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

by Robert Enright

  Lucas hit the mat hard, blood and rainwater spraying off him on impact.

  Tommy stood on the spot, loosening his arms as he bounced on the spot, his enjoyment evident. He hadn't even broken a sweat and he watched gleefully as Lucas slowly pushed himself up again, his refusal to die admirable.

  The broken widower weakly clambered to all fours, his arms shaking under the weight of his own body. Tommy stamped a hard boot down onto his spine, pinning him to the mat. A few more crunching stomps hammered Lucas's back, each one driving the air and will to fight from him.

  Soon he would be with Helen.

  Soon.

  Tommy reached down with powerful arms, wrenching Lucas up by the scruff of his leather jacket. Tommy shoved him backwards, his legs like jelly as he collided with the padded beam between two panels. He stayed standing and tried to raise his fists, but the agony of his crushed ribs and the burning pain of his stab wound meant that he could barely muster anything.

  Tommy responded with a jaw shaking uppercut that sent Lucas tumbling backwards and he watched with pride as the man responsible for killing his sister turned in the air and landed hard on his chest in the centre of the cage.

  Lucas was finished.

  As the mammoth man paced around his prone body, Lucas felt himself beginning to shut down. The pain was subsiding in his abdomen, the loss of blood beginning to create an almost soothing calm.

  He closed his eyes, saying a silent goodbye to the world.

  Tommy checked his knuckles, they were split from the impact of the punch and he carelessly shook the blood off of them.

  “You know, you make a lot less noise when I punch you in the face than your wife did.”

  Lucas's eyes shot open.

  Lying directly in front of him, Helen's face was turned up to meet his with burning blue eyes. Tommy's words resonated with both of them.

  She stared at Lucas with a determination pouring from her pupilless eyes.

  “Get up.”

  Her words echoed louder than before and Lucas remembered why he’d done what he had, why he’d come back to London.

  To kill those responsible for the death of his wife.

  He blinked and Helen was gone.

  All he could hear was the pacing footsteps of the man who’d killed his wife and had beaten him to the verge of death.

  Tommy was waiting for him.

  With gritted teeth, Lucas pressed both hands down against the mat and pushed, his back rising upwards until his knees slid forward. Then, despite the pain that was squeezing his insides, he rose to his feet, his legs feeling firmer as he stood before Tommy.

  The Drayton looked impressed. Lucas's eyes conveyed only hatred. Tommy met the stare, the two men reaching an understanding that this was it.

  Tommy stepped forward and swung a right, but Lucas threw up an arm and blocked it immediately, then sent Tommy a few steps back with a hard right hook to the nose. His eyes watered and he felt its sting but he shook it off, throwing another punch, this time with his left hand.

  Lucas dodged it, took a step to the side and cracked Tommy in the side of the jaw with a brutal straight right. He stumbled to the side, trying to swing a firm kick towards Lucas, who grabbed his leg, pulled him inwards and shattered Tommy's nose with a ferocious head butt.

  Tommy hit the mat, blood pouring down his shocked face. Lucas wobbled on the spot, his wounds trying their best to overcome him as he raised his fists again.

  Tommy needed no further invitation.

  He pushed forward, throwing a few hard rights that collided with Lucas's broken body, before he swung one towards Lucas's jaw. Lucas dodged, grabbing the arm at the wrist, before ploughing an elbow back along the arm into Tommy's jaw. The blow rocked Tommy, before Lucas held his grip on the wrist firmly and twisted it, so Tommy's arm straightened out.

  He then thrust his elbow down on Tommy's forearm with the remaining strength he had.

  Tommy's radius shattered, the forearm bending backwards as Lucas clutched his wrist firmly. Tommy roared in agony, before pushing Lucas away with his left hand. He took a few steps in retreat, his right arm hanging loosely, the wrist pointing in the wrong direction as the bone swung from its clean snap.

  As Lucas took another step towards him, Tommy loosely swung his left, but Lucas grabbed it, stretched it, then ducked down and rammed his shoulder upwards into the bone.

