switching back and forth was wearing. A little knowledge was fine but not too much. Every step had to be taken with care.
He looked forward to the day Veton was arrested, to seeing the guy’s face when he realized he’d been tricked, but on the flipside, if Veton uncovered Tomas’ secret, he’d crush him like an ant. Actually, he’d be lucky if he was crushed like an ant. More likely he’d be pulled apart piece by piece. Albanians had some unique methods of torture. They prided themselves on their ingenuity.
The broad-shouldered guy beside him was built like a tank, his neck thicker than Tomas’ thighs, his hands the size of dinner plates. Scarred hands, but still lethal. Veton had been burned in a fire when he was a kid. Tomas was always careful not to stare at the marks. Veton could shift from pussycat to velociraptor in a split second. The guy was big and strong, and the only advantages Tomas had were speed and brains. He lived with the awareness they might not be enough.
Veton grinned. “Marco wants you working at Cirque tonight.”
Oh fuck. Cirque was one of Marco’s clubs frequented by those into BDSM and fetishism. Gently kinky in the main public room, where wannabes paraded and posed in outlandish gear, it was fiercely deviant in the private rooms beyond. Tomas had worked the club door a couple of times, controlling a line of men and women of all ages, shapes and sizes. Though most covered their outfits with long coats, some reveled in looking weird.
“On door?” Tomas mentally crossed his fingers.
“Behind the bar. Joe’s sick.”
“Right.” He didn’t attempt to sound enthusiastic.
Veton glanced at him and smiled. His stomach roiled. The bar staff had to dress in costume. He wasn’t paid enough for this shit.
“Did Marco own club in Albania?” he asked. He knew the answer was yes. After all, that was part of why Tomas was on his case.
“Three clubs in Tirana.”
“Why did he leave?”
“More money here.”
But not just from running Cirque or the other clubs, which on the face of it appeared legal. Marco paid his taxes like a good citizen, on his declared income at least, but the clubs weren’t how he made most of his money. Tomas stared out of the window as they passed St James’s hospital, known to locals as Jimmy’s, the building making him quietly shudder. Too many questions and Veton would be suspicious. The wrong question and Tomas would be lucky if there was anything left of him to patch up in Jimmy’s.
They pulled up in the parking lot of a high-rise apartment block a stone’s throw from the hospital and Veton switched off the engine. “We’re here to teach lesson to idiot.”
Tomas said nothing but his brain worked overtime. One day that idiot might be him. For all he knew, that idiot was him and he’d been driven to his death. A push from a high floor could easily be made to look like suicide or an accident. His pulse rate sped up.
He was good at thinking on his feet, good at making fast decisions, but working undercover meant he constantly had to make judgment calls on whether he was right to do the wrong thing or whether he’d reached the point he shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t cross. He’d been working for Marco for over six months. The plan was for him to continue for many more. Tomas hoped he wasn’t going to be forced to throw it all away in the next few minutes. He took a deep breath.
“Fucking elevator.” Veton kicked over the sign saying it was out of order. “Tenth fucking floor.”
Tomas trudged after him. Veton stopped on the fourth and bent over panting. When he stood, he lit a cigarette. Like that’s going to help. But then no matter how fit Tomas was, good lungs wouldn’t be of much assistance if there was trouble ahead. There was no one to help if he screamed.
“They know we’re coming?” Tomas asked.
“Oh yeah.”
“Do I need a gun?” His heart pounded.
“No. Just fists.”
Shit.
Veton didn’t speak again until they’d stepped onto the tenth floor corridor. “You do what I tell you,” he gasped. “Keep quiet.”
This wasn’t about him. Tomas sighed in relief.
One bang on the door and it opened to reveal a pale-faced, wary-looking young woman with straggly blonde hair. She held out a handful of notes in trembling fingers and the relief in his stomach flipped back to anxiety.
“Hello, Juno.” Veton pushed his way in, shoving her inside.
Tomas followed, closed the door and stood against it.
“Fifty pounds.” She held it in front of her as a flimsy shield.
Veton shoved it in his pocket. He circled the room like an angry bull, picking up the woman’s possessions and tossing them aside while she stood chewing her nails.
“You spent your money on this crap?” Veton held up an anatomy book.
She reached for it and then pulled back her hand. “I can get more money tonight. I’ve been sick. I…”
Veton stopped in front of her. “You had two chances. You lied.”
“Please.”
His fist connected with the side of her head and she went down with a little cry. Tomas clenched his jaw. Fuck it. When he saw Veton draw back his foot, he stepped forward to block him. “What she do?”
