Revenge (The Cardigan Estate Book 1)

by Emmy Ellis

  No, this note said the same was required each week. He’d be able to get himself right out of the shit he was in quicker than he’d thought. A few more customers would have to be built up, but he was working on that. He didn’t want to be left high and dry again once Cardigan wasn’t ordering after the divorce.

  Thinking about Leona had him remembering their conversation the night before. They’d got on better, and he’d felt more at ease once she’d announced Cardigan was out.

  She’d said, “Shall we start again? Neither of us are happy with this arrangement, but we could at least try and get to know one another.”

  “Excuse me for saying this, but we’ve both got to make the best of a bad lot, haven’t we.”

  Leona had turned a slight shade of crimson, and, unable to determine whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he’d rushed on.

  “I don’t mean to say that you’re the bad lot, I meant that neither of us wants this, but I can’t go back on an agreement with your old man, and you’d probably agree that’d be unwise.”

  “Yes, it would be. I wanted to make this as pleasant as I possibly could and get certain things established right from the word go.” She’d taken a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to honour your conjugal rights. I certainly don’t want anything to do with that side of a marriage.”

  The relief of what she’d said had been immense to say the least. He had no intention of honouring his ‘conjugal rights’ in the slightest. Thank God she’d broached the subject. He’d planned to at some stage, though how he’d have said it was anyone’s guess.

  “That’s all right then. I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on women.”

  A hopeful look had swept across Leona’s face. He’d said the wrong thing. Did she think he would’ve approached her like that?

  Jesus, no…

  “Do you mean to say you find me attractive?”

  “It’s not an issue, is it? You don’t want anything of that sort, so we don’t need to discuss it.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  They’d sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Leona had sipped her tea, so Jonathan followed suit and reached for his glass of whiskey. He’d swallowed, and the noise seemed to echo round the room. Leona had winced.

  He’d blurted, “Have you ever been in love? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

  She’d told him about some bloke called William and how her mate stole him off her.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope to find a nice bird one day.” It’d been strange to talk like that with someone he was marrying. If she didn’t want any bedroom antics, he’d be free to look for love elsewhere, albeit discreetly. He wouldn’t want to embarrass the poor woman—or piss Cardigan off.

  “Well, that option is closed for you now. There’s no way you can find someone else. We won’t be married in the bedroom sense, but in all other ways I expect you to abide by the law and stay faithful to me. As you probably know, that means I won’t tolerate any adulterous behaviour. The scandal would be atrocious, and I’m not prepared to be the laughingstock of my circles.”

  Jonathan had found it hard to digest this piece of information. He’d had to get it straight in his head before he could trust himself to answer. “So you expect me to go through my life with no one whatsoever? For as long as I’m married to you?”

  “That’s correct.” Leona had looked bemused, as if she couldn’t understand what was so daft about her suggestion.

  “Right, as long as I know where I stand.”

  She’d cleared her throat and, changing the subject, said, “As to the wedding arrangements, they’re all finalised, bar the fitting for my dress. Everyone has had their invites sent out, so we should be receiving some replies soon.”

  Jonathan’s eyebrows had shot up, and his mouth sagged open. “So, you mean to tell me that everything’s been done, everyone’s been invited, without me being asked if I want some friends of mine to come? And not even asking me who I want as my best man? You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  “My father has arranged a best man for you. Sonny something or other, if I remember correctly.”

  “Thank God for that. Is there anyone else on my side who’s been asked to come? I’ve got all my mates to think about for the evening do, and even though I haven’t got any family left, I’d like to have a few of my close friends at the actual wedding.”

  “As I said, it’s all been arranged. My father has asked this Sonny person to give him a list of guests on your behalf.”

  “I’ll have a word with Sonny, but I’m sure he knows who I’d want. Are we having any bridesmaids or anything, because Sonny’s got a daughter. I’m her godfather; I think it’s only right I ask her. She’s three, but I’m sure she’ll behave herself.”

