by Tillie Cole
I pushed through the door and walked to my father’s room. I stopped in the entrance. Grandma was standing in the way, watching the doctor try to save my old man. “They have to die,” she said casually, like she was talking about the weather. I heard the sound of a metal hitting metal as the doctor pulled a bullet from my old man and placed it in a metal bowl.
Grandma turned to me and, despite the blood covering me, straightened the collar on my jacket and tightened my tie. “The leadership of this firm has now fallen to you, son.” She placed her hand on my cheeks. “You must avenge your father and uncles.” I felt the righteousness of those words hit me with total agreement. “We can’t be seen as weak.” Grandma pushed back some of my hair that was soaked with blood. She’d had blood on her hands for years. It didn’t bother her one bit. “The knowledge that the elders of the Adley firm have been killed will already be circulating. That means the wolves will soon be at the door.”
“I’ll fucking destroy them,” I snarled, earning a small, proud smile from my grandma. “No one is taking us out. They will fucking die by my hands if they even dare try.”
“They will try, Arthur. I’m afraid we are about to turn onto a rocky path. The biggest, most powerful firm in all of London has just been torn down—”
“No, it hasn’t,” I interrupted, conviction in my voice. “They have no idea what the fuck they’ve just started. They’ve opened the gates of hell, and the fucking devil and his demons are now leading the charge.”
“Artie?” Charlie called from down the hallway. “The soldiers are here. We’re ready.” Grandma kissed my forehead, and when she pulled away there was blood staining her cheek. She went back to silently watching my father. I walked down the hall. My family—both men and women—were waiting. I clicked my fingers, and we all left the house, blood and flesh still sticking to our skin and clothes.
We were about to add some more.
As our convoy of cars and vans pulled out of the church and toward the docks and the building that held the Russians, I felt the urge to kill take me over, possess me.
And I let it fucking consume me.
When the vehicles stopped, my brothers and sisters looked to me. We were all in the van that still had the blood of our fathers on the wooden floor. I only had one order for them: “Don’t leave any of these cunts alive.” I jumped out of the van and saw the Adley soldiers ready and waiting, dressed in suits, all holding semi-automatics and knives.
When I reached the first building that I knew the fucking rats hid out in, I kicked the door open and started fucking firing. The next thirty minutes were a hazy vortex of blood and flesh and bones. Of screams, of killing, of people begging for their lives. No mercy was given. Not to a single one. Their pleas for their lives bounced off my Teflon skin.
Breathless and tasting the blood of my enemies coating my teeth, I walked outside the Russian buildings. The sun was starting to rise over the Big Smoke. I pulled out a cig and sparked up the bloodstained stick. I took in a long drag and turned to the soldiers and my family, who were exhausted but buzzing like electrical wires from their kills. I looked at my sisters; their first kills had given meaning to their usually boring lives. No more shelter for them. They were in this shit now too.
“This isn’t over. This is far from fucking over.” I paced in front of them. “They’ll be coming for our docks. They’ll be coming for our routes. They’ll be coming for our territory.” I stopped and pointed at each member of my family. “They’ll be coming for our throats.” I smiled coldly, knowing that Russian blood stained my teeth, and shouted, “LET THEM FUCKING COME!” I closed my eyes and took in another drag, then with a fucking grin on my face said, “Let them try and take us Adleys down. We’ll see who dies first.”
Police sirens wailed in the background. “Go,” I said and walked to the van. My family followed me inside. We were silent all the way back, the stench of gunpowder and wet blood clogging the air.
When we stopped outside the church, I walked inside and went straight to my father’s room. I stopped dead when I entered. He was lying in his bed, tubes and wires sticking out of him, machines creating a fucked-up halo around his head. He was covered by a white sheet. He already looked dead.
“Coma,” my grandma said from behind me. I stared at my dad’s sleeping face. He was grey and already had one foot in the grave. Grandma stood beside Dad and brushed his hair back from his face like my mum used to do to me. “The doctor doesn’t think he’ll ever come out of it. He saved him. But he has no life left in his brain. His body may be alive, but his soul is already below ground.”