  It snapped as brutally as the other had.

  Lucas relinquished his hold and Tommy stumbled backwards, his forearms shattered. His bloody face stared at them, the shock and the pain taking him out of the cage as he stood blankly, staring downwards. He was launched backwards by a firm teep kick that Lucas somehow mustered the energy for.

  Tommy collided with the cage and Lucas, with his last burst of strength stepped forward quickly, pulled the knife that protruded from the pad and then lunged at Tommy.

  He pinned him against the fence and their eyes met as the knife plunged through Tommy's skin and deep into his stomach.

  Tommy's eyes widened, the bloody faces of the two men mere inches apart. Lucas stared at Tommy with disgust, pushing his entire weight into both hands that held the knife inside him.

  Tommy choked a little and coughed, blood pouring from his mouth.

  He began to shake, the knife ripping into his internal organs and slowly shutting him down. Lucas's arm shook with the pressure and he imagined Helen lying on the floor, beaten and attacked by Curtis and watching helplessly as Tommy approached with the very knife he now held.

  He relinquished one of his hands from the blade handle and willed it into his pocket. He clenched his fingers around the wedding ring, his symbol of Helen, and squeezed it tightly.

  He then pulled the knife across, the blade ripping open Tommy's stomach, before stepping away.

  He didn't look back as Tommy dropped to his knees, a waterfall of blood pouring from his abdomen followed by his shredded insides.

  He collapsed forward.

  Lucas dragged his feet forward, the willingness to see this through to the end pushing him towards the door of the cage. He grasped the metal and lowered himself gently, the pain reminding him that his time was approaching fast.

  He reached a tired, weak arm towards the mat and clasped his fingers around the handle of Tommy's handgun.

  With the firearm hanging loosely from his grasp, Lucas pushed open the cage door and slowly descended to the gym floor.

  He followed his own trail of blood back towards the wooden steps, as Tommy's corpse began to engulf the cage in a sea of his blood.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Curtis took the most expensive bottle of scotch from his cabinet and strode merrily across his large, well decorated office to his desk. He spun the bottle in his hand and was a step away from whistling. The glass was set down and he watched as the golden liquid flowed neatly from the neck of the bottle.

  It tasted just as warm as it looked.

  He exhaled his relief.

  His fingers danced along the top of his desk to a small, well carved oak box with a smooth velvet lining. Housed within were his finest cigars, which, when lit, tasted almost as delightful as his scotch.

  Curtis poured another glass and then walked around the desk, followed by a cloud of thick, grey smoke. He dropped into the leather chair and leant back, the padded cushions providing the comfort that he felt was well earned.

  Sitting there, enjoying the luxuries the life he’d built had bestowed upon him, he knew Lucas Cole was likely dead. Tommy wouldn't take any chances with him, more than likely opening him up a few more times with the knife before removing the body from the premises.

  The world was almost back to how it should be. He would need to adjust, four of his family members were brutally slain and at some point he would have to accept that it was his actions that had drawn Lucas towards them. But they’d known the consequences of his requests, knowing full well that he didn't set them up with the businesses they ran for everything to be above board.

/>   In fact, he needed another release.

  Having Tommy capture a woman for him, to see that fear in her eyes as he walked towards her while she was bound and exposed would top the evening off completely.

  He took a sip of his drink, contemplating whether Tommy would cater to such a request.

  A few puffs of the cigar sent a thicker, darker cloud up to the spotless fan hanging down from the painted ceiling.

  Curtis stared at the knife on his desk, placed neatly on its stand, the very knife which had ended his father's life and had set him on his pathway to domination. He decided that another stand would be acquired to proudly display the knife which had defeated Lucas Cole.

  He reached into his blazer and removed the Beretta, the nozzle still warm from the bullet that had ended Starling's life.

  Curtis felt nothing, pleased to remove the man of the law from his life as quickly as he’d entered. His sister deserved better than a fucking policeman. She deserved better than to be hung from the window for the world to see.