  “She’s our one and only bridesmaid.”

  Relief and anger had mingled as one emotion. His life was being directed, and he didn’t like it. “Right, I want to get something cleared up now. Where are we going to live? I’m sure it’s all been taken care of, because I don’t suppose you’d want to go and live at my place.”

  “My father has purchased the house next door. The people who live there unexpectedly said they had to move. A shame, as they’ve been there for twenty years or so. They’d told me they weren’t planning to go anywhere, but it’s surprising how some people change their minds.”

  Cardigan changed their minds more like.

  He’d sensed Leona didn’t have a clue about how low her father would stoop.

  “I’m feeling tired. Our little conversation has worn me out, so if you don’t mind…” She’d risen from her seat.

  Jonathan had made a swift exit. Telling himself to keep up the rent payments on his childhood home, he’d gone there and parked, walking down to The Eagle for a much-needed drink.

  He rubbed his head now, the elation at the huge beer order receding. Leona was a weird one, there was no mistake about that. He resolved to keep to the same plan he already had, of hopefully finding someone he could be himself with.

  He carried on with the day’s work, producing beer for the consumption of ale drinkers, many of whom were of the criminal fraternity.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Brothers were twins and built like garden sheds. Wide frames. They had no qualms about breaking various bones in any unfortunate’s body, did as they were told, and were prepared to do most things asked of them in return for a bloody decent wage.

  Killing came into the equation, as did robbing, menacing, but any violence directed towards women was immediately frowned on. No one had been silly enough to ask them to get a woman sorted—not since Mickey Rook asked for his former squeeze to have her face slashed so no other man would look at her. Mickey had received a thump for his trouble, and after visiting the hospital, from which he’d emerged with the knowledge he had a broken jaw, The Brothers let it be known that Mickey was living on borrowed time.

  The object of The Brothers’ attention was in the process of nosing in his garage. It contained a various assortment of stolen goods, ready for resale to the unsuspecting public, although saying that, some of them were well aware of where the goods came from. The twins, George and Greg Wilkes, watched their target from their battered old Ford van, parked in an alley opposite.

  “Cardigan said a broken leg, George.”

  “Cardigan’ll get what he paid for then, won’t he.”

  “We don’t want no extras.”

  “But he’s got it coming from us an’ all. We can give him what he’s due at the same time.”

  Greg sighed. “He’ll think Cardigan arranged for two injuries.”

  “No, he won’t. We’ll remind him all about him wanting Shirley Richmond to have a permanent grin. Doing a Cheshire to a woman isn’t my style. I wonder if he’ll want one for himself. See how he’d like it.”

  “Do it another time. Just do Cardigan’s job for now.”

  “What’s up with you? Gone soft on me? We’re not going to be able to g
et hold of him for love nor money once we’ve broken his leg. He’ll go into hiding. It’s now or never.”

  Greg wouldn’t be able to change his brother’s mind. George was the more stubborn of the two, the stronger half of what they felt were the same person. “Well, I’ll leave the talking to you. I suppose you want to smash his leg with the mallet an’ all, don’t you?”

  George laughed. “I wouldn’t mind, but seeing as though you don’t sound enamoured at doing it, I’ll smack his leg one, and when he’s down on the floor, I’m going to give him such a happy-looking face, that whoever finds the silly bastard’ll think he’s enjoying the pain he’s in.”

  “I wonder who’ll find him?” Greg said.

  “I don’t give a toss. That garage isn’t left unattended for long. Don’t forget, Fartarse Findley comes by every day with a cargo of goods about half five. That should leave a few hours of unimaginable pain before he’s found.”

  “Fartarse doesn’t deliver on a Monday,” Greg reminded him.

  “What a shame.”

  “You’re a hard sod.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, we’re one and the same, so that makes you just as bad as me. Hold up, he’s making a move.”