Veton glared. “Keep money that doesn’t belong to her.”
Juno curled up and rubbed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please. I don’t have any more cash.”
“You had money for books.” Veton grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her up.
Tomas bunched his fists behind his back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Juno gasped.
Another strike by Veton’s hand and blood trickled from her mouth. Enough. Tomas stepped between them, right into Veton’s personal space. “If she saving for books, maybe money hidden.”
Veton shoved him aside and flung a sobbing Juno onto the couch. “Sit. Don’t move.” He nodded to Tomas. “Check bedroom and bathroom.”
The scent of stale sex hit him the moment he pushed open the bedroom door but the room was neat and tidy. Bed, wardrobe and a box for a bedside table piled with condoms, a heap of books by the window. He slipped into the bathroom, took out his phone and as he flushed the toilet, he called his emergency number.
He gave the code and whispered, “Fire. Chaucer Towers.” The noise of churning water faded and he zipped his phone in his inside pocket. Back in the bedroom, he took out two hundred pounds of the money Marco had given him and went to stand at the door to the living room.
“Under mattress.” He held up the notes.
He had no idea whether he’d made matters worse but he couldn’t stand back and watch Veton beat this woman. The call he’d made should bring engines with sirens wailing. He doubted Veton was scared of anything but maybe the thought of fire would persuade him to leave.
“Two hundred pounds,” Tomas said.
He hoped Veton mistook the woman’s wide-eyed astonishment for fear. Veton pocketed the notes and smiled. Juno clearly didn’t like his smile and neither did Tomas, but he didn’t cringe like her. He just looked forward to the day when the smile was permanently wiped from the bastard’s face.
“Holding out on me?” Veton asked.
Oh shit.
“No, I swear. I don’t know where that money came from.”
As Veton’s hand moved to his zipper, Tomas moved in. “Can I go first?”
Veton frowned.
“You’ll be rough. I don’t want blood on me.” Tomas held his breath.
The guy laughed. “Go ahead. We wondered if you were gay.”
Because unlike you, I don’t fuck anything with a pulse? But it disturbed Tomas that Veton thought that. The guy didn’t hide his homophobia, though Marco didn’t appear to find gay men a problem.
“My cock don’t care how it get pleasure,” Tomas snapped, thinking Veton could take that any way he liked.
He grabbed Juno by the arm and yanked her into the bedroom. As he threw her on the bed, he sensed Veton behind him.
“I can’t do her if you watch,” Tomas mumbled.
The guy chuckled and closed the door. Tomas let out a shaky sigh. Juno began to take off her clothes, sullen resignation on her tearstained, bloody face. He started to tell her not to undress and changed his mind. It’d be better if he strung this out.
She shimmied out of her panties and dropped naked to kneel at his feet. Her hand settled over his zipper and she frowned. He knew why. Juno might be a whore, but she was still a naked woman and his body wasn’t reacting. For once in its life, his cock was being sensible when he could have done with a bit of imbecility. Go hard. But no, it stayed limp. Fear of having to blow his cover had put an effective dampener on his libido.
When she reached to unfasten his pants, he grabbed her wrist. “No.”
Juno sat back on her haunches, wiped a smear of blood from her lip and instead of the gratitude he’d hoped for, she sneered. “What’s wrong? Don’t like that others have been there before you? I’m not good enough for you?”
Tomas recognized fear underlying her bravado.
“What you study?” he asked.
“Biology.” Her voice was sullen. “I want to be a nurse.”
“A nurse? That’s good.”
In the distance he thought he heard the faint sound of a siren. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it. He flipped open the button of his pants and pulled down the zipper. Juno furrowed her brow.
“You like the idea of me being a nurse? Want me to put on my costume?”
Timing was everything. Tomas steeled himself and put his hand on her head to bring her face close to his groin. He could swear his cock tried to hide behind his balls. The door swung open and Veton burst in.
“Out now,” he snapped. “We’re leaving.”
Thank Christ. Tomas yanked up his zipper and fastened the button on his pants. “What’s wrong?”
Veton grabbed his arm and jerked him from the room. Outside the flat, the sound of the siren was clear.
“Hurry,” Veton barked.
They headed for the stairs, pushing past disgruntled residents making their way to the exit. Veton ran down at a speed that belied his size.
“Can you smell smoke?” he asked.
“No. We could have stayed.” Tomas put a peeved note into his voice.
Veton let out a disgusted snort. “You were too slow.”
“Should we have brought Juno?”
“Idiot. They see she’s been smacked around, we don’t want to be anywhere near her. Faster. I don’t want to burn.”