I let those words wash over me, but I didn’t let them strike me. I didn’t let them cause me any fucking pain. Nothing would ever cause me fucking pain again. I wouldn’t let it.
“Is it done?” Grandma asked. I nodded. She ran a cold flannel over Dad’s forehead. “That was one battle in what will be a heavily fought war, Artie,” she said, and I knew it to be true. All of London and beyond would be trying to take my father’s place in the crime underworld now.
I wasn’t going to let that happen. There was a new fucking king in the castle.
I went into the shower, ignoring the blood washing from my skin. When I got out, my fucking skin was itching, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I threw on some clothes and grabbed my phone and wallet. As I passed by the living room, I saw my brothers and sisters inside.
“Where are you going?” Eric asked.
“Out,” I said. Their eyes latched on to me.
Just as I was about to go, Charlie said, “She won’t understand what’s going to happen.” I stopped dead. My muscles tensed, and my anger built so high I thought it would incinerate me on the spot. I turned to my cousin. He was smoking his pipe, but his eyes were glued on me.
“She isn’t from this world. The things that will have to be done to keep our firm from being discarded … she won’t get it, Artie.” I thought of green-brown eyes and brown hair and the pussy I’d been fucking and licking for five bloody years. The fucking addictive cunt that always drew me back to her, time and time again.
“I’m leaving,” I said, my deadly gaze telling Charlie to shut the fuck up. She was my fucking heroin. I wasn’t giving her up.
“She’ll get hurt,” Charlie said, and this time I rounded on him. Charlie didn’t flinch as I met him toe to toe, ready to rip his fucking head off if he spoke one more time. I felt my brothers and sisters watching us, but Charlie kept his voice low enough so only I would hear his next words.
“I know you like her, Artie. Really fucking like her. We all know this is more than a fuck, despite how you make it seem. We’re not stupid.” His hand landed on my shoulder. “But you’re the Adley boss now. No longer the heir. With that comes a lot more responsibility. With that comes a new target on your head.” Charlie stepped back and lifted his whisky into the air. “The king is dead; long live the king.”
Despite wanting to rip out his fucking tongue, I knew my cousin wasn’t being a prick. I saw the fucking pain in his eyes as he spoke. My father wasn’t dead, but even if he ever woke up, he wouldn’t be in any state to lead this firm.
It was up to me now.
It was all up to bastard me.
My brothers and sisters held their drinks up in the air, all echoing, “Long live the king,” and took long sips. Vera smiled at me sadly. I had to leave. I couldn’t fucking be here right now, with my uncles’ ghosts freshly in the walls and my father a vegetable in his bed.
“I’ve got something to do.” I swiped an unopened bottle of whisky off the bar as I left. I got into the back of the car and got confirmation that my men had cleaned up both death sites and the pigs had nothing on us. Then I sat back and closed my eyes, drinking the whisky as I was driven to the one place I couldn’t ever fucking keep away from. Hadn’t done for five fucking years.
Oxford.
Her.
The one that kept me coming back for more.
Chapter Five
CHESKA
I opened the blinds and let the morning sun flood my flat. The minute the sun cut through the glass, I saw it glisten off the large diamond … the diamond that now sat on the ring finger of my left hand.
My stomach fell just thinking of two nights ago. Hugo down on his knee in the orangery in my father’s Chelsea home. My friends and his friends gathered around us, wide smiles and champagne flutes full. The celebrations, the hugs and kisses of congratulation. And the one face that entered my head the minute “Yes” slipped from my lips.
Blue eyes behind thick-framed glasses. The face that would never be mine.
My chest tightened as I thought about being Hugo’s wife. About being tied into this life forever. About giving up what I truly loved—no, not what. Who.
I sat on the end of my bed and glanced at the clock. I had to get ready for uni. I was now studying for my master’s in Business Studies at Oxford. Oxford was my treasured place of solitude away from my father and Hugo. From the life that was slowly suffocating me day by day. I’d decided on my master’s so I could stay here a little longer, avoiding the life that awaited me.