  Curtis had ensured that both of those problems had been eradicated.

  He took a final sip of his scotch and then checked his watch. It angered him when Tommy decided to take his time with things, his usual efficiency sometimes swept aside for his more sadistic urges.

  He sighed.

  He wanted to discuss the way forward, maybe ask Mark and Banner to run the golfing range and The Hive while they recruited a few more men to the cause. He wanted to discuss it now.

  With one hand, Curtis carefully poured himself another glass of the golden, luxury beverage, whilst the other thumbed through the screen on his phone. He shut off the Phone Finder app as it had served its purpose wonderfully.

  He called Mark.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Give Tommy a shout will you. Tell him to stop touching Lucas up, kill the prick and get his arse up here.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Curtis dropped his phone on the desk and smirked at the obedience he demanded from men like Mark. He toasted himself, for ending Lucas Cole and for the beginning of his re-structure.

  A few moments later he stood to attention, with a panic shaking his body and an expression of fear gripping his face.

  The commotion he heard, the crashing of bodies against tables, the yelling that followed and the gun shots told him two things:

  Tommy was dead.

  Lucas was alive.

  Curtis looked around his office, trapped by the only escape route leading straight down to the warzone. He wished Tommy was there, he would always handle a situation that could potentially get out of hand.

  He was dead. Curtis knew it.

  With his hand shaking, Curtis picked up his gun and tried to decide where in his office he could possibly hide.

  Mark had hung up his phone after Curtis's request and had slapped his cards down on the table. Banner held his close to him so Mark couldn't catch a glimpse of them and then reached over his shotgun to tap his cigarette in the increasingly full ashtray.

  Mark shot a glance at the body of Starling lying in the middle of the shop, aware that he would be requested to mop up the glinting pool of blood around it. He didn't mind, he knew he’d be made once he’d helped Curtis through this evening.

  He’d be one of the few men left standing, one of the people who’d helped Curtis avenge his family's deaths.

  Curtis would never forget that. Mark would never let him.

  Starling shuddered slightly, a faint gasp resonating from his motionless body as he clung to the last few strands of rope.

  Mark smirked, he hated the police and it gave him pleasure to watch this young pig die.

  He reached for the door and as he pulled it slightly, it suddenly swung at full speed, cracking him square on the eyebrow. He stumbled back, his face colliding with the side of the raised bench as Lucas kicked the door open.

  As Mark fell to the ground, Lucas stumbled through, his body trying its best to function and keep him standing. The cigarette dropped from Banner's mouth in shock and moments later, he reached for the shotgun by his side.

  Lucas had somehow mustered the energy to lift his arm, the gun hanging lazily in his palm. He gripped it and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet flew through the side of Banner's skull, ripping out through the cheek on the other side of his head. The flesh tore open as the metallic ball burst through, followed by an explosion of blood and teeth which rattled against the table and scattered across the floor like a box of tic-tac’s.

  Banner slumped from his chair and was dead before he hit the ground. The shotgun clattered to the floor beside him.

  Lucas took a few stunted, shuffled steps forward but was then falling as Mark tackled him. He wrapped his arms around Lucas's knees, dropping him to the ground and then climbing on top of him. His eyebrow was gushing blood, the misshapen cheekbone giving the indication that it had cracked against the desk. With a chance to become the man to kill Lucas Cole, Mark batted away Lucas's feeble attempts at defence and clamped both hands around his thickly muscled neck.

  He began to crush his fingers inwards, pushing down on Lucas's windpipe. Lucas stared up at him, his bloody wreck of a face gasping for air as his weak, lifeless arms tried to fend Mark off.

  He just didn't have the strength. He had come this far, but this was it. His fingers pressed against the thick, short metal barrels of the shotgun.

  The room was blurring.

  Oxygen couldn't get through.

  The blood loss was increasing.

  Mark pushed down with his full weight, his eyes wide and wild.

  “Just die”

  Lucas pulled up the shotgun and with his last remaining effort, pulled back the trigger.

