One by One: A brutal, gritty revenge thriller that you won't be able to put down.

by Robert Enright

  The door flew open.

  Before anyone could react, Lewis, Harry and Matt Drayton stormed into the room. Years had passed since George had last seen his offspring and his shock at seeing his boys as young men proved fatal. The three Drayton boys held up their pistols, aiming them directly at those seated.

  “What the fuck is this?” Billy Mulgrave yelled, pushing himself up from his chair.

  A powerful hand latched onto his shoulder and, the now muscular, Tommy drove him back down into his seat with a thud. Despite the pistol aimed at him by Matt, the unwanted outcome of a loveless affair, George tried to get to his feet.

  “Tommy?”

  He extended his arms, yearning for a hug from this specimen that used to be his little boy.

  Tommy swung a hard right hook, cracking his father straight across the jaw. The oldest Drayton fell back into his chair, not even saying a word. Mulgrave went to object, however the echo of footsteps approaching the door caused all attention to refocus.

  “You little cunt,” Mulgrave's face twisted in fury.

  Curtis walked in, his suit as immaculate as always, even then. His brown hair, fuller and longer. He smiled an evil grin at the crime lord, not one ounce of fear in his body.

  “Harry.”

  Curtis motioned with his hand and his youngest brother eagerly handed him the gun, his body shaking with excitement and cocaine.

  “You think you can get away with this, you little prick!” Mulgrave tried to stand again, his attempt immediately stopped by another hard shove from Tommy standing behind the chair. Curtis smirked again, scratching his eyebrow with the nozzle of the gun.

  “This is my city now.”

  Curtis extended his arm fully, the gun lining up perfectly with the wrinkles darting across Mulgrave's head. His eyes widened in fear but before he could protest, Curtis pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot rang around the room as the bullet pierced Mulgrave's skull, blood erupting upwards like a crimson firework. The once-feared gangster fell back against the chair, slumped over and then fell to the floor, limp and motionless. Blood pooled around the table. Curtis dropped the gun on the table and then snapped his fingers.

  While Matt held the gun on Jack Grigg and 'The Hand', Lewis and Harry pulled the men's arms behind their chairs. Lewis and Harry each pulled a roll of masking tape from their jacket pockets. They wrapped it around the men's hands, excessive amounts until neither of the two could move.

  George sat motionless, watching the boys whom he had brought into this world take others from it.

  Tommy immediately walked around the desk, the three seated men frozen in fear. Lewis handed him one of the rolls of masking tape and then, from his coat pocket, he removed two plastic bags. Without a word, he wrenched the plastic bag over Jack Grigg's head, and then wrapped the masking tape around it as he struggled. He gasped and strained, air a commodity he was fast relinquishing. Before Grigg had died, Tommy had sent 'The Hand' to the same fate.

  Curtis watched emotionlessly. He glared at his father, the man who had subjected him to such relentless violence. Now he could watch.

  He could see what his handiwork had created.

  “Now then,” Curtis smiled. “I think we are long overdue a father/son chat, aren't we, George?”

  George looked his eldest son in the eye, turning away quickly when he saw nothing but hatred staring back. Strong hands wrenched his arms behind the chair, the ripping of masking tape following as Tommy secured him to his seat. Curtis's eyes didn't move.

  “For what it's worth, boys, I loved you all. Every single one of you.”

  “Well I can tell you what that's worth. Absolutely fucking nothing!”

  George looked at his son again, trying to apologise with his eyes. Curtis smiled casually.

  “The one thing you did do right was you taught me that in this world, the only way to survive is through violence.”

  “I never intended that for you or....”

  George was cut off by a humiliating slap to the face. For a moment, the rage that haunted Curtis's youth flashed in his eyes.

  “You never intended? Never intended what? Huh? To beat me till I bled every night? To scare that whore of a mother away, for her to leave us with you?” Curtis's voice broke slightly, the pain and emotion from all those years and all those fists pushing as hard as they could.