One day, you’ll be roasting in hell.
By the time they emerged into the sunshine, a fire engine sat at the foot of the building, the crew bustling around trying to direct residents to safe areas. Veton nodded to him to take a roundabout route back to the car. Tomas felt a pang of guilt and hoped there was no emergency elsewhere. They’d realize pretty soon there was no fire. With luck they’d get the call to tell them it was a false alarm before they’d walked all the way up the stairs to check each level. Maybe they’d have to check anyway.
Veton unlocked the car and Tomas climbed in.
“What made you think she was hiding money?” Veton asked.
“Nothing expensive in apartment. Cheap TV. She study to be nurse. Maybe save money for books.”
“She owes money to Marco.”
“For drugs?”
Veton glanced at him and rolled his eyes.
Tomas settled back in the seat and shut his mouth. He felt like a snail slowly creeping toward a juicy lettuce leaf. The British police had been tipped off about Marco’s reentry into the UK. The guy had his mother to thank for his British passport. He’d lived in England until he was twenty-two and then gone to work for his father in Albania. The authorities wanted to cast their net as widely as possible over the Albanian criminal network in the UK and abroad, which was why Tomas was still leading this double life. They surely had enough to arrest Marco, Veton and the others, but his boss wanted more. She always wanted more.
“Okay here?” Veton pulled up across the road from Dock Street.
“Thanks.” Tomas picked up his backpack and got out of the car.
“Eight tonight. Clothes in the trunk.”
Tomas kept his face expressionless and retrieved the bag. At least it felt as though it held more than strips of leather but he doubted it was anything comfortable. He’d seen what Cirque bar staff wore. Not much.
* * * * *
When Wren walked into the pub, she spotted Adam sitting next to the door, working on his laptop. He jumped to his feet, moved forward as if he intended to hug her and then pulled back. She was already nervous, wondering if she was doing the right thing, and his hesitation unsettled her.
“You came,” he said and almost sounded surprised.
Wren realized he was as nervous as her. “Yep, here I am.”
“Want a drink?”
“Not here. Let’s go and have something to eat. You like Chinese food?”
He packed up his computer. “I’ll eat anything. Almost. Nothing too weird.”
She pushed open the door of the pub and Adam followed.
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” she asked.
“Does it count if I threw up afterward?”
She laughed. “If you put it in your mouth and swallowed, it counts.”
“Before I tell you, in my defense I had no idea what it was.” He winced. “Ox penis.”
She cringed. “Oh my God. Where did you eat that?”
“China. When the guy next to me told me what it was, I had to excuse myself and race to the
bathroom. I couldn’t eat anything else. I was worried about offending the host so I lied and said I had stomach flu. Luckily, I managed to avoid the next course, which was duck feet marinated in blood.”
“Ugh. I’ve gone off the idea of Chinese. Shall we have pizza?”
“The slices of ox penis were on a pizza.”
She stumbled and clapped her hands over her ears. “No they weren’t, don’t tell me that.” He chuckled and she glared. “It’s no use laughing. You’re ruining food for me.”
“I think you’re safe in Pizza Express.” He held the door open.
But not safe from you. Every moment she spent in his company weakened her resolve. She’d told herself no more charming guys and here she was falling for another.
Maybe it didn’t count because she’d fallen for him five years ago.
They were shown to a table in the corner of the busy restaurant and Adam held out her chair and waited for her to sit down. Wren liked him. She’d liked him when she darted into that doorway to shelter from the rain. She liked him when he made her come. She liked him when he held her as she melted against him. She only stopped liking him because she couldn’t spend her life hoping to see him again. It was easier to be angry with him and herself instead. Only now, she wasn’t angry.
“Would you like wine?” he asked as they looked at the menu.
She hesitated. She wanted to pay for her half of the meal but wine was going to double the bill.
“This is my treat,” he said as if he’d guessed what she was thinking. “I insist.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She lifted her head from the menu. “I’d like the four-cheese pizza, please.”
Adam ordered a bottle of merlot and the same pizza as her.
He stared at her across the table and sighed. “When I found out on Saturday night where I’d be spending the next three weeks, I almost didn’t come. It was only because my PAs would never let me hear the last of it that I changed my mind. Now I owe them a bottle of champagne. At least.”
She smiled.
“What have you been doing since you left Italy?” he asked.
“I had another year to go at university before I graduated. I wanted to find work as a translator but so did thousands of others. I sold shoes for a while and eventually got a contract for some freelance translation work. I really enjoyed doing that.”
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