  The noise shook the entire betting shop, the buck of the shotgun pushing it back into his already shattered ribs. The spray of bullets connected just above Mark's top lip, eradicating the upper part of his skull. Similar to blowing dust off the top of an old book, it simply sprayed the entirety of his face into the air. His eyes, nose, head, all reduced to nothing but blood and pieces of flesh. Brain fragments rained back down from the ceiling which now sported a fresh coat of red.

  The remainder of Mark fell forward on top of Lucas, the body twitching as the nervous system shut itself down. Lucas managed to push him to the side, a thick, current flow of blood pouring from the space where Mark's face had used to be. The once immaculate floor of the betting shop was now a slippery pool of death.

  Lucas took a few moments to force air back into his lungs, refuting the idea of allowing Helen to take him with her and leave the world behind.

  There was still Curtis.

  With a groan of sheer agony, he pushed himself forward, sitting up and looking at the two dead bodies that had been added to his rampage. Both of them lay motionless, blood pouring out from two very different gunshot wounds.

  Lucas felt nothing for them.

  Across the floor, he saw the statuesque body of Starling, lying in his own blood, his chest expanding and relaxing with a fatal irregularity. He hauled himself forward, his hand still clasped around the snub-nosed shotgun and he crawled across the floor, his hands dipping in and out of the blood of men he’d killed as he scrambled forward.

  A gut wrenching gurgling sound hummed from Starling as he drowned slowly, his lungs almost full of his own blood. He couldn't feel the pain anymore.

  Lucas eventually made his way to his side, dropping back and sitting next to the young officer. Despite the deception, he knew he was looking at a man who’d tried to save his wife. Who’d done everything he could to try and keep her in this world.

  A man who hated him for killing the woman he’d loved.

  He understood, knowing what it was like to be driven mad with the rage of vengeance, wanting the violence gifted to a loved one to be returned to its vendor ten-fold.

  Starling's eyes radiated nothing but fear, a scared acknowledgement that he was about to die.r />
  Lucas reached a broken, blood-covered hand forward, expelling more of his precious energy to reach out and clasp his hand over Starling’s. The dying police officer gripped it, squeezing it as if he was clutching to the edge of a life boat.

  He choked a little, drops of blood jumping from his open mouth before falling back in and inevitably pouring through the hole in his neck.

  His pupils were dilating.

  Lucas offered him a comforting smile.

  “I'm sorry.”

  His words tumbled out and he wasn't even sure that the young man had heard them. His blonde hair was thick and matted, his own blood styling it however it saw fit.

  Outside, the rain crashed against the metal shutter that contained them.

  Starling heard the words and with his penultimate act on this earth, he squeezed Lucas's hand as a way of acceptance.

  Lucas nodded his gratitude. With his eyes locked on the last face he would see, Starling weakly lifted a quivering hand to the radio that clung to his Met vest. His fingers, stained a dark red, fumbled over the device until they’d found the red panic button.

  He clicked it.

  Bailey was standing with his hands on his hips, conveying a feeling of irritation as Officer Hatton stood before him.

  “So, nothing then?” His question was blunt and uncaring.

  “I'm afraid not, sir. Officer Chamberlain says they’ve swept his house for a second time and they’ve had round the clock patrols of the village. They’ve asked everyone on the few surrounding streets but nothing.”

  Bailey tutted and shook his head. Hatton sympathised with the pressure he was under.

  “No one has seen Lucas Cole, sir.”

  Bailey reached a powerful arm backwards, scratching the small of his back. He felt tired, the power nap he’d stolen after admonishing Fletcher had only exacerbated his need for sleep.

  “So what do we have then? He was there, but now he's not. Is he back in London?”

  Hatton diverted her delicate face towards her notepad, her brunette ponytail swinging freely.

  “Umm, we’re not sure, sir. His car has gone. Chamberlain checked the itinerary from the last sweep and it’s missing. So common sense dictates that he’s taken his car.”