by Tillie Cole
I wasn’t sure how long we lay like that. But Arthur’s shaking shoulders calmed, and his tears on my stomach all but dried. He was awake. I knew this because he was drawing lazy, hypnotic circles on my stomach. And he hadn’t pulled away. That affected me more than I was willing to admit.
“They’ve gone,” he finally rasped out, his tired voice sounding like broken glass in the silent room. I tensed. “Dad’s in a coma, but they don’t think he’ll ever wake up.”
My eyes widened in the darkness, then I inhaled slowly, trying to organise my scattered thoughts. “Who has gone, baby?” I asked tentatively, keeping my voice soft and quiet. I had never called Arthur “baby” before. But I couldn’t help it as I held him so protectively in my arms.
“All of them,” he said, his finger moving up to my breast. “My uncles, my father … all the bosses of our firm.” My stomach sank as I realised the gravity of that information. His father and his men were notorious. Infamous gangsters, the most feared men in London, in England, and, hell, in most of Europe.
“Gone where?” I asked, stupidly, but needing to hear the actual words from his lips.
“Dead.” Arthur held on to my waist as if the admission would take his strength away. I squeezed my eyes shut in sympathy for the pain he must have been in. Then it dawned on me. Arthur was Alfie Adley’s son. That meant Arthur was the heir, and thus …
Arthur leaned over me, his stomach pressing flush against mine. He put his hand on my cheek, and I instinctively leaned into its warmth. I kissed his wrist and heard his almost silent hiss at my touch. Arthur’s gaze tracked over every part of my face as though it was the last time he would see it. I could still smell the whisky on him and knew that the only reason he ever would have allowed himself the liberties of shedding tears and touching me so intimately, lovingly, was because he was drunk.
“It’s my time now to rule over hell.” His words cut through me like a knife. “It’s my time to embrace the darkness, princess.” He dragged his thumb over my bottom lip, the move I always loved best. He’d done that on the yacht in Marbella all those years ago when we’d first been together. Even now it made me crave him, brought me strictly under his command.
“Arthur, don’t,” I begged, not wanting him to talk this way. It was too disturbing, too sad, too final.
He smiled at me, and it almost stopped my heart.
“My soul isn’t mine anymore,” he said, leaning down and kissing across my breasts. “It’s Satan’s. And, tomorrow, I will become the devil on earth.”
“Arthur—”
“You were the good thing, princess,” he said, cutting me off. “You were the one good thing I had been given.” But now that’s gone, I finished for him, knowing that was his meaning. I brought his mouth up to mine and kissed him. I kissed him softly and lovingly, exactly like I had wanted to for years. And if this was truly it, I had nothing to lose. Arthur kissed me back, and I replayed his words in my head—I will become the devil on earth.
I didn’t believe he could ever be the devil.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew he had a darkness in him that I had never reached, that, frankly, was terrifying. But up until now it had been a mere fragment of the boy I had been obsessed with since the age of thirteen. A part of him that I had been exempt from knowing, except in the bedroom. The way he fucked was depraved. The way he kissed me was savage and revealed that he was made of anything but good and light. But he was still mine. That was my Arthur, one I cherished and, over the years, never wanted to lose.
I didn’t know what Arthur Adley, boss of the Adley crime syndicate, looked like. I didn’t know him as that man in that role. And I knew by his tone that I would never find out.
So I kissed and kissed him until my lips were bruised and he fell asleep in my arms. I stared down at him and wondered what path lay ahead of him. As I stroked his hair, the four-carat engagement ring Hugo had given me less than forty-eight hours ago glared back at me. In that moment, that ring seemed more menacing than Arthur could ever be.
I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Hugo’s wife. But I didn’t know how to be anything other than Cheska Harlow-Wright, daughter of the Harlow dynasty, and soon to be spouse of Hugo and socialite of Chelsea.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think of my life’s bigger questions. I knew this time with Arthur was limited, and I strived to stay in the now. To hold on to this for as long as I could.