  Sighing again and picking up the mallet, Greg glanced at his brother. A large carving knife nestled down the inside of his boot as he got out of the van.

  Shit.

  They mooched over to the garage casually, their prey in the process of locking up. He turned to face his visitors.

  “Mickey, my old son. Fancy bumping into you again. How’ve you been?” George asked.

  “All right, Brothers? I haven’t seen you two in my face since you busted my jaw. Something up?”

  “You should know all about that. We’re here on a job, if you get my meaning,” George said.

  The blood drained from Mickey’s face.

  “I see you do get my meaning then. Very perceptive of you. Now then…” George turned to his twin and held out his hand to receive the mallet. “Cardigan thinks you’ve crossed him, and we’re inclined to agree. Even if we didn’t, it pays the rent, doesn’t it?” He sniggered.

  Mickey shook.

  “Cardigan must have been in a good mood, because our instructions were mild. He wants his money back and wasn’t happy at all about the stunt you pulled at the poker game the other night. Apparently, you had some money stashed down your trousers that you didn’t declare at the beginning. What a naughty boy.”

  “Bloody hell,” Mickey spluttered. “Tell Cardigan he doesn’t need to hurt me. I’ll drop the money round later. Just let me get the dosh, and I’ll meet him wherever he wants.”

  “It’s too late for that. Cardigan thought you might’ve had a change of heart before he called on us, but seeing as though you’re only shitting your pants about the money now, I reckon he’d be angrier still if we didn’t carry out his request. How stupid can you get? You know Cardigan isn’t someone you can piss about with.”

  Appealing to Greg’s quieter nature, Mickey pleaded, “Come on, fair’s fair. I’m telling you, I’ll go and pay up straight away. You two can come with me, if you like.”

  “Fair’s fair? Shut your fucking face,” George snarled.

  Greg stepped forward, as per plan, and grabbed Mickey around the throat, pinning him against his garage door, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground.

  “Comfortable, are we?” George asked. “Then let us begin.”

  Mallet in his fist, he swung it to the side, round and round, the weapon coming close to Mickey’s face each time it arced past.

  Greg stared at Mickey’s feet and let out a loud laugh. A puddle formed on the concrete. “He’s a lightweight, George. He’s only gone and pissed himself.” He kept a firm grip around Mickey’s neck.

  Mickey’s face puffed up, his skin plum-coloured.

  “You fucking baby. We aren’t cleaning up your mess. We’re here to make sure we make some more,” George said, still swinging the mallet. “Seeing that you’re suitably upset, I won’t dilly-dally about any longer. You’re nothing but a poxy shitbag who belongs in a nipper’s nappy.”

  Mickey held his breath and shut his eyes—eyes that looked no more than slits. The mallet came down in one final swoop, connecting with Mickey’s shin. A sickening thud sounded, and Mickey’s trouser leg, along with his skin, ripped open from a broken bone, numerous shards of marrow dotted about on the flesh.

  Mickey screamed. With a nod from George, Greg let him fall in a heap on the cement, slumped against his garage door.

  “You’ve got twenty-four hours from the moment of impact to return Cardigan’s money. Let’s go, George.” Greg was anxious to get away before his brother did any more damage.

  George was having none of it. “Rook, there’s another matter that needs seeing to, and this time you’ve pissed me off. I warned you that I’d have you when you wanted Shirley Richmond cut, and you must’ve thought getting your jaw smashed in was punishment enough. It would have been, but I reckon you got her sorted by some other source, and you can tell them we’ll find out who they are an’ all. But first, I’ll deal with the one who wanted it done, you, and then you can show them what they’ve got to come.” Giving Mickey a snide look, as he’d dared to open his eyes now, George went down on his haunches in front of him and reached into his boot. “Like the thought of people having a smile for the rest of their lives, do you? Like the thought of hurting women? Well, let’s see how it feels, shall we, to have done to you what you ordered for poor Shirley.”