  “I'm sorry.”

  The apology was feeble.

  “So am I.”

  Curtis reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a knife. The blade shimmered in the light, the handle feeling heavier than usual in his hand.

  George took one final look around the room, at his children. He could understand why Ashley didn't want to be there for this, but the idea that all of his sons wanted a front row seat to his execution made him realise he deserved it.

  Matt looked slightly uneasy with the situation and slowly backed towards the door. A shake of the head from Tommy stopped him. Lewis watched intently, Harry snorted another fingertip of cocaine. Tommy stood, casting an imposing shadow over the father he’d hated ever since he could remember.

  Curtis leant forward, his grip tightening and, looking his father in the eye, slowly pushed the blade into his stomach.

  George's eyes widened, a moan of pain was instantly shut off by a strip of masking tape from Tommy. Curtis held his gaze and with a cruel smirk, twisted the knife.

  Blood seeped from their father’s stomach, the warm, red liquid changing the colour of his shirt quickly.

  Curtis pulled the knife out.

  Muffled groans of pain filled the room and Matt turned and stormed out. Tommy nodded at Lewis, who followed. Harry chuckled and raised his middle finger at his dying father before being ushered to the door by Tommy.

  “You coming?”

  Tommy didn't get a response. Curtis sat, staring at his father as life began to puddle out of him, mixing with the blood from Mulgrave, the hole in his head still trickling. Behind Curtis, two bodies slumped forward, faces hidden behind the bags that had killed them.

  George gasped for air, for life, his head tilting to the side as the world around him grew dark. Curtis reached out, pressing the bloody knife against his father's cheek and raising his eyes to meet his.

  “Look at you. You're pathetic.”

  They were the last words George Drayton ever heard.

  “Curtis. Are you listening to me?”

  Curtis shook himself free of the memory, the knife twisting deep into the table. Oak dusting had spread around the blade. Across the room from him sat Ashley, dressed immaculately as always with her hair brushed neatly.

  “I heard you.”

  “This guy, if it is him, they don't think he’ll stop.”

  Curtis rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, the lack of sleep catching up with him quickly.

  “I spoke with him, Ashley. He isn't going to stop. He knows what we did and he’s coming for us.”

  Ashley adjusted her blouse nervously as Curtis picked up his glass, downing the remaining scotch, letting it burn the back of his throat.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Curtis slammed the glass down.

  “Me? I'm going to find him and I'm going to make him beg me for death.”

  Ashley shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “WHAT?” Curtis repeated, his voice exploding with rage.

  Tommy looked up from the sofa on the far side of the room as Ashley cowered slightly. The tiredness hung in bags under Curtis's eyes, but the fury burst through.

  “I'm going to go.”

  Ashley quickly pushed herself up out of her chair, but before she could even drape her designer handbag over her shoulder, Curtis was up. He stormed round the desk, shaking the room. Ashley only got two steps before he angrily grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her back as hard as he could. The base of her spine clattered into the desk, shooting a pain through her that made her scream. Tommy leapt
up from the chair as Curtis wrapped his murderous hand around her throat.

  “You think I won't kill him for what he's done?”

  “Let me go!” her words choking from her throat.

  “Curtis. Let her go.” Tommy stood calmly to the side.

  “No, not until she says what she wants to say.”

  Ashley looked at Tommy, begging for help. Curtis wrenched her face back to his.

  “Don't look at him. Look at me.”

  “Curtis. Let go of her throat.”

  'You look at me Ashley with such disdain, yet I'm the one who makes damn fucking sure nothing happens to you. I put you in that fancy flat, where you fuck this new boyfriend that you are too ashamed to introduce to us. You are just as involved in this as we are, so maybe you should show me some goddamn respect or I'll feed you to the fucking wolf myself.”

  Curtis shoved her back against the desk, relinquishing his grip. Ashley hurried to Tommy, tears streaming down a face frozen in fear. Tommy wrapped an arm around her, burning a hole in his brother, who poured himself another glass of scotch.