His body was warm on top of mine, his heavy weight keeping me calm. I still felt the echo of him inside me, of his tongue and his hands that had imprinted on my skin.
And I prayed the evidence would never fade.
A cool breeze slapped against my skin. I blinked, and the room slowly came into focus. My bedside lamp was on, and the events of the day slowly filtered into my brain.
Arthur … Arthur!
I scrambled to sit up and saw Arthur’s naked back. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, spine straight and shoulders tensed. I looked over to my clock; it read nine in the evening. We had fallen asleep and slept the day away.
Remembering how upset Arthur had been, I reached out and ran my fingers down his spine. He tensed, and I pulled my hand back. I felt more than the cold breeze wash over me. Arthur got to his feet and began to dress. I sat up, keeping my duvet wrapped around me.
“Arthur,” I whispered, my softly spoken words shattering the stillness.
Arthur wiped his glasses on his jumper, placed them back on his face, then slowly turned around. I immediately wished he hadn’t. Gone were the soft eyes that had fallen apart on me last night, trusted me with his need for comfort. In their place were chilling obsidian stones. Cold and darkness were the only things that lurked in their depths.
And, tomorrow, I will become the devil on earth. Those words ran on a loop inside my head. He was no longer drunk, and now he was sober, those words seemed to ring true. I knew every inch of this man’s face. I’d committed each mole and scar on his skin to memory. I knew his eyes—the looks, the pensive and the warm, the humorous and the hurt. This stare, this haunting and brutally aggressive stare, was nothing I’d ever witnessed before.
“Arthur,” I said, fighting the lump in my throat. “You’re upset. Please, I can help—”
“I’m not your problem anymore, princess.” He threw me a dark smirk. I lived for his smiles. But this smirk was one I wished I’d never been awarded. It was dismissive. It was patronising. And it made me feel cheap.
Arthur leaned down to the bed, and I wondered what he was going to do. He finally picked up my left hand and nudged his arrogant chin in the direction of the diamond. “I see it finally happened.” He tossed away my hand, and it fell to the mattress with a thud. He grabbed his wallet and phone and made his way to the door. Tears built in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall.
“Congrats, princess,” he said, and I met his eyes. “Seems like the white knight got you after all. Have fun in your fucking ivory tower.” He opened the door, and I reached out for his hand. I wrapped my fingers around his, praying he would hold mine back. Arthur stopped in his tracks, but without looking my way, he tossed my hand away and left.
And I knew. I knew that would be the last time I would ever see him. The Arthur I had known had died, and in his place was this cold devil he warned me he would become.
The boy I loved had sold his soul to evil. And even as I walked to my window and watched his driver usher him away, I felt as thought my heart was in that car with him. He may not have wanted it. May have hated the very thought of it. But it was his regardless. Even if I never saw him again, it was his.
I believed it had been since birth, and forever would be.
Chapter Six
CHESKA
Thirteen months later
Hugo pressed a kiss to my cheek and sat down opposite me. He gave me a fleeting smile before he checked his mobile. “Problem?” I asked, as the waitress dropped off my gin and tonic.
“No, just work stuff,” he said, but I watched him
closer as the waitress placed his IPA before him. He’d been acting sketchy of late, and I didn’t know why. We were due to get married in less than a month. My stomach rolled at that fact. It was here. Just around the corner. I was actually marrying Hugo. It had always been on the cards, but having it come to fruition was surreal.
“Hello, children.” My dad took his seat in between me and Hugo. “You okay, Ches?” he asked me in his usual tight-lipped way. I loved my dad. I truly did. But it was no secret that he had never been the warm and loving father most people got to experience. My mum had been the affectionate parent. My father was a businessman through and through, and that occupied all of his time. Family had always been an afterthought to him. I knew he loved me. But I wasn’t his entire world and never had been.
“Are you ready for the wedding?” Dad asked me. The waitress placed his sandwich and latte on the table before him.
“I pick up the dress next week. Other than that, everything is sorted.” I sipped at my soup. “It’s my hen do this weekend. Arabella and Freya have it all planned. I have no idea what we’re doing.”