And mostly because Oxford was where we met in secret, away from prying eyes. Where, for a few hours every week, I had him in my arms and in my bed. Where I could pretend that he was mine. Where we could pretend that our vastly different worlds didn’t keep us apart.
This ring changed everything.
I had to tell Arthur. I didn’t know how I would do it. I didn’t know how I could say goodbye to him for good. I was pretty sure it would break me.
I made myself get up and shower. I had just slipped on my jeans and jumper when the doorbell rang. Frowning, wondering who would call at such an early hour, I looked at the camera, and my heart stuttered.
Arthur was leaning against the wall. He was wearing a cream Aran jumper and black trousers and was clutching an almost empty bottle of whisky. I buzzed him up, opening the door and standing on the landing to wait for him. I heard his slow, heavy footsteps on the marble steps that led to my top-floor apartment. He never took the lift, always walked up the five flights of stairs.
The minute I saw his dark hair, my chest tightened. He was as beautiful as ever. A lethal, dangerous kind of beauty that stole every ounce of my sanity whenever I looked at him.
But that wave of desire quickly dampened to one of worry when he looked up and I saw complete devastation in his sapphire gaze.
“Arthur,” I said, just as he swayed on the top stair and took another gulp of his whisky. He quickly righted himself, then walked toward me, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He placed one in his mouth, then, stepping closer to me, pushed me back into my flat.
He slammed the door shut behind us and backed me against the wall. He took another cigarette from his packet and placed it between my lips. Lifting his lighter in the small space between us, he drew a flame and lit both our cigarettes. Arthur took a deep drag; I did the same. I blew out the smoke, then ran my hand down his jumper. He never dressed like this, this casual. He always wore suits with waistcoats and handkerchiefs. Pocket watches and expensive shoes.
When I looked up into his eyes, searching their depths, I saw they were red raw, and deep dark circles lay beneath. “Arthur, what’s wrong?” I asked. His nostrils flared. I could smell the whisky on his breath and his usual cologne on his clothes. It was the only thing that brought me any comfort at this point.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“Arthur—” My sentence was cut off when Arthur smashed his lips to mine. I moaned as his hand slipped into my hair and he pressed me even further against the wall. I could barely breathe; his entire body weight kept me pinned and unmoving.
My cigarette fell to the floor, and I could smell the tobacco burning on the wooden floorboards. Arthur must have dropped his too, as his other hand took hold of my jaw and he kept me exactly where he wanted me. He kissed me. He devoured my mouth, leaving me a weak, shaking mess against him.
Spinning me around, he slammed me to the bed. I inhaled deeply, trying to catch my breath. Arthur was glaring down at me, stubble coating his cheeks. The pupils of his eyes had almost eradicated the blue. I saw the deadly promise in his gaze. The promise that he was about to ruin me again. He did so every time, but every so often things were even more intense. More aggressive. More suited to what he did for a living.
I knew it as Arthur’s devil side. The side with little to no morals, a heady amount of darkness in his soul, and absolutely zero control when it came to taking what he wanted—right now, that was me.
He stumbled off the bed to close the blinds. To keep what we did in here to ourselves. Enough light slipped through the thin material of the blinds that I could see every movement of that body I knew so well.
Arthur threw off his jumper and trousers and climbed back on the bed. His cock was already in his hand, and he was stroking the hard length—he hadn’t been wearing underwear. I lay back, and Arthur crawled over me. My heart leapt to my throat when he lifted his hand to my face and softly ran his fingers down my cheek. A lump formed in my throat as I looked into his eyes and could have sworn I saw them shimmer.
Arthur didn’t do tender. He didn’t do soft and loving. I was utterly in love with him and had been for many years. I had no idea if he felt the same. He never gave anything away. Had never once let himself slip up in my presence, no matter how many times we’d been together.
But there was something different about him today. My body was steeped in dread. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “Arthur,” I whispered, capturing his hand and bringing it to my lips. I kissed his palm and heard his quick, stuttered exhale.