  “I never wanted any of this to happen,” she said meekly between sobs.

  “Just get out,” Curtis said quietly, taking a sip from the fresh glass, the feeling of inebriation wrestling control from the exhaustion.

  “I'll handle this. You go.” Tommy smiled at her.

  Ashley dabbed at her eyes with her jacket sleeve and nodded. She readjusted her skirt, wincing at the pain emanating from her back. She hobbled towards the door and then stopped.

  “You're a monster, Curtis.”

  “Yeah, well just remember, Ash. You're the one who keeps feeding me.”

  Ashley shook her head in disgust as she turned and stormed out of the door. Curtis raised his eyebrows, taking another large sip. Tommy sighed, pulling up a chair.

  “Tommy, if you ever tell me what to do again...”

  'What, you’re going to put a gun to my head? Because that really worked last time didn't it.”

  Curtis smirked.

  “You got boys following her tonight?”

  “Yeah, I told you. It's sorted. Gave Shane and one of his boys a shooter each. Just in case.”

  “If they kill him, I will murder everyone they care about.”

  “Curtis, we just need him dead.”

  Curtis stared at his brother, angered by his calmness. His lack of fear.

  “I need him alive. This city needs an example of what happens when it crosses me.”

  “Then let’s find out more about him.”

  Curtis raised his eyebrows, the alcohol aiding his confusion. Tommy stood up, towering over his brother.

  “She said it was Fletcher who knew everything about him, right?”

  “That old bastard. He still alive?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “He was a pain in the arse. Like a fucking boy scout.”

  “Well, he seemed to know a hell of a lot about Lucas Cole.”

  “He won't tell us anything.”

  Tommy grinned.

  “I can always change that.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It wasn't so much as sleep, more a continuous flash of Helen's face. Her smile. Her tears.

  Her screaming for help.

  Lucas checked out of the Lindthorpe Bed and Breakfast promptly at noon. Mrs Lindthorpe tried to exchange niceties about his stay but Lucas tiredly mumbled his thanks and left, his sports bag over his shoulder.

  Last night’s clothes, soaked in blood, were in a black bag hidden beneath those he had packed. He would dump them in a bin at the first opportunity. Wearing a fresh pair of jeans, shirt and his leather jacket, he stepped out into the midday air of the city. London was alive with foot traffic as he wandered down Oxford Street. The hard-at-work were now free for their lunch break, scurrying into fast food shops without a concern for their fellow pedestrian.

  Black cabs shot through red lights, narrowly avoiding crossers whilst cyclists were doing their utmost to become even more despised.

  Lucas hadn't missed this place at all.

  After buying a coffee at a nearby Costa, Lucas found a bench on a side street and took a seat. As the world whizzed by, he thought about how his had imploded. How an act of cruelty had led him back to this moment with two deaths on his hands.

  It reminded him of pack mentality. How in a large herd, even the smallest animal could seem powerful. However, once separated, they will always show themselves to be rich in cowardice.

  The fear in both Lewis and Harry Drayton's eyes had given credence to that. They had both begged for their lives, happy to give up those they deemed 'family' in the faint hope of maintaining their meagre existence.

  That was the difference between the Draytons and Lucas.

  They would gladly sacrifice those they hold dear.

  Lucas would sacrifice it all just to see her again.

  The spring air dropped a few degrees, sending a cold chill rattling through the city. A few light drops of rain fell, one of them landing right on Lucas's skull with a cold splat. It shook him from his thoughts and there she was.

  Sitting beside him, her white robe floating as if she was sitting in a wind turbine. Her blonde hair glowed brightly, light reflecting from it. Her skin shone, her blue eyes piercing him with no pupils.

  It wasn't Helen.

  But it was.

  “You need to go home, Lucas.”

  Her voice boomed slightly, as if said softly into a microphone. Only he could hear it.