“Sounds nice,” my father said dismissively and patted my hand. He turned to Hugo. “I’ve just got off the phone to …” I zoned out as Dad started talking Hugo’s ear off about work. I found myself watching the other people at the café. My dad had made it clear that, despite having a master’s in business from Oxford and desires to join the Harlow Biscuit empire, it wasn’t my place.
I fought off my rising ire and refocused on the couples and families, all smiling and happy as they caught up over lunch. I wondered what it would be like to be them for a moment. To be that excited to see one’s parents or siblings. We had money, and I had never wanted for anything. But all the riches in the world couldn’t make up for the emotional poverty that came with lack of familial affection.
Playing with the lime in my drink, I suddenly caught sight of a dark-haired man. He was dressed in an impeccable suit and wore black-rimmed glasses. My pounding heart lodged in my throat. I focused harder, trying to make him out, but on closer inspection it wasn’t him.
I took a steadying breath and willed myself to calm down. The man sat down beside a woman in a long red dress, kissing her on the cheek and holding her hand.
I rarely gave myself the luxury of thinking of Arthur. Ever since he walked out of my life thirteen months ago, I hadn’t once seen him. Hadn’t received one single text.
But that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard of him. Everyone in London and beyond knew of Arthur now. In the thirteen months since he had taken the helm of the Adley firm, he had caused what could only be described as havoc in the criminal underworld.
Murderer. The Bethnal Green Brute. The Devil himself. Or, as he was more widely known, the Dark Lord of London Town—some catchy headline with which one of the trashy tabloids had branded him.
It had stuck.
I remembered the cold, emotionless eyes that had said goodbye to me in Oxford a year ago. How, in the hours he had slept in my arms, he had morphed from a man with darkness in his soul into what was rumoured to be evil incarnate. He had awoken in my flat in Oxford as the infamous cold-blooded gangster he was now known to be. He ruled our city with an iron fist. He left a trail of misery and bodies in his wake. But the police could never catch him. Arthur was untouchable. He was feared.
And, despite it all, my stupid self was still madly in love with him.
“Cheska!” I shook my head as I was pulled out of my reverie by a familiar voice laughing at my daze. I dragged my attention from the man in the suit and looked up to see Ollie Lawson standing at our table, dressed in a light-grey suit. He was smiling, the same wide smile he’d always had for me. “You alright, love? You were away with the fairies just now.”
“Sorry,” I laughed and stood to kiss him on the cheeks. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since Freya’s dinner party a few months back.”
He gently squeezed my arms. “I’m good. You?” he asked, and I sat back down. Ollie was always over-affectionate toward me. But he was sweet and harmless. That strange act of aggression from him in Marbella years ago was now a distant memory.
“I am, thank you.” I gestured to my father and Hugo. “Just catching up with my boys for lunch.” Hugo was shifting strangely in his chair, casting annoyed eyes to Ollie. My father smiled at him, but I could see a strange apprehension at his presence. There was no love lost between Hugo and Ollie. There never had been. Ollie was in business with his father now too. Import and export.
From what I could gather from people in our social circles, the department Ollie ran was doing incredibly well, even better than his father’s. He certainly dressed the part, and he had a brand-new home in the most expensive apartments in Knightsbridge to show for it. Maybe my father didn’t like him because Hugo didn’t. My father and fiancé were thick as thieves, so that would make sense. That, or because Ollie was incredibly successful. Nothing pissed off the rich in our circles more than someone else besting them when it came to wealth.
“I heard you’re getting hitched in a few weeks?” He nodded at my engagement ring.
“Yes.”
“Well, congratulations.” Ollie held up his hand to the waitress. “Their lunch is on me. And send over a bottle of your most expensive champagne.”
“Ollie, no—”
“I insist,” he said, leaning down and kissing the back of my hand.
“Really, you don’t have to,” Hugo said, smiling, though I could tell by his gritted teeth he felt undermined.
“My treat. Count it as an early wedding present,” Ollie said.
“Then thank you,” I said, to try and defuse the awkward tension rolling off my father and fiancé.