But Arthur ripped his hand back and lifted the hem of my jumper. He yanked it over my head, then pulled down my jeans and threw them across the floor. My bra and knickers went next. I lay naked on my bed, Arthur stroking his cock faster and faster, his desperation evidenced by the clenching of his jaw.
“Suck it,” he said, his thick East End accent causing my body to respond as always. I crawled to my knees and swirled my tongue around his slit. Arthur tensed as my mouth lapped at his flesh. I glanced up and saw his eyes glued on me as I wrapped my lips around his tip, then took him into my mouth. Arthur’s head snapped back and his hand threaded into my hair. He pulled tightly on the strands, and my body thrived on the pain as it always did with him.
He gave me something I had never known I needed. I seemed to give him something too. Arthur guided my head up and down, and I took him as far down my throat as I could. I cupped his balls in my hands; he grunted and thrust harder into my mouth. By now I knew what he liked. And he knew exactly how to get me off.
We were a fucked-up dance of needs and pain and wants. And only we two knew the choreography.
Arthur pulled my head from his dick and threw me onto my back. I hit the mattress with a thud, and he threw my legs over his broad shoulders. I frowned as I saw a bandage on the back of his arm. I didn’t have time to think on it too long—Arthur swiped his tongue along my pussy, making my back arch off the bed and taking all thoughts from my mind.
He sucked on my clit until I saw stars. He worked me hard and fast, giving me no reprieve as he made me come. I screamed out in ecstasy, and before I even had a chance to come down from my high, he had flipped me over to my knees and held my hands on the bedframe.
As I was still feeling the throbbing of my orgasm, Arthur slammed inside me. He pounded into me harder and faster than ever before. I gasped at the aggression, at the maddening pace and the feel of him coming loose inside me. It was like he was fucking the demons out of his soul. But then his head fell to my shoulder and he laid a soft kiss there. Goosebumps broke out on my skin. The kiss was such a contrast to the violent thrust of his hips. Then his fingers squeezed mine. I couldn’t look away from our joined hands as he weaved his fingers through mine on the headboard.
He was holding my hands.
He was fucking me like a whore but cherish
ing me with his mouth and gentle touch. I didn’t know why, but tears built in my eyes. Arthur never held my hands. He was rarely affectionate. I had always accepted it as just who he was. But I had dreamed of the moment he would show me he cared. That I was more to him than just some posh bird he got his kicks out of by fucking once a week.
I couldn’t fight back the orgasm building inside me. I wanted to savour this moment, bask in it some more. I didn’t want this to end. Because this had to end. I was getting married. This, right now, was it.
Arthur kissed up my neck as he thrust inside me. I didn’t know where he began and I ended as I trembled, crying out his name. Then Arthur stilled and I felt his heat flood inside me. My arms and legs were numb in the aftermath, and I could barely breathe.
Arthur rested his forehead on my shoulder again. Only this time, I felt him shaking. At first I thought it was due to exertion, but then I felt the tears trickle down my back. My heart dropped.
He was crying.
I guided our still-joined hands off the headboard and turned my head. Arthur drew his head back, and I saw the track marks of tears on his cheeks. “Arthur,” I whispered, hearing my own voice quiver in empathy.
I lowered myself to the bed, bringing Arthur down with me. He let me guide him against me to rest in my arms. A burst of heat washed through me as he laid his head on my stomach. He had never let me hold him like this before. Never let me cherish him and care for him. And he had never done the same to me.
“It’s okay,” I soothed, feeling Arthur’s shoulders shake and his unrelenting tears pool on my stomach. He held me so tightly, as if I might disappear if he didn’t keep such fierce hold. A lump formed in my throat, and I knew that I didn’t want to hear what had happened to him. Because whatever it was had crippled him. Arthur, who had always been the most unbreakable, formidable man I had ever met, had been destroyed. I ran my hands through his hair, trying to make him feel safe, feel wanted, feel loved.