  “There is no home.”

  He grimaced, knowing he was talking to a shaded memory of his wife. He wanted to remember her, but it was never complete. Never fully her.

  He cursed himself that he couldn't make her whole. Blamed himself that he hadn’t been able to protect her.

  With one hand wrapped around the warm, cardboard coffee cup, his other slid into his pocket, the cold feel of her wedding ring greeting his fingers. Her voice echoed again.

  “Our home. Where we lived our lives.”

  He shook his head. The rain began to fall with a little more might.

  “You don't get it, do you?”

  Lucas stood up, his action mirroring the rise in his volume. A few passers-by shared concerned looks, stepping away from him as he yelled at a seemingly empty bench.

  The vision of Helen didn't move. She stared into his soul.

  “There is no home, Helen. There is no you. There is no us. There is nothing there for me anymore.”

  Lucas took a few steps to a nearby bin and disposed of the cup. He stood for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths, the calming effect of the rain etching its way into his body. She was still behind him, he could feel it.

  “I don't know what else to do, Helen.”

  “You could stop.”

  He turned, her words louder and she was now standing a few feet from him. She hung in the air, the spectre of her dancing on the wind which breezed through. The rain never touched her.

  “I can't.”

  “Everything we did, baby. Remember how far you’ve come.”

  “That was you.” Lucas shook his head in defeat.

  “That was us.”

  “There is no us anymore. Not in this world.”

  The vision of Helen flickered slightly, as if she was appearing on a broken TV screen.

  Lucas slowly lifted his face to the rain. He felt the small, delicate pelts of water and let its refreshing calm wash over his body again. There was so much he had to do before eight o'clock. He had to find another place to stay for the night. He had to buy some new clothes, some industrial strength cable wire and some alcohol.

  He opened his eyes, lovingly staring at the fading memory.

  “They took you from me, Helen. They snatched you from this world and it meant nothing to them. I know I can't bring you back.”

  Lucas took a few steps to the bench and reached down for his bag. He brought it up over his wet hair, letting the strap drop over his muscular should
er. He looked into the sharp, blue eyes once more, they swirled like whirlpools.

  “But I can't just let that go.”

  Helen evaporated into the rain as Lucas turned and headed back to the high street, his feet splashing in puddles on the pavements of London.

  Ashley had left the family betting shop as soon as she could and stepped out into a not unexpected downpour, aggravated that it would ruin her hair. She scurried quickly to the underground station a few streets away, juggling the notion of calling her boyfriend if only for the comfort of his voice.

  No, it was too soon to let him into the crazy that was her family. He would never understand.

  It was a little before three so the train itself wasn't packed, yet she still felt claustrophobic. The guilt of feeding that woman, like so many others, to her brother began to shackle her like a straitjacket. How could she have been so cold?

  That poor woman, only a few years older than she was, ripped from what had been described as an ideal life with a husband who very evidently loved her. All because Ashley felt obliged. Because Curtis had this terrifying need to feel powerful. She didn't even realise she was crying until a fellow passenger, a scruffy looking old lady handed her a tissues.

  She smiled a thank you as she dabbed mascara from her cheeks.

  By the time she had arrived at Canada Water train station she had decided to block it from her mind. Yes, what she’d done was wrong, however it was a necessary act to survive within the Drayton family. All the other brothers had fallen in line and she was just following suit.

  But it was the last time. She was certain of that.

  It was time to focus on her job, focus on her blossoming romance and to focus on building a life that wasn't tainted by her name.

  Lucas Cole wouldn't reach her, Curtis would never allow it. Despite his horrifying nature, he ensured his family was protected, her more than most.

  She exited the station, turning left towards the Hamden Trading Company, a large ten-storey building on the outskirts of the trading epicentre that was Canary Wharf. Surrounded by student accommodation, the building was slightly out of place but Ashley enjoyed being away from the plethora of slick guys with too much money and not enough manners.