  “I didn’t do it. Someone took it out of my hands, said he wanted to be one of the big boys and fancied his chances because she’d trust him.”

  “And you did nothing to stop him. That makes you just as bad as him in my book. Doesn’t this knife gleam? Lovely, isn’t it? Cuts through steak like you wouldn’t believe. Should make short work of your face, which is a shame, because I really wanted to draw it out, but you know you don’t get a nice clean line when you take your time about it. Once your stitches come out, we want my handywork to look like an extension of your lips, don’t we.”

  “P-P-please! Don’t—”

  “Shut it. Now, open your mouth.”

  Greg stood by, slightly sickened; his brother was going too far. Mickey was going to be sick, and by the state of his face, tears streaming down his cheeks, mucous hanging from his nose, and spittle dribbling down his chin, Rook was frightened out of his wits.

  But open his mouth he did.

  George laughed. “Shut your gob over the blade. Close your eyes or keep them open, it makes no odds to me—just sit nice and still.”

  “Like he’s going anywhere, George. Give it a rest, will you?” Greg was well aware that when his brother got himself worked up, there was no turning him back to the land of normality and sanity.

  George took a deep breath. “Ready…steady…go!”

  The knife cut Mickey’s face open from ear to ear, the lower half flopping forward over his chin, his bottom teeth bare. Blood dripped from the shorn skin onto his top.

  George smiled. “Like I said, cuts like you wouldn’t believe. And a nice straight line, too. Just what the doctor ordered. Talking of quacks, you ought to get yourself to see one pretty sharpish. You’ve got some nasty injuries there.” He turned to go.

  Greg’s stomach churned. Unnecessary violence wasn’t his thing.

  The Brothers made their way towards their van.

  Getting in, George said, “Fucking hell, I’ve got blood on my suit. Good job I’ve got my other one back from the cleaners.”

  “Let’s get out of here. You’re stark raving bonkers. I want nothing to do with that face malarkey. A broken jaw was enough for me.”

  “Shut up. I’ll treat you to something to eat. Might settle your stomach a bit.” George started the engine, pulled the van out of the alley, and drove over to Mickey’s crumpled form. He reversed so the vehicle was alongside their victim and wound down the window.

  Mickey looked up in torm
ent. “No more. Please…” It sounded garbled on account of his wound.

  “I forgot. The doctor’s surgery closes at half four, so you’d best be getting down there quick.” Roaring off at high speed towards Cardigan’s office, George let out a hoot of deranged laughter.

  Greg didn’t join him. “You’re a sarcastic bastard.”

  George looked over and smiled his cheeky grin. “I know. It’s good, isn’t it?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cardigan slid an envelope across his highly polished desk, caught by the swift action of George Wilkes.

  “Good lads. I’ll contact you shortly when I need you again. Got any other jobs on that I might interrupt?” Cardigan asked.

  George shook his head. “Nothing we can’t put off for you. By the way, I did a little business myself with Rook. He’ll be smiling for the rest of his natural, if you know what I mean. I’ll take the rap for that, if it doesn’t sit well with you.”

  “You took your time, didn’t you? I’d have thought you’d have got him back properly for that Shirley lark ages ago. Good on you. Thinking about it, I should have done it myself, seeing as she’s one of my girls. D’you want me to take the rap or d’you want that one for yourself?”

  “Whatever suits you.”

  Opening his desk drawer with a small key, Cardigan brought out a cash box. He took out a wad of notes and split it in half. “Will two thousand each do you? I’ll fork out for the extras. Don’t want people thinking I don’t pay my way.”

  George stepped forward to claim his pay, but Greg didn’t.

  “My money not good enough for you all of a sudden, Greg?” Cardigan peered at him through slitted eyes, testing the big bloke’s character, wondering if he’d break under scrutiny.

  “Your money’s good, Cardigan, but the extra job was George’s work. I just stood and watched. I don’t want you paying me for something I didn’t do.”