“No trouble.” Ollie smiled widely and winked at me. “I was hoping I’d maybe be able to steal your heart one day, but this one got to you first,” he said, pointing at Hugo. “A chance missed.” Hugo practically glared at him. “Anyway,” Ollie said, looking over his shoulder and waving at two men who had just entered the café. “Business awaits. Enjoy your meal, and congratulations again.” He walked away, and I exhaled in relief.
“I fucking hate that guy,” Hugo said as the waitress arrived with the champagne.
“New money,” my father said. “No class.” I rolled my eyes at the two of them acting like pompous arses and thought of Arthur again. For once he had something in common with my father and Hugo. He’d seemed to hate Ollie too.
“Anyway, I was talking about the China contract when we were rudely interrupted by that one,” my father said to Hugo, recommencing their conversation.
So, I ate my food and kept quiet. Just as I was expected to do.
“At least you haven’t got me a flashing cock necklace to wear,” I said to Arabella as she sat on the sprawling super-king bed in my room.
“All in good time, sweetie.” She waggled her brows and laughed, pouring me another glass of champagne. Freya and Arabella had brought me to a fancy spa in Knightsbridge. Tomorrow more friends would join us for a night on the town.
“We can relax and get sozzled tonight on this stuff, then tomorrow live it up at the Sparrow Room. I’ve booked us a table—the full works.”
The room shimmered as she said where we’d be going tomorrow. Arabella and Freya were already staring at me when I glanced up, clearly awaiting my reaction. “The Sparrow Room,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. I downed the rest of my glass, then quickly refilled it. Arabella laughed at my obviously shocked expression.
“You should see your face!” She nudged Freya. “I know you used to have an obsession with the owner, but that was a long time ago.”
“Plus,” Freya said, acting nonchalant, “who doesn’t want to party in the club belonging to the world’s most deadly gangster?” She stood on the bed and dramatically spread her arms. “The notorious Dark Lord of London Town!”
Arabella laughed at Frey and pulled her back down to the bed. But I couldn’t breathe. I was pretty sure I was
having a heart attack. I couldn’t go to that club. There was a reason I had never been there or to the three other clubs he owned across London.
The Adley firm no longer kept their business to East London. They had spread out. Like a cancer, I once heard my father snipe at the news. They now owned all of London—the north, south, east and west. Their biggest and most successful club was here in Knightsbridge. I got chills every time I passed the Sparrow Room in a taxi, wondering if Arthur was ever in there. I’d heard he was, often. All the more reason for me to keep away.
I knew it was an epic club; enough of our acquaintances raved about it for me to gather that. But what no one knew, or even suspected, was the five-year-long affair I had had with Arthur.
“We have your outfit all picked out for tomorrow, and”—Freya jumped off the bed—“for dinner tonight.” She held up a purple silk Fendi maxi dress and a pair of low-heeled Jimmy Choos. She came over and shooed me from the bed. “A dinner that is booked for twenty-five minutes’ time. So hurry!” I grabbed the dress and shoes and went into the bathroom.
As soon as I shut the door, I leaned against it and tried to stem my panic. I would do this dinner tonight, then cry off tomorrow night. Claim it was food poisoning or something. I couldn’t step inside that club. I couldn’t take seeing Arthur after all this time. And I certainly couldn’t take his rejection. Because I knew that would be what met me. He wasn’t the man I once knew; that much was clear. And I knew I had only heard the tip of the iceberg of what he and his firm had done to other gangs and crime syndicates over the past thirteen months. There would be more. So much more.
“You’d better be getting a move on, honey! Fifteen minutes now,” Freya shouted through the door. That got me moving. I threw on some more makeup, tied my hair back in a low bun and pulled on my dress. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked pale. I looked nervous.
I moved to the window and opened it a fraction, sucking in the cool air. I stared down the street, right in the direction of the Sparrow Room. It wasn’t far from here. Walking distance. If I concentrated hard enough, I would be able to hear the sound of its music. It didn’t really get busy until late, but it opened its doors around now for those who wanted